#Madmans Library

[alexesguerra]

The Madman's Library: The Strangest Books, Manuscripts and Other Literary Curiosities from History The Madman's Library: The Strangest Books, Manuscripts and Other Literary Curiosities from History Hardcover – Globe, April 6, 2021 by Edward Brooke-Hitching (Author) ---Brand New-- This fascinating and bizarre collection compiles the most unusual, obscure books from the far reaches of the human imagination throughout history. From the author of the critically acclaimed bestsellers The Phantom Atlas and The Sky Atlas comes a unique and beautifully illustrated journey through the history of literature. The Madman's Library delves into its darkest territories to hunt down the oddest books and manuscripts ever written, uncovering the intriguing stories behind their creation. From the Qur'an written in the blood of Saddam Hussein, to the gorgeously decorated fifteenth-century lawsuit filed by the Devil against Jesus, to the most enormous book ever created, The Madman's Library features many long forgotten, eccentric, and extraordinary volumes gathered from around the world. Books written in blood and books that kill, books of the insane and books that hoaxed the globe, books invisible to the naked eye and books so long they could destroy the Universe, books worn into battle and books of code and cypher whose secrets remain undiscovered. Spell books, alchemist scrolls, wearable books, edible books, books to summon demons, books written by ghosts, and more all come together in the most curiously strange library imaginable. Featuring hundreds of remarkable images and packed with entertaining facts and stories to discover, The Madman's Library is a captivating compendium perfect for bibliophiles, literature enthusiasts, and collectors intrigued by bizarre oddities, obscure history, and the macabre. • MUST-HAVE FOR BOOKLOVERS: Anyone who appreciates a good read will love delving into this weird world of books and adding this collection to their own bookshelf. • DISCOVER SOMETHING TRULY UNIQUE: The Madman's Library will let you in on the secret and obscure histories of the strangest books ever made. • EXPERT AUTHOR: Edward Brooke-Hitching is the son of an antiquarian book dealer, a lifelong rare book collector, and a master of taking visual deep dives into unusual historical subjects, such as the maps of imaginary geography in The Phantom Atlas or ancient pathways through the stars in The Sky Atlas. About the Author Edward Brooke-Hitching is the author of beautifully illustrated non-fiction titles, such as The Phantom Atlas and The Sky Atlas. A writer for the hit BBC television show QI and a Fellow of the Royal Geographic Society, Edward lives in a dusty heap of old books and maps in London. Publisher ‏ : ‎ Chronicle Books (April 6, 2021) Language ‏ : ‎ English Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 256 pages ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 179720730X ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 9781797207308 Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 2.15 pounds Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 8 x 1.13 x 10 inches

[forthegothicheroine]

[News of Jesus] came from Japan later, in 1933, when a Shinto priest in the Ibaraki Prefecture discovered written documents that turned out to be the last will and testament of Jesus Christ. What's more, the papers (which disappeared just before the outbreak of World War II) identified the nearby village of Shingo in Aomori Prefecture as his last resting place. Jesus, it turns out, did not die on the cross - that was his previously unreported brother Isukiri, who had secretly taken his place. As Isukiri suffered the crucifixion, Jesus secretly fled for Japan, taking with him his brother's severed ear and a lock of the Virgin Mary's hair as keepsakes. On a journey of four years, he crossed the Siberian tundra to reach Alaska, then sailed for Hachinohe, and finally reached Shingo. There, he made a fake identity for himself and enjoyed a quiet life, marrying a farmer's daughter named Miyuk and raising three children, farming garlic and tending to those in need. Described as bald with features of a 'long-nosed goblin', Jesus Christ died in Japan at the age of 106... The most remarkable aspect of this story is that you can visit the grave of the Japanese Jesus to this day...The villagers of Shingo are certain of their godly heritage. "I'm not really planning anything at all for the 25th of December, as it doesn't really matter to us," a 52 year old villager named Junichiro Sawaguchi told a reporter in 2008. "I know I am descended from Jesus, but as a Buddhist, it's just not all that important."

Edward Brooke-Hitching, The Madman's Library: The Strangest Books, Manuscripts and Other Literary Curiosities from History

[dreamspiritsblog]

"I'm a madman among these inhuman humans."

— metaphors&lavender

[redg-art-stuffs]

Give me the spiral lore he looks fucked up

Alrighty then!

First off, he's the CEO and founder of The Descent. A large company known for their strange experiments, which mainly involve tampering with DNA. Nobody knows where he came from or why he's a stinky little man who eats bugs, but rumour has it that he was able to create, or rather "assimilate" two superiors into helping him with his research. Those two are Oculus Everywhere, the CEO of Oculus CO. and Ananta, the leader of a small group known as LOOP.

Other rumours state that Spiral was once a resident of The Outerworld (AKA. Earth) and was "assimilated" himself, thus causing him to go mad, with his mask being the only thing keeping him from quite possibly going on a killing spree with his trusted sword Descendre, which was said to be able to tear apart DNA structures in order for them to be rearranged.

In fact, yes. He was "assimilated." All of his organs were scooped out except for his heart and brain, and all of his bodily fluids were replaced with tar! What fun!

[pliings]

"I close my eyes, and this image floats beside me.

A sweaty toothed madman with a stare that pounds my brain.

His hands reach out and choke me, and all the time he's mumbling.

"Truth, truth."

Like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.

You push it, stretch it, but it'll never be enough.

You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us.

From the moment we enter crying, to the moment we leave dying, it'll just cover your face, as you wail and cry and scream."

- Todd Anderson (dead poets society)

[syllic-wyrd]

Starting a new book tonight! The Madman's Library seemed like such an interesting book. I'll post about things that I find particularly intriguing

[telvarla]

The urge to kill my local library’s printer to get @tastesoftamriel ‘s recipes and then make drawings for each individual item. Drawing that I will print out to fuck the printer up even more.

Or just wait to get the already made book…

[unknowncyklopz]

NerdSatoru! Is just so obsessed with eating your pussy

You could be in the damn near empty library and he'll just slip under the desk and paw at your cute and chubby thighs with that pleading face of his.

"Baby please? Need to taste you so bad" he'll murmur into your inner thigh.

So, of course, being the amazing girlfriend you are, you let NerdSatoru! eat your already soaking cunt in the library. Because, well, who are you to deny your needy boy?

NerdSatoru! Is a messy eater, too. Not only is your essence on his entire face, but it is also covering the entirety of your inner thighs. He's messily dragging his tongue across your clit and hole, but also sucking on your cute and puffy clit like a fucking lollipop.

NerdSatoru! even adds his fingers to the mix. He'll use two lanky fingers to push inside your tight hole while using the other hand's thumb to pull up the hood of your clit and lick like a madman.

Eventually, you'll start to feel your orgasm rounding the corner, so you'll beg and plead NerdSatoru! To let you cum. He knows your limits, and once he's for sure you're about to cum, he'll stop.

NerdSatoru! Will pull his fingers out from you while looking into your eyes and say with that damn smirk in his face

"I wanna finish at the dorms. I don't wanna get banned from the library for you screaming"

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

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

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

…Surviving him? Yeah, good luck with that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you did it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Horror Video Games.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First stop? Food. 

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

Then came homework. Ugh. 

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

Then finally—finally—you hit the shower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And right on cue… Sol was already online.

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

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

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

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

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

There was a few seconds of silence.

Then, a sigh. The kind that screamed regret.

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

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

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

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

“You wouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like you were found in the dumpster.”

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

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

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

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

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

Sol chuckled. “Lead the way, Snaccrifice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d already picked your roles.

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

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

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

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

Sol’s character nodded, “Hit me.”

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

There was a pause.

“That’s… that’s your plan?” he asked.

“It’s a working plan.”

“It’s a dumbass plan.”

“It’s our dumbass plan.”

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

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

The darkness swallowed you both whole. 

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

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

Incoming call.

Username: Hyugo_WasHere

You froze. So did Sol.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you like this?” Sol muttered.

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

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

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

As the mission progressed, the building changed. Literally.

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you were doing fine. 

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

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

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

You looked up. “What?”

“Gun!” he barked again.

“Dude, what—?”

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

“Who has a gun?!”

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

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

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

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

Because the Blind Huntsman was coming.

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

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

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

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

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

You knew something was wrong. So did Hyugo. 

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

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

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

You hissed, “Sol, no—”

But he said it. Out loud. “Hello?”

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

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

And yet… somehow… the bastard lived.

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

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

You peeked out at Sol’s avatar.

He was looking dead at you.

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

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

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

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

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

CRACK.

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

Just the head left. Rolling. 

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

Dead. Instant. No revive. No second chances.

The man got deleted like he owed the server money.

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

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

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

And the Huntsman? Still there.

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

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

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

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

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

“Motherf—”

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

Teamwork, right?

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

Round complete.

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

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

And then there was Hyugo.

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

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

That was all it took.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Hourglass.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

Then it happened.

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

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

You blinked. “The what?”

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

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

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

You crossed your arms. “Hyugo—”

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

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

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

You tried not to laugh. Failed.

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

Sol muttered, “I have skills—”

“SILENCE! The prophecy unfolds!”

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

You glanced at Sol. Sol glanced at you.

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widened. “Sol—”

Before you could even finish your sentence—BANG. 

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

You exhaled. “What the helly?”

Hyugo groaned. “What the helly??”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sol. Come on.”

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

One word. “Justice.”

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

Sol took a step closer to the pit. Paused.

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

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

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

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

Hyugo, still dangling: “I LOVE teamwork.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t help it. 

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

Sol, on the other hand?

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

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

You? Hysterical. Barely holding it together.

Sol? “I hope it eats him.”

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

The next round? It was a complete disaster.

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

And then, suddenly—LOUD BABY CRYING.

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

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

The worst part?

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

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

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

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

Of course, things didn’t get better.

You were one artifact away from completing the mission. 

Going back for the legendary Hourglass. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it. You were done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or so you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—“Sol?” Nothing.

“Sol?” Still nothing.

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

“SOL—WHAT THE FUCK?!”

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

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

Still no response. 

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

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

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

You froze mid-run. “Sol?” No answer.

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

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

“Keep talking… please,”

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

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

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

This was a whole other level.

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

YOU DIED.

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

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

Nothing. Just silence. Then, his mic crackled.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stuttered. 

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

You were a little turned on.

Fine. Maybe more than a little.

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

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

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

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

“—need you to look at me.”

And when the video call connected?

God. You looked. And you immediately regretted it.

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

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

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

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

“You’re insane,” you breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your cursor hovered over “Rejoin Game.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—"Holy shit."

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

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

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

You did. God, you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And God, you were losing it too.

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

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

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

And his piercings—fuck. 

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

But most of all?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cut him off, “Fuck—fuck—fuck—“ 

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

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

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

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

Your hips stuttered. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck," you breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This?”

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

There was a pause.

Then, so quiet you almost missed it—

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

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

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

“Your voice is dangerous, you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. The night couldn’t end like this.

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

Sol’s eyebrow arched. “Yeah?”

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

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

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough.

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

Leaving him with nothing but the image of you.

And another hard bulge in his sweatpants.

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

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

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

A third participant in the call.

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

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

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

This wasn’t just a call.

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

And that alone made him hard, fast.

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

He hadn’t meant to stay.

He definitely hadn’t meant to touch himself.

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

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

“Fuck,” he breathed, silent, trembling.

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

But god, the way you talked about ruining Sol—

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

The risk of getting caught turned him on more.

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

He should leave. He should close the call.

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

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

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

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—

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

“F-fuck—!”

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

Disgusting. Pathetic. And so fucking good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[norrissm]

⌗ crawl home to her — ln4

lando!friends to lovers headcanons. soft thoughts. work song by hozier. pretty boy by the neighbourhood. ★ LIBRARY

req. @lnfours ♡

lando would scoff at fate and destiny. always gotten what he wanted.

blind enough to see, his prayers answered in front of him

since the karting days from 7, lando had seen you by his side. a small body by the sidelines cheering his name with a toothache inducing sweetness

you’d seen every version of him—the reckless kid who crashed his first kart, the teenager with too many doubts, the man who wears confidence like armour

never wavered in your belief in him

his world was stark against yours.

speed, wagering with death, flashes of lights, luxury and risk

you never asked him to slow down, be cautious

“come back home to me” was all you’d whisper under sheets as lando nodded in a drowsy whim.

he couldn’t bear a world without you

he never understood why, never questioned what pulled him home—to you, always to you—past the feisty women, the flashing cameras, the noise of the world.

there was no one sweeter than you

he had the sweetest of the lot

if he could, he’d die a happy man in your arms.

why? why’d he feel this way?

maybe love was stitched in the quiet spaces, in the unspoken actions, woven with a thread of red—strong, sturdy, unbreakable.

maybe, love, was him finding you slumped against the foot of his bed, a hand extending to his, in the hospital after a crash

maybe love was the way you defended him when the world turned cruel, standing in front of him like a shield—just you and lando, against everything.

maybe love was the unwavering faith you had in lando. in your eyes, he was the best and you said it like you meant it.

oh. oh, this is it. this is what love feels like.

a love like this shouldn’t be hidden.

he’d happily be a madman running through the streets confessing his love for you. chanting your name in a prayer, thanking the stars above, deeming him worthy of your love.

and when the soft glow of a lamp bathed you in golden light one evening, he swore he saw Aphrodite in your form—swore he had already found a home.

a confession only for your ears, too intimate to be stolen by anyone else

lando took in the moment, you were the only one he needed

your lips uttering the words which thawed lando’s stuttering heart and at that moment lando felt the synergy of your love.

with you, he could do anything

he was lucky indeed

lando believed in fate and destiny. gotten what he wanted.

reblog and follow <3 all rights reserved ©️norrissm please do not copy, save, or translate my stories.

[niwaart]

Can we please please please have more Victorian era yanderes

Enjoy<3

Bound by Silk and Shadows

#Part1

The heavy oak doors of the Grimoire Library groaned as Jason pushed them open, the scent of aged parchment and candle wax flooding his senses. This place—hidden in the underbelly of Gotham’s aristocratic district—was one of the few sanctuaries where he could breathe without the weight of his scars suffocating him. 

The hood of his tattered cloak was pulled low, casting shadows over the ruined half of his face. He knew what people whispered when they saw him. Monster. Madman. The Joker’s failed experiment. Even among the lower classes, where he now lurked, his presence sent servants scrambling. But here, among the forgotten tomes of magic books and old books , he was just another shadow. 

Or so he thought. 

He hadn’t been paying attention. Too absorbed in tracing the spine of a black-bound grimoire, its title etched in gold: "The Forbidden Arts of Lazarus." His fingers twitched. If only. If only magic could undo what had been done to him...

A soft gasp. The sharp scent of lavender and ink. 

He turned just in time to see her. 

The impact was sudden—her small frame crashing into his chest, the books in her arms tumbling to the floor in a flurry of parchment. His own tome slipped from his grip, landing with a dull thud beside a delicate volume titled "The Ethereal Language of Spells." 

And then worse. 

His hood. 

It fell back, the fabric sliding like a coward’s retreat, exposing him. The jagged, ruined flesh where the Joker’s knife had carved laughter into his skin. The burns. The scars that made children scream. 

His breath hitched. No. No, no, no—

Instinctively, his hand flew up, fingers clawing to drag the hood back into place. He couldn’t bear it. Not another look of horror. Not another....

But then....

She didn’t scream. 

She didn’t even flinch. 

Instead, she knelt, her gloved hands gathering the fallen books with a quiet efficiency. Her dress brushed against the dusty floor, and for a moment, Jason was struck by the absurdity of it. A noblewoman, kneeling in filth. 

Then she looked up. 

And God. 

Her eyes... wide, curious, unafraid locked onto his ruined face. Not with pity. Not with disgust. Just… recognition. As if she saw him, not the monster. 

"I’m sorry," she murmured, her voice softer than the rustle of turning pages. "That was my fault." 

Jason couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. His pulse roared in his ears. 

She stood, holding out his book—his book, the one that could damn him if anyone knew he was reading about resurrection—and for a heartbeat, he thought she might say something else. Something about his face. About who he was. 

But she didn’t. 

Instead, she simply pressed the book into his hands, her fingers brushing against his gloved ones. A touch. A touch that didn’t recoil. 

Then she turned, her skirts whispering against the floor as she walked away, leaving him standing there like a fool, his heart pounding like a prisoner’s fists against iron bars. 

Jason didn’t remember leaving the library. 

One moment, he was standing there, clutching the damned book like a lifeline. The next, he was outside, the cold Gotham air biting into his exposed scars. His carriage—a plain, unmarked thing meant for servants—waited, the driver eyeing him warily. 

She didn’t know.

That was the only explanation. She couldn’t have known who he was. No noblewoman would have touched him if they knew. No one would look at Jason Todd—the disgraced, the scarred, the unwanted—without fear. 

But then… why had she apologized ? 

Why had her fingers lingered? 

Why—? 

The carriage jolted forward, and Jason realized his hands were shaking. 

Who was she?

A noble. That much was clear. But not one he recognized. Not one who flaunted her status in Gotham’s cutthroat society. A ghost among the aristocracy. A girl who read books on magic and didn’t scream at the sight of him. 

A girl who, for one fleeting moment, made him feel… human. 

His grip on the book tightened. 

He would find her again. 

And next time, he wouldn’t let her walk away. 

[monserelates]

Clueless Idiots 2 ; James Potter

⇨ f!reader x James Potter

⇨ summary: basically f!reader and james potter being oblivious idiots..again. But this time they kiss..right?

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, fluff, mutual pining, excessive idiocy, professors betting again, Sirius being so done, more background chaos

⇨ a/n: thank you guys so so so much for the support i've gotten in the last few days! literally couldn't be more grateful, i love every single one of you. part 2 as requested, hope you enjoy! Also, feedback really motivated me so if you have something to share please do!

word count: 1.7k

There were a few more constants at Hogwarts:

One: Peeves would never pass up the chance to drop ink on someone carrying parchment.

Two: You could always count on the library fireplace to be too hot or not hot enough.

And three: James Potter still hadn’t confessed to Y/N Y/L/N.

It was nearing midnight, and James couldn’t sleep. His mind wouldn’t shut up. About Quidditch, about NEWTs, but mostly about the way Y/N had looked at him earlier.

Like she knew.

Or didn’t. Which somehow made it worse.

He gave up and padded out of the dormitory, barefoot, hair a mess. He wasn’t expecting company in the common room.

But there she was.

Sitting on the windowsill, knees pulled to her chest, the firelight glowing soft against her face. Hair loose, wrapped in a blanket.

She turned her head. "You couldn’t sleep either?"

His chest tugged. "Yeah. Figured I’d come down here and pace like a madman."

She smiled, small and sleepy. "Or you could sit."

He sat beside her, shoulder brushing hers.

For a moment, they just looked out the window.

"Do you ever wish we had Astronomy this year?" she asked.

James raised a brow. "Since when do you like Astronomy?"

"Since I figured out Orion is shaped like a really dramatic bloke showing off his belt."

He laughed, low and tired. "That is literally the point of Orion."

"What’s your favorite constellation?"

He blinked. "Er... I dunno. Maybe Canis Major. Big dog."

"Of course it is."

"Hey, it’s loyal. Follows Orion everywhere."

She hummed. "Mine’s Lyra. The harp."

He tilted his head. "That tracks. You’re all poetic and stuff."

"Not poetic. Just... curious. It used to be a turtle."

He blinked. "What?"

She laughed. "The Greeks thought the first lyre was made from a turtle shell. It became a constellation after Orpheus died."

"So... music, loyalty, tragedy. Sounds like a Hogwarts afternoon."

She nudged his shoulder. "Don’t be dramatic."

"You just compared stars to death."

"You brought up dogs."

"Touché."

Time passed like honey. Slow and warm.

They fell into a lull, the silence comfortable.

Then, softly:

"Do you ever think about after Hogwarts?" she asked.

James swallowed. "Yeah. All the time."

"What do you think you’ll do?"

He shrugged, staring out the window. "Auror, maybe. I want to help. I want to make it better."

She nodded. "You’d be good at that."

"You think?"

"You care too much not to be."

He glanced at her. Her hair was half in her face. His hand itched to tuck it behind her ear.

Again.

But he didn’t.

"What about you?" he asked.

She leaned back against the window. "I want to write. About real things. Real people. Maybe travel for a bit."

"Travel where?"

"Everywhere. France. Greece. That island where the firecrabs sunbathe."

He smiled. "You mean Fiji."

"Do I?"

"You do."

She smiled back, then yawned.

Without thinking, he pulled the blanket more around her.

"Thanks," she mumbled, eyes half-lidded.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

He froze.

Then slowly, cautiously, he let his head rest against hers.

James was scared to take a breath, he really didn't want her to move her head.

When Remus came down for tea at dawn, he nearly dropped his cup.

James was on the couch. Y/N was on top of him. His arms were wrapped around her waist; her face buried in his chest. Both fast asleep.

..

Back in the staff lounge, McGonagall adjusted her spectacles.

"I hear Mr. Potter and Miss Y/L/N fell asleep in each other’s arms."

Slughorn chuckled. "A very compromising position, I’m told."

Sprout grinned. "New bet: who confesses first, now that they’ve practically napped their way into a relationship?"

McGonagall smirked. "My money's still on her."

..

The sun rose on Gryffindor Tower with the kind of golden softness reserved for early autumn mornings, and the Common Room was quiet.

Except for the hushed snickers.

James woke up to a tickle against his cheek and the very distinct feeling that something—or someone—was lying across his chest. And that he, very stupidly, had an arm slung securely around them.

“Merlin’s saggy balls,” came Sirius’s voice, somewhere above.

James groaned.

Y/N stirred.

She blinked up at him. “Why are you—why am I—why are we—”

“Why are you both literally spooning on the Common Room couch?” Lily supplied helpfully, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk.

Remus, sipping his tea behind them, raised an eyebrow. “Comfortable?”

James scrambled up. “I—It’s not—we were talking about constellations.”

Y/N smacked his chest lightly. “Don’t make it sound weirder.”

Sirius pointed to the small blanket still tangled around their legs. “You both fell asleep. Cuddled like a pair of puffskeins.”

Remus looked deadly serious. “This is a violation of the forty-eight-hour deadline I issued.”

“What deadline?” Y/N asked, rubbing her eyes.

“To kiss. To confess. To do something,” Remus deadpanned.

“You hexed us?” James looked betrayed.

“I threatened to. Still might.”

Behind them, a voice chimed from the portrait hole. “Ah, young love.”

McGonagall.

Everyone froze.

She gave them a long, knowing look, eyes twinkling. “Five points from Gryffindor for inappropriate use of the Common Room. And five points to Gryffindor… for finally making progress.”

“Finally?” Y/N squeaked.

McGonagall just smirked and left.

—

Word traveled fast.

By lunch, someone had drawn a very accurate sketch of James and Y/N asleep on the couch and tacked it to the Gryffindor bulletin board under the title THE CHOSEN ONES.

By dinner, Slughorn cornered Y/N and casually asked if she'd like to bring James to his next Slug Club gathering "as her plus one." When she choked on her pumpkin juice, he just chuckled knowingly.

At bedtime, Marlene had had enough.

“Y/N,” she said sternly, hands on her hips, “this is getting pathetic. If you don’t make a move, I swear I will lock the two of you in a broom cupboard with only one pillow and unresolved sexual tension.”

Dorcas leaned on the bedpost. “It’s like watching a romance novel in slow motion.”

“I like slow motion,” Y/N protested.

Lily tossed a pillow at her. “This isn’t slow motion. This is emotional molasses.”

—

Meanwhile, James was pacing.

“Padfoot,” he said, running a hand through his hair for the sixth time in three minutes. “What if I messed everything up?”

“You mean by spooning your crush in public and then still not confessing?”

Peter squirmed. "Don't say crush, it makes it sound like he's thirteen."

James groaned. “I panicked. She looked so peaceful. And I—”

“You what?” Sirius pressed.

“I almost kissed her.”

“YOU WHAT—”

Remus chucked a book at Sirius. “Indoor voices.”

James collapsed on his bed. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re our idiot,” Peter offered.

“I don’t deserve her.”

“No,” Remus agreed. “But you have her. You just don’t know it yet.”

—

Two days passed.

Nothing changed. Not really.

Except now when James tucked her hair behind her ear, everyone screamed internally. When Y/N offered him a bite of her treacle tart, two Hufflepuffs bet ten Galleons on a Christmas confession. When they accidentally brushed hands in Herbology, Professor Sprout nearly cheered.

It was becoming a school-wide crisis.

And they were on the eye of the tornado.

—

One evening, James found himself back in the Common Room, late again, just like that night.

Y/N was there. Of course she was.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked softly.

She looked up from her book. “Not a wink.”

He flopped beside her, their knees bumping. “You know what Sirius said to me today?”

“What?”

“That we’ve gone from Clueless Idiots to Catastrophic Morons.”

She snorted. “Honestly? Fair.”

A beat of silence.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“What if I said I like you?”

She turned, slowly. “Then I’d say it’s about time.”

His breath caught. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then—

Finally.

She leaned in, and he met her halfway.

It wasn’t perfect. It was a little clumsy, a little breathless, but it was theirs.

And when they broke apart, cheeks flushed and hearts racing, Y/N whispered:

“Took you long enough, Potter.”

He grinned. “I’m still getting us that Honeydukes window.”

“Especially the sugar quills?”

“Especially the sugar quills.”

—

The next day it was a quiet, peaceful Wednesday morning.

Well, until Peeves found out.

“THEY KISSED! THEY KISSED!” he bellowed at the top of his ghostly lungs, cartwheeling through the Great Hall mid-breakfast. “JAMES AND Y/N IN THE COMMON ROOM, SNOGGING LIKE LOVESICK FLUFFY GNOMES!”

James nearly dropped his toast. Y/N choked on her pumpkin juice. Lily patted her on her back.

“WE HAVE WITNESSES!” Peeves sang, doing loops around the enchanted ceiling. “KNEES TOUCHING! EYES SPARKLING! AND A SCANDALOUS FOREHEAD KISS, OH MY!”

“Peeves—!” James hissed, red as a Gryffindor banner.

Y/N slapped a hand over her face. “I hate everything.”

Sirius was howling with laughter. Remus had calmly pulled out his wallet. “I believe this means I win the side bet about it not happening in a broom closet.”

“DO YOU, MISS Y/N, TAKE THIS MESS OF A MAN TO BE YOUR LAWFULLY OBLIVIOUS HUSBAND?” Peeves hollered, throwing confetti made of shredded homework.

Peter leaned in, whispering, “You did kiss him, right?”

Y/N glared. “Not that it’s any of your business, but—yes.”

James stared at her and smiled.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" Y/N asked.

"Nothing, you're just gorgeous, love." He said, followed by a couple of playful groans of his friends and the stares of a lovesick y/n.

“Oh my Merlin,” Marlene muttered, rubbing her temples. “I’m moving schools.”

Above them, Peeves looped the final loop, pausing dramatically midair before screaming:

“THEY KISSED, THEY KISSED, THEY BLOODY WELL—FINALLY—KISSED!”

And Hogwarts, once again, erupted into cheers, catcalls, and the sound of one exasperated McGonagall muttering into her tea, “About bloody time.”

Flitwick clapped politely from his seat, beaming. “They make such a charming couple.”

Slughorn chuckled, already scribbling their names into a guest list for a hypothetical future wedding. “Ah, young romance—always knew James had it in him.”

Sprout wiped a tear. “I feel like I’ve just watched the finale of my favorite romance drama.”

And Dumbledore, of course, simply twinkled behind his spectacles. “Love, as always, finds a way—even if it takes a little extra chaos.”

McGonagall cleared her throat, hand outstretched.

“Pay up, Pomona.”

Sprout groaned and dug into her robes, fishing out a pouch of Galleons. “Worth every Knut,” she muttered.

Slughorn handed over a few sickles to a smug-looking Flitwick, who waved his tiny hand triumphantly.

“I told you it wouldn’t take until Christmas,” he said.

Somewhere in the back, Binns floated through a wall just to mutter, “I had June,” before vanishing again

—

THE END… probably.

taglist: @glittervame @hannah200216 @strlightfilms

[beanxiv]

˗ˏˋ📓 ─── U + I = LUV .ᐟ ˎˊ˗

riddle rosehearts x gn!reader . . trying to explain trig to your infatuated partner is hard work .ᐟ 1.1k word count.

note: based on the need for a man not to mansplain to me, but to gently teach me content: suggestive, petnames [main masterlist] . [twst masterlist]

waking up in and having to navigate an entirely new world is likely— no, definitely one of the hardest things you've ever had to go through.

you would think math would give you a break when you get to said new world. but no. math is still math. twisted wonderland has no magic to make precalc easier. not that you have any magic, but still, it would be nice.

you're torn between standing up in your chair and screaming like a madman while ripping apart your worksheet, or continuing to do your homework like a normal person.

a quick glance around the library has you choosing the latter. none of these students need to see you crash out (again). you also don't need crowley breathing down your neck about anything (again).

you click your pen while staring down at the trig problem staring right back at you, unsolved. people are starting to look at you and you realize your pen clicking is bordering obnoxious. you shoot the octavinelle kid an apologetic smile and turn to your boyfriend.

his nose is buried in a practical magic textbook, jotting down notes every few moments.

“psst,” you try to get his attention. he’s focused though, and doesn't hear. you try again, “riddle. ….riddle,” you nudge his foot with yours and he finally looks up.

“yes? what's wrong?” 

you slide your worksheet toward him sheepishly, “do you understand this? i'm kinda lost.”

riddle closes his textbook— not before bookmarking it— and glances down at the worksheet, a thoughtful frown tugging at his lips. “this lesson wasn’t taught very well, was it?” he murmurs, looking up at you then back down at the paper.

“this one is simple— the wording is what must be confusing you,” he says, and he’s right. damn these word problems.

“let’s take what we know and…” he’s writing down numbers and corresponding symbols,  explaining everything to you as he does.

at some point, during the middle of the equation, you're distracted by the gentleness of it all. riddle— who you honestly couldn’t even stand when you first met him— has come such a long way from his outbursts and near-violent need for control. here sits, not a riddle rosehearts who's snapping at you for speaking in the library at a volume higher than a whisper; not a riddle rosehearts who would remind you that “rule eighty-two states that all math work shall be done under the roof of your own room!” or something— you're not sure if there are actually any rules like that, but even so!

no, here sits a riddle— just riddle, who lets you pick flowers from the garden on wednesdays, even though it violated rule two hundred twenty-eight. here sits your boyfriend who is explaining a math problem to you so softly, you’ve forgotten all about trig and calc.

“my rose?” he tilts his head to catch your eyes, snapping you into reality. “should i explain differently? you look like you're still lost…”

“oh! no, no, i got it now, i think,” you shake your head, and your whisper probably borders more of a whisper-yell, but riddle doesn’t comment on it.

“are you sure? it seems as if you were zoned out,” he gives you one of those unimpressed looks and you can't help but shrug.

“if it makes you feel better, i was still focused on you! just not… on you explaining.” you offer, and his brows pull up as if to question the reliability of his flustered partner’s words. his look makes you huff, “honest!”

“we have a test later this week, my rose,” he reminds you. “i think it’s to your benefit to understand this.” he taps his pen to the sheet of paper.

“how can i focus when you look so pretty?” you sigh, leaning forward to squish his cheeks between one hand. “being all intelligent and sweet.”

now it’s riddle’s turn to be flustered, and his face lights up with heat, blush dusting his cheeks. “i’m jus’—!” his words are slightly muffled by the way his lips are forced into a pout by your pushing his cheeks together. he grabs your wrist, not roughly, and lowers it between yourselves. “i’m simply explaining a problem to you, i don't see how..” he glances away, back down at the paper in attempt to hide the blush that’s practically making the room glow.

“how i think my boyfriend is the prettiest in the room?” you lift a brow.

he opens his mouth to retort then closes it again, which you take as a victory. you also take the chance to steal a victory kiss from his still-warm cheek. he huffs in that riddle-esque way, but doesn’t push you away. he never does.

on the contrary, he finds himself always giving in to you and your antics. half the time, he just can't deny you.

“need i remind you we’re still in the library?” he mutters, turning to reopen his own textbook since it’s clear you’re in too much of a teasing mood to get any of your own work done. leave it to riddle to attempt to mask the ever prominent blush that leaves him quite a mess, honestly. “oh, c’mon!” you whisper, “i’m complimenting you and you’re pushing me away!” you know that’s not actually the case, but you like to mess with him. riddle, though, finds your mocking to be unassuming. he says your name, in that authoritative way that sends a chill down your spine, “let me explain the content to you. then, you’ll do the page, and then i’ll indulge in your fun. although, not at the library. i’d much prefer somewhere without so many prying eyes– and a setting not as professional as this one.” you know he just means the comfort of ramshackle or heartslabyul, but the way he says it makes it seem as if theres implication in his words and that along with his tone is enough to get you to lock the fuck in. “yes sir,” you mumble, scooting your chair in closer to his. “trig, my absolute favorite! go ahead, mr. rosehearts, i’m listening.” riddle softens at that, shaking his head and yet chuckling despite himself. “are you now? good.

where was i before? ah, right. so this problem is asking for this missing angle, and to find it…” he loves you, and that must why he not only allows you to be so carefree and playful, but also himself. jeez, how far gone is he?

© beanxiv — all rights reserved. copying, reposting, translating, feeding into ai, and modifying on any platform or by any means is not allowed.

─── reblogs with tags are much appreciated 💝

[bonbonly]

Wait because why do I need to hear more about college lando like I feel like he would be into corrupting his innocent friend IDK MAYBE IM JUST SELF PROJECTING AT THIS POINT

Sorry if this didn’t make sense bonbon I’m running off like an hour of sleep 😭

-🎃

no no dont apologize! 🎃 anon you are onto something here ok

bon's thoughts (18+)

collegeau!lando. ok im writing this and had like the filthiest thought come into my mind oh my goddd but i can see you being top of the class, sitting in the front and answering all the questions in class. lando's sitting in the back, sleeping most of the time but there's rare occasions when you drag him to the front and he watches you raise your hand and ask questions that impresses the professors. he's a bit jealous, but then realizes that instead of trying to be like you, why couldn't you be more like him?

you're so innocent and sweet, it all comes to plan when he invites you to the library late at night. you never went to the library at night, only the morning because you always rambled on about how 8 hours of sleep was required for a good day. he reasons that its a friday night, it's ok and that was the only reason you show up in the private study room. you open the door and see him stroking his cock, eyes glued on his laptop as he's taking notes.

"lando?" you frown, eyes traveling to his hard cock. he waves at you, greeting you with a smile, though you can't seem to understand what he's doing, "lando what's going on?"

"oh, this? this helps me study!" he smiles, going back to stroking his cock as he's reading the notes you sent him earlier in the day. you frown,

"really? i know almost every study technique, i-i've never heard of this," you reply, tilting your head to get a better look at him.

"that's because only i use this technique, i found it out one day but i can't seem to perfect it. i just... i just think im not good at it. could you help me out?" lando asks, and you nod your head. you'd do anything to help your friend!

he directs you to your knees, and has you under the table. he's this close to giggling, he can't believe how innocent you are... how stupid you could be to let him do this to you! this is so much fun to him, and he presses his thumb into your mouth, opening it gently before guiding you down on his cock. he nearly cums right there, your mouth feels like heaven. he's having you suck his cock the whole night, your throat is covered in just his cum and when it's around 5 am, you're whining about how he ruined your sleep schedule.

"but you helped me study!" he exclaims and you shrug your shoulders,

"I guess so... as long as it helps you to study."

and so for the rest of the semester (and maybe for the rest of your years at uni) every friday night consists of you sucking on lando's cock, he even goes so far as to have your pussy wrapped around him as he's fucking into you like a madman, refusing to elaborate how exactly this benefitted his studying but you're very thankful that his grades are improving, somehow.

you're still top of the class, don't worry about that, lando would never ruin your education like that. but it was really funny to see you sitting in the front row with his cum dripping down your thighs, cock drunk to the max because now you're insisting you can only study with his cock stuffed inside your cunt.

that's a win for him.

[bartonomy]

REGULUS BLACK AND THE ART OF LOVING A MADMAN ( WOMAN??)

PAIRING Regulus Black x Crouch!Fem! Reader

SYNOPSIS When you pick a fight with Mulciber (again), get hit with a particularly nasty hex (again), and land yourself in the hospital wing (again), Regulus has to work his usual charm on a professor to clean up your mess. Just another day in his fucking life.

CONTENT WARNING not proofread! ,crouch family slander, reader gets hurt, regulus getting pulled into things, fluff!!

WORD COUNT 1.8k

library.

Regulus Black regretted a lot of decisions in his life.

Most of them involved his family, some of them involved his choice of friends, and at least one of them involved that time Barty had convinced him to try a new spell that had made him vomit slugs for an hour. But on the top among his many regrets, the one that occupied his mind on a near-daily basis and might be the reason why his hair is greying at the ripe age of 16, was the fact that he had somehow, against all logic and reason, fallen in love with you out of all people.

And, unfortunately, the most insane person he had ever met.

“Stop them!” a first year yelled across the courtyard.

Regulus sighed deeply, already rubbing his temples. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake-”

He turned just in time to see you- his oh so lovely, brilliant and slightly deranged girlfriend- launching herself at Mulciber like a particularly homicidal pixie.

“Oh, brilliant,” Regulus muttered.

The duel had looked absolutely pathetic, if he was being honest. Spells were flying. Mulciber’s wand was raised, his face exasperated with anger and annoyance, while you looked totally unbothered, happy even, to be challenged. “You really want to do this, Crouch?”

“You looked at me funny,” you mused, as if that was a reasonable explanation. You showed no sign of actually doing any harm that day,he thinks, much to his surprise.

Merlin's buttocks, I'm getting too used to this mental buffoonery.

As if you could hear his thoughts (well, his steps weren't exactly quiet on the cobble stones), you added, "Care to repeat what you said about me and Barty as well, Mulci?"

Regulus let out a long-suffering sigh. Of course it about Barty. Barty Jr. could get away with murder in front of you, and you would still defend his honor as if he were some kind of noble martyr instead of an absolute menace.

For once, though, he wasn’t involved. He was sitting off to the side, watching the fight unfold with mild interest, completely unaware that his little sister was about to get herself hexed into oblivion on his behalf.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn't the truth, Black,” Mulciber was saying lazily to him. “And you know,” he drawled, twirling his wand between his fingers, “I always wondered how someone as uptight as Barty Sr. managed to spawn not one, but two utter disappointments.”

Regulus felt his girlfriend tense. Beside you, Barty went very still.

Mulciber smirked. “I mean, your brother’s already well on his way to becoming a Ministry disgrace. But you-” He let out a low whistle. “I don’t know if you’re worse because you’re reckless or because you don’t even realize it.”

Regulus sighed. Oh, for Merlin’s sake.

Barty scoffed, looking deeply unbothered. “Well, you would be an expert on family disappointments, Mulciber. How is your Squib cousin, by the way?”

Mulciber’s smirk faltered. His wand snapped up. That was it.

"Sectumsempra!"

You barely dodged it, eyes narrowing. “Alright, you little freak, where the hell did you learn-”

Regulus was already moving, pushing through the gathering crowd of Slytherins who had circled around, waiting for blood. “Protego!” Regulus flicked his wand just in time to deflect the bombarda that was just blasted- your spell, because of course you weren't backing down. No, you were going straight for the kill. “Reggie!” you whined. “I had him!”

“No, you didn’t,” Regulus said flatly.

“Mulciber, you have the nerve to continue this child's play,” Barty Jr. called from the sidelines. He didn’t sound particularly concerned. Mulciber smirked. “the little rat has nothing against me.”

He caught his girlfriend’s eye- “Don’t kill him." you just winked. And then, with a graceful, almost lazy movement, you flicked you wand. “Expelliarmus.”

Mulciber barely dodged. He fired back, sneering- “Stupefy!” You stepped casually aside, as if dodging wasn’t even an effort. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, love.”

Mulciber growled and raised his wand. “Depulso!” You twirled your wand midair defending yourself, as if the interaction was boring you immensely. The force of the impact barely even ruffled your hair.

Barty let out a mocking yawn. “Come on, Mulciber. You hex like a first year.” Mulciber’s face twisted with anger. “At least I have some dignity,” he spat. “Unlike your sister, who has none. It’s pathetic, really. A Crouch playing attack dog for a Black?”

Regulus’s jaw clenched. He looked at his girlfriend, and you were smiling, Not in a nice way. Oh, he was so done for.

You tilted your head, mockingly thoughtful. “You know what’s really pathetic, Mulciber?”Mulciber scowled. “What?”

You only flicked your wand. “Silencio.”

His mouth disappeared, where once his lips were, was now a blank canvas of skin. Mulciber’s eyes widened. He tried to speak- but only muffled words came out.

Barty burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s just cruel, tiger” Mulciber’s face twisted with rage. He furiously swiped his wand to counter the curse- but you didn’t let him. With one smooth, effortless motion, you fired another spell.

“Locomotor Mortis.”*

Mulciber stumbled. His legs went jelly-like, his knees buckling beneath him. Regulus exhaled. “Chéri, are you playing with your food?”

“Obviously.”

Mulciber seethed silently. He furiously gestured with his wand and you deflected the curse midair with zero effort. At this point, he was shaking with fury. His pride- his absolute refusal to lose to a damn Crouch-took over. His eyes flashed and he pointed his wand. A muffled “Confringo!” could be heard as red streaks came blasting towards you.

Regulus’s stomach dropped. The spell hit you square in the shoulder, sending you flying backwards with a sickening crack. “Bloody hell-” Regulus lunged forward, catching you just before you hit the ground.

Your robes were singed, your arm at an unnatural angle that would make a troll wince, and, of course, you were still trying to get back up. “ I swear to my ancestors souls, let me at him, Regulus, before-”

Regulus tightened his grip, pushing you down gently. “You are not dueling with a broken arm.”

You huffed. “I could still win.”

“You could also die,” Regulus snapped. He turned to Mulciber, eyes cold. “Are you quite finished?”

Mulciber raised his hands frantically, gesturing to you and back to barty as if to say 'Hey, she started it!'

Regulus didn’t argue. You had, in fact, started it. But that didn’t make this situation any less infuriating.

“Barty,” he called. “A little help?”

Said boy finally got up from his seat, leisurely strolling over like this wasn’t a life-or-death situation. He peered down at his sister with a critical eye, then shrugged. “You’ll live.”

You groaned. “That’s your concern?”

“You look fine to me,” he said cheerfully. “Besides, I think you got one good hit in." Regulus was going to lose his mind. “You are both insane,” he muttered.

“Thanks,” they said at the same time.

Regulus was already tired. He hadn’t even had breakfast yet. This was supposed to be a normal day. But no, his girlfriend had to pick a fight before 8 AM.

Merlin’s beard, this family was going to be the death of him.

Regulus was not built for this kind of stress. He ran a calloused hand through his pale face, cursing the gods for giving him a reckless bomb of a girlfriend when he once, pathetically, called upon them in his third year.

Meanwhile, Barty- who had been doubled over, laughing at Mulciber from the bed opposite the room, finally spoke, grinning.

“That was brilliant,” he told his sister. “Merlin, I love you. This is why you’re my favorite sibling.”

“You don’t have any other siblings,” Regulus pointed out dryly.

“Exactly!” Barty beamed.

On Godrick's balls, was he tired.

He sat next to your bed, watching as Madam Pomfrey fussed over your arm. The hex had done more than break the bone- it had burned through your sleeve (from your brand new robes, if you might add), leaving angry red scorch marks trailing down your shoulder.

You were delighted by this, and he was flabbergasted.

“I bet it’ll scar,” you said excitedly. “That’s wicked, am I right?”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. It’s not wicked. It’s downright idiotic.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed, already immune to your nonsense. “You’ll be fine by morning, dear. But you’re staying here for now.”

That was fine. That was great, actually. What wasn’t great was the fact that Slughorn was already marching into the room, looking both concerned and exasperated.

Regulus immediately straightened, preparing himself for an hour (more like 10 minutes with the way that mustache of a man rambles) of scolding.

“Miss Crouch,” Slughorn sighed. “Another duel?”

“She started it,” Regulus said quickly, ever the dutiful boyfriend.

His girlfriend shot him a betrayed look. “Regulus!”

Slughorn shook his head. “Detention, I’m afraid.”

Regulus tilted his head, sliding into his usual charming demeanor. “Professor, surely you can’t punish someone who’s already suffered so much.”

Slughorn frowned. “She hexed Mulciber.”

Regulus offered a smile, smooth as silk, looking past the man to the occupied bed with said subject. “And he hexed her back. Quite viciously, I might add. The poor girl nearly lost consciousness in my arms. It was tragic, really.”

His girlfriend scoffed. “I was fine.”

Regulus nudged you sharply under the blanket. “You were barely breathing,” he said dramatically.

Slughorn looked hesitant. Regulus pushed harder.

“I carried her here myself,” he continued, voice just the right amount of pained. “Do you really think she deserves detention after such an ordeal?”

Slughorn sighed, rubbing his temples. “…Very well. But no more dueling.”

Regulus smiled, victorious. “Of course, Professor.” Slughorn gave them one last weary look before leaving.

The second he was gone, you gaped at him “You are actually insane,” you said scandalized and eyes wide.

Regulus smirked. “You’re welcome. Perhaps we can star our mornings not risking our lives and you know, go to the great hall like normal witches, hm?"

You only beamed up to him, leaning back against the pillows. “You love me.”

Regulus exhaled, already exhausted again.

“…Tragically, yes. I do”

[bloodchapell]

i saw you wanted requests,,? i think you still do at least ajdgshgdgsvdv

if dcst/dr stone is allowed, senku with a reader who's equally as much of a nerd as he is, just with a diff topic lol :o history if i can ask for that ahfesfdff

:D

a long list of books, a friar and a maiden— senku i.

what to expect: small age gap, weird pacing :/

your sword's note: HELL YEAHH senku x nerd reader is my favorite trope, i made it revolve around the medieval age because helloooo that's the whole theme of my account and i also love it sm, more on my mistresslist

One day Senku wondered how electricity worked. Byakuya mentioned Thomas Edison, simply dropped the name, and Senku promptly asked his dad to take him to the library. He found the biography pretty fast, so he sat down and read it. He saw a couple of other kids reading children's books. After an hour or so, he stood up to put away the book but crashed against what seemed to look like a walking pile of books.

"The start of agriculture?" He picked up a random book, then another one. "The bronze age?"

You were still defeated on the ground, with the books surrounding you. "I am learning history."

"I hope you also learn to not carry a pile of books so big that you can't see." He mentioned giving you the books as you stood up and started picking your pile up again. You looked a little older than him, no wonder you were reading relatively advanced books.

You ended up sitting in the same table as him.

"Why don't you read about science?"

"I will read about it when it comes up in my list." You said. "Both my parents are historians and I will also be one, so I am preparing from now."

You showed him a list with names of books, it was a lengthy list and you were just at the very beginning, but you seemed determined to do it. He was impressed. For the rest of the day you two sat together reading in silence.

Over time, as you kept meeting in the library, reading became like a silent competition, whoever advanced to the next book the fastest would smile proudly while the other one hurried to finish. Once you finished the list, which took a long time, you decided to look deeper into certain periods of history.

"What is your favorite then?" Senku asked while you two were over at your house, years after, still both holding a book on your own interests.

"The medieval age." You said putting down the book on the carpet you two were laying on. "I will start my own research soon."

You looked at the past and he looked at the future. He found it funny.

With the passage of time you both started to go deeper into your interests, you started indeed researching about the period of history you found most interesting while Senku started building rockets. It worked perfect when you talked each other's ears off about the respective topic of the week.

"For this year's history fair my parents chose the medieval age." You pull Senku close by the shoulders. "It is a reward for finishing my first research."

The history fair was organized by your parents and other renowned historians in Japan, and each year would cover a different period.

"Congratulations." Senku said taking your hands off his shoulders. Since he met you, you had invited both him and Byakuya, and it was almost a tradition, eventually when Senku introduced Taiju and later on Yuzuriha, you also invited them. "Does that mean I can go to the fair as a wizard?"

"Ugh!" You pushed him softly at the banter. "Does that mean I should finally call the police about the madman building missiles around?"

You both laughed. Knowing each other for so long you had already learned how to annoy the other, though as the years passed Senku stopped being less mean and more restrained with his words, at least towards you. You started noticing that when he was around 13 and you 15.

Taiju and Yuzuriha came over, expecting the news of the fair. When you were younger the fairs were almost like a business trip, but over the years your parents and their colleagues tilted the organization of the fair for it to be an immersive experience of whatever age they had selected.

"Let's get started with the costumes!" Yuzuriha said excited, already planning on what to make. "I want to wear those princess hats."

"Ah, I see, a hennin, it should be fairly easy to make. Do you want the classical cone, cut short, two horns? It is a staple of medieval fashion that follows us until this day."

Making the costumes took a good while. Yuzuriha chose a green fabric for her dress, and build the hennin out of wire and covered it in the same fabric. You chose a red dress with a white wimple that as secured by a tiara.

The day of the fair was mysteriously set to be during your birthday, very obviously arranged by your parents.

"What a lovely pair of fair maidens!" A very well known voice filled the living room while you and Yuzuriha twirled around in your dresses.

"Lord Byakuya!" You said excited greeting him and he laughed when he noticed you immediately picking up his feudal way of speaking. Senku turned his head to look at his dad. Had he really come back from training just to go to the fair? Unbelievable —Senku's words—.

"I had my own gown fitted." The adult showed the clothes he was wearing. "I assume you are two noble ladies, Taiju is a knight and Senku is a...?"

"He is a friar, he chose it because he could have escaped to a convent and do science freely." You said making the younger Ishigami stand up. "He is wearing a heriguat, from the XIII and early XIV centuries."

"Heriguat." Byakuya repeated the odd word.

It had been a long time since Byakuya had come back to Japan, and it would probably be the last since he would be going to space in a few months. The train ride to the rural area where the fair was placed was silent. Yuzuriha and Taiju fell asleep and you made sure to take a picture of them.

"I'd dress like this every day." You whispered to Senku. "Would I look unprofessional?" "I don't know if it's an excellent or horrible idea." He laughed. "So what does it feel to be so old?"

"I am only 17... what does it feel to be a baby." You teased back and he rolled his eyes. The two year gap between you two was a constant topic of banter, him calling you old and you calling him a child.

"I guess you wouldn't know since you haven't been a baby in so long." Senku said with a grin.

"I would have had you executed if we were in the middle ages." You said with a smile.

"On the medieval topic, have you decided what to do after school?" Senku asked and you immediately looked at him, having clearly forgotten about the topic. It was your last year of high school after all.

"Yeah, history, duh." You said with a nervous smile.

"I'm talking about college." Senku made his question clear. Not for nothing you had been studying since you were a child (aside from your actual passion), and with the connections of such renowned historians as your parents, it was possible for you to enter any university.

"The University of Edinburgh" You said. Senku knew that your father had studied there and it was a possibility.

"Are you going? Did you apply already?"

"Yeah...?" Unsure you said, you had tried to bring it up subtly before but it never seemed to work. "They accepted me."

"Oh, okay." His reaction was natural, nothing out of the ordinary. He didn't show how his heart dropped because the answer shocked him.

The chatting continued during the train ride, avoiding mentioning the topic again. It was tortuous enough that Senku had realized he liked you not so long ago, even when he also realized that his little crush went back for years even, but how was everything supposed to become once you were somewhere in Scotland while he was stuck in high school for other two years? Not only that but even if you were to stay, you would be a college student and he would still be in high school.

Eventually you all got to the fair. As always, it was like stepping on a whole different world, your friends saw your eyes glimmering as you walked around fascinated by the stands and how the people were dressing. Since it was a private event, everyone was following accurate medieval trends and nothing felt out of place.

You first went to see your parents, who had dressed as royalty since they organized the event. While Byakuya talked with them about whatever, you guys sat to eat on a long table.

"This is like a reward." Mimicking your words, your parents told Byakuya. "For finishing her research and getting into university."

Senku had assumed it.

"Here is some cake for the lady."

"Anachronistic!" You exclaimed when your mother placed a cake in the table and light up some candles. They sang happy birthday for you and then you guys left to explore while Byakuya talked with your parents about whatever else. You spent the whole day wandering around and talking to your friends about what they were seeing in the fair and explaining it detailedly.

"We are going to check out the horses!" Taiju said running and Yuzuriha agreed running behind him. You sat down on the grass for a while and looked at the sky that was starting to turn orange as the sunset approached. Senku laid down.

"This is probably the best fair I've had." You said resting on your elbows.

"That and the 20th century wars one" Senku said and you agreed immediately. "To think I could sneak into these historians' events just because I bumped a silly girl."

"I am no silly girl." You said immediately.

"So how is everything looking for university?" Senku asked and you turned around to look at him.

"Well, in spring next year I will move to the dorm in Scotland, maybe I will have a roommate." You said. "The best thing is that I can always escape away to some castle nearby."

"If you have a roommate how will you call me to talk about whatever latest discovery you had about medieval rats?" He asked to the air and you shrugged. "Are you even going to call me?"

"Why, do you want me to call you?" You asked laughing.

"I really don't care." He lied looking the other way.

"You do know that I know right?" You turned to your side to see him, he stayed quiet not knowing what you were referring to. "The way you treat Taiju and Yuzuriha has stayed the same overtime, but you treat me differently now."

"So you noticed." He said simply and you nodded. "What about it?"

"Nothing about it, I like you too." You said and his eyes only opened slightly bigger for a second. "I don't think we have to worry about figuring anything out, I will be back for breaks and once I am done studying."

"What if you want to stay in Scotland?" He said oddly fast.

"I won't stay in Scotland." You laid down on the grass then. "I didn't expect you to be in such a hurry to date."

"I never said anything about dating." He reproached immediately.

"Then how is liking someone supposed to go under your ideas? Longing forever? What a true medieval man!" You mocked him but he didn't reply. You plucked a small daisy from the lawn and twisted the stem into a circle. "I won't stay in Scotland."

His eyes looked at the little flower ring you gave him and he started laughing, he didn't extend his hand but didn't resist when you slid the flower on his finger. He thought for a second about what he would have preferred, maybe you staying to study in Tokyo, that'd make everything easier to figure out, but at the same time it was better for your career if you left to Scotland.

"We have a year to figure it out, it is fine. The debate is going to start soon, so let's go." You said as you stood back up and he did the same, you were referring to the last event of the fair, at the end everyone would gather up and talk about the fair and the historic age chosen, usually having someone exposing a research on the topic. The area was now empty as the sun was setting, everyone probably in the debate hall already. You walked together in silence, looking around at the setting of the fair that you kept admiring as you made your way to where the debate was taking place. Once at the door, you organized your clothes and took the wimple off for a second.

"It is not like a friar could marry either way." You say shrugging with the fabric in your hands. "But I will risk sacrilege."

You grabbed his cheeks still holding the white headpiece and gave him a kiss on the lips, then made a "shh" gesture and walked inside. He stayed outside for a minute, frowning, and walked inside only after his cheeks stopped blushing. He sat beside Yuzuriha and Taiju and simply listened to the talk and to your presentation on your research.

You two didn't speak more about the matter after the fair, but both wondered about what would happen when you had to leave to Scotland.

That never happened though, because a few months after the fair, every human on earth was turned into stone.

...

In the chaos of dealing with the Stone age, a thought creeped in Senku's head one night after he started narrating some historic events to Chrome. Scotland didn't matter anymore, that and realizing you would have made the stories about the past way more interesting for Chrome way more. He would think about you a lot, every time he would make an advancement he would think of your stupid history books list, advancements that those history books narrated and which you would tell back to him as children.

After the war with Tsukasa, he had more free time and started quietly looking around for you.

Once he was done building the hot air balloon and having Yuzuriha make real clothes out of fabric, she and Taiju asked Senku to spare a minute of his time for something really important. Both brunettes looked at the well known statue dressed in a red dress that resembled memories from millennia ago.

“You can do the honors.” Yuzuriha gave the clay bottle with the revival fluid to Senku, who didn’t wait a second to take the cork off the bottle and drop the liquid on your statue.

“So what era is this.” Once the stone around you breaks, you ask your friends. Yuzuriha and Taiju hug you and you hug them back, but your eyes are set on Senku and his eyes are set on you.

“Just made a hot air balloon.”

“Ahh, I see, did it fly?” You joke and he frowns, still with a smile. “If it did, then September 19th of 1783 is checked off the list.”

After noticing the beautiful dress you had on, you thanked Yuzuriha and grabbed Senku's hand and walked out of the hut. That got him a few looks but he was too engulfed in the moment to yell at everyone to go back to work.

"I see you fancied the friar look so much that now you wear a short skirt heriguat." You say with your hands on your hips, still able to see the people working back by the massive skeleton of the ship but somewhat hidden from their curious gaze.

"It is a lab coat." He corrected immediately. "Sit down, I need to update your historical knowledge already."

He was pretty straightforward with telling you what had happened during the almost three years since he woke up. You listened attentively and kept laughing when he apologized for his lack of extreme detail.

"I made the science from about the first 1/4 of the list, it would have been immaculate if you were there to point it out like the smartass you are." Senku says as you two are sitting down by a tree.

"Hmm, says the king of smartasses himself." You say.

"I think it is important to mention that since the year is almost over, your next birthday will be next year, therefore you remain 17. That is the way we do it in the Stone Age." Senku mentions with the teasing tone but you seem to not understand why. "I have had three birthdays already and in January I will be 19."

"19!? What does that mean for our dynamic!?" You sit up in awe but a smile slowly corrupts your face. "That makes me a child and makes you a felon... I am relieved that I don't have to be the creepy one now."

"You are seriously weird, it is just two years." He rolls his eyes. "Plus it is not like I am anything to you but your childhood reading foe."

"Then be my boyfriend." You say casually. "By now every institution has fallen and I have to join your multi-layered project to bring back everything and more. There is no Scotland or college or society holding back our forbidden love, such an old lad with a fair maiden like myself."

"It's called the kingdom of science." Senku points out. "And again, it's only two years."

"And that would make me queen then." You rub your hands maliciously.

"What a strange one." He points out, not precisely accepting or denying your proposition, he simply puts his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer. "Now defile the friar's lips before someone finds out."