#i don’t even want to know the context it’s fun enough without it

[catilinas]

everyone clap and cheer the oxford english dictionary has added the word FISHIFIED: ‘turned into a fish; made fish-like or reminiscent of fish.’ earliest known usage in 1672

[mulloey]

hunted • yunho

it’s all a game, he says. you’re desperate to play.

yunho x fem!reader

words: 4.7k

warnings: extremely dark kinks, heavy consensual non consent (cnc), dubcon at some points though you have a safeword, internet hookups (don’t), unprotected sex (don’t), the word ‘rape’ is used, hard dom!yunho, fear play, glove kink, choking, impact play, knife play, under-negotiated kink, size kink, painful sex, sir kink, you’re referred to within the scene as a victim and a sex slave, explicit threats of bodily harm and death in the context of cnc, mind break possibly, aftercare, crying etc

you’ve been appropriately warned of the content ahead. click out if you are uncomfortable. this is not safe to do irl. hate is blocked.

-

You don’t know where else to turn.

It’s been on your mind for a while— this fantasy. This game. You don’t know why, or how, and you’d never, ever admit it, but it plagues your thoughts, day after day, haunting your dreams night after night without respite. You’re too ashamed to even say it.

You never told any of your previous partners; you’d hint, maybe, suggesting weaker, milder things to nudge them the right direction, but they always shied away, got scared about three miles south of what you actually wanted, and ran screaming. You know it’s wrong. If anything, the fact that they ran away should have been a green flag. But it wasn’t. Not to you.

You make the account around 3am. Your username is nondescript, profile photo grainy and blurred, showing just enough to attract someone who might be able to do this for you. You write the post with trembling hands; the words come easier to you than you’ll ever admit.

I want to be forced. I want to be raped. I want to be punished for resisting. I imagine a stranger, maybe one I’d only seen in passing. He can’t get enough of me. He needs me. He’ll have me. He follows me wherever I’m going, lying in wait. It doesn’t matter how much I resist. I’m going to be his. He. Will. Have. Me.

As expected, your phone is blown up by the time you check it. Hundreds of old, gross, sleazy men desperate to get a taste of your — shudder — young pussy, as one called it. You hadn’t given a specific age, just that you’re in your 20s, but they all seem content to run with the idea of you being on the lower end, rather than the higher. Perverts.

You scroll through the messages. each one confirming the rational part of your brain that says this is a stupid, dangerous idea and you should forget you ever even had it.

It’s the one at the bottom that stops you. Sent not long after you’d gone to sleep, but they’d liked the post almost instantly. The profile picture is like yours — grainy, blurred, but suggesting a toned, young-ish, large body — and he too is in his 20s, if he’s telling the truth. His message is short and respectful— a breath of fresh air.

youknowme: Nice post. Do you really want that, or do you just like imagining it?

You bite your lip. You don’t know why, but this person feels… different. Exciting. You want to know more.

rosedepths: i really want it. can you give it to me?

youknowme: I could. Would you take it all?

You chuckle— you know what he means, but you figure you’ll have some fun. See if he’s expecting a sweet, scared little doe who’ll be quick to submit; or if he’s expecting a fight. If he’s expecting you.

rosedepths: nope.

The typing button appears and disappears a few times. You assume he doesn’t like your response, and he’s not as exciting a match as you’d hoped, until his next message comes through.

youknowme: Yes, you will.

Oh, fuck. You feel yourself leaking as you read it over and over. You’re desperate to know more.

rosedepths: have you done this before? raping a stranger?

youknowme: I hope you’re talking about CNC, Rose. If you are, then yes. I have.

rosedepths: you any good at it?

youknowme: I’ve subdued much feistier things than you. I can give you what you’re asking for. Do you want it?

The need in your stomach is so profound you think you could keel over. You’ve never found it easier to type something out.

rosedepths: yes.

You talk until you sleep, and you’re optimistic about this guy. He’s careful and meticulous with your kinks and limits, guiding you through the details while still retaining the mystery and allure you’re craving. Despite your protests, he insists on a safeword, but assures you that that’s ‘the only thing in the world that will stop him.’

As you become more familiar with this site, designed solely for this purpose it seems, you see this man is… popular. To say the least. He even has what looks like a review section from other women he’s fucked and oh, there’s pictures. Not of him— but of the deep bruises and stinging cuts he’s left behind. You click through the reviews, pupils dilating the longer you stare the screen down.

He fucked me so good.

He put me in my place.

He’s brutal.

No one’s ever made me cry like that. Or cum.

When he proposes a meeting, you don’t think twice.

By the time next Friday rolls around, the knot in your stomach is a constant; it follows you around, heavy and aching as it trails behind every step. You know it’s just nerves, excitement, the thrill of knowing you’re about to do something very, very wrong. But some part of you does wonder if it’s doubt— are you being stupid? Is this a bad idea? Well, yes. You are and it is. But is it… too bad? You don’t know. As the clock ticks slowly towards your ‘appointment’, you feel more and more anxious to find out.

You clock out at 5, hurrying down the stairs of your office building to dash home. You’d prepared your bag already, shaved this morning and placed your fanciest, laciest set of lingerie under your work clothes. You take a second to freshen up, touch up your makeup and dump your work bag on your bed before you’re hurrying out the door again.

The hotel he’d booked is downtown, shiny and new and well beyond your price range. You wonder for a moment what this man does for work. Your knowledge of him is very, very limited— by design, of course. This whole game, this whole exercise hinges on him being a total stranger. But still, you can’t help but be curious. The one clue you have is the name the room was booked under— Yunho. You must have said it to yourself a thousand times; trying it out, the sound, the feeling. It tastes tantalising on your tongue and you’re bubbling with need by the time you make it to your room.

You hesitate when you reach the door. He’d told you he’d arrive later, at an undetermined time, but you can’t help but wonder. Is he in there, lying in wait? Will you open the door to find him sat on the bed, or hidden behind a corner, or, your heart races at the thought, right there on the other side? You breathe, in, out, in, out. You can do this. There’s nothing you could find on the other side of the door that you wouldn’t beg for another day.

You’re almost disappointed when you walk into the room to find it totally empty. You check the bathroom, the corners, the cupboards, half hoping to find him looming there, waiting to strike. But you don’t. You sigh, sitting down on the bed and sliding off your shoes. You’re not really sure what to do now. You suppose you could touch yourself, you doubt he’d blame you for being excited, but over the past few days, without realising you’ve found yourself almost saving yourself for him; each time your hands had wandered down there, you’d stopped yourself. He’ll take care of it.

Sighing, you decide to turn on the TV, flicking lazily through the channels until you find something that entertains you until he arrives.

With every unexplained noise, every creaking of a neighbour’s door, you look up eagerly, hoping to see Yunho looming in the doorway. But you don’t. Hours go by, your hope fading more and more, until you accept that he’s just not coming tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. You hope.

By the time you’re ready to sleep, you’ve passed several hours in front of the mindless reality show you ended up settling on. Trying to ignore the crushing disappointment that Yunho hasn’t shown up today, and the fear that he never will, you turn the TV off and settle into the sheets.

He’ll come tomorrow. He has to.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness, you make yourself comfortable in the cool, fresh sheets. The only sounds in the quiet room are your slow, steady breaths and the low hum of the air-conditioning. As your eyes begin to droop, you feel yourself relaxing into the memory foam, wondering and hoping he’ll be there when you wake up…

Click.

There’s a hand on your mouth. The lights are on.

Your eyes snap open and your body jolts, adrenaline flowing instantly. The hand is large, covering your mouth and nose and you can’t breathe.

As you adjust to the light you get a good look at him, and you’re so shocked that for a moment you forget you’re supposed to struggle. Yunho is gorgeous. Fading blue hair, dark enough to seem black from a distance; features gentle, eyes dangerous and all blending perfectly together. He’s wearing a white shirt and pinstripe waistcoat that struggles against a broad, toned chest that seems to be trying to escape and his large hands are covered by a pair of thick, leather gloves.

Fuck. You’d beg for this man any other day, happily and eagerly. But you can’t do that now. You have to fight. You thrash against him, legs flailing but his body holds you down, pinning you in place and oh, he’s large, too. He could incapacitate you now and be done with it, but it seems he wants to play.

“Well, aren’t you sweet.”

His voice is low and rough and addictive, dripping with want and danger. He stares you down, eyes narrowed, blank, burning.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?”

The pressure of his hand has eased enough for you to breathe and you lie still for a moment, gauging your next move. You nod, slowly. I’ll be good.

He smiles, not really believing you, and then his hands are off you. For one second, they’re off of you and you take your chance— you jump up and bolt out of the bed, dashing in the direction of the door. You hear him curse, but you know he’d chosen this room, large enough to practically count as a suite, specifically to give you more room to run. And run you do; you’re still half-asleep — you’re not quite sure if you did fall asleep, in the end, or if he got to you just as you were drifting off — but the adrenaline pumping through your veins is enough to carry your feet towards the exit.

You hear him on your tail but he’s not running— no, his steps are leisurely, like he knows he’s going to catch you and is merely amused by your idea that it would end any other way.

He lets you get to the door and pull it halfway open, just enough to think you’ll make it out into the hall, before it slams shut in your face, only just missing your fingers where they’d lingered in the doorway. Then there’s strong arms on your body, slamming you with full force, your body colliding painfully with the heavy wood. You struggle pitifully in his hold and as the lock clicks shut above you, you hear the barely restrained anger in his voice.

“And where the fuck are you going, bitch?” He growls. He grabs your hair and tugs your head backwards, sending a painful sting through your scalp then slams your head back against the door. “You tryna get away, pretty girl?”

You grunt, pushing back against him as hard as you can, but with his firm grip on you all you manage to do is push your ass back against his crotch. He groans, the grip on your hair tightening. “Fucking tease,” he mutters. “Bet you’re wet already.”

He spins you around, holding you by the neck against the door, his body caging you in as his other hand roams across your breasts, squeezing them just short of painfully. You struggle fruitlessly but you’re completely trapped and you know it.

You feel his knee nudging at your closed legs, clenched together to keep him away from your heat as if it’s not aching for him already. “Open,” he says.

“Never.”

“Fine.” His leg draws back and lands a kick between your knees and you yelp, legs forced apart; he shoves his thigh into the gap, holding your legs open and your pussy exposed as his hand runs up your bare thigh and slips beneath the silk slip you curse yourself for wearing to bed. Could you have made this any easier for him?

His fingers tease the edge of your cotton panties, pulling it back and slapping the elastic against your skin and all you can do is stay in place, held under his weight as he toys with you. But you’re not done and this isn’t over. You’re just biding your time. You just need an opportunity; a moment of carelessness for you to slip away.

He runs a finger softly across your covered pussy, and the smug expression on his face tells you exactly what he finds there.

“For someone who doesn’t want this,” he says, “you’re awfully fucking wet.”

“Fuck you,” you spit.

He’s quick to react; a heavy slap lands on your face, turning your head forcefully to the side and leaving a lingering ache.

“Wet and mouthy,” he says. “I wonder how quickly you’ll break.”

Your stomach twists but you give nothing away; you’re enjoying the back and forth, the game, too much to give up yet, no matter how desperately you want him to just fuck you alrady.

“I’ll never fucking break,” you snap.

“Oh, you’ll break.” He leans in closer, enough for you to feel his breath on your face as he speaks. “They always do.”

You can hear your heart beating wildly, pounding against your ribs and your breath stutters. “And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t…” He lets the words hang in the air, gaze flickering across your shivering form. His mouth curls into a thin smile. “I’ll just have to hurt you real, real bad.”

You swallow thickly, tension caught in your throat. You wish that didn’t sound so enticing.

“Now,” he says. “Open your mouth.”

You force yourself to laugh, amused despite your terror by the notion that you’d just give in and obey. You purse your lips, sealing your mouth shut— directly defiant. His eyes flash and his hand tightens around your throat, cutting off your airflow as he presses down on the sides of your neck. You manage to hold out for a few seconds until you feel your eyes bulge and you gasp, mouth opening in a desperate bid for air. He loosens his grip, grabbing your chin and pushing his thumb in just far enough to hold your mouth open for him to spit into it. The saliva lands on your tongue and he pushes your mouth closed, pressing his hand over your mouth and nose again. “Swallow.”

Knowing he won’t let you breathe until you do, you swallow the spit; it feels disgusting and degrading sliding down your throat but the humiliation burns with pleasure and you’re desperate for more.

“Good girl,” he smiles. “Not that hard to listen, is it?”

You scowl, squirming under his hold. Yes, it is that hard. You manage to wring your arms free enough to grab at his arm, trying to pull his hand off of your face. In the panic one of your nails digs into his forearm and he growls, pulling you forward just to slam you backwards again. Your ears are ringing and his hand is pressed even tighter across your mouth and nose.

“Disobedient little bitch,” he hisses, “you want me to fuck you up?”

Yes, fuck, please, your mind says. But you keep that on the inside, and instead of begging or submitting or doing any of the things your body is screaming and pleading for you to do, you bite down. You bite down hard.

The taste of blood is a small victory as he shouts, snatching his hand away from you but this time he doesn’t give you the chance to get away; you make it a few steps before he grabs your wrists, clutching them easily in his injured hand, forcing them behind you back and twisting them painfully to hold you in place so he can backhand you again— and again, and again. You scream in pain, but if he notices, he doesn’t care. His expression is livid, eyes black and burning with rage. “Fucking. Little. Bitch.” Each word is punctuated by a hard slap, knocking the wind out of you over and over.

“Someone needs to put you in your fucking place,” he growls. “Dumb little sex slave.”

The word hits you somewhere deep, stomach twisting into knots as wetness pools. Slave. Fuck.

“I’m not your fucking sex slave,” you bite back and he laughs.

“You don’t know what the fuck you are. Stop squirming.” He twists your arms a little further, teetering on the edge of too far. You whine, straining against him and he cooes. “Hurts, baby?”

“Yes it fucking hurts,” you snap.

He snorts, amused. His eyes darken again as he leans in closer. “Any more attitude and I’ll fucking break them.”

You can’t help the gasp that escapes you, fear pushing through your veins again. His grip on your arms is iron and you know he could snap them with ease. But would he really? You say nothing, staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes. He grins.

“Don’t think I won’t,” he laughs. “I’ll break every bone in your body if it’ll keep you pliant.”

“I’ll do it one by one,” he continues. His grip on your wrists tightens again but he doesn’t twist any further; still toeing the line. “Nice and slow so you feel it all,” he smiles, and you know he’s imagining it as he speaks. You wish you could say you weren’t. “Let you hear the crack of each bone snapping in half until you’re completely destroyed. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You shake your head, voice quivering. “No.”

“Good.”

You scowl, squirming again to show your displeasure. “Let me go, Yunho.”

He hadn’t told you what to call him, but you decide to take a gamble that he doesn’t want you using his name and you’re right— he grabs your neck, pressing down hard enough to make you dizzy. “Call me that again,” he hisses, “and I’ll slit your fucking throat. Got it?”

You catch the whimper before it leaves your throat but you can’t stop your pussy from leaking even more than it already was. You didn’t know you could be so terrified or so horny. But you’re not giving up yet.

“You call me sir,” he says, “is that clear?”

You smile thinly. “Yes, sir,” you say, so sweet and polite that he sees right through it. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for your next move and it comes in the form of a wad of spit, landing like a bullet between his eyes.

Then you’re on the bed. You’re landing on the bed, shoved down and he’s crawling over you, holding you down with his weight and— there’s a knife on your throat.

Your eyes widen, all your blood rushing to your head at once. A knife… he’d never mentioned a knife. On your profile you’d said you were open to knife play, but he was so meticulous when he went through all the kinks he was planning that you thought… Well, you didn’t think he’d have a knife.

“Oh, that got your attention, didn’t it?” He grins. There’s a fire, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before and you feel it in the deepest parts of your body. You feel something else, too, and it burns just as brightly as your arousal. As he presses the knife down just enough to sting, you realise you are genuinely, truly afraid of Yunho. And yet…

Yunho sees it too; “fucking gushing,” he spits. “You’re more sick than I am. Don’t act like a victim now.”

You whine, squirming slightly and he hums thoughtfully.

“Or do,” he decides. “Actually, I’m sort of hoping you don’t do what I tell you. I’d love to watch the light leave your eyes when you finally stop struggling.”

Your breath hitches, caught in your throat. You don’t… you don’t know how you feel about this. You knew he’d be intense; the reviews had painted a clear picture of just how much he feeds off of fear. But there’s a wild, uncontrolled look in his eyes as he threatens your life so casually, so smoothly, that makes you wonder…

No. You know it’s fake. It’s all fake. You know it’s just a game and you know he’d stop if you said the safe word he gave you. But the knife at your neck is real. The darkness in his eyes is real. The fear is real. And he sees it in your eyes, his lips twitching into a small smile as though he can tell the exact moment you accept it. “Good girl,” he purrs. “Are you ready to listen?”

You say nothing, glowering up at him. He smiles, tilting his head.

“Open your mouth.”

Fuck no. This isn’t over. You meet his eyes with your mouth firmly, resoundingly shut. You purse your lips for good measure, determined to disobey.

His hand collides with your face again; the back of it, this time, and the feeling of his knuckles against your cheek makes you cry out before you can stop yourself. He seizes the opportunity of your parted lips and plunges two gloved fingers into your mouth. You choke, spluttering and he tuts, looking disappointed. Even with fingers in your throat, you feel like a naughty, scolded child beneath his firm gaze.

“See,” he says, his voice low, “I could make this so much worse for you. It’s in your best interest to do what I tell you.”

His fingers push in deeper and you feel the bile rising; you thrash and panic in his hold and he snorts, finally easing up. As you gasp for breath, he pulls his fingers away, a string of drool following him from your mouth and coating his fingers. He wipes them down on his pressed pants, looking disgusted. “Fucking mutt,” he spits. “Let’s put you to good use.”

Before you can register what’s happening, his dick is pushing into your mouth and fuck he’s massive. You can hardly hold him in your throat and your vision blurs with tears even before he starts to move— when he does, he wastes no time starting slow; he goes straight to fucking your mouth with hard, deep thrusts and you feel your tears and saliva cascading down onto your chest. You must look disgusting, but you’ve never heard anyone sound as feral as he does.

Just as you’re getting used to the feeling, he pulls out. His cock slaps against your face before he flips you over, bending you painfully over the edge of the bed. He doesn’t waste time prepping you — not that he needs to with the way you’re dripping — before forcing himself into your tight hole. You scream, feeling yourself being torn apart and he laughs, pushing your head into the mattress. “Fucking bitch,” he growls. His low voice is barely heard above the slapping of his skin on yours and the lewd squelching of your sopping pussy. You burn with humiliation but you can hardly think of anything but the pain of being stretched open and the force of his thrusts. You sob into the sheets but he doesn’t care, only getting rougher each time you cry out.

“Take it,” he barks, “you’ve been waiting for this dick your entire fucking life. So fucking take it.”

“S-sir,” you gasp. You thrash as much as you can under his iron grip, dizzy with pain and pleasure.

He snarls, hand landing hard on your ass. “Drop the act, bitch,” he growls. “I know you fucking love this. Clench.”

Still sobbing, you do your best to obey, clenching your pussy around his dick and it sends a jolt of electricity through your body. He groans, movement stuttering slightly under the new pressure on his dick.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Such a pretty little victim. With a tight fucking hole.”

You feel his orgasm approaching; all the pent-up energy and frustration of fighting and subduing you pulsing through his dick as it pounds against your walls. His grip tightens on your waist, other arm coming to wrap around your neck, holding you in a chokehold as he finally releases inside you.

He grunts and moans through his orgasm and you feel the warmth of his cum filling you up before he finally collapses on top of you, pulling out quickly.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “It’s over, baby.”

The dam breaks. Your low, desperate sobs give way to full blown weeping, your whole body shivering with each cry. A million emotions, previously drowned out by pain and fear and pleasure, are suddenly at the surface, pushing against your skin and desperate to break through. You couldn’t name or number them if you tried but you don’t have to, because Yunho is there— his hands are on your skin, voice in your ear as he soothes you with whispered words you can’t comprehend.

“I’ve got you,” you finally make out. He says it again and again, over and over. It forms a familiar rhythm you can follow and cling to as you come back down to earth.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

He’s there when the fog clears, cradling your aching body in his arms. His smile is soft and fond but there’s a concern in his eyes as he looks you up and down. “How do you feel?” He asks.

You open your mouth but no words come; you make a soft, content-sounding noise, the best you can do for now, and he chuckles. “I’ll take that as ‘you’re fine’, then.”

He shifts slightly, adjusting you to hold you closer to his chest. You follow his heartbeat as it thuds lowly in his chest. You hadn’t expected this, really; he’d said aftercare was a non-negotiable for him, so you knew he wasn’t going to just fuck you and dip, but the care and tenderness with which he cradles and soothes you is almost as electric as the brutality of before. It’s as funny as it was, you suppose, inevitable— this man has violated you in every way, and yet you’ve never felt more safe than you do in his arms. Two separate faces; opposing but inseparable.

A while later, he asks if he can give you a bath and you nod. You’re strangely embarrassed as he lowers you into the hot water, quietly soothing you when you hiss as it touches the wounds on your ass and thighs; maybe it’s the tenderness of his care or the knowledge that every mark on your body was put there by him, but you feel oddly exposed.

Still, he’s careful as he holds you still, letting your aching joints soak as he cleanses you of the remnants of what he just did to you. When he lifts you out, wrapping you in a soft towel and carrying you back to bed, you feel like you’re floating on a cloud.

Your voice returns soon enough, and quickly something pushes through to the front of your mind. Still slightly in the haze of subspace as the last drops of adrenaline dissipate, it seems like a reasonable, if not pertinent question.

“Yunho,” you say. He makes a ‘hm?’ noise, squeezing your thigh in recognition. “Would you really have broken my bones?”

He laughs, and you feel his body shaking slightly. It feels… warm. Familiar. “No,” he says. “That’s just part of the game. My favourite part, actually.”

“What part?”

“Making you wonder if it’s really a game.”

Through the aching pain of your pussy, you feel a slight twinge, making you clench unconsciously. Oh.

“You had a safeword,” he says. “So I knew I could push you. But I didn’t do anything I wasn’t sure would make your little pussy throb.”

You can’t help but blush at his words, mewling slightly as you snuggle further into his hold. You could stay like this, wrapped in his strong arms and held securely against his chest, for a long, long time. You wonder if he could, too.

“Yunho,” you say softly.

“Will you stay?”

You glance at him nervously, afraid of his answer. He smiles, holding you closer. “As long as you need,” he says.

-

thank you for reading! comments/feedback/reblogs are appreciated! requests are open! love🖤🖤🖤

taglist open!

[mapileonxputellas]

A Blast From The Past (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

I hope you all enjoy...

I've slightly changed the last request but the previous context remains. Let me know if you want a part 2, any requests etc.

.....

Growing up you never used to believe in fate.

If fate was real then why did it feel like nothing ever went your way, why had you been given such a tough hand compared to near enough everyone else?

That was until you met her.

…..

13 years ago, 18 years old.

You’d been stood up. That much was plainly obvious right now. You should have listened to all the warnings from your friends, dating apps never worked. But how else were you meant to meet someone when you couldn’t afford to be going out every weekend and you were only surviving financially due to the waitressing job you’d taken on.

It was meant to be something fun, to take your mind off studying and then you got messaging one girl, Isobel, who seemed keen to go out for a few drinks. And that’s how you found yourself sitting, alone, in a bar on a Saturday night an hour after you’d agreed to meet.

The margarita in front of you was doing nothing to stop your mood worsening by the minute, if not by the second. Barcelona was your favourite city in the world but now being sat alone in a city where everyone seemed to be enjoying life, it was only rubbing you up the wrong way.

You’d been working all day and now you’d wasted a good amount of that money on two drinks without any company. It wasn’t like they were bad drinks but you didn’t have that money to spare.

Medical school had been a dream for you, it was now a reality but that didn’t come with sacrifices, including moving to the other side of the country. You were here on a scholarship but that only covered the university fees and your accommodation, the rest came from the job you had to work every Saturday and Sunday. You loved your parents but they could barely get by with your two other siblings never mind covering your new life in the city.

“Are you just going to stare at that glass all night?” You almost jumped at that soft voice coming out of nowhere before probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen sat on the stool next to you. The question left unanswered as you basically drowned in those bright blue eyes. “Hello?”

“Sorry, sorry I was just about to leave.”

“Not on my account I hope.”

“No, my night is over.”

“You got all dressed up just to sit on your own all night?” Oblivious to you, Alexia had been watching the girl sat in the little black dress at the bar all night, waiting for you to be joined by someone and once her friends left, she couldn’t help but make her way over.

The question probably wasn’t meant to rile you up as much as it did. “Yeah well that’s not your problem.” You stood up to grab your purse when a hand wrapped around your wrist stopping your movement. “Everything OK?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m sorry.” She noticed the eyes on her hand and removed it immediately. “It wasn’t meant like that, no-one should spend the evening alone. Never mind someone as beautiful as you. One more drink on me?”

“No offence but I don’t even know your name.”

“Alexia Putellas.” Alexia, the name fit. “Now, how about a drink?”

“One drink.”

……

That one drink changed your life. You stayed in that bar all night, the two of you moving into the corner in your own little world until you were kicked out at closing time.

From there it spiralled.

You were only 18 but there was no doubt in your mind that this was love. For six months you spent the best part of all your free time together, which somehow wasn’t even enough. Alexia, who you found out was an aspiring footballer as well as completing a business degree, became a regular in the café as you worked and you spent an awful lot of time waiting for her in the freezing cold following training.

You weren’t surprised when she asked you to meet her family. Alexia made it official within two months and now she wanted to share you. She talked a lot about her sister, Alba, and she worshipped her mother, assuring you they were the loveliest people, but that didn’t make it any less nerve wracking.

“I promise everything will be fine.” Alexia assured you, her hand almost numb from how tight you were gripping it as the two of you sat outsider her home. “They will love you, just like I do.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Now let’s go in before Alba eats all the food.”

If Alexia had it her way you’d be meeting all her family in one go, all the aunts, cousins, extended family at a big family gathering. You’d managed to tone it down to just her mum and sister and a relaxed family meal. The rest would happen eventually.

You’d never met a girlfriend’s family before, in fact you’d never had a girlfriend full stop before Alexia. But you never imagined it would be this awkward.

It was all smiles at first and whenever Alexia was in the room, but the second she left it was like a switch flicked.

“Alexia tells us you’re a waitress.” Alba started, the 15-year-old not hiding her judgement but Alexia had told you all about the teenager’s tetchy mood most of the time.

“I am, I think everyone knows Alexia’s order off by heart now she’s in there so often.”

“We noticed, she was late to her cousin’s birthday last week because she’d been there.” Eli noted. “In fact if she’s not playing she’s almost always there.”

You’d couldn’t miss the disdain in her voice. “I know, it’s the only way we can spend time together.”

“Who’s spending time together?” Alexia asked returning from the kitchen, her hand immediately coming back to rest on your thigh.

“Your lovely girlfriend was just telling us all about her café.” The mask was completely back up.

“I should take you all one week, they all love me in there.” They did. “Now come on, lets eat.”

The dinner continued with no sense of the obvious tension between the three of you, at least in Alexia’s mind. In your mind all you could think about was the glares you would receive every so often, the tuts that were made when you’d make any comment.

“Have you met Y/N’s family yet Alexia?” Eli asked her daughter once you were finished eating.

“Not yet.”

“My family live near Seville, they aren’t able to come and visit me here with my two siblings being in school.” It was partially the truth. The other half was that they couldn’t afford it and what good would it be when you would be working anyway. “Maybe in the summer when it’s a bit less busy we’ll be able to work something out.”

“I don’t think I could live on the other side of the country.” Alba commented. “I just love my family too much to move away.”

Of course that was a burn, you didn’t have a choice in the matter, the best scholarship and medical school was in Barcelona.

“We wish you would.” Alexia joked with her sister. “Family is the most important thing, I’m sure even across the country that doesn’t change.”

Alexia had done a good job, unknowingly, of protecting you from them. That was until at the end of the meal she received a call from her agent which couldn’t be ignored.

“I’ll be back.” She signalled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before moving out of the room. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

Again that switch was flicked.

“Look, we can see it’s clear how much you like Alexia.” Eli started. “We’re just concerned that all of this is starting to have a negative impact on her career.”

“Alexia is always training.” You argued. “She’s playing for Barcelona.”

“And yet when she could be training or analysing the game at the weekend she’s sat waiting for you. She can’t spend any time getting to know her teammates.”

“I’ve never stopped that.”

“She’s distracted right now, she’s blind right now but we’re not. We need to protect her future and if you liked her as much as you claim to do then you’ll see it that way as well.”

“I can’t make her not spend time with me.” You never forced the girl, she just showed up at your work one day and never left.

“No, but you can break up with her.” Alba spit it out. “Don’t ruin her future for the sake of a young fling. You know how much she wants to be a footballer, that needs her focus.”

“What about what she wants right now?”

“She knows football has to be her greatest love, the pain will be less now than in a few years’ time when you have to move back home and she has to stay here. It will never work.”

You could ignore the previous comments, you knew how much Alexia wanted to be the best but you always need a life away from your work. You did however know that once this degree was complete you couldn’t afford to stay in Barcelona. You’d have to move away and Alexia would have to stay here.

That’s how on a cold night in February, you made the sacrifice for both yourself and Alexia, the text was sent breaking both your hearts in the process.

…..

March 2025, 31 years old

Barcelona.

The city where it all began, and the city you found yourself in 13 years later.

Medical school had been hard but from the first placement you knew you wanted to be a surgeon. That adrenaline rush was addictive and you’d never tire of that feeling after surgery when you’d made a difference.

You completed medical school with commendations across the board and managed to land yourself a place in a prestigious training facility in Madrid.

Madrid was an amazing experience, you learnt from the best and built up a reputation for yourself in medical circles, however it wasn’t Barcelona.

Barcelona may have been the place you felt your first heartbreak but it was also the place you made some amazing friends. It was home.

So when you got the opportunity to go back and work in main hospital in Barcelona you took it with both hands. You were home.

“We’ve had a request.” The other senior surgeon came into your office one morning, a few weeks into your new job. “FC Barcelona have a player who’s injured their ankle, we usually treat their patients and I’d like it if we worked on this one together.”

“Really?”

“The only way you learn is by doing. It’s quite a complex case. If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” Of course you didn’t mind the knee replacements, the broken arms. But you wanted more.  “When do we get started.”

“They’re coming in tomorrow. We’ll do the assessment and go from there.”

It’s fair to say the next morning you were buzzing. This is all you’ve ever wanted and it was becoming true. You’d barely slept the night before thinking about everything you’d learnt, ankle injuries were common in football and came in a range of forms.

“They’re here.”

You looked up from where you were positioned at one side of the large table, slowly nursing the strongest coffee you could find. You were expecting to find the harsh glare of an angry footballer, instead you looked up to find those blue eyes you’d fell for over a decade ago. Of course.

Except she wasn’t alone and maybe you let out a breath of relief when it was the other younger woman by her side who was sporting the crutches.

“Miss Nazereth, Miss Putellas this is Miss Y/L/N she will be working alongside me throughout this process.” Your colleague introduced you and it took all your strength to manage to muster a little ‘hi’.

“Call me Kika,” The other woman gave you a comforting smile, probably what you should have been doing. “This is Alexia, I hope it’s OK I brought her.”

That snapped you back, you had a job to do. “Of course, whatever makes you feel comfortable.” You gave them both a smile, greeting the other Barcelona staff who entered the room and taking your seat.

The only thing you could do was avoid eye contact and get on with your job. You might not have seen her in the flesh for over a decade but it’s hard to avoid Alexia Putellas. You could do little else but watch on proudly as she won accolade after accolade.

“Let’s take a look at the scans…..”

It’s fair to say you’ve never been quite as distracted as you were in that meeting. You noted down all the important bits, the plan you made for her recovery, a complex ligament injury which would require surgery in the coming weeks.

Keeping concentrated was slightly harder though when the woman directly across from you was who she was. As the meeting was closing you dared to glance up and was almost surprised when her gaze was already on your own, a slight smile matched by your own before you both broke eye contact.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you.” You shook hands with Kika as you all moved to the exit. “If you ever need anything, I’ll give you my card. Any questions, day or night.”

“Thank you.” You could read most people like books and you could tell she was terrified and upset.

“Miss Putellas.” You shook her hand, keeping things professional. “Good to see you.”

“You too, I know Kika is in good hands.”

“Thank you.”

…..

“What happened to you in there?” Kika asked her captain, Alexia driving the two back to the training ground. “In that meeting the other day you couldn’t stop asking questions.”

“What am I meant to ask? They’re surgeons they know better than you and I what’s going to happen.”

“I’ve never seen you that quiet.”

The words do tend to be knocked out of your head when you see someone again for the first time in 13 years, all the confusion and heart break came flooding back. “I was just thinking.”

“What do you think about that surgeon by the way?”

“What about her?” Alexia immediately responded.

“I’m trying to set Ewa up with someone and she seemed nice. She said she didn’t want a footballer and well, a surgeon definitely isn’t one of those.”

“Let her do her job Kika.” Alexia scolded the youngster, not about to let this happen. “No setting anyone up, I’m sure she’s got better things to do than be with a footballer anyway.”

“If you say so.”

“I do, now let me know when your next appointment is and I’m more than happy to come with you again.”

“Thank you Alexia.”

She’d take the thanks even if it was slightly misplaced. She had questions and they weren’t going to go away any time soon.

“I’m going to need that card by the way.”

[lucy-literates]

First of all thank you that you write my requests even if you have a lot to do, I appreciate it 🫶🏾

I loved Too much, it was touching and I love it, when the whole grid is involved 😊

I do have another idea :)

A younger reader (28) again, I just love it 🙈 and Lewis dates the reader for a stupid bet, but they were all drunk and forgot the bet.

They fall for eachother but the reader overhears them talking about it, but Lewis gets it right with a happy ending 😊

Lots of love :)

A/N: Sorry for being away for so long, I guess you could say I had some writers block for a while. I hope you enjoy this :)

Didn’t Mean To, Meant It Anyway

It started as a stupid game. Champagne, music, and too many bored millionaires crammed into someone’s Monaco rooftop villa trying to one-up each other with dares that got dumber by the hour.

You weren’t supposed to be there.

You didn’t usually do this — parties full of egos and Rolexes, girls in heels sharp enough to stab, laughter so fake it echoed hollow. But your friend dragged you out and swore it’d be fun. Said you needed to let loose. Said you deserved a night to feel expensive.

You were sipping a drink too pink and too strong when you felt eyes on you. That kind of stare you could feel before you even turned around. Heat on your skin, goosebumps despite the heat.

And then — there he was.

Lewis Hamilton. Formula One legend. Ridiculously handsome. And apparently, already walking toward you with the kind of confidence you only see in slow-motion movie scenes.

"Hi," he said, flashing you a smile that could’ve sold perfume in Paris.

You raised a brow, amused. "You always approach strangers like they’re already yours?"

His smile widened. "Only when they look like they could ruin me."

Somewhere behind him, Carlos whooped. You didn’t notice. Not yet.

You gave him your name. And your number. And the kind of half-smile that said, I don’t usually do this, but I might make an exception for you.

You didn’t know he’d just been dared to ask you out. Didn’t know it was a joke between drivers — A week. Bet you can’t keep her around longer than that.

And Lewis? He didn’t think it mattered. You’d both be over it by next week.

Except… you weren’t.

It started with a brunch date the next morning, because he didn’t want to waste time. He showed up in sunglasses and a hoodie, somehow looking both lowkey and magnetic.

You teased him the whole way through. "Didn’t think you were the pancakes and oat milk kind of guy."

"Only for you," he said, and God help you, he meant it a little more than he meant to.

What followed wasn’t what either of you expected.

You fit into each other's worlds more easily than you should’ve. He brought you to the paddock once and regretted it instantly when you pointed out exactly how the FIA’s regulations were gender-biased before he could even order lunch.

You laughed at his terrible Spotify playlists. He listened to you talk about your job, your dreams, your childhood cat, like it was the most interesting thing in the universe. He made you tea at 2 a.m. when you couldn’t sleep. You wore his hoodie and didn’t give it back. He let you steal fries off his plate without a word.

By the end of the second week, you were sleeping at his place more than your own. By the third, he’d introduced you to Roscoe. By the fourth, you were wondering when the floor was going to drop from under you because this — This felt real.

And Lewis?

He hadn’t thought about the bet since the first date.

It was a stupid coincidence.

You were early to his place, armed with coffee and a smug text ready to send when he opened the door.

He didn’t hear you come in — still out on the balcony, laughing into the phone.

You paused, not wanting to interrupt.

“…Yeah, it started as a bet,” Lewis said, chuckling.

Your stomach dropped.

Your brain scrambled for context. A bet? What bet?

“But I forgot it was a joke after the second date. I’m serious, mate — she’s different. Smart as hell, doesn’t put up with my shit. I think I—”

You left.

Quietly. Before he could say another word. Before he could explain. Before he could break your heart any more than he already had.

You ghosted him.

Didn’t answer the door. Didn’t reply to texts. Didn’t even let your friends say his name in your presence.

Lewis spiraled — a little more each day.

He’d thought he’d been careful. Not because he was hiding anything, but because this wasn’t about the bet anymore. Hadn’t been for weeks. He wasn’t playing. He hadn’t been playing since you first kissed him and told him you’d never felt more seen.

And now?

He’d lost you over the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

But he wasn’t giving up.

It started with a note slipped under your door.

Then flowers. Then another note. Then him, sitting on your doorstep, looking like hell, holding your necklace in his hands like it was sacred.

“I never meant for it to be real,” he said when you finally opened the door one rainy afternoon. “But then you happened. And it’s the only thing that feels real anymore.”

You crossed your arms, silent. Watching.

He swallowed, eyes searching yours. “It was a dare. One night. And then I got to know you. And now I’m ruined. Properly. Because I love you, and I don’t even know if you’ll ever let me prove it.”

You stared at him for a long time.

“You bet on me,” you said softly.

He nodded. “And I lost. Because I fell. Hard.”

You didn’t say anything.

You just stepped aside. Let him in.

A few months later, after slow mornings and long drives and everything he promised he’d never take for granted again — he clipped a necklace around your neck.

A quiet gesture. A new start.

You glanced down. A small, simple charm.

“No bet this time?” you whispered.

Lewis smiled against your skin, his lips brushing your shoulder.

“No bet,” he murmured. “Just a promise.”

Tag List:

@alexxavicry

@k-1609

@alyislost

@supersanelyromantic 

@astrlape

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-BLpv0xQYd1bTlaP7l1gAg8AgCyLE_yvrtljpCzlJhY/edit?usp=drivesdk

[luffysprincess]

LIE DETECTOR TEST : BACHIRA MEGURU

⊹ summary : the blue lock boys are invited to take a lie detector test, but they’ve got to answer twitter’s unfiltered questions

⊹ pairing : bachira meguru x reader (established relationship)

⊹ wc : 640

⊹ warnings : fem!reader with she/her pronouns, reader is referred to as a “wife”, suggestive/nsfw. MINORS DNI

⊹ a/n : i recommend reading isagi’s version first for more context and a hugee thank you to @nymphsdomain for finding the link to a rb and to aali <3 (@tteokdoroki ) for reblogging this and isagi’s parts in the first place bc shes the reason these could even be found again!! 

⊹ isagi’s version I kunigami’s version

Isagi could only huff out as he tucked his phone back into his pockets. He should’ve expected this honestly, considering he’s known the man for years now.

It’s been quite some time since Bachira’s been hooked up to the machine. Only a few minutes were spent calibrating it with some straightforward questions, but since then, he’s gone into full, honest detail to every question Twitter had for him. And it had every person in the room looking at him with either pure shock and/or amusement.

“…and that’s when I had her squirting all over the back of the team’s bus”

Kunigami spit out his water, and Isagi’s eyes grew wider than ever before as they both turned to him.

“What?! When did this happen?!”

Bachira chuckled at their reaction, “Last match ♡”

“Milo?”

“No lies so far,” Milo laughed.

“Wait…don’t Rin and Barou always sit in the back…“

“Yup” Bachira answered proudly.

“Oh my god. They’re gonna kill you when they watch this.”

“That’s if they watch it. Which they won’t.”

“Alright next question! Twitter user @/bachirasbitch asks What’s your wildest sexual fantasy and why does it include me?”

Kunigami whistles, “Your fans are just as shameless as you”.

“They’re right though. It does include them. And the rest of my fans too.” Bachira chuckles at the looks he’s getting from his teammates before continuing, “I’ve always wanted an audience for what me and Y/N do behind closed doors. I think it’d be pretty exciting knowing someone’s watching me pleasure my wife.”

“You should make an only fans account then,” the interviewer suggests. “Your fans would probably love that.”

“Now who says I don’t already have one,” he winks back.

“Well do you?”

“I don’t have to answer that. I’m here to answer Twitter, not you” he grins.

“Fair enough,” the man sighs. “Let’s see, we’ve got time for one more question for you. @/bluelickmyclit asks What’s the most awkward thing that’s ever happened between you and one of your teammates?”

“Ooh I like this question.”

“I don’t” chimed Isagi.

“So before my wife and I moved into our apartment, we used to be next door neighbors with Yoichi. The way the floor plan was had us sharing a wall between our bedrooms. I know, silly design. Now this happened quite some time ago; before I got married, and back when this guy—” he points his thumb over to Isagi who’s hiding his face in his hands “—was single. I don’t know if I’d call this the most awkward incident but it was pretty awkward, ‘cause there wasn’t a single night we went to sleep without hearing him moan out Y/N’s name. And I mean every night—“

“Ok!” Isagi interrupted, cheeks and ears tinted pink. “I think they get it”

“I don’t know why it took him so long to realize the walls were paper thin. Y/N and I aren’t exactly the quietest people out there. He had to have heard us every night too— ow” Isagi cut him off with a punch to the arm, sick of his teasing which only furthered Bachira’s amusement.

“I hope you know Y/N found it very flattering”

“Shut up and take the cuffs off.”

“She thinks it was cute”

“Kunigami, hurry up and connect to the machine.”

“I’m rather enjoying this, actually. How often was this happening again?”

“Every night” Bachira and Kunigami continue to tease Isagi, laughing at him as he attempts to unhook one teammate and attach the sensors to the other instead.

Bachira had never had so much fun in an interview before. He couldn’t wait to go home and tell you all about it and then watch it with you when it aired. But for now, he’d enjoy messing with his friends like this. And now that Kunigami was up next, he was looking forward to it even more.

[comingyourlugubriousness]

GGWP Idia Shroud's Character Song - AKA a diss track to masses and a cry for help.

( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

Hi, this is just my analysis of the song lyrics.

It was stuff I talked to my dear friend @bunnwich about and wanted to share. I included some of their thoughts in green text.

Everyone's entitled to their own way of thinking this is just my take!

I looked up a couple different translations but this translation is by @mysteryshoptls this post here. So thank you! Translators are the backbone of the community. <3

Spoilers for song obviously and Chapter 6 spoilers, general Idia backstory spoilers.

Start:

"Na nanana na-na na nanana Na nanana na-na na nanana-na Na nanana na-na na nanana-na Na nanana na-na na nanana-na Na nanana na-na na nanana-na Na nanana na-na na nanana"

The intro is a mocking and childish intro. A common nonsense phrase said in English, along the lines of “na na na, you can’t catch me.”  At the very start of the song Idia mocking the person listening, already looking down on them?

“Always keep grinding! Only be positive!” “Overthinking is a high-caloric drag.” They bum-rush in and just spam good vibes. But forcing happy endings only trigger rage-quits.

Idia is making fun of the over-positive, extrovert lifestyle he sees people around him have. People who, from his perspective, seem insincere and don’t think enough about their actions and words nor how those actions and words affect others (like him). Instead he believes people force interaction using only “good vibes” and shallow niceties to navigate social interactions. (Think like when people ask how you're doing, but you know they don’t really care. It’s just the polite thing to say.) 

But as he says, forcing such insincere kindness on someone without genuine thought/care behind it only makes him angry. It makes him want to stop interacting with people all together.

Someone takes an L each second, So ain't it all just a waste? Even if you scream into the void of the cosmos, You think anyone will care?

This stanza reflects one major belief Idia has, there is endless suffering all the time. Every moment someone is suffering; life is suffering. So isn’t it just a waste to try? Why not just accept that? If you yell, scream, complain and whine about how hard your life is no one will care. So keep it to yourself.

“What is the point of life if you're just going to die? Shouldn’t we just skip to that end.”

To Idia, there is no point in doing anything if he feels the end result will be bad (which he often does.)

Bunnwich also mentioned the “someone takes an L every second” line could be a reference to the death counter in Disney’s Hercules; possibly even a reference to the idea that a person dies every second. It’s a pretty flippant view of dying, which makes sense since he had such a close experience of death at a young age. Joking about death is a way of minimizing it; making a joke out of it makes it so you don’t have to really face it.

“Like a game-breaking glitch, I just mask my feels and play nice, Pretending to be chill, slowly building affection. No use tryin' to breach my firewalls, tho… Sigh… They just don't get it.”

Because of all these thoughts, views, and trauma brought on by his life’s experience. Idia chooses to keep to himself, tries to hide how he feels, “playing nice” and being polite to a minimal degree, LITERALLY MASKING. But it's always while keeping people at arms length; slowly forming those connections that are necessary for him to move forward and survive, but never letting it get to the point of real connection. 

Here is the general summary of what “masking” is for people who aren’t aware:

Masking, also called camouflaging or compensating, is when individuals repress or hide signs of a mental health condition to blend in or adapt to the neurotypical world.

The concept is primarily used in the context of autism, but it can apply to ADHD and other mental health conditions as well.

While this technique can be advantageous in some ways, by creating greater integration in settings such as education or employment, it can come with heavy psychological costs, such as stress, exhaustion, burnout, and loss of identity.

Which leads to another core concept of Idia’s life: 

Never letting people truly know him.

And Bunnwich brought up another point about the line:

“No use tryin' to breach my firewalls, tho… Sigh… They just don't get it.”

This is an idea that I explored in my previous fanfic a long time ago before Chapter 6 dropped:

Bunnwich: It’s worth noting that Idia’s choose to not get close to people isn’t really a choice, even if he wanted to he CAN’T because of his secret life at STYX. Any person that finds out the full scope of his life will have their memories erased and they will be forced to forget him along with everything else.

Exactly, so why would you waste time getting close to someone who in the end won’t stay with you?

Or worse, even if he cared about someone who wanted to stay with him, why would he doom them to the very existence he hates so much? 

He shouldn’t get close to people not just to protect himself, but them as well.

I'm too OP, Just too legendary, An undead on the cusp of burning to ashes.

Idia’s classic contradiction mindset. His overconfidence and self deprecating mindset back to back in just a few lines. One second he’s too good for other people, then the next moment he’s not good enough. He is constantly othering himself.

For the line: “An undead on the cusp of burning to ashes.”

Bunnwich: Idia is putting himself on a pedestal as a God, yet somehow it's still derogatory.

Our dark past is blasting off, Come Show And on all the worthless NPCs out there, we RAID

These lines are kinda hard because it's a line written in English by most likely non native English speakers. But I think since all these songs seem to represent the victims thoughts during peak overblot. It's Idia revealing the dark past he tried to hide, and ”raiding” the life of normal “worthless” people that don’t have power/purpose like he or the rest of his bloodline does.

Bunnwich: Distancing himself from others and making them NPCs in his brain, again putting himself in this "godlike" position while clearly still envying "normies".

Loot drops, dungeon quests, dailies, I'm grinding so hard that I got no time to sleep. While you all are just chillin', I'm gonna give this world a clean install.

Again. When talking about Idia it's important to know Game references = coping mechanism and metaphors for life. His daily life is full of duties and “quests” that normal people don’t have to deal with. He is trying to idealize this life while also being clearly envious of people who get to relax and not have to worry about having responsibility like this.

So he is going to change the world as he knows it. “Reset it”

u alwz wnt a new gm. don u? i kno ur the new gm 4 me gg well played, gg well played ez noob lol ur ez noob lol

Cringe idia is cringe. Lol. But in all seriousness he is once again addressing the bright eyed masses.

 Life = A game.

“u alwz wnt a new gm. don u?”

(The carefree masses) Are always looking for a new experience? A new “game”? 

“i kno ur the new gm 4 me”

Idia here is offering his ideal world, his new way of living for him and Ortho as the new game. His game. A game for once where HE is in control of not just his life, BUT ALL LIFE. The ultimate Game Master.

“Gg well played, and ez noob lol”, is him mocking the masses again. Because it's already over, he’s already won.

“Fight on! That's the spirit! The power of friendship?” There ain't squads like that IRL.

This line is interesting to me, because based on things we know about Idia while he acknowledges that the idea of the “Fighting Spirit” and “Power of Friendship” mindset are something he doesn’t stand by irl, but it is something idealizes and enjoys on some level. (One of his fav anime is a slice of life, sports anime about an all girl sledding team. You telling me that shit isn’t all about the “fighting spirit” and “power of friendship”? (Okay king, keep lying to yourself, acting like you aren’t actually craving meaningful bonds. #clocked)

It’s also interesting because he doesn’t actually insult the idea, he just says it doesn’t exist in real life, almost implying he wishes it does? But that could be stretching it.

There's always one boss fight after another, I'm salty when players can AFK their quests.

Life is just one big obstacle after another, full of “boss battles” that he has to focus hard on and use his energy towards, but what's difficult for him is easy for others; they don’t have to focus or try hard like he does. They can just “AFK” through those things, like it's easy.

Pressure is at max level from all sides, With vibe-checkers forcing their hype on others. Who knows how long I'll be stuck in a role I don't even want, Did your eyes stop working from having to read between all those lines?

This is funny because he's literally telling you to look beyond what he’s saying, there's more to his words than what they appear. Idia doesn’t just dislike normal or even extroverted people just because they bother him. It's because he envies their carefree life.  He’s pressured by his family to live out his duty as head of STYX, he’s pressured by “normies” that don’t know anything about him to “be normal” and "have fun” when they don’t even have the slightest idea of what life is like. (Again, insincere kindness.)

He’s stuck in a role he doesn’t want. 

Idia wishes he could be and live normal more than anything. And that is one key core of his character.

Idia wishes he could be and live normal more than anything.

This path is a heavy load even for the ultimate underworld class. A total catastrophe just lurks, You better laugh while you still can. Sigh… They just don't realize.

The pain, weight, and isolation of his duties is too much; even for someone like him who grew up being prepared for his very role. Nobody notices how it's weighing on him (probably not even his family), how he’s spiraling deeper into it. Like a ticking bomb, a disaster just a single thread away from unwinding. That’s why he’s so accepting of his overblot.

Again, interestingly repeating the lines “They just don’t get it. They just don’t realize.” He feels nobody can understand him. And on some level, he is right. The only person who could really understand what he’s going through was Ortho and well…

Got no danger sense, Just too carefree, A rampage on the cusp of a breakdown.

Again mocking people for not noticing something he thinks should be obvious (his imminent crashout). He’s mocking and envying people for once again being too carefree.

The words a rampage on the cusp of a breakdown is a really good way of describing how Idia’s negative feelings show. The anger we see when his flames flare red is really just a cover for his sadness and grief which are the source of his anger.

All that hype's blasting off, Come Show There's no honor in helpin' us, what a JOKE

The one here that’s interesting is the joke part. My interpretation of this is that he believes his family's duty is a joke. That their curse is supposed to be helping the world be rid of and understand blot is a joke to him if it means that he and Ortho can’t live freely. 

Our dark past is blasting off, Come Show And on all the worthless NPCs out there, we RAID

(Again the chorus line.)

Limit breaks, login bonuses, epic losses, and rankings, I keep on pinging my PC like it's my lifeline. While you all are just partyin', I'm gonna give every single thing a clean install.

Again, a gaming metaphor for life. Limit breaks (Idia pushing himself), login bonuses (waking up everyday and getting through life), epic losses, and rankings. (Both self-explainatory.)

The PC line is interesting as it affirms that Idia uses the internet and by extension media & hobbies to cope. His hobbies, his distractions, escapism, is his only lifeline to keep himself going in this life that’s already decided for him.

It's also worth mentioning in a game when you “ping” it’s trying to draw attention to a certain area, usually one that needs assistance. That you are trying to communicate and reach out to your team. 

Bunnwich: A cry for help.

u alwz wnt a new gm. don u? i kno ur the new gm 4 me gg well played gg well played ez noob lol ur ez noob lol u alwz wnt a new gm. don u? (Na nanana na-na na nanana-na) i kno ur the new gm 4 me (Na nanana na-na na nanana-na) gg well played, gg well played (Na nanana na-na na nanana-na) ez noob lol ur ez noob lol (Na nanana na-na na nanana)

(Again after all the stuff that he mentions, in the end he just goes back to  mocking the masses; with childish behavior.)

Final thoughts:

Sound wise, to me this is very reminiscent of older vocaloid songs, that sound silly, sweet, or funny, but then you translate to the lyrics and it's literally the saddest shit you’ve ever read. The style also is pretty consistent with some forms of Japanese Rap; the beat and feel of GGWP reminds of the song: “Bling‐Bang‐Bang‐Born”by Creepy Nuts. The opening verses come out with a similar cadence. Very fast with, tones up and down for exaggeration. 

I’ve seen a couple people’s opinions about the song and I think it's very easy to dismiss it as “haha he’s rapping and that's silly. Gamer rapper.” It is silly, Idia is a silly character. But he’s also very tragic and like all the other twst characters you cannot just take his words at face value if you want to analyze their character and the media as a whole. 

This song seems like a cry for help (hahaha lowkey tho). It’s very in character, full of gaming references and slang that if you aren’t aware of can make the song confusing as a whole and difficult to understand. Just like Idia as a character. 

It's not for everyone, and I get that.

In the end, the song is about Idia’s envy/bitterness of people with normal life, the overwhelming burden he feels from his predetermined duty in life, his aversion for people to truly know him, the way he masks his true emotions/pain/guilt, and his “need” to keep people at arms length to protect himself and them.

...

BUT HEY, THAT’S JUST MY OPINION! Feel free to think what ya want. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Thanks for reading!

[orphicsun]

craving a soft, sweet make out sesh with vi

you can imagine s1 vi or s2 with this one, I know I definitely went overboard with the context to why they’re making out I’m sorry if this isn’t what you were expecting but I like making my requests unique. Thank you for this request though I kind of needed a break from writing filthy smut (as much as I love to do that, too)

Content: 654 words, soft make-out sesh, fluff, this isn’t sexual so if that’s what you’re expecting I have other fics!:3

I see Vi as the type of person to be rough when she wants to be but with you? She could spend hours just softly smothering your lips with hers, not even pulling away when it's over but rather resting her forehead against yours so she can feel the life of oxygen flow through you, the warm breath so she knows that you're alive and all hers. She likes to slide her tongue over you with no real destination or finish line and know that your heart is still beating just as fast as if she were doing more, but you know that she would stick by your side even if these soft, sweet kisses are the only thing she is given. It is all she needs.

🍥

Vi wasn’t much of a soft person, like, ever. Pretty brash and called reckless by almost everyone in her life, loved the feeling of fighting, and somehow, she was still soft as ever in the ways that counted.

With you, she craved to be soft. She trusted you with her heart enough that she would spill all of her emotions and issues out whenever the two of you were alone, let you comfort her so softly, and feel the way you softly squeeze her hand.

She can’t help it - not when you’re looking at her so sweetly as she tells you things she has never confessed to in her life before. She needs you, and so she cups your face and pulls you in for a soft kiss.

She doesn’t rush or force her tongue down your throat. Her lips are warm and you can slightly feel the scar on her upper lip against your lips and you just want to take care of her, make her feel like she will always have you. Because she really will. But strangely enough, Vi has a way of spoiling you far too much to even give you the chance to reciprocate, and so you’ll let her devour your lips in such a loving way.

Her hands pull at your hips and you soon find yourself in her lap. You don’t expect anything more to come from this, and that feels just right to you. Feeling Vi’s tongue softly lick into your mouth, feeling her hands rub over your waist but never too sexually or too roughly, it is enough.

You were always told that when someone truly loves a girl, they don’t always kiss her like they’re desperate to own her or like they’d explode without her. That’s good fun, but they take their time with her. They’re able to kiss her like they’re underwater and everything is simply slow motion because then, both of you are vulnerable and the drowning in each other’s lips takes longer. Vi kisses her girl like the two of you can kiss forever, and you can feel how she slightly quivers against your lips with all of her emotions forefront. She doesn't want to nibble on your lip but rather feel it between your teeth and pull away only to just feel your lips against hers, not even having to slide against them in any way but feel the way your lips are swollen and wet with her own saliva, it is so intimate with Vi and yet so, so sweet. When she loves, she loves deeply, intimately.

Her lips finally leave your mouth but only to trail sweet kisses down your jaw and onto your neck, soft pecks turning into the wet of her tongue branded onto your skin so sensually, you’re reacting all the same as if she were biting and taking you. She holds you while she lavishes attention onto your throat, softly tells you how much she loves you and how grateful she is to have you, and after a long while later she will hold you close to her and let you sleep on top of her.

[dolliedyhard]

I’ve changed many things about my Jeff over the months so it’s time 4 an update! A lot of this is copy & pasted from the old hc’s but ofc there r many new ones as well. I also made the og hc’s post private. Other than reposts u can’t access it. If i come up wit moar ideaz, I might make a part 2 or edit dis post.

To find moar information about mah Jeff, read my creepypasta AU under his section. I left some info out from here bc itz just repeating what waz said there. The doc will also expand on certain headcanons + give them moar context. So if ya interested in dat, read mah doc.

HERE HE IS! (๑>◡<๑) This is liek my “official” design 4 him. I rlly didn’t like the last ver OMGG.

♥︎Attributes♥︎

He loves keeping his hair long. He’ll never CONSIDER cutting it short. His hair is one of his favorite parts of himself.

He for certain wants his hair to be down to his waist one day

Hair type is 1c

Jeff’s hair is naturally brown. When the “incident” happened the fire made his hair temporarily black. (Ik that’s not how real logic works but cmon let me have fun >:c)

After a few months his hair went back to brown

Now he dyes his hair black bc he prefers it that way.

He smells like incense and ash

His veins are most visible in his forearms and hands

Still no voice claim :/ but if i find one I’ll update

He has dark circles under his eye from staying up for days at end

He got some sharp ass canine teeth. In my AU he got bit by a vampire. He didn’t get turned into one bc the transformation was stopped right after his vamp fang came in. #ISupportVampireJeffTheKiller!!!!1!!11!!!! X3

Warm to the touch. Doesn’t matter what season it is, his body manages to retain a significant amount of body heat.

His skin is literally ghost white. This due to bleach, lack of sunlight, and frequent blood loss.

♥︎Personality♥︎

When meeting him for the first time he comes off as an asshole.

He insults everyone and it’s hard to hell if he’s joking or not.

And if he’s really pissed he’ll get REAL creative with the insults.

Swears like a sailor

Jeff loves stroking his ego, it’s so obnoxious but he could care less.

Lowkey thinks he better than everyone

LAWD he’s handsome and he knows it

Doesn’t care about ur personal space

Will creep up on u to whisper shit in ur ear to scare you. And other stuff like that.

Gives people the nastiest stares of all time. And I dare u too say something to him about it, he’ll square TF UP.

Says some really offensive shit but he doesn’t care if you get upset because of it.

And he’ll say it loud and proud no matter how much of a dumbass he looks like saying it.

Jeff’s one of the most defiant proxies in the mansion

He listens to NO ONE and hates more than anything to be bossed around.

Though he partially listens to Slenderman, yk, bc he has to so he can live in the mansion. Masky too bc he’s Slenderman’s right hand man.

For Jeff it’s more about if you guys get along and have a good time together than having the same interests.

♥︎Interests♥︎

Wannabe lead guitarist

He’s not good enough to be the lead but his ego says otherwise.

He owns a sick ass guitar tho

Started out being emo in his early teens, now he’s more of a metal head.

(I don’t know much about nu-metal or any metal at ALL so I can’t rlly say who his favs are. SORRY IM AN EMO FUCK AT HEART OKAY???)

Listens to goth music occasionally too

Loves going to concerts no matter who’s performing

If you happen to bring up a band he’s seen live before he will 100% without fail say “I saw them live at _!” And will proceed to info dump about what went down.

Even worse if they were in their prime when he went.

Fashion wise he dresses alternative but it’s nothing fancy.

A band tee + hoodie or jacket, jeans, shoes (cons, or boots), for accessories belt and some spikes bracelets. That’s about it :v

Paints his nails black on special occasions

Likes to collect weird stuff

His biggest collection is of knifes

Some of them are ornamental and some he actually uses to kill

He gets the money to fuel his collection off the dead bodies of his victims

Also has a strange fascination with history

Specifically historical torture methods & atrocities

Sometimes he uses the same torture methods he learned about on his victims.

HUGE HORROR NERD

He collects dvds of slasher & horror movies

And of course you can’t forget about the vintage TV to play them on!

He’s not a fan of snuff films or gore videos

Killing🔪

To Jeff killing is something he does for 3 things. Survival, satisfaction, and emotional regulation.

Once he’s got you in his grasp you won’t make it out alive.

Jeff commits the worst murders when he’s having a IED or BPD episode.

He’s not a kidnapper type serial killer

He likes to get the job done by the end of the day at the longest

He loves the taste of blood and often licks it off his knife (ZOMG VAMP TENDENCIES!?!?!?!?!?!)

He thinks he can train himself to be able to taste the differences between blood types.

He just likes inflicting pain on complete strangers, it’s thrilling to him.

And it’s usually not a stab and go kill, when he first started out that’s how it was bc it was more for survival.

Now Jeff has the taste for blood. And he’s got some horrifyingly creative ways to extract it.

Nowadays you’ll be lucky if it’s a stab and go. His goal is to make sure u feel the agony, every. second. of. it.

He would never consider hurting someone close to him, that would severely fuck with him.

Since the murder of his family he has no one. So he cherishes the few people close to him a lot more than he used to.

He’s never had any regrets about any of the many murders he has committed.

The one and only time he’s ever felt bad about inflicting violence on someone is his older brother Liu.

xxx Vices xxx

Jeff is a regular smoker (hence why he smells like ash)

He’s able to blow different shapes out of smoke

Prefers cigarettes over anything else

Hates vapes tho, he think they make you look like a massive pussy.

He’ll flat out refuse to fw you if you whip out your fruity-tuti flavored e-stick when yall go on a smoke break.

Jeff’s not a big drinker

Drinking just ups his already high sex drive to the max and he acts like a complete idiot when he’s drunk. Then after all that his hangover is fucking hell.

At the most he’ll get a bit tipsy cause the boost in arousal makes sex tenfold better.

Jeff has done hard drugs b4, Ben was the one who introduced it 2 him.

Jeff started doing drugs at 15

Jeff & Ben did heroin and cocanie together

♥︎A/N: Btw in my au Jeff had a much shitter life than the og Jeffery Woods so all of this with context makes sense.

Jeff doesn’t s/h anymore but did it heavily in his teens before he went crazy.

His life was genuinely a miserable hellscape that was picking at his sanity and at every turn it only got worse.

His mother and father didn’t care about him at all. The only person that actually cared and loved Jeff was Liu. But Liu rarely showed any affection towards Jeff so it didn’t really matter how Liu felt about him.

No one knew what Jeff was doing to himself up until he ended up in the hospital with the gashes on his cheeks.

[flvorieas]

Stage Fright! Rockstar Eren! x Popstar Fem-Reader! ( Multi-chapter ! )

[ 📸 ] Chapter 1

Summary : Fresh out of rehab and clawing back what’s left of his career, Eren Jaeger is thrown into a reality show meant to clean up his image.You , pop’s golden girl are his forced costar. American’s sweetheart meets rock’s favorite disaster.The world sees a perfect PR stunt. You see a man still burning from the inside out. Living in the same house under constant cameras, you’re expected to smile, heal him, and play your part.But you’re not sure who’s unraveling faster him, or you.Sweet doesn’t last in a house built on damage.

Tags/Disclaimer : Rockstar!Eren Jaeger x Pop Star!Reader | Violence | Mentions of drugs and overdose | Depressed!Eren | Smut! will be added but not in the first chapter.

A/N: My dream fanfic is finally here!! I’ve been thinking about the vibes for months after seeing that rockstar Eren fanart. BEFORE YOU READ yes, I used Sabrina Carpenter’s personality and vibe as inspiration for the Reader’s character. The pop star context is super specific, and I couldn’t broaden the personality range too much without losing the vision. But when it comes to appearance, I’m not defining that feel free to imagine yourself however you want and represent yourself in this fic. I personally picture a pop star Reader who looks like Sabrina at this point, which is why I’ll be using her photos or aesthetics to match with Rockstar Eren. It just helps me visualize things while writing! If I don’t have a specific moodboard or visual reference, it’s really hard for me to stay motivated because my brain needs something to lock onto creatively. If that’s not your vibe, no worries just imagine it your own way! Have fun reading! 💿🖤🎸

Written by me , reblogs are appreciated!

WATTPAD VERSION

💌 - [1] , 2 ….

CHAPTER 1

Everyone's still screaming their lungs out even after you leave the stage, beaming with that signature bright smile. You make every girl in the crowd twirl and jump like they own the world. For you, that’s the most satisfying part. Fame tastes the sweetest when thousands are singing back your lyrics word for word. You didn’t just perform , you united people.

You run toward the backstage area of the festival . The air buzzed with leftover adrenaline. Crew members cheer as you pass. Your band. Your backup dancers. Your stylist. Everyone cheered for you. Everyone loves you.

You’re pop’s golden girl “media-trained perfection” wrapped in glitter and charm. A voice that melts charts. A presence that disarms critics. You’re the kind of artist parents trust, magazines idolize, and award shows worship.

This was your first time headlining Glastonbury. And you crushed it.

“And!! Like I said! Everyone LOVES pop music! You killed it, [Y/N]! No one’s topping that tonight!” Your manager, Hange, runs toward you, clapping hard and full of pride.

“Hange-san! I couldn’t have done it without you!” You dash up like a kid, throwing your arms around her like she’s your big-little sister.

“See? Even Taylor freaking Swift is watching you!”

Sasha, your stylist bread in one hand, phone in the other shoves a video clip in your face. 

You blink at the screen. A beat of silence fill the thrilling situation , 

“OH MY FREAKING GOOOOOODDD!!!!” You scream and jump, dragging Hange and Sasha into a three-way hug.

“Dude! You’re soaked in sweat!” Sasha grumbles, but you know she’s not serious. She still hugs back and kisses your temple.

“Since you’ve always wanted to collaborate with her, I’ll figure out how to get in touch. That’s a promise,” Hange says, giving you a proud pat. You smile towards her , still in disbelief . You can’t wait for that to happen , opening for your favorite artist is enough to fulfill your dream.

Fast forward.

You crash into your tour van, body exhausted. You let your arms go limp across the plush seat, wiping off the glitter stuck to your skin. Headliner pressure is a cocktail of anxiety, frustration, and trying way too hard to be perfect. But pop stars aren’t allowed to be human. You have to live like you’re something else. Untouchable. Unreal. That’s how you make your world feel magical for everyone else.

The door swings open.

Ymir walks in, all denim and combat boots, hands in her jacket pockets. Behind her is Historia, a famous beauty influencer with a phone in hand, mid-selfie.

“Sayyyy Glastonburyyyy,” Historia says in a syrupy, fake tone as she leans in and snaps a photo with you.You respond to it with a smirk and swat her with your neck pillow.

“Having fun, huh?” you say.

“Hey. You promised us something, remember?” Ymir grins, leaning against the wall.

A promise? You adjust your head roller and give her a confused look.

“See? Told you she forgot,” Historia chuckles.

“I let you guys in with artist passes, didn’t I? What else did I promise?”

“You said we’d spend time together tonight,” Ymir says, flopping onto the sofa and crossing her legs. “Like, actually hang out. Watch some bands. Chill.”

“What do you think I’m doing now? Planting a tree?” You raise a brow to tease Ymir , testing the waters.

“God, you’re annoying.” Ymir throws her head back while Historia laughs behind her screen.

“No, [Y/N]. You said we’d go see some underground acts. K-pop bands. Something lowkey.”

Oh. Right. You did promise that. But now? You’re one of the headliners. There’s no slipping into crowds anonymously. No way to sneak around.

“There’s still one act left….TITANS! We’ve got one minute before their set!” Ymir jumps up, dragging Historia with her.

TITANS? To you , that’s the stupidest band name you have ever heard in centuries.

“You don’t know them?” Ymir asks, raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head.

“I mean… they won some MTV awards last year. And the lead singer said something weird during his speech…”

“That’s Eren Jaeger! And he was right!” Ymir scoffs, throwing on a dramatic rocker voice: “I WANNA BLOW UP EIGHTY PERCENT OF THE MUSIC INDUSTRYYYY!”

You sigh lazily . Of course you know The TITANS. They’re the black sheep of the industry. No PR Training. Just chaos.

Especially Eren Jaeger. Lead singer. Guitarist. He's a walking disaster. He punches paparazzi, swears on live TV, and treats controversy like it’s foreplay. You remember watching a performance where he shot up before going on stage , like it was nothing. You felt it. That man never steps on stage sober.

“Seriously, judging by his attitude, I doubt he can even spell PR,” you mutter.

“It’s a rock band, babe,” Ymir shrugs. “They glorify pain. Make it sound cool.”

“Ugh, whatever! Let’s GO!” Historia grabs your arm and hauls you off the couch.

You didn’t sign up for this. You don’t want to see TITANS perform. Their shows are aggressive. Messy. Everything you’re not. You sing for healing. He spits on cameras and calls it as ‘Performance’

As you head out, you spot Hange lounging outside with coffee in hand.

“Where are you going?” she asks, blinking.

“TO WATCH TITANS!” Ymir yells with glee. Historia giggles. Hange bursts out laughing. 

“Wow, I didn't think [Y/N] was into that kind of thing.” You shoot her a desperate look that screams save me.

“Sasha’s already there,” Hange says with a grin. “Catch her if you can.”

God. Of course , Hange is more than a manager to you . She’s your big little sister who cares for you , she just lets you be you .  Your manager is too chill. But the worst part? Your fans. If they ever saw you vibing at an Eren Jaeger show? You’d be canceled by sunrise.

“K bye!” Ymir yells.

“Gosh, you guys are late! They’ve only got one song left!”

You just arrived at the VIP tent. The atmosphere is loud—not the kind of screaming you’re used to when you're on stage. This screaming is aggressive, raw, almost violent. There’s a group of guys lifting each other into the air like it’s some kind of ritual.

His fans are nothing like yours. There’s no way yours would be okay seeing you enjoy an Eren Jaeger performance.

Your eyes land on Eren Jaeger. His shirt clings to his body, dark with sweat. Low-slung jeans, combat boots, chains hanging from his belt loops. Hair wild. Guitar slung low. He attacks the chords with no rhythm, just raw sound. 

In your ear , He’s not singing. He’s screaming.

“Don’t make that face,” Sasha says, elbowing you. “He wasn’t screaming earlier. The last song was kinda chill.”

You glance at her , Potato in one hand, Coke in the other. Typical sweet Sasha.

The song ends. Eren runs his fingers through his damp hair, pushing it back. He looks out over the crowd like he’s planning to destroy it.

“Fuck, I hate this last song—”

He lets the words hang in the air, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The crowd roars like it’s part of the set.

Then he steps toward the mic, guitar slung carelessly over one shoulder, fingers twitching like he's holding back a punch.

“Hey, Jean—” he says, still breathless as he glances at his drummer, Jean Kirstein. “You ever notice how this festival always puts the fakest shit at the top of the lineup?”

Jean answers with a one beat of the drum try to adding a dramatic rimshot like a punchline. The crowd eats it up.

“They give the headliner slot to some glittered-up puppet with a fake smile and auto-tuned vocals, and everyone claps like they just saw God.”

The audience howls , half-drunk and starving for chaos.

Are you hearing this right? Is he dead serious? 

You freeze. Eyes locked on Eren, then scanning the crowd, then your friends. Their faces twist into disbelief, same as yours.

“Right, Armin? What about you?” Eren strolls over to his keyboardist, who’s standing stiff beside his synth, eyes wide as he stares out at the audience.

Armin doesn’t answer.  Instead he just give the audience an awkward smile , They all know Armin Arlert wants to end this performance as soon as possible.

Eren chuckles like a cartoon villain, hopping back to center stage.

“Anyway—” He clears his throat. “I guess basic people love that stuff. Easy to swallow. No mess. No blood. Just glitter and pre-recorded tears.”

He grins, scanning the pit like he’s goddamn proud of it. Like he didn’t just blast you in front of tens of thousands of people.

“Whatever. Enjoy the circus” He strikes his guitar like it owes him something. The crowd screams. “Fuck you all. This is the last one. You ready, Mikasa?”

He glances at his bassist. Mikasa gives him a simple nod, fingers already on the strings.

And the music explodes.

And that’s it.That’s the moment.The exact second your heart folds in on itself and gets replaced with something sharp and cold.

You finally HATE him.You hate his face, his voice, his stupid lyrics, his holier-than-thou attitude.You hate that the crowd ate it up like it was gospel. You hate that he knew exactly who he was talking about.

And worst of all , you hate that it worked. Because now, somewhere deep inside, you're not just angry. You're hurt.

And you don’t ever let anyone see that.

“That’s it.”

You storm out of the VIP tent, fury in your chest and revenge bubbling just beneath your skin. Your boots hit the gravel hard as you march away from the stage, the noise behind you fading into static.

The girls scramble after you, trying to keep up. They’re just as shocked, but you’re the only one burning.

“Hey! [Y/N]!” Ymir jogs up beside you, breathless. “I mean—maybe Eren’s high or something! He probably didn’t even mean it—”

You stop so suddenly, they nearly bump into you. You turn to them, looking at them with eyes full of silent rage . Voice like glass about to break. “Even if he didn’t mean it…”

You pause. Let the silence sink in.

“II want the whole world to see him for what he is…… a foolish, reckless rockstar with zero respect.”

“Soooo? What are you planning to do?” Sasha asked still munching on her hot potato , You give them a slight smirk , 

It's week 2 for the Glastonbury Festival , You’re back on stage. Same stage. Same crowd. Same spotlight.

But something’s different , Not in the way you move or how you sing. That all stays the same sweet, polished, rehearsed to the bone. But inside, there’s a shift. A quiet burn tucked under your skin.

Eren’s words stuck in your head , and you can’t just let him win in this battlefield.

The lights flash soft pink and blue as your set flows on like normal. Fans scream your name. Lyrics pour out of them like they wrote the songs themselves. You keep smiling. Keep dancing. Keep playing the role they all want you to play.

‘Have you ever tried this one?’ 

Everyone screams watching you strike a stunning pose , you’re still that pretty pop-star who can make the whole world stunned.

And then , right before the bridge of your third song , you pause for a breath. One hand wrapped around the mic, the other held gently at your chest, as if something delicate is about to be said.

“You know... it’s funny,” you say softly, your voice light and playful, almost like you’re joking with an old friend.

You tilted your head innocently while looking at your young audience , “Some people say pop stars are fake. That our glitter’s too much, or our smiles too wide.”

You let the silence linger for a beat. Not long. Just enough for the tension to rise with the next breath.

“But hey... at least I don’t have to shoot heroin just to write a song.” You smile innocently while your lip is pouting as a sign of mockery , sweeter than ever.

“I think we allll need the anti manchild spray right?”

The first note of your song hits the stage , The crowd doesn’t know whether to gasp or cheer. Some do both. 

You don’t look angry. You don’t even flinch. You slip right into the next song like nothing happened. But this time, you growl the word manchild, and when you scream stupid and useless, it comes straight from the heart.

Offstage, somewhere behind the lights, Eren Jaeger is watching. Leaning against a barricade. Smoke curling from the joint in his fingers. The crowd lights up your silhouette, casting long shadows across the field.

He exhales slowly. He drew a smirk on his face , honestly he didn't expect that from you.

He thought you’d hide like a good girl you are , he thought that you would not respond to his speech but here you are sparkly and soft, throwing a line like that right into the wind without blinking.

Now he’s interested.

He ashes the joint on his boot and keeps watching. Keep his eyes on you for the rest of your set.

And just like that, you’ve got him.

“Gosh,” Jean mutters, leaning back on the worn-out couch in their artist tent, drumsticks still resting in his lap. “She got us.”

Armin doesn’t even look up from the half-empty water bottle in his hands. He’s been sipping the same one since the end of their set.

“You shouldn’t have taken anything before going on stage,” he says ,

Eren rolls his eyes, sprawled across the corner of the couch with his boots up. Still sweat-soaked, shirt half unbuttoned, guitar case tossed somewhere behind him. He stares at the ceiling like it’s somehow responsible.

Mikasa, sitting cross-legged in her full black fit—fishnet gloves, chipped nail polish, and dark lipstick , finally speaks. “And you didn’t have to call her out yesterday”

Her voice is flat, as always. But the judgment sits heavy in the air.

Eren scoffs at her words , “Relax. She’s just a silly popstar,” he mutters.

He lifts the joint to his lips again, takes one last drag, and blows the smoke toward the ceiling.

“She’s not gonna tear us down with glitter and a microphone. Our image can’t be cracked that easily.”

He says it like he believes it.Like he's sure of it.

But the truth? You just hit him harder than most critics ever could. He was actually interested in how you used sweetness like a weapon and the whole world cheered.

The second day is over.

Your setlist’s done, your body aches, and your ears are still ringing from the crowd’s last scream. The sky’s dipped into that post-festival purple, the kind that makes everything look soft , except your mood.

Your team’s busy folding banners, unplugging gear, slamming cases shut and yelling over each other about cables and deadlines. Everyone’s moving fast. You’re not.

You just needed to grab your overnight bag from the dressing room. That’s it. No drama. No scene.

Historia 💌 ! 

Meet you at my caravan! We want to congratulate you with vodka and love !

You smile towards the message , You turn the corner behind the artist trailers, hands already fishing for your keys ,

And freeze. They're standing there. The whole damn band. TITANS.

Mikasa’s sitting on a speaker, head bent over her phone. Armin’s talking to a tech guy, voice low. Jean’s throwing a half-empty water bottle into the grass.

And then there's him.

Eren.

Guitar slung on his back like a weapon. Shirt clinging to him, black and sweat-soaked. Boots planted wide, like the ground owes him something. His hair’s tied back loose, strands falling in his face, jaw sharp and shadowed.

He’s staring right at you. Like he’d been waiting. Like he’s not sure whether to smirk or strangle you.

Your steps falter, just for a second, but you don’t back away. You stand there with your phone in your hand , still wanting to reply to Historia’s text , frozen under his eyes, heart ticking in your throat.

“Oh look who’s here,” he says, loud enough to make sure everyone hears.

 “Silly little bunny lost or something?”

You stop. Straighten up your back and try to look firm around him , “I thought you’d still be backstage,” you say, meeting his eyes with that same glossy, calm smile you wore on stage.

“Smoking grass and pretending it’s a personality.”

Jean snorts and Armin winces.Eren stands up from the wall, slow. Looks you up and down like he’s trying to decide whether to laugh or spit.

“You’ve got a lot to say for someone dressed like a cake topper.”

He takes a step closer. “Still riding the sugar-high from your big glittery speech, princess?”

“Better a princess than a burnout with a mic,” you reply.  “---At least my fans don’t have to worry I’ll overdose mid-encore.” You pout your lip once again in a sarcastic way , replicating the innocent stage persona you’ve been presenting to your audience just to irritate Eren Jaeger.

The silence after that hits like a slap. Eren’s suck his teeth and give you a sly smile .

He took a step forward. One step more and you’d be nose to nose.He leans in just slightly, 

“Keep talking, sweetheart. I promise you…your label can’t media-train you out of me.”

And just like that, you're ready to lunge , But before either of you can say another word ,

“That’s enough.” A cold, hard voice cuts through the air.

Levi. TITANS' manager. Walking towards in the middle of fighting with his grey baggy hoodie , Looks like he hasn’t slept since the tour started. “I don’t care who started it. Shut it down. Now.”

Then Hange appears behind you, coffee in one hand, clipboard in the other.

“Whoa whoa—are we fighting now? What is this, Glastonbury or middle school?” She slips between you and Eren, flashing a too-bright smile that almost hides the tension crackling in the air.

“Hey Levi! Long time no see!” Hange strides into the scene, her clipboard tucked under one arm, sunglasses pushed up into her messy hair. Her smile is way too wide, and way too knowing.

“How’s your band? They’re… a little bit… rebellious?” she says, dragging out the word like a joke.

She tilts her head at Eren, clearly not impressed. “Maybe consider getting them some PR training. You know, before they set something on fire.”

Levi with his dead eyes and doesn’t even blink. He just rolls his eyes like this isn’t his first verbal sparring match with her.

“Shut it, Four-Eyes,” he mutters. “I know how to handle them.” He jerks his thumb toward the rest of the band. “Let’s go, guys.”

The group starts to move, You're still standing there, facing each other. Neither of you are willing to look away first.

His gaze drags over you one last time, all teeth and heat. 

“See ya again, poppy princess,” he says, voice low and cocky.

You cross your arms, flashing a cold smile. “Oh, I hope not.”

He smirks. Just enough to piss you off.Then he turns, walking away with the rest of TITANS, boots heavy against the pavement.

“HEEEEYYY LEEEEEVIIIIII ~ Let’s not end the weekend with lawsuits, yeah!” Hange shouted as the band of titan and Levi walking away from them , 

For now, it’s over.Kind of. Because nothing’s actually over , Between you and the Rockstar Eren Jaeger.

Fast forward , You haven’t seen Eren Jaeger in weeks. No festivals. No headlines. Just the occasional clip on TV usually shows him being chaotic. That last one was a live interview.

He smacked the mic out of the reporter’s hand mid-question. You watched it while your hugged your salad bowl , unbothered.

“He’s like a walking lawsuit,” Historia muttered beside you.

You didn’t respond , and kept living your celebrity life.

Your schedule was still packed with photo shoots in LA, fashion week fittings in Paris, meetings with your creative director about the next single. Brand campaigns. Endorsement deals. Interviews where the questions were pre-approved and the smiles were mandatory.

Wake up. Smile. Travel. Perform. Repeat.

There were flights you didn’t remember boarding, hotels you didn’t remember checking into. Outfits chosen before you opened your eyes. Makeup artists buzzing around you while you scrolled through fan edits and auto-piloted through another press junket.

Everything moved. Constant. Controlled. Curated.

And still somewhere in between the bright lights and the filtered selfies— You couldn’t stop thinking about him. The guy who threw everything away on live TV.

The guy who looked at you like you were made of glass, then tried to shatter you in front of thousands.

But then , the news breaks.

You scroll past it at first, thinking it’s another scandal, another stupid quote, another "Eren being Eren" moment.

But no. This one's different.

EREN JAEGER OVERDOSES BACKSTAGE, RUSHED TO HOSPITAL

TITANS ANNOUNCE INDEFINITE HIATUS

EREN JAERGER ENTERS REHAB FACILITY—AGAIN

It’s everywhere. Every outlet. Every feed. Every comment section exploding with theories, edits, breakdowns. Photos of him unconscious. Headlines analyzing the band’s future.

What in the fuck? You stare at the screen. You don’t even blink or smile . For a moment, it’s just you and the silence.

The chaos is quiet now. The band TITANS is gone. And Eren Jaeger has disappeared into rehab.

“Woah [Y/N] look!” Ymir shoved that phone into your face , “I think he deserve it” 

END OF CHAPTER 1

All right reserved , flvorieas 2025 , reblogs are appreciated , don’t copy .

( Just tell me if you want to be on the next taglist! ^^ )

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

TW: includes mentions of hate crimes within the context of intrusive thoughts related to safety

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

This one will be a personal ramble, so feel free to skip: 

I really wanted to go to a specific local Pride event this year. I talked about it ever since it was announced months ago, I excitedly shared every single little piece of information on it, I splurged on a whole outfit for it, I probably annoyed all my loved ones by not shutting up about how much I look forward to it - I was so determined to go. 

Because it sounded fun and I was looking forward to celebrating my personal Pride milestone this way (I’ll finally get to legally change my name and gender marker this month!), but also for political reasons. Pride has always been important but I felt like it was especially important to go this year, with the (local and global) drift to right-wing extremism. It would’ve been a fairly small, rural event and I know how especially these types of Pride events can become targets of hate and how vital it is for them to get enough attendance and supporters. 

And then - as you can probably guess from the way I worded all this - I ended up not going. 

I don’t even have a really good reason for that. I wanted to go with my partner and he couldn’t go for work reasons - but that became clear days before the actual event. Sure, that was disappointing to both of us (it would’ve been our first time attending Pride together and I was really looking forward to that), but I planned to go without him then. It’s not like that’s unheard of, plenty of people go to such events as individuals rather than as couples or groups! So, I rearranged all my plans to make it a solo trip. I was a bit nervous about going alone because I kept seeing all these headlines about explosively increasing numbers of hate crimes this year and worried about potentially making myself an easy target by being a somewhat „visibly trans“ person attending alone but I was still determined to go! Or well, I was until the very day before - that’s when I stumbled across an advertisement online by a group of people who wanted to go there together and were looking for more people to join them. 

This sounds like it should’ve been a great development, right? They wanted to go out for breakfast first, as a nice way for everyone to get to know each other, and then attend Pride together. I briefly entertained the idea of joining them - maybe I would feel safer in a group and have to worry less about standing out as an easy target? Who knows, maybe I’d even make some friends? - but I decided against it. 

It was so last minute and I’m not a very spontaneous person, but more importantly I knew that „going out to eat“ is a huge anxiety trigger for me. It’s a challenge to even go out to eat with my partner or family - doing it with a bunch of strangers would probably feel overwhelming. Maybe it would’ve been a good way to confront that eating-in-public anxiety („do it scared“ style) but no, no, I wasn’t going to derail my special event I’ve been looking forward to for months by turning it into an exhausting anti-anxiety exercise to conquer rather than a fun event to enjoy! … And then it derailed anyway. 

I got really in my head about it. I kept painting these awful mental pictures: just kept imagining how I’d go to the breakfast and deeply regret it. I’d feel anxious and awkward the whole time, I’d be so paralyzed with fear that I wouldn’t talk to anyone, I’d  unsettle everyone with my silence until I get a panic attack and embarrass myself in front of all these strangers, everyone would think I’m insane and hate me, I’d still be the lonely kid in the corner of the playground even as a grown-ass man. My brain turned it into a whole horror movie! So, hard no on the breakfast - but then the next picture would spring up: I’d not go to the breakfast and just go to Pride alone as originally planned… and deeply regret that choice, too. I’d feel lonely and awkward the whole time, I’d just stand around nervously without even enjoying myself and hate myself for not having gone to the breakfast, everyone would think I’m weird for just standing there and laugh at me or be creeped out by me, and when I finally realize I don’t belong there with the people who actually have friends, then I’d probably run into counterprotesters and get straight-up murdered and nobody would even care. 

Would either of these pictures have become reality? Nope. People don’t ever really think about us as hard as social anxiety will convince us. Chances are higher that nobody would’ve thought that I’m crazy or weird or unsettling - because nobody would really have thought much about me at all. That sounds like a depressed statement but that’s not what I mean. It’s just that people are usually preoccupied with their own lives and thoughts. I’m not the main character in other people’s stories. When I walk past someone who is standing somewhere alone and silent, I don’t go off on some long thought journey about how this must be the most unloveable person on earth, either! It’s not rational to assume that other people do that about me. (Plus, if someone would jump right over „he’s probably shy“ or „he’s the quiet type“ and instantly goes to „he must be unlovable“ and „I don’t care if he lives or dies“, that’d really just make them a rude judgmental jerk, if not a psychopath, and it would say nothing about my worth as a person). 

I know all this - and the anxiety still won. I stayed home and now I regret that I stayed home. 

That hurts. I can analyze it all I want, I can try to understand what went wrong and learn from it, I can be compassionate with myself and tell myself that I can just try again next year, I can make a donation to the team that organized the event so I still support the local community… and I still missed the event. I still missed my chance to celebrate my milestone this way. 

There’s this quiet grief that comes with anxiety and watching it ruin opportunities like this. Watching yourself ruin opportunities like this when you rationally know better but anxiety doesn’t care about rational. 

I don’t really have a neat ending point here. Just a slice of life that might resonate with some of you. Here’s to fighting anxiety - and to finding grace for ourselves in the setbacks along the way.

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad

[lostintransist]

Sacrifice Doesn’t Hurt Less if They Don’t Love You

I can't decide if I want to write a whole fic for this chapter that spawned fully formed in my head but a mutual told me I could post it here.

Context. Soap and Ghost are lovers. They are both wanting to work through some issues and ask reader (female pronouns) to become their third for a time. Reader was unsure about joining a thruple, so they offer to pay her. Reader is a soldier and works with the 141.

CW: Mentions of onpage violence, can be read as suicidal ideation, self sacrifice.

Watching Soap and Ghost share a look of goodbyes with only their eyes cements for you the knowing, deeper than your bones, that no one will ever love you like they love each other. No room exists for you to shelter inside of their love. The pain is freeing somehow. Like every message pounded into your head about being unlovable was true.

The call of the void had abated for a time, since they paid you for your body. The urge to jump without pulling your shoot, to kink the hose to your oxygen lessened. It returned now. It didn’t call though, it sang. Staring into the horizon where blue became intangible you know that even if you listened to the haunting call if you go home today an ‘accident’ would befall you soon enough.

A hand on your thigh pulls you back from the discordant notes. You look from the hand to the face and see Price looking at you, concern in the crinkles around his eyes.

“You with us Everest?”

“Sorry Cap. Just mentally gearing up.”

He nodded, accepting the strange behavior and the explanation. He had used the shared channel everyone could listen in on over the headphones. Helicopters were not the place for private conversations.

Feeling Ghost’s eyes you turn. Looking at one eye and then the other you find nothing but the mask inside and out. The horizon draws your attention again as you listen to the symphony from within the void.

Price had organized groups of three before everyone piled into the helicopter. You had been assigned to Soap and Ghost. As the ghost ship came into sight you slipped into your operator role. Rearguard would be you duty. They trusted you to step backwards over the dodgy doorways and ensure no one attacked them from behind. A place of trust.

Everyone knew the mission. Locate and terminate the computer that would signal a series of bombs dotting major cities. It would be highly guarded and most likely booby trapped. Six teams split as they enter the darkness of the ship. It creaks with each bob of the waves and every step as if she is moments from careening into the depths to become a home for the deep dwelling fish.

Soap takes the lead, heading aft. None of you encounter resistance until six levels down. Movement from barely beyond your vision as you step down another set of ladders. You fire off two shots, a body falling into the light. Not one of yours. A hand on you shoulder is the warning you get before Ghost and Soap step over the body, heading deeper into the darkness.

Smaller stature is not often an advantage in your line of work. But tiny halls become your safe haven because you are not an overly large man.

Moving before your mind can process you are grappling for a knife that connected with your vest. A man had stepped from the deepest shadows and swung at you after the guys had stepped through the next porthole. He pulled back and swung downwards, aiming for your neck. Leaning back you caught only a nick from the blade along the crease where jaw meets neck. Because all wide swings must be returned by an equally wide swing you step in and jam both hands into his forearm.

The enemy fights his arm up, your upper body strength no match for his. Instead of fighting him in a losing battle you place one boot on the wall behind you, leveraging your best asset in the fight.

It impressed the men on the 141 that you could match or often beat them in dead lift squats. They did make fun of you for how low your numbers were on upper body though so it all came out in the wash.

The man brought his second arm up to support his knife wielding hand, the tip of the blade inching closer to your face. Forcing your second boot up the wall you press with all the power your foremothers blessed you with. The light bouncing around from your rifle shines off whites of the mans eyes as you shove the blade into his windpipe. He slumps as his life flees.

Gravity takes hold of you now that friction has abated and you slam to the ground with a grunt. Your knee took the bulk of the blow. Up on your feet you limp after your lovers. They must have circled back to find you since you find them only three rooms away.

“What happened Everest?” Ghost barks at you.

“Your job is to protect each other, my job is to protect you. I did my job.” You snap at him. He would want to take it from your hide if there was a later. On jobs he was your superior and sass could not be accepted.

Soap reached around him and lifted blood from your collar.

“We are here to protect you too Ev.”

The sweetest blade to your heart came from Soap’s tongue. Lies, because if they were here to protect you they would have noticed sooner that you were gone.

His finger hovers as you turn your head slightly away from his touch.

“We’ve got more ground to cover. Let’s go.” Voice harsh, you focus on limping forward.

Several more engagements occur, but the guys don’t leave your sight once. After clearing a particularly well guarded tiny red room you find what you have been looking for. Soap drops to a knee at the computer, typing away.

You and Ghost take up opposite positions staring down the hallways watching the darkness.

“Why didn’t you call for help?”

Ghost’s even tone hits like a lash across your back.

“Didn’t really have time with a blade at my throat.”

“Why are you mad at us?”

Even now the distinction between your place and theirs is hammered home in the phrasing of the question. Us denotes a you, an outsider.

“Now is not the time to unpack our relationship problems, Simon.”

“I’m getting no response from the computer and I don’t dare move it. This group really loves their bombs to trigger when people touch things.”

A head poking around the walls you to fire off a few rounds.

“I’m jammed, Soap replace me. I can work on disabling the computer.” You step into the small, red, red box trading places with Soap who steps into the hall, gun drawn on the shadows.

The instant his heel passes beyond the door frame you swing the heavy metal door shut, slamming the bar into place. Faraday cages are interesting things. They can be made by accident, or opportunity.

You couldn’t disable the computer you had fought so hard to get to the bowels of the ship, but you could stop it from sending a signal. As the bar clanged down, the bell tolling of your death, two irate faces appeared in the small window. Two men you love more than any reasonable person could understand stare at you, yell at you, beat at the door demanding entrance.

A beep from the computer tells you there is four minutes left until the signal is sent. Your lip trembles. Mouthing the words so carefully they can understand even beyond the slightly distorted glass you give your final goodbyes.

‘Love you.’

Blowing a shaky kiss to their horrified faces you slide the cover in place, sealing your tomb.

The void’s lilting tune is sweet in your ears. The pounding on the door stops. No sounds squawk from the radio in your ear, your play worked. They would be safe. They didn’t need you anyways, a matched pair didn’t need a third.

With nothing left to do but breathe in the last of your oxygen you decided to strip down to your uniform. Emptying every weapon on you of its rounds you place them gently on the floor a fair distance from the door. No need for them to get stepped on when someone can finally reach your body. Next goes the holsters and the heavy tactical gear.

It’s getting harder to breath now, your lungs heaving for a breath more. You sound like a baby you once saw with RSV. You place a hand to your ribs, finding the flesh pulling between the bones with each breath. Laying down seems the best option now. Your mind feels pulled, stretched. Taffy for brains. Stretching out you get comfortable. With your eyes fluttering you can almost imagine yourself on a cot somewhere in the tropics.

Distantly a beeping starts, the thirty second countdown. One long beep reaches through the fog of oxygen deprivation, you strain your ears. Even in the bowels of the ocean you would have heard something, shouting, if you had failed. When none occur you sigh and surrender to the darkness.

You might not have been important to them. They might have never loved you. But god dammit you were going to be remembered.

I also write COD over on AO3, same handle.

Masterlist

[palelaboratory]

I swear you’re singlehandly saving us from the Jill fanfic drought tysm! I was wondering if you’d write some dom jealous older Jill smut 😈. Im horrible of thinking of context for why she’s jealous but whatever you write about scissoring queen older Jill will be amazing ❤️

Yayy heheh OF course I love me some good ol scissorin with Jill always 🤎

۶ৎ NSFW, Minors do NOT interact.

۶ৎ Disclaimer - Reader knows her boundaries and is not the kind to micro-cheat. Jill is just, jealous.

۶ৎ Also, it's the same professor that was talked about in the fic before this, just a lil fun connection.

Jill was driven by logic. It ran in her veins. So it was only natural for her to be this stubborn when it came to understanding. She felt betrayed, by her own inability to grasp things clearly, and she thought, by you as well. Standing with her arms crossed, leaning against the bathroom counter, while you spoke from the bedroom. The distance between you wasn’t just physical, it mirrored the growing gap between your perspectives.

You weren’t wrong, and you knew it. Jill was probably caught up in all the stress, all those pent-up emotions. It wasn’t your fault. But somehow, the more you tried to explain, the more she seemed to misread your intentions.

Because of course you were supposed to dress nicely. It was a class dinner with one of your professors. Just a few years younger than Jill. It was basic courtesy, and you reminded her of that. You even pointed out how she was the one who always said to respect your mentors. But now, she wasn’t acknowledging any of it. Her voice was already rising, her stare growing more unreadable as she looked down at you from the bathroom. Even from across the room, you felt it. You weren’t in the wrong, and yet your throat went a little dry.

“So you’re admitting it. You wanted to impress her.” “Jill, she’s my professor! Which part of basic formality aren’t you understanding-” “Don’t you dare raise your voice at me.” “If not what?” you snapped back, the attitude clear in your tone.

That’s what broke her as she stormed towards you, grabbing you by the sleeve, and throwing you onto the bed, hard. You landed on your stomach, barely able to register anything before she was on you, pinning down the backs of your thighs as she flipped up your skirt. Her eyes locked onto your panties. Lace.

“Basic courtesy, you say?” Her voice low and venomous.

She yanked your panties down in one rough motion and slammed her palm against your ass, hard enough to make you flinch, drawing a sharp gasp from your throat. You reached back instinctively, trying to shield yourself but she caught your shoulder and pinned you down again, keeping you from turning over. The smacks came again and again, harder each time. Your whimpers loud and begging, your voice cracking, and somewhere beneath all your pleas and the sting, it started to throb.

Accepting shameful defeat as you gradually stopped struggling, tears in your eyes from the humiliating pain and embarrassment of the pleasure, your fingers clutching the sheets.

She gradually slowed, catching the hint in your silence. Gently, she lifted you up by your thighs, positioning you just right with your ass and pussy fully exposed to her now. She stared, and you glanced back at her from the corner of your eye, breath hitching as you waited for what she’d do next. Then she bent down and licked you, from the back, dragging her tongue along your slit. One hand gripped your thighs to keep you in place, the other cupping your cheek. You moaned into the sheets, your legs already shaking. Without a word, she turned you over, carefully this time. Her fingers rubbed over your mound, slow and soft, soothing after the sting. Then she spread your lips, admiring the sight of your swollen clit. You heard the metallic click of her belt unbuckling, then the sound of jeans being peeled away as she stripped down.

Positioning herself against your bare pussy, grinding gently, moaning at the contact, your lips, your clit, all of it rubbing against hers. Your wetness mixing with hers as she kept trying to stay in place, slipping, then pressing in again. Her lips trailed kisses along your thighs, unable to contain the excess lust as she moved you like a rag doll, hips thrusting non-stop. She bit her lower lip as she relieved herself on you, refusing to let you slip away from her wrathful desire. She grabbed your thigh and dragged you closer, unsatisfied with even a breath of space, even though your cores were already locked. Her weight pinned you beneath her, and you let her take you whole, watching her, watching the way her pussy glistened, flushed and hungry.

Through all her gasps and moans, her brows stayed furrowed, fierce and determined. She pressed down hard, movements sharp and possessive, both of you on the edge. And even then, she watched you closely, searching and testing your resolve. Her heart clenched when she saw it, the truth of your loyalty, written plain on your face, your body giving in only to her.

And her pussy clenched, hard.

“Fuck.”

She dug her claws into your thighs painfully. Both of you cried out in pain and pleasure as you both came on each other, feeling the pulse and heat of your pussies crashing together.

Slowly, she lowered your thigh back down, her breathing ragged as she tried to collect herself. Still, she didn’t offer comfort, at least not outright, from too much pride and heat. But her face betrayed her. There was a softness there now. She looked at you, then down at your pussy. You let her look and inspect. Almost closing your legs on instinct, but stopped when you caught that look she gave, one that said I dare you.

She didn't even glance up after that, mindlessly playing with you, fingers teasing, dragging over swollen flesh as you squirmed and twitched beneath. She smiled at every reaction, smug and content.

She cleaned you with soft, open-mouthed kisses, not too harsh, carefully tending to you as her fingers rubbed slow circles on your lower stomach, calming you down. Finally satisfied with her buffet, she crawled toward you, still withholding affection. You looked at her, craving even the smallest gesture, but she ignored you, cleaning herself up quickly before tugging the sheets over her body. She rested her head on her left hand, finally turning to face you, her body angled toward yours. That same intimidating, questioning look settled over her features, eyes still fixed on you.

“Anything to say?”

You knew you didn’t have to apologize. She was overreacting, just a little. But giving her the satisfaction was your only option in this moment, and you didn’t mind. You loved her too much. She was irresistible and intense, something else in the best way.

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely, a slight smile at your lips.

“I’m not convinced,” she replied, tapping her lips with a finger.

You leaned in and placed a kiss on her plush lips, then another, and another. Before the next, you paused, watching her closely, trying to read her motive. She met your gaze with a faux pout, just enough to make your heart flutter. Without thinking, you pounced, showering her in kisses, a full-on kiss attack which she took like a champ, laughing silently, smiling foolishly as she finally let you take control, basking in every bit of your attention.

She suddenly grabbed your face, pulling you just inches from hers.

“You are mine,” she said, with a fake seriousness, or at least, she made it seem that way.

“Yes ma’am.”

[chironshorseass]

what bugs me most about the pjo show is that i know they could’ve done better. i knowwwww they could’ve been as faithful as they wanted to the books. for anyone saying “oh, but it’s an adaptation! it isn’t meant to be the same so stop whining that they took stuff out or that they’re adding things in different order!” well yes, i agree that adaptations aren’t meant to be a carbon copy of the source material for the simple fact that it’s adapting the source material into a different medium (television), yet it’s just that! a form of adapting the things that are unable to be channeled from, say, a book—or on the contrary, adding things that make sense for television but couldn’t be channeled into the books otherwise…all of this in a faithful manner. a good adaptation is one that stays true to the source material by properly adapting its themes, characters, symbolism, context, pacing, and the overall story/plot so as to not only be seen as a sort of love letter to the fans, but also to reach a wider audience.

just look at the hunger games! the movies are so faithful to the books to the point that most of the scenes are taken straight out of the books, dialogue and all. and they’re movies, aka less runtime than a freaking tv show and they still did it better. did the hg movies have to take a few scenes out? yes; they have only so much time to tell the story as it is told in the books. did they resume things, like the games themselves? also yes. but did most of the important scenes and character moments stay in the movies? also also yes. again, THESE ARE MOVIES!!!!! a medium much more limited than a freaking tv series with multiple episodes that have enough run time to add even more scenes from the books than what could be possible in a 2 hour (max) movie!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and yet they STILL changed so much that rly had no business being changed other than that the writers decided they felt like it because…..a lot of it im not even sure. and the worst thing of it all is that freaking rick riordan took part in script writing yet so much of the source material has been watered down???? they make a whole ass episode about a monster fight with the majority of the scenes from said episode not even present in the books instead of sticking to the perfectly good source material???? and by doing so they delete the small details that are very much integral to character development and plot???? huh???? the math isn’t mathing. don’t get me wrong, i do like some changes, but then i think: at what cost do they add these things when there was a perfectly good narrative without it? like, at what cost do we get the whole turning to gold sacrifice scene if they’re gonna take out all the fun details that make the lightning thief the lightning thief? for example the silly water park merch and then annabeth displaying her spider phobia and her mortification at going to the thrill ride of love with percy and then being broadcasted to olympus. this is just one episode, but they’ve been doing it in all of them. and u know, it’s not that i don’t hate-hate most these changes. again, what bugs me is that this was supposed to be a faithful adaptation. again, it’s a tv series, with so much more time to develop everything from the books. rick is behind it, who apparently hated the movies for how unfaithful they were. the cast is great. and yet…the script is so mediocre. the spark is lost. character traits are looked over in place for weird pacing and even weirder changes. if the hunger games could do it, then surely a pjo tv series could as well? apparently not? i really really Don’t Get It.

[genericpuff]

I don’t know if this is weird to say, but I’ve been enjoying LR kind of as its “own thing” if that makes sense?

Like before LO ended my only interaction with it was reading the first printed volume at a friends house, going: huh, this kind of pisses me off and gives me bad vibes for reasons I can’t quite place… and then never thought of it again until I started learning how to craft comics and saw it mentioned as an example of what not to do in something I was reading. So I looked into it, partly out of a sort of morbid curiosity, and partly because I had a bit of knowledge of the medium now and I wanted to find out what had caused the “bad vibes” in the first place (it was the way Persephone was constantly posed, framed, and occasionally anatomically messed with so her but and boobs could be better on display… also probably the writing quality.)

I’d probably have made a couple of mental notes and forgotten about LO again if I hadn’t come across your comic and decided to give it a read. Not only did LR NOT piss me off and give me bad vibes it actually interested me, and captured my imagination in ways LO didn’t. Like, it’s sort of just a cool comic I read because I enjoy it, and at this point my entire interest in LO is knowing how it inspired the comic I like.

(I will get around to reading the rest of LO once I’ve got enough free time/energy/inner peace though, out of an academic desire to dissect a broken story and see why it died… ngl I’m a bit intimidated by how long it looks)

Aww I appreciate that! Ultimately I do encourage people to give the original LO a try if they haven't before, not just to understand the context in which LR exists, but to sort of "honor" its roots because in spite of how mismanaged LO turned out to be, I still loved it for a long time (and continue to love it, even if it's in different ways now) and if it weren't for LO, LR would never have existed !

But I'm glad to hear there are readers who enjoy LR as its own thing because while it is just fanfiction, I still want it to be a story that can function and stand on its own two feet, without over-relying on LO to explain itself. And then, if you do ever read LO all the way through, you can hopefully have even more fun reading LR for all its little references and secrets 🤫💖

[promptfairy]

❥    𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑)   [ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 ] .

adapted from troye sivan’s 2023 album. many lines have been altered to be more roleplay-friendly. change gendered language and add context to your needs. suggestive themes are present. happy roleplaying!! ♡

RUSH.

❛ tell me what you want. ❜

❛ let your body talk to me, baby. ❜

❛ i promise i can take what you wanna give. ❜

❛ you’d better show me what you’ve been scheming up. ❜

❛ you’ve got my heartbeat racing. ❜

❛ you’ve got my body blazing. ❜

❛ i feel the rush. ❜

❛ i’m addicted to your touch. ❜

❛ it’s so good, so good. ❜

❛ it’s so good when we slow gravity. ❜

❛ breathe, one, two three. ❜

❛ breathe, one, two, three; take all of me. ❜

❛ take me to the feeling, [name]. you know the one. ❜

❛ kiss it when you’re done. ❜

❛ man, this shit is so much fun. ❜

WHAT’S THE TIME WHERE YOU ARE?

❛ god, i wish it was you. ❜

❛ last night was fucking crazy. ❜

❛ i’m feeling like my head’s just in a distant time and place. ❜

❛ i hope that i got you the way that you got me. ❜

❛ i spent so long just waiting for the signs. ❜

❛ what’s the time where you are? ❜

❛ what’s the night like where you are? ❜

❛ is it better where you are? ❜

❛ it’s an open invite, if you wanna come. ❜

❛ you’re everywhere. it’s almost like you’re on the run. ❜

❛ i’m okay with waiting. ❜

❛ i’m okay with waiting if when all is said and done, you know that i got you the way that you got me. ❜

ONE OF YOUR GIRLS.

❛ everybody loves you, baby. ❜

❛ you should trademark your face. ❜

❛ they’re lining down the block to be around you, but baby, i’m first in place. ❜

❛ look at you … ❜

❛ give me a call if you ever get lonely. ❜

❛ i’ll be like one of your girls. ❜

❛ say what you want, and i’ll keep it a secret. ❜

❛ you’ve got the key to my heart. ❜

❛ give me a call if you ever get desperate. ❜

❛ everybody wants you, baby, but nobody wants you as bad as i do. ❜

❛ you should insure that waist. ❜

❛ let me plead my case. ❜

IN MY ROOM.

❛ my head is like an unmade bed. ❜

❛ am i fucking sixteen? ❜

❛ this shit’s kind of depressing. ❜

❛ maybe it's just admiration, copulation, or adoration. ❜

❛ when i’m all alone in my room, i’m just thinking about you. ❜

❛ i can’t describe this feeling. maybe it’s just infatuation. ❜

❛ we’ve got something to give each other. ❜

STILL GOT IT.

❛ i’d cut my hair into a bowl if you told me you liked it like that. ❜

❛ i wish i didn’t care what you thought. ❜

❛ when you saw me at that party, you talked to me like i was an old colleague. ❜

❛ i’ve still got it bad. ❜

❛ i still want it bad. ❜

❛ i’m getting used to being alone, but a house doesn’t mean a home. ❜

❛ i got a place back in [location]. it’s different than you remember. i think you’d like it, though. ❜

❛ you touched me in the back seat … it just kind of confused me. ❜

❛ we were both a couple of drinks too deep. ❜

❛ it was bound to happen, i suppose. ❜

❛ we lost what we had. and now i just want it back. ❜

❛ you’ve still got it. ❜

CAN’T GO BACK, BABY.

❛ i wish i could, but i can’t go back. ❜

❛ i can’t go back to the days when i thought i knew you. ❜

❛ this is me you’re talking about. your only friend. ❜

❛ could you still taste him on my mouth? ❜

❛ i wish you weren’t dead to me. ❜

❛ there’s so much to miss about you. ❜

❛ you’re more than just my enemy … you were my lover, too. ❜

❛ i hope you can forgive yourself. because, i swear, i do. ❜

❛ it breaks my heart to say that i can’t wait to live without you. ❜

❛ i know you wish you could, but you can’t go back. ❜

GOT ME STARTED.

❛ he’s got the personality, not even gravity could ever hold him down. ❜

❛ he’s got the sexuality of a man who can take a room and drown it out. ❜

❛ i wanna tell you what’s on my mind. ❜

❛ you just got me started, and i don’t think i can stop it. ❜

❛ i don’t wanna go home alone, alright? ❜

❛ can i be honest? i kinda miss using my body. ❜

❛ i’ve seen enough of your body. ❜

❛ we’ve got that hot chemistry. ❜

❛ you and i won’t make it out of this house. ❜

❛ we should experiment, even to the detriment of whoever’s on the couch. ❜

❛ [name], can i be honest? ❜

SILLY.

❛ i’m a love junkie like that. ❜

❛ i’m so silly like that. ❜

❛ you really know me, but you don’t want to know me. ❜

❛ the party’s the only place that really knows me. ❜

❛ i’m just trying to get outside of this body. ❜

❛ i still love you more than i should ever say. ❜

❛ i don’t need anybody here to console me. ❜

❛ i keep altering my mind to be more like you. ❜

❛ there’s only so much a body can do. ❜

❛ i’m keep trying to recreate you. ❜

HONEY.

❛ give me the courage to say all the shit i mean. ❜

❛ i don’t know how i’m supposed to tell what you really mean. ❜

❛ i wonder what the two of us could make together. ❜

❛ i feel so good around you … can you imagine what we’d get up to? ❜

❛ there’s something different about tonight. ❜

❛ i could speak, or i could just let my body explain. ❜

❛ i don’t know your name, but that’s something we could get to. ❜

❛ i don’t pray a lot, god knows, but i’m calling in favors like i believe. ❜

❛ don’t go bringing me too close. ❜

❛ i’m going in tonight like i love you. ❜

HOW TO STAY WITH YOU.

❛ i’ve got no flowers, but it’s the thought that counts. ❜

❛ i wish you lived a little closer. ❜

❛ maybe when we’re older, we can set up shop. ❜

❛ i feel like my brother might like you. ❜

❛ i wish you were the piece to get me out the game. ❜

❛ all of these visions impair my decisions. ❜

❛ i’m a little bit fucked on this. ❜

❛ i’m a little bit out of time to spend with you. ❜

❛ turn around, give me one more kiss. ❜

❛ i’m a little bit lost on how to stay with you. ❜

❛ it’s been a sec, but i didn’t forget how to pull you in closer. ❜

❛ i feel like my mother might like you. ❜

❛ i’m starting to feel a little despondent. ❜

[fabbyf1]

Well, besties...

I had originally planned on Beyoncé dropping this on AO3 without giving you any warning, but... where the hell is the fun in that? 🤠

The haters (me) said this series was dead, but @papayastri said "🔫 i refuse." and you know what? She was right. (She's always right.)

You heard it here first, chat.

Warming 7 is coming very soon.

Snippet under the cut!

CONTEXT: After a bad race in Jeddah, Charles crawled into Max's lap to comfort him.

“It is what it is,” Max said, shrugging again. “We don’t have to talk about it right now.” 

“Okay, chéri,” Charles said, smiling softly at him. He had figured he wouldn’t want to talk about it tonight, which is why he had planned a different activity. Charles slowly leaned down and kissed him, enjoying the way it made Max’s hands tighten around his waist. “Do you want to go to sleep?” 

“Mmm.” Max hummed against his mouth, kissing him again. 

“That wasn’t an answer, sleepy boy,” Charles whispered, smirking at him as he pulled back. 

“I don’t want to move yet,” Max said, sliding his hands back to his thighs. He looked down at them, and a small smile appeared on his face when he realized the sweatpants Charles was wearing belonged to him. “You’re a little thief, aren’t you?” Max teased, his hands large enough to wrap around the width of his thighs. 

Which still turned him on, even after all this time. 

“I believe this shirt is yours, too,” Charles pointed out, fluffing the collar of his white t-shirt. 

Max breathed in deeply, a satisfied smile appearing on his lips. “It looks better on you.”  

Charles leaned forward, nosing at the side of his jaw until his lips pressed against his ear. “I love having you wrapped around me,” he whispered, not-so-subtly grinding down against his lap. Max groaned at the contact, tightening his hold on his thighs and pressing up against him. 

He was playing right into Charles’ hands. 

“Baby,” Max breathed, hands sliding up the back of his shirt again. 

“Will you let me take care of you tonight?” Charles asked, leaning back to meet his eyes. 

“I’d let you do anything to me,” Max easily admitted, and Charles knew it was the truth. “What did you have in mind?” 

“I thought maybe I could sit on your cock for a little bit,” Charles said, smiling softly at him. “We can cuddle, or talk, or... whatever else you wanna do.” 

“Fuck, baby,” Max groaned, wrapping his strong arms around him. “That sounds perfect.” 

“Yeah?” Charles asked, beaming at him. “I was also thinking that...” 

“Go on,” Max urged, grinding against him again. 

“Well, if you were up for it...” Charles trailed off, still finding it hard to say the words out loud, especially when he was hard, and Max was staring at him so intently.

Max was so... mind-numbingly hot that it made Charles a bit stupid sometimes.

It made him forget all the languages in his head.

“I’m listening,” Max egged him on, grinning up at him and making Charles blush under the attention. 

They both knew what he was thinking, but Max wanted to hear him say it.