#I've already been exploding privately

[the5n00k]

This Thursday I'm watching the MASH finale I'll let y'all know how that goes (she's terrified)

[mazeeelabyrinth]

♡♡♡ Project Bunny ♡♡♡

Chapter I: Live - PixelBunny.exe

“Y-you all are so mean… I’m shy, y’know. I’m not just here to be your toy…” You purred, same curated high-pitched tone matched with a sickly sweet giggle. “But thank you, Daddies.”

♡■♡■♡ Pairing: LADS MLIs x afab camgirl!reader

♡■♡■♡ Plot Summary:

By day, you're just a broke barista with a caffeine addiction, with a useless degree and a student loan nightmare, and a customer service smile stitched over your burnout. By night, you're Pixel Bunny—a bratty, cosplay-clad camgirl with a shy voice, a pastel aesthetic, and a growing fanbase that keeps your lights on and your legs open.

Except… your five most generous patrons are a little too devoted. Each a stranger with a username and a hard-on for control, slowly bleeding into your real life.

♡■♡■♡ Tags: 18+, multichapters, second pov, eventual poly, eventual orgy, dark romance, reverse harem, shameless smut, porn with plot, explicit, gradual shift into darker themes, voyeurism, praise kink, porn, ooc, canon divergence au, sex toys, clothing fetish, cosplay, breeding kink, ddlg (daddy dom/little girl), pet names, live masturbation, power play, strip tease, sex work, camgirl au, streaming culture, orgasm denial, parasocial relationship, obsessive parasocial behavior, dirty talk, stalking tendencies, reader is not mc, reader has a day job, reader is addressed as "Bunny" or "PixelBunny" on stream, masked identities

♡■♡■♡ Word Count: 7.2K

A/N: Finally dug up an old idea and use it for another LADS fanfic. I was debating whether I use an oc or just follow my usual "x reader", guess what I did? Please take this "you" persona impersonally.

A/N2: holy shit, I thought I saved it up as a draft 😂 I wasn't done editing it lmfao

MASTERLIST | AO3 | FOR TAG LIST, INTERACT HERE. | NAVIGATION

Your screen flickered to life with the soft, ambient glow of neon pinks and cool lilacs. Lo-fi beats hummed low through your headset, a curated loop of calming bass and synthetic purrs you’ve fine-tuned to make every viewer feel like they were lounging right in bed with you.

The room behind you was an aesthetic fever dream: plushies, pastel LEDs, posters of vintage anime girls with glassy eyes and lollipops too large for their mouths.

You're perched on the center of your bed, legs curled just right, clad in a baby-pink cropped cardigan that technically covers your nipples—but just barely, plaid skirt strategically rumpled that showed off your panties you’d pretend were modest if they weren’t riding a dangerous line between “cute” and “cam site terms of service violation.”

The bunny-eared headset—your signature look—bobbed slightly as you adjusted, lips glossed to a cherry sheen and parted with practiced nervousness.

A delectable morsel wrapped in pastel and lust. That’s you, PixelBunny. A camgirl rising on the other side of the internet.

Just shy. Just bratty enough.

Innocent. Dumb. Deceiving.

Click. You're live.

The chat was already rioting. A thousand hearts bloomed in the corner of your screen. Familiar names lit up the chat like a twisted bouquet of usernames you knew better than your actual friends.

Syl.Draconia 💎 has joined the stream 🐇

R.tist!c tipped 1000 credits: angel, that lipstick shade is killing me

X-Devoted upgraded to SUGAR DADDY - ULTRA VIP 💎

Mr. WhiteCoat tipped 500 credits: Don’t overwork yourself.

C.Pilot: you're late. I've been waiting Bunny. ;)

3009 more viewers have joined 🐇

You smiled sweetly. Blushed. Looked away. A beat too long, just to make them ache for it. And then, your voice—high, breathy, a porcelain teacup too full of heat—spilled into the mic.

“H-hi, everyone. Welcome back to my... super cozy Friday stream. I—I missed you all so much... I was sooo lonely today…”

A flurry of small donations exploded with the flood of emotes. Bunnies. Eggplants. Hearts. Claws. One name after another. Each one hit your account like a loaded promise. A private ping dinged—five times, exactly. Direct messages, encrypted, VIP access only.

You ignored them. For now.

The camera zoomed slightly—auto-focus tracing your thighs as they shifted. Your skin was glossed, powdered, glowing under artificial moonlight. You stretched your arms overhead, the croptop sliding just enough to show the soft curve of underboobs, a calculated ‘oopsie’ perfected by months of practice.

C.Pilot: you know you missed yesterday right?

X-Devoted: Uve been a veeery naughty bunny…

Mr. WhiteCoat: I’m monitoring your dopamine spikes in real time. They’re inconsistent.

R.tist!c: is that the cardigan i sent you? unbutton it slowly

Syl.Draconia: Shes hiding something tonight. Increased blink rate. Deviated gaze.

“Y-you all are so mean… I’m shy, y’know. I’m not just here to be your toy…” You purred, same curated high-pitched tone matched with a sickly sweet giggle. “But thank you, Daddies.”

You giggled, again, hiding your face in your hands. A perfect little bunny. Tempting fate like it was a game. Innocence so carefully curated it could only be filthy. Just a girl in your safe little pastel den, alone in your apartment, with predatory men watching you burn.

You shifted, thighs parting slightly, your voice rising just a note.

“I m-might’ve been a little mean… I didn’t respond to some DMs. I went live without private previews tonight... I guess I was just feeling bold.”

X-Devoted: U will learn sweetheart

Syl.Draconia: Already running your own script. Dangerous.

Mr. WhiteCoat: This requires corrective conditioning.

C.Pilot: youre gonna make me break my keyboard Bun.

R.tist!c: keep talking, your shame is muse enough

The camera light pulsed. You leaned forward, intentionally framing your cleavage with your forearms as you pouted at the lens.

“You’re all so strict with me lately,” you murmured, voice full of mock-pout and something that wasn’t so mock. “But I know how much you missed me…”

You reached for a small heart-shaped plastic on the nightstand.

“A-and I think I’m ready to be your good bunny again.”

Then—click.

You pressed the first tip-button. The sex toy that was already inserted before the stream purred to life inside you, humming quiet and wicked.

“A-ah—mm! T-that’s... oopsie.” Well, at least the moan that slipped from your glossy lips was real.

X-Devoted: Dont play shy. U wore that choker for me.

Syl.Draconia: Zoom. 140%. Enhance the thighs.

R.tist!c: such soft curves, let me paint you like this

Mr. WhiteCoat: Keep still. I’m running diagnostics.

C.Pilot : bet she soaked the sheets already.

mr.unknown: oh yes, moan for us more 😩

zeronut: show pussy plz… 💦

"Oh... Oh Daddy..." You murmured into the mic, your eyes glazed over as the vibrations from the toy X-Devoted had chosen for you resonated through your body. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush that surely painted your face in a way that made the camera love you more. The chat was a whirlwind of lewd comments and generous tips. Each one of your patrons had a piece of you, and you knew it. You reveled in it.

You leaned back into the plush pillows, your hands sneaked under the cardigan, fingers dancing over your chest, tracing the edges of the pasties you knew R.tist!c had picked out from the last set of gifts he'd sent. His taste was always so... exquisite. You could feel your heart racing, the decorative adhesive tickling against your skin with each breath.

"Thank you for the tips, Daddy..." You breathed into the mic, a soft smile playing on your lips as you scanned the chat for X-Devoted's name. His tip had triggered the toy, and the pleasure was already pooling in your stomach, threatening to spill over. "You're all so generous tonight."

The screen was a blur of usernames and donation amounts. You bit your bottom lip, letting the anticipation build as you slowly unbuttoned the cardigan. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered dramatically for the camera, knowing it would drive them wild. The room was a symphony of virtual praise, each note hitting a different chord of your arousal.

X-Devoted: Good girl. Thats what I like to see

C.Pilot: let’s see how much you’ve been taking care of yourself Bunny.

R.tist!c: more little bun, show us everything

With a devilish smirk, you leaned forward, giving them the show they were dying to see. The cardigan fell away, revealing the purple, starfish-shaped pasties that covered your areola—nipples already peaked out and were begging for attention beneath the adhesive silicone.

The cold lens of the camera was the only thing touching them as you whispered, "Look at what you do to me, Daddy." You gave your torso a gentle shake, watching your breasts jiggle before the eyes of your devoted audience.

The chat exploded with emojis and messages. The numbers on the side of your screen spun upwards like a slot machine hitting a jackpot. You felt a thrill of power, a heady rush of adrenaline, knowing that these men were all watching you, all wanting you, all willing to give you anything to satisfy their desires. You were the puppeteer, and they were your marionettes, dancing to the tune of your siren's song.

"Would you like to taste my tits, Daddy?" You whispered into the void, watching the screen as your words sent a shockwave through the chat. The vibrator in your panties buzzed in time with your racing heart every time someone tipped, a symphony of need and greed. You cupped your breasts, your thumbs flicking over the covered areola, teasing the silicone away from your sensitive skin.

X-Devoted: Yes baby. Take off the starfish. Let us all admire ur pretty nipples

Mr.WhiteCoat: Use the adhesive fabric next time if the silicone irritates your nipples.

R.tist!c: i wish those pasties were my mouth

R.tist!c: soon you will be mine

C.Pilot: make it quick, I can feel my cock pulsing already.

Syl.Draconia: Watch yourself Bunny. Watch how beautiful you are.

You bit back a giggle, feeling a thrill of excitement at their commands. You knew they were all watching, all waiting with bated breath for the moment you'd give in. Your fingers danced along the edge of the silicone, the tension building as you paused, just for a second, to let them beg for more.

Syl.Draconia tipped 1000 credits: Take it off let the breeze kiss those pretty nipples of yours.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the message from Syl.Draconia. His requests always sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement. But you had a show to run. You had to keep them all on the edge of their seats. So, with a flick of your wrist, the pasties came off, revealing your bare breasts to the camera. The coolness of the room kissed your skin, making your nipples peak even further. You leaned closer to the camera, letting them get a good look at the prize.

But amidst the flurry of tips and messages, one stood out. C.Pilot’s text was simple, but the implication was clear. "you know I wanna fuck those tits Bunny." The chat went wild, a mix of excitement and anticipation. This wasn't the first time he'd made such a bold statement.

You looked into the camera, eyes wide with feigned shock, "Oh my... Daddy's being extra naughty tonight." You giggled, playing coy. But inside, you felt a thrill of danger. It was all part of the game, but you knew it was one you couldn't ignore for much longer.

The tips continued to flood in as you played with the strings of your skirt, tugging it down just enough to reveal the sheer lace of your panties. The camera zoomed in, capturing the wetness that had already begun to soak through. You could feel the fabric sticking to your skin as you teased them, the anticipation building. Each user's kink reflected in their words, a silent bidding war for your attention.

X-Devoted: Spread ur legs for us baby. Show us ur sweet little cunt

Mr.WhiteCoat: I can see your heart rate increasing. Keep going.

R.tist!c: imagine its my tongue licking you clean

C.Pilot: you know I’d shower those tits with my cum.

Syl.Draconia: Take off the skirt. Give us a show.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their eyes—or rather, the screens—on you. It was all a game, a dance of power and desire played out in pixels. But you were good at this dance, weren't you? You'd been doing it for some months. You leaned back, letting your legs fall open just enough to hint at the lacy treasure beneath. The toy in your panties buzzed louder, the intensity of the vibrations making you gasp.

"M-maybe later, Daddy. I-I’m getting shy now…" you whispered, batting your eyelashes at the camera in practiced timidity. The chat erupted again, the sound of keys smacking screens echoing in your mind. The thrill of control was intoxicating. You were the queen of this digital realm, and they were all just pawns in your game.

The vibrations grew more intense, and you couldn’t help but squirm. You reached down and slipped your hand into your skirt, your fingers sliding over the drenched fabric of your panties. The toy buzzed against your clit, and you let out a soft moan, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The room grew hot, the air thick with lust.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your pulse is racing faster now. Tell us how it feels.

X-Devoted: Ure mine tonight bunny

R.tist!c: i can almost taste you through the screen

C.Pilot: give us a better look.

Syl.Draconia: Yes show us how much you want it.

Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, and your breathing grew heavier as you read the messages, feeling their eyes on you—or rather, the screens that served as their windows into your private world. The vibrations grew stronger, and you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge. But you weren’t ready to give in just yet. You had to keep them wanting more.

"But not yet, Daddy," you murmured into the microphone, your voice a sultry whisper. "I want to save the best for later." You pulled your hand away from your panties, leaving them wet and exposed. The camera zoomed in, and you watched the chat light up with excitement. You had them hooked, and you were the master angler reeling them in, inch by inch.

With a practiced brattiness, you stood from the bed.

"Oh... so cold!~" You gasp, hugging yourself in a manner dramatic enough to tease your audience.

You turned to face the camera fully, your eyes scanning the chat for any signs of the five high-rollers you knew were out there. You strutted over to the clothing rack, the soft thud of your feet echoing through the quiet room. The outfit was a surprise, something you'd picked out just for them. A devilish smirk played on your lips as you pulled out the hanger, the fabric gliding over your fingertips like silk.

"Alright, everyone," you announced, the sound of you unraveling the garment garnering a slew of eager messages. "It's time for the main event!" The anticipation in your voice was palpable as you held the outfit against your body, obscuring your nakedness with the screen of fabric. "Tonight, I've got something extra special for you. Who's ready for a surprise?"

The chat exploded with excitement, a barrage of suggestive emojis and filthy messages.

C.Pilot: can't wait Bunny.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your secrets are the best part of the show.

R.tist!c: show us little muse

You took a deep breath, the anticipation building in your chest as you held up the lingerie set. "I've got something that's gonna knock your socks off, Daddies!" You giggled, feeling the excitement of your digital audience pulse through the air. The pastel colors shimmered under the soft light, a perfect blend of innocence and desire.

You turned around, giving them a glimpse of your bare back, the tension building as you slowly untied the strings of your skirt. The skirt softly rustled as it slid down your thighs like silk, leaving only your sheer panties that barely covered your dripping cunt and the vibrator thrumming inside you.

"Oopsie daisy!" You exclaimed, feigning clumsiness, making sure the camera captured every inch of your exposed skin. "Looks like I need to get changed!"

The chatter in the chat grew louder as you began to peel off your panties, the fabric sticking to your wetness before finally sliding away. The toy remained in place, a silent sentinel of your pleasure.

You stepped into the new set, a pair of lace g-strings that barely covered your curves, and a matching sheer bralette that left nothing to the imagination. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through your body, the vibrations syncing with your heartbeat.

"How does this look?" You asked, spinning around for them, giving a full view of the new ensemble. The chat went wild, a cacophony of lewd comments and tips. You could feel the power surging through you, a heady rush that only grew as you watched the numbers climb.

X-Devoted: Perfect. Just like I knew it would be

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your obedience is... commendable, PixelBunny.

R.tist!c: a masterpiece worthy of my canvas

C.Pilot: fuck baby. you're driving me wild.

You leaned closer to the camera, your breath hot against the lens. "Does Daddy like it?" You whispered, your eyes sparkling with mischief. The chat was a blur of eager responses, each one more eager than the last.

Syl.Draconia: Youre a vision, my sweet bunny. I could rip that in one flick of my fingers.

You winked at the camera, the toy inside you buzzing in response to the thrill of their words. "Good, because I got something extra special for you all." Your breasts bounced slightly as you turned, giving them the show they craved. "Who wants to see what I've got planned?"

The tips—smaller amounts this time—poured in faster than you could read, the screen lighting up like a Christmas tree. Your heart raced as you felt the eyes of your devoted fans, the vibrations inside you reaching a crescendo. "Alright, Daddies. Let's get this party started!"

You slid the toy out of you with a wet pop, ensuring the camera caught everything, the chat exploding in a symphony of virtual pleasure. The toy was replaced with something new, something they hadn't seen before. It was a custom-made dildo, the girthy shaft covered in bumpy, tiny lights that matched the color scheme of your room.

"This little guy is gonna light up the night," you said with a wink, turning it on. The lights flickered in time with your racing pulse, a silent promise of what was to come.

Strutting closer to your desktop, you straddled the fuschia pink-white gaming chair, posing your back against the lens. You took a moment to appreciate the view on the screen—the way the lights played off your curves, highlighting the view of your asscheeks in the air, your drenched cunt peeking through the scant g-string. Turning you into a living work of art.

Then, with a sultry smile, you placed the tip of the dildo against your entrance, the coolness sending a shiver down your spine.

"Ready for the main event, Daddies?" You teased, tapping the toy playfully against your asscheeks. The chat was a sea of anticipation, a mix of eagerness and greed. You spread your legs wider, giving them a perfect view of your glistening pussy, the fabric of your g-string the only barrier between you and their hungry eyes.

You leaned further into the chair, the cold leather against your skin a stark contrast to the heat building within you. The lights from the dildo reflected off the chrome of your gaming chair, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. The plastic frames bit into your knees as you settled into the position, a slight discomfort that only served to heighten the thrill of the moment.

The chat was a blur of excitement, a cacophony of usernames and tips flying by as they watched you, rapt and eager for your next move.

X-Devoted: Slowly baby. Make it last

Mr.WhiteCoat: I’m taking notes of how many pumps you’re going to do tonight.

R.tist!c: oh i wanna sketch this

C.Pilot: fuck bunny. you're so wet, I could almost feel it.

Syl.Draconia: Use the lube I sent.

With a seductive smile, you took the lube, never breaking eye contact with the camera’s lens as you lathered it around the girthy artificial phallus. The squelching echoed to the mic as your hands pumped in a tantalizing rhythm, giving your audience the fantasy of you touching their cocks instead.

You began to rub the tip against your swollen clit, the lights flickering in time with your movements. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt through your body that made your eyes roll back in your head.

"Mm, Daddy likes it slow?" You murmured, your voice a breathless purr. "Alright, let's see if I can be a good girl." You slid the toy down, teasing the folds of your pussy. The chat was a flurry of commands and compliments, each one feeding the fire of your desire.

With a deliberate slowness that was as much for show as it was for their benefit, you brushed the string of your panties aside and pushed the dildo inside your cunt. The lights flickered in time with the strokes, creating a mesmerizing pattern across your skin. You moaned, the sound carrying through the quiet apartment, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo back at you from the screens of your devoted fans.

"Oh, yes... just like that," you whispered into the microphone, the vibrations from the dildo making your voice shake slightly. "Daddy's got me feeling so good."

Your eyes remained locked on the camera, watching as the tips continued to roll in. Each one a little victory, each one a validation of your power. You began to move the toy in and out, the lights casting a rainbow of shadows across your vaginal walls. "Tell me, Daddies," you gasped, "How does it look when I'm being such a good girl for you?"

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your pussy looks so tight around that new toy, PixelBunny. You’re taking it well.

C.Pilot: oh fuck. that's so hot. like you're begging for the real thing.

R.tist!c: like a painting baby, a masterpiece

Syl.Draconia: Tell me you wish it was my cock Bunny.

X-Devoted: Ure mine Bunny. Remember that

Their reactions varied, a symphony of desire played out in digital text. Some praised your obedience, others painted vivid pictures of what they’d do to you, while another whispered dark promises of possession. Yet, none of them knew the truth behind your shy demeanor, the cynical smirk that tugged at your lips as you read their words.

With each stroke, the lights of the dildo grew more intense, painting your face with a rainbow of pleasure. Your body began to respond, your hips moving in a gentle rhythm that grew more urgent with each passing moment. You knew the act well, the dance of a siren luring sailors to their doom. You were their obsession, their escape from the mundane.

The sound of your wetness filled the room, mingling with your soft moans. It was a symphony of lust, each note a declaration of your power. You watched the chat, eyes flickering from one message to the next. Their words were a drug, a sweet poison that made you feel alive.

You began to rock your hips, the toy sliding in and out with increasing speed. "Is Daddy proud of me?" You whimpered, your voice a siren's call. The chat exploded, each tip a declaration of their adoration. You felt their desire, a palpable force that seemed to tighten around you, squeezing out every last drop of your inhibition.

"Oh, Daddy," you moaned, the pleasure building, the lights from the dildo casting a glow across your face. "You make me feel so... dirty." The words were like honey, sweet and thick with meaning. You watched the chat, the screen a blur of tips and messages, each one more desperate than the last.

The toy slammed into you now, the plastic thud echoing through the room. Your hands were a blur, moving in a rhythm that was almost violent. The sensation was overwhelming, the lights pulsing with your heartbeat. You could feel yourself getting closer, the orgasm a tidal wave just beyond the horizon.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, PixelBunny, take it another inch deeper.

C.Pilot: so good baby. take it all for me.

R.tist!c: like youre riding my cock baby

Syl.Draconia: Mines bigger than that silly toy Bunny.

X-Devoted: Make sure u wont hurt urself

Their commands fueled you, pushing you closer to the edge. You took the toy out and licked it clean, the taste of yourself making your eyes roll back.

"Daddy, I need more," you whimpered, dropping the dildo to the floor. Slowly, you turned around to face the camera and present yourself on the chair. Your hand snaked into your g-string, your fingers finding your clit. "Is Daddy going to make me cum?"

Mr.WhiteCoat: Play with yourself more, BunnyPixel. Show us how much you want it.

C.Pilot: spread those legs wider, let me see everything.

R.tist!c: i want to see that pretty pussy swollen with desire for me

Syl.Draconia: You know you want it bunny. Take it all.

X-Devoted: Ure so greedy, arent you, Bunny? But Daddy loves that about you

Their words were a siren's song that you couldn't ignore. You spread your legs wider, the fabric of your g-string stretching tightly over your swollen clit. You watched the chat as your fingers began to dance across your folds, the wetness of your pussy glistening in the soft glow of the lights.

"Look at how wet I am for you, Daddies," you breathed into the microphone, the sound of your voice sending a shiver through your body. Your thumb circled your clit, the sensation making your toes curl. "Do you like watching me play?"

The chat erupted in a symphony of affirmations, their digital applause filling your ears. You felt a strange sense of belonging, a thrill that came from being the object of their desire. It was a power trip, one that you were all too eager to indulge in.

With a wicked grin, you picked up the dildo again, the lights pulsing to the beat of the music that played in the background. "Alright, Daddies," you said, your voice a mix of sweetness and seductive challenge. "Who wants to see how fast I can make this little toy disappear?"

The chat went wild as you positioned the dildo at your entrance, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat that had built up within you. You pushed it in, the lights dancing on your skin as you took it all in one go, the tip brushing against your cervix. You gasped, the sensation intense and overwhelming. The chat exploded in a flurry of tips and messages, each one more eager than the last to claim a piece of you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Bravo, PixelBunny. You’re so good at taking what you’re given.

C.Pilot: fuck yes. just like that. you're mine baby.

R.tist!c: a true masterpiece in motion

Syl.Draconia tipped 1000 credits: If its my cock filling you up, youd scream louder than that.

X-Devoted: So obedient. So perfect

You watched the tips climb, feeling a thrill at their desperation. "Is Daddy proud?" You asked, your voice a needy whine as you began to pump the dildo in and out of yourself. The lights reflected off the sweat that had begun to form on your skin, casting a glow around your body.

The chat was a blur of usernames and dollar signs, a testament to your power over these men. You felt a twinge of guilt, a tiny voice that whispered they didn't know the real you, that you were playing a role. But the rush of power was too great, the thrill of their desire too potent to resist.

You began to moan, the sound echoing through your headphones. The camera captured every inch of you, every bead of sweat, every gasp of pleasure. It was a dance of seduction, a performance honed over countless nights in front of the lens.

The chat was a furor of commands, each one more demanding than the last. But you were in control. You knew just how to play them, how to keep them on the edge of their seats. With each stroke, you felt their eyes on you, their thoughts wrapped around your body like a second skin.

"Oh, Daddy," you whimpered, the dildo moving faster now, the lights blurring together into a rainbow of ecstasy. "I'm so close." The chat exploded in a frenzy of tips once more, each one a declaration of war for your pleasure.

You felt yourself getting closer, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your hand moved faster, the dildo a blur as it plunged into your pussy. Your other hand gripped the arm of the chair, knuckles white with the effort of holding back. Its creak was a silent protest against the relentless pace of the dildo, creating a lewd harmony along with the squelching of your pussy around the glowing, bumpy, glass phallus.

"I'm... I'm gonna cum," you whispered, your voice shaking with need. The chat was a sea of fire emojis, a digital inferno of desire. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their hands moving in time with yours, imagining it was their cocks that filled you so completely.

The lights grew brighter, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. It was as if the room was alive, a living entity that feasted on your pleasure. Your walls tightened around the dildo, a silent plea for more, for harder, for deeper. The glass felt like fire in your hand, a tool of your own making that you wielded with expert precision.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, baby, keep going. You’re on the 496th pump and counting.

C.Pilot: that’s it slut. give it to me.

R.tist!c tipped 1500 credits: youd be more beautiful painted with my cum

Syl.Draconia tipped 300 credits: Youre so pretty when youre full of me.

X-Devoted tipped 500 credits: Ure perfect… my little whore

You threw your head back, your mouth open in a silent scream. The chat was a blur of lewd comments and demands, a symphony of desire that seemed to crescendo with every stroke. You felt their eyes on you, their hunger a palpable force that pushed you closer to the edge. The room was spinning, the lights a kaleidoscope of pleasure that painted the walls of your reality.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing over you with the force of a thousand suns. You screamed into the microphone, the sound echoing through the room. The camera captured every twitch of your body, every spasm of pleasure that racked your frame. The chat exploded in a cacophony of tips and messages, each one a declaration of victory.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Beautiful, PixelBunny. Drink water to hydrate.

C.Pilot: I’d breed that little cunt like the bunny you are.

R.tist!c: fuck youre an artwork

Syl.Draconia: Good girl.

X-Devoted tipped 750 credits: Look how swollen your clit is

As the wave of pleasure receded, you slumped in the chair, panting heavily. Your body was a wreck, a plaything used and discarded. But there was no regret, only satisfaction. You had done your job, played your role to perfection. The tips kept rolling in, a testament to your power, to your ability to manipulate and control.

Mr.WhiteCoat: That was exquisite, PixelBunny. You pumped twenty-three times more tonight than the last stream.

C.Pilot tipped 2000 credits: you're so fucking perfect, you’re gonna make me cum on my keyboard.

R.tist!c: i want to capture that moment forever

Syl.Draconia: You never disappoint pet.

X-Devoted: Such a good little bunny letting us watch

You took a moment to catch your breath, the sweat cooling on your skin as you surveyed the chat. The room was bathed in the glow of the pastel lights, a soft symphony of colors that seemed to pulse with the aftermath of your climax. The usernames swirled like a kaleidoscope, each one a reminder of the men who had claimed a piece of you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Take off the g-string. Let us see you completely bare.

C.Pilot: you’re so responsive baby. I bet you’d scream if I was the one fucking you.

R.tist!c: i wish i could paint the way you look right now because your pussy is an art form

Syl.Draconia: Youre so open, so inviting. It makes me want to take you right here, right now.

X-Devoted: Good girl. Show me whats mine

With trembling hands, you slowly pulled the g-string to the side, fingers gliding to spread your swollen labia—exposing your clit to the cool air. The chat erupted in a symphony of desire, a crescendo of tips that sang your praises. You felt a thrill, a dark pleasure in knowing you had them all at your mercy.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Perfect. Just like that.

C.Pilot: so wet, so needy. who’s going to fill you up next?

R.tist!c: thats the look of a well-fucked muse

Syl.Draconia: Your pussy is begging for it.

X-Devoted: Remember, ure mine

You began to toy with yourself again, the dildo forgotten on the floor. Your hand moved with a newfound confidence, a silent challenge to the men watching you. You knew they were all thinking of themselves, of how they'd make you scream if they had the chance. But you were the one in control here, the one pulling the strings of their desires.

Mr.WhiteCoat: I want to see those breasts bounce, PixelBunny.

C.Pilot: play with those perfect tits.

R.tist!c: the way your titties jiggle is like watching a masterpiece come to life

Syl.Draconia: Show us your tits slut.

X-Devoted: Only for me my greedy little bunny

You leaned forward, your tits spilling out of the lingerie. Your nipples were hard peaks, begging for attention. You pinched them lightly, watching the chat for their reactions. The messages grew more frantic, a silent battle for your focus.

Mr.WhiteCoat tipped 300 credits: You’re shaking, PixelBunny. Just relax.

C.Pilot: pinch them harder, make them beg for mercy.

R.tist!c: oh baby thats the picture id sell for a fortune

Syl.Draconia: I want to feel those nipples between my teeth.

X-Devoted: Ure such a good slut for me

The room was a whirlwind of lewdness, a tornado of desire that you were at the center of. You felt a strange mix of fear and excitement, knowing that any of these men could be watching you from the shadows of your real life, and could be closer than you ever imagined.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Make yourself come again, PixelBunny. Show us how many times you can come tonight.

C.Pilot: I want to see you squirt for me baby.

R.tist!c: youre like a living, breathing fantasy

Syl.Draconia: Imagine its my tongue on you licking you clean while you squirt.

X-Devoted: Ure going to come for me arent you?

With a shiver, you focused on the task at hand. You began to rub your clit in slow circles, the sensation sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body. Your nipples tightened further as you pinched and twisted them, the pain adding a delicious edge to the pleasure.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Faster, Bunny. Make it count.

C.Pilot: so pretty when you're desperate.

R.tist!c: i want your juices mixed with paint

Syl.Draconia: So close bunny. Give us what we want.

X-Devoted: Be careful not to fall on the floor

The second orgasm built slowly, a crescendo of pleasure that you couldn't ignore. Each touch of your fingers was a declaration of war, a battle for dominance that you were determined to win. The chat was a blur of praises and commands, but you were in control. This was your show, your performance, your moment of power.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, baby. Just like that.

C.Pilot: I can almost taste you Bunny.

R.tist!c: your body is a masterpiece

Syl.Draconia: Soon youll be screaming for me.

X-Devoted: Ure mine to use little slut

With a final, desperate push, you came, your body arching off the chair as your juices arced in the air—subsequently soiling your chair and the floor. The camera captured every twitch, every shiver of pleasure. The chat exploded in a flurry of tips, each one a declaration of victory. You panted, your chest heaving as you watched the numbers climb, the power of your own sexuality laid bare before you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Beautiful, baby. Simply breathtaking.

C.Pilot: that was so fucking hot. you're incredible

R.tist!c: the way you come is like watching the universe unfold

Syl.Draconia tipped 1500 credits: Thats my slut. Ill give you a taste of my cock soon.

X-Devoted: Good girl

As the waves of pleasure receded, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. These men didn't just want to watch you; they wanted to own you. The thought sent a thrill down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement that you couldn't quite place.

You knew you had to keep them at bay, keep your real life separate from this digital playground. But as the tips continued to flow and the chat demanded more, you couldn't help but wonder if the line had already been crossed.

If they had already claimed a part of you that you couldn't take back.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You overslept.

The kind of oversleep that left mascara smudged in the corner of your eyes and thigh-high sock marks ghosting along your skin. Your alarm had gone off four times—each one silenced by a sleepy, swollen hand that still smells faintly of coconut oil and shame.

You’re not sore exactly. You're ruined.

Tender. Overfilled. Buzzing like your favorite toy never turned off. Your vibrator still under the pillow—taunting you like the whore you were last night. Your apartment smelled like artificial strawberries, lube, and desperation.

And your phone? Oh, bunny.

47 unread messages.

Syl.Draconia: Your audio peaked at 2:14:37. I liked that sound.

Mr. WhiteCoat: You should ice your thighs today. Hydration report pending.

X-Devoted: Still think about how u moaned my name last. Be good today

C.Pilot: saved the vod. watching it again before my morning meeting.

R.tist!c: i want to paint you mid-climax ill need the raw footage

You deleted none of them.

Your thighs stuck together as you rolled onto your side, squinting at the soft morning light bleeding through cheap blinds.

7:48 AM. Your café shift started at 7:00.

You groaned, dragging yourself out of bed. Your bunny headset laid discarded on the floor like a casualty, tangled with the cord of the bullet toy that made you scream so loud you had to bite the pillow. The heart-shaped toy from last night was still blinking faintly on the nightstand—taunting you. Judging you.

You’re still wearing the cropped cardigan. Nothing underneath. Just a smear of dried gloss on the collar and a suspicious hickey where your neck met the webcam’s frame.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You yanked on your barista apron with the grace of a drunken octopus, hair still smelling like body spray and cum-adjacent perfume, cheeks flushed with residual shame. The “CUP O' SUNSHINE!” logo stared at you like a passive-aggressive middle finger. A wrinkled pair of jeans hugged your thighs fine—inside out. No time to fix it. No bra.

Your thighs sticked slightly as you walked, the aftermath of being toyed open for hours, edged to oblivion and backed by faceless men who knew the sound of your moans better than your coworkers knew your name.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket with unread messages. The same five names.

X-Devoted: Did u eat yet baby?

Mr. WhiteCoat: You should’ve hydrated more. You lost a lot of fluids.

C.Pilot: when’s your break? I’ll call you.

R.tist!c: sketching the way your thighs shook

Syl.Draconia: You looked perfect on your knees.

You groaned and shoved it in your boring, beige, canvas tote bag.

Outside, the bus screeched past your stop without a single care for your state of existential hangover. You missed it by six goddamn seconds.

"Fuck you, rush hour,” you panted, trying to speed-walk without waddling. Your thighs screamed. Your lower back protested. You're ninety percent sure there was still some faux hickey ink blooming under your collarbone in the shape of a painted thumbprint.

Then the subway ride was hell. You shifted on the plastic seat with a soft hiss, cursing your post-stream sensitivity. The train lurched and your sore cunt clenched involuntarily. You could only bite your lip and pray no one noticed your discomfort.

When you clocked in, the coffee shop was already packed. You're over an hour late and reeking of vanilla lotion and unsanctioned orgasms.

Your workplace was aggressively normal. Neutral-toned hell. A cozy café chain squashed between a vape shop and a dentist’s office. The fluorescent lights buzzed like judging aunts. The espresso machine wheezed like a dying horse.

“Nice of you to join us,” your manager—Lysander—muttered, tossing you a stained dish towel and a name tag that read PIXEL. You didn’t bother to correct him. You were too busy hiding the fact that you forgot underwear.

You forced a smile. The same one you used on camera. “Sorry! Long night.”

As you staggered toward the counter, last night kept crashing back in wet waves.

After the ‘normal stream’—you on all fours, bouncing on a glass dildo while holding a printed-out chatlog to your chest like a script from hell.

“I-I’m gonna come again if you keep saying that, please—please don’t make me—!”

And them—ULTRA VIP chat exploding, all five usernames watching you fall apart like a perfectly wound toy snapping loose.

Syl.Draconia: Youre not allowed to finish until I say so.

X-Devoted: Slower. Hold eye contact. Now beg

Mr. WhiteCoat: Apply pressure to your clit. Precisely three fingers. That’s right.

C.Pilot: fuck, you’re gonna make me blow in my headset.

R.tist!c: cry for me, let me paint it from memory

You had collapsed into a moaning mess while the private chat was filled with tips, voice notes and possessive claims. You came so hard you nearly dislocated your mic stand.

And now here you were—Pixel Bunny’s shadow, stripped of pastel lights, lace, and fake moans. Fresh graduate, still buried in student debts, living alone, half-fucked out, and working the register for caffeine-deprived Karens and stoners.

Taking someone’s half-skim oat milk latte with a fake smile and shaky hands, your body still twitching with phantom overstimulation, your panties still sitting in a tipped-over laundry basket, and your cunt still slick from ghosts of last night’s sins.

You slapped a paper cup onto the counter like a half-dead soldier. Your bones ached. Your legs felt like overcooked noodles. You were seconds away from collapsing into the espresso grounds when you heard it:

“Medium latte. One pump vanilla.”

You didn’t look up at first. You were too busy auto-piloting through your camgirl trauma, but something about the voice made you pause.

It’s… calm and smooth. Measured.

You glanced up and your breath caught mid-exhale.

He was tall. Easily six feet. Fair-skinned and silver-haired, the kind of anime-protagonist-just-transferred-to-your-school handsome that would normally make you roll your eyes. His white sweater looked soft, expensive, the kind of thing someone would wear just to make you think about how good it would feel brushing against your thighs. His pants were dark, tailored. Hands tucked casually into the pockets.

And his eyes. Blue. Not icy—glacial.

Like he sees straight through you, and hasn’t decided if you’re prey… or his.

You swallowed. “N-name for the order?”

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a second, gaze lingering for a beat on the upside-down nametag stuck above your chest.

“…Xavier.”

Your hand trembled around the Sharpie. You barely managed to scrawl the name on the cup, your brain already conjuring the worst possibilities.

X-Devoted. No. No. It’s just a common name. It’s fine. You’re fine, you’re just sleep-deprived and overstimulated.

You slid the cup toward the espresso machine and forced your voice steady. “It’ll be right up. Um. X-Xavier.”

His lips twitched. Not a smile. Just a flicker—barely there.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly.

Xavier turned to wait at the other end of the counter, hands still in his pockets. Posture straight. Like he was listening.

You sneaked one more glance as you started the order. He was staring at the pastries now. Or the board. Or maybe the reflection in the glass. You couldn’t tell.

But the prickle on the back of your neck said: be careful.

[chrissssssmut]

You heard of parasocial relationships where fans of a celebrity feel like they know the celebrity and am close to them even though they aren't?

Imagine a reverse yandere parasocial relationship where an idol sees social media posts from a guy online who is a fan of her and she becomes obsessed with him and goes full yandere

NOTICED

Yandere Kazuha x Male Reader

AN: Sorry I take so long writing! I've been super busy recently and I hope you all could understand!😭♥️

You didn’t expect your K-pop fan account to go anywhere. It was just a place to dump your edits, fancams, and long-winded rambles about how “Kazuha doesn’t even feel real sometimes,” or how “no human should move that gracefully unless they were sculpted by the gods.”

You were just one of thousands. One more voice in a sea of fanboys.

But… she saw you.

And she never stopped looking.

It started small. A like.

You noticed it one night around 2:12 AM, while lazily scrolling through your old posts, chasing dopamine. Your most recent tweet—“If I ever get reincarnated I hope it’s as Kazuha’s phone charger”—had a new like.

From her official account.

You sat upright so fast your spine popped. The checkmark stared back at you like a blinking cursor on a love letter.

“Okay,” you whispered, screen glowing in the dark. “Okay, that’s not… normal.”

Your heart wouldn’t stop racing. She had millions of followers. Why your post? Why now?

Maybe it was her social media manager? Maybe it was random?

You retweeted it anyway, captioning it with:

“No way Kazuha just liked my tweet???? Is this real life???”

You didn’t know it then, but she was already watching. Already scrolling.

Next Day — Seoul

Kazuha scrolled through your feed, her thumb trembling ever so slightly as she lay on her hotel bed. The blue light carved shadows into her face.

Every post. Every caption. Every breath you typed into the void—meant for her.

“He thinks I’m not real,” she murmured, eyes glinting. “He thinks I’m a goddess.”

A slow, eerie smile tugged at her lips.

“Then I’ll become one.”

Three Days Later

Your account was exploding. Kazuha had liked three more of your posts.

One was your fan edit—her rehearsal shots layered with angel wings and a dreamy filter.

Another was your tweet:

“Kazuha's smile should be registered as a WMD.”

And the third?

“If Kazuha ever looked at me the way she looks at the camera, I’d pass out. Actually pass out.”

You were losing your mind. Your DMs were flooded. Kazuha had liked three more of your posts, and the internet was combusting over it. Your phone buzzed non-stop—mentions, retweets, follows, and angry fanboys and fangirls trying to decode what black magic you used.

Some of the messages were just chaotic:

@swanfeetfanatic:

BRO??? WHAT DID YOU SELL TO THE UNIVERSE FOR THIS?? GIVE ME THE RITUAL CIRCLE???

@kknuckles:

This is rigged. You’re not even her biggest fan. You don’t even tag your fancams right.

But then came the jealous DMs.

unknown:

“Seriously? SHE liked you? You barely know anything about her. You said she looked ‘unreal’ like three times. That’s lazy simping.”

user82837:

“You're just a thirst account. If anyone should get noticed, it's people who actually care about her art.”

zuha4life:

“You think she’s gonna date you now or something? LMAO. Delusional.”

private account (no pfp):

“She follows me too. You’re not special. Stop pretending you matter.”

The bitterness dripped off every word, but you couldn’t lie—it kind of made it sweeter. You knew it was petty, but something about being the one she saw… it stirred something in your chest.

You refreshed again.

Another like.

This time, on your old post from months ago:

“If Kazuha showed up at my door soaked in rain asking to stay the night, I wouldn’t even ask questions. I’d just pray she never leaves.”

You stared at it.

And then the DM came from that private account with no posts.

unknown:

"You wouldn’t pass out. You’d fall to your knees."

Then it vanished.

Same Night — Hotel Room

Kazuha grinned at her burner account. She had watched your reaction through the reflection in her hotel window, playing your stream on mute.

She could see you squint at your screen, confused and flustered. She could practically taste your pulse.

“That’s enough teasing for now,” she whispered, rolling onto her back. “He’s almost ripe.”

Next Day — Fanmeet

You had to fly out. You couldn’t resist anymore. Kazuha was attending a public fanmeet in Seoul and you had to see her.

You didn’t expect to get in. You didn’t expect your fan letter to even be read. But someone—somehow—pushed your name to the top of the list.

You were called up.

And there she was.

Kazuha, smiling up at you from across the small table. Her skin glowed. Her eyes—deep, unreadable—fixed on you like you were the only thing left in the world.

You stammered. “H-Hi…”

“Hi,” she said sweetly, but her tone was low. Slow. Intimate.

Your heart did a backflip.

She tilted her head. “You look… just like I imagined.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

Kazuha leaned in, lips just a whisper from the mic.

“Your voice. Your face. I’ve seen all of it. So many times.”

You stood frozen. The staff gestured for you to move along, but she raised her hand—delicate but firm.

“One more minute,” she told them.

Then her eyes turned back to you.

“I liked your post,” she said quietly. “The one about reincarnating as my phone charger.”

You let out a half-choked laugh. “I-I was joking, of course—”

“I wasn’t.”

Silence. Her stare burned into you.

“Would you let me keep you in my room?” she asked. “Just… on the floor. Warm. Plugged in. Close.”

Your throat dried.

She smiled. “I’m kidding.”

But her eyes weren’t.

Two Days Later — Your Apartment

You couldn’t shake her from your mind. Every notification made your heart stutter. Every shadow in your hallway felt like it was holding its breath.

You told yourself you were being paranoid.

Until the note appeared under your door.

“I know where you live now. I liked it better when I was the fantasy. But I’ll make reality better, don’t worry. — K”

You dropped the note like it burned.

Outside, the wind howled.

You couldn’t sleep. Every sound outside your window had you glancing over your shoulder. You checked the locks again. You checked your phone.

No notifications. No messages.

Then the lights flickered.

You turned—slowly—to see her.

Kazuha.

Standing in your living room.

Barefoot. Hair wet. Dressed in one of your oversized hoodies.

“Hey,” she said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Miss me?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

She walked toward you, slow and deliberate.

“I told myself I’d wait. That I’d be patient. But you kept posting. You kept calling me a goddess. You kept making me real.”

You backed up, bumping into the wall.

Kazuha raised a hand and gently pressed it against your chest. “So here I am.”

Her smile was soft. Her eyes weren’t.

“I’m yours, right? You made me yours. You manifested me.”

“I—Kazuha, this isn’t—”

“Shh,” she whispered. “Don’t ruin the fantasy. You prayed for this. Every post. Every word.”

She leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“Let me be what you worship.”

The words lingered in the air, thick with heat and danger.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding so violently it echoed in your ears. Kazuha was inches from you now—too close. The hoodie she wore was yours, you could tell from the faint detergent scent and how it draped perfectly over her dancer’s frame. Her bare legs, toned and poised, brushed against yours like it was deliberate.

“Kazuha,” you whispered, as gently as you could. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

She tilted her head, feigning confusion. “Why not? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”

“I—”

“You said it yourself,” she murmured. “Over and over. You wanted me in your room. You said you’d let me stay the night. That I could do anything. Be anything.”

She pressed her forehead to yours, eyes half-lidded, breath warm.

“You told the world you’d worship me. So why hesitate now that your goddess is standing in front of you?”

You didn’t know what scared you more—how calmly she said it, or how much of you wanted to give in.

Your hand moved up, instinctively reaching for your phone, but she caught your wrist with gentle fingers.

“No,” she said, smile still soft. “This isn’t something you share.”

Her grip tightened slightly.

“This moment is ours.”

Hours Later — Same Night

You didn’t sleep.

Kazuha sat curled up on your bed like a cat who had always belonged there, scrolling through your phone as if it was hers now. Occasionally, she'd let out a soft giggle or hum.

“Oh,” she said, waving the screen. “This one’s cute.”

She read aloud:

“I’d let Kazuha slap me with a ballet shoe and I’d thank her. I’m sick in the head.”

She turned to you with wide, amused eyes. “That was you?”

You nodded mutely from the corner of the room, where you sat—legs pulled up to your chest—trying to make sense of the nightmare you were trapped in.

“God, you’re adorable,” she cooed. “You’re so loyal.”

She crawled toward you, slow and deliberate, dropping the phone beside you.

“You made me feel seen. Real. Not just some perfectly sculpted robot for the stage. You talked to me like I was art. Like I was holy.”

Her hand slid against your cheek.

“So I’ll treat you like my most devoted worshipper. Isn’t that what you are?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

She smiled, tapping her forehead to yours again.

“Don’t be scared. You’re mine now. That’s all this is.”

You awoke to the smell of breakfast—burnt toast and eggs, slightly too salty. Kazuha was dancing barefoot in your kitchen, humming a Le Sserafim song under her breath like she was home.

Like she belonged here.

She turned when she saw you, eyes lighting up.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” she chirped. “I made food. It's probably bad, but you’ll eat it anyway, right?”

You stared at her.

“Zuha… you can’t stay here. This isn’t normal. People will notice—”

“Let them,” she said, expression unchanging. “Let them see what real love looks like.”

“But your fans—your company—”

Her face shifted just slightly. A small, almost imperceptible crack in her serene expression.

“I don’t care about them,” she said flatly. “I care about you.”

Silence.

Then, quietly:

“You think they’d still love me if they knew what I was willing to do for you?”

You didn’t move.

She stepped closer.

“If they knew how long I’ve been watching? How many of your locations I’ve tracked from tweets? How many people I blocked from your replies—using sock accounts—so you’d feel like I was the only one who cared?”

“Kazuha—”

“They’d crucify me,” she whispered, smiling. “But you wouldn’t. You’d kneel.”

Later That Day — Twitter

Your account was different now. Your follower count had mysteriously dropped. Your tweet replies were unusually quiet—no more chaotic DMs. No more angry fangirls or jealous snark.

They were gone.

You opened your DMs and saw nothing.

Nothing.

Except one new message.

From @onlyzuha (a private account with zero followers).

“You’re welcome. I cleaned up the noise. I want to hear you clearly.”

“Post something for me. Something true. Tell the world who you belong to.”

And somehow… you knew if you didn’t, she’d find another way to make it clear.

You hovered over the tweet button.

Your hands were shaking.

“I don’t know how this happened… but she’s mine now. And I think I’m hers.”

You hit post.

Seconds later—liked by @Kazuha_official.

Your post went viral.

Not viral like before—no chaotic memes or fan envy. This time, it was quiet.

Sinister.

Everyone could feel something was off.

Your tweet:

“I don’t know how this happened… but she’s mine now. And I think I’m hers.”

Got liked only once—by Kazuha’s verified account.

No replies. No fan jokes. No chaos.

Just silence.

And then, one by one, your tweets started disappearing.

Not the ones Kazuha liked—those remained, carefully pruned. But old ones, ones where you casually mentioned your friends, college, exes, late-night gaming buddies—they all vanished. It was as if someone was scrubbing your digital identity clean.

That Night — Your Apartment

Kazuha was humming in your room again. Sitting cross-legged in your chair, scrolling through your timeline like it was hers.

“Your friend Dan,” she said calmly, “he called you pathetic once in a Discord voice call. I saved the clip.”

You stared at her. “How did you—”

“I joined with a throwaway,” she smiled. “Voice mod and everything. Cute, right?”

You stood frozen, bile creeping up your throat. “You… you were listening?”

“I am listening,” she said softly. “All the time.”

She got up, walked to you, and gently took your face in her hands.

“I know you better than anyone. Better than your mother. Better than God. Because I chose to.”

“Kazuha,” you whispered, barely breathing, “I’m scared.”

Her smile didn’t falter.

“I know, baby. It’s always scary when divinity touches you.”

Next Morning — Trending Tab

#FREE___

Your name.

It started trending without context. Just your name. Bold. Empty. Dozens of fans began asking:

“Why has this guy’s account been completely wiped except the Kazuha tweets?”

“Did he delete himself or did someone else delete him?”

“He was super active and now he’s silent af. Where is he?”

“This is giving Black Mirror.”

You tried to post something. Anything.

But the tweet wouldn’t send. Your drafts vanished as you typed them.

Kazuha walked past behind you, brushing her teeth, wearing your shirt. “Internet issues?”

She spat in the sink, smiling through the mirror.

“I locked you out. Just for a bit. You were shaking too much.”

Sometime later, a secret video is leaked.

A blurry video was posted by a burner account and quickly deleted.

It showed you—clearly distressed—sitting on a balcony. Kazuha beside you, holding your hand, smiling into the camera. Whispering something into your ear. You looked like you were crying.

Fans lost it.

“No idol should be that close to a fan, ever.”

“He doesn’t look okay. He looks like he’s being held hostage.”

“If this is real, we need to help him.”

But the video disappeared in minutes.

The account that posted it? Nuked.

The people who reposted it? Suspended.

Your last tweet remained.

Still liked.

Still pinned.

Still yours.

You sat on the edge of the building, wind tugging at your clothes. Kazuha sat beside you, her hand on your thigh, casual like always.

“I think people are starting to notice,” you murmured.

“They’re irrelevant,” she said. “They don’t understand us.”

She leaned her head on your shoulder, like a girlfriend in a drama.

“I used to think I needed the world. The stage. The lights. But it was all so… hollow.”

“Then I found your words.”

“You made me alive.”

The wind howled. You didn’t speak.

“If the world burns because I chose you,” she whispered, “then let it burn.”

She looked up at you.

“So choose, baby. Me or them.”

Your lips trembled.

“Kazuha…”

“I won’t ask again.”

One Week Later — You were declared missing.

It started with a welfare check.

Neighbors hadn’t seen you in days. Lights on all night. Packages stacked outside your door. No noise, no movement. Your parents tried calling—you didn’t answer. Your friends, the few who hadn’t been pushed away, filed a report.

By the time police reached your apartment… it was empty.

No sign of a struggle. No signs of violence.

Just your phone—cracked, screen facing the wall. And a note:

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve gone somewhere better.”

Your name hit the trending tab again.

#RIP[YourName]

#JusticeFor[YourHandle]

#WhatHappenedToTheSimpKing

Memorial edits popped up. Fan theories ran wild. Some blamed Kazuha—pointing to the tweets, the video, the possessive behavior. But HYBE’s legal team moved fast. Every accusation was buried. Every account mysteriously suspended.

It was dark when you woke up. Dim yellow lighting. A room with no windows. Your limbs ached from disuse, your body heavy. The bed beneath you was soft. Too soft. Sheets freshly washed. The scent of clean linen mixed with something sweeter—like jasmine and static.

Then you heard her voice.

“There he is.”

Kazuha stepped into the room, barefoot, wearing a flowy white dress that made her look like a dream—or a ghost. She sat beside you, brushing your hair from your face.

“Sleep well?” she whispered.

You tried to sit up. “Where am I?”

“Safe,” she said, like that explained anything. “The world thinks you’re gone. And for once… they’re right.”

You stared at her, mind spinning. “You faked my death?”

Her smile didn’t waver. “I set you free.”

The bunker—because that’s what it was—had everything.

Soft lighting. A stocked fridge. A mattress. Speakers playing Le Sserafim on loop. No internet. No phone. Just books she picked out. Sketchbooks. Headphones. Her.

She was always there. Always.

Feeding you. Bathing with you. Stroking your hair as you lay on her lap like some prized possession she could finally keep.

“You were too soft for the world,” she said one night, straddling you with a featherlight touch. “Too pure. They would’ve ruined you.”

“But I kept you.”

You stared at the ceiling.

“You stole me.”

She giggled, kissing your cheek. “And yet… you haven’t run.”

You didn’t respond.

You didn’t even know where the door was anymore.

Above Ground — Fan Reaction Shifts

A user posted screenshots of your old tweets.

“Guys. Look. She liked every single one that hinted at him wanting to disappear with her. This wasn’t random.”

“What if she saw him coming? What if she planned it?”

They were shut down instantly. IP banned. DMCA strikes. Cease-and-desist.

Kazuha’s fans pivoted.

“He was clearly unstable. Poor girl must’ve been traumatized.”

“She hasn’t smiled once onstage since it happened.”

And it was true.

Kazuha’s performances changed. She danced slower. Sang with empty eyes. But in between sets, a ghost of a smile would return. Not for the cameras. Not for the fans.

Just when she looked at her phone.

Because she still had photos of you.

Videos.

Recordings.

Proof that you were here, beneath the floorboards of the world.

It had been over a month. You couldn’t tell time anymore. Kazuha walked in with two mugs—one for you, one for her.

You didn’t even look up.

“Are you ever going to let me leave?” you asked softly.

She sat beside you, curled her legs underneath her. “No.”

You finally turned to her. “Then why pretend this is love?”

She looked at you, long and deep, like you were scripture.

“Because you loved me when no one else saw me. You wrote about me like I was more than skin. More than choreography. You called me sacred.”

“You gave me that godhood. I’m just returning the favor.”

You laughed bitterly. “You buried me.”

“I immortalized you,” she said, tone still calm. “You're legend now. The fan who loved me so much he vanished.”

She kissed your knuckles.

“And now you’re mine forever.”

Final Scene — A New Fan Surfaces

Far away, in a different country, a new Twitter thread begins.

Someone posts an edit of Kazuha.

Captions it:

“If Kazuha kidnapped me, I’d say thank you.”

The tweet goes viral. Harmless joke. Just another fan craving attention.

But in the shadows… a new account likes it.

@onlyzuha

💬 “Do you really mean that?”

[akioxo]

You're stuck with boyfriend!Eren , and now you'll have to deal with the fantasies he keeps buried underneath the nonchalant, frat boy demeanour.

WARNINGS: Blowjob, f!reader, fratboy!Eren, p mention, reader's privates mention, and uhh kinky shit ig ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠˘⁠_⁠˘⁠)⁠┌

Boyfriend!Eren, who since after realising he's been a little too vulnerable and open around you, comes to a conclusion that he's fallen for you; The highschool star, an absolute badass at everything.

Boyfriend!Eren, who was ecstatic after you reciprocated his feelings and has been the most unexpectedly sweetest, caring and supportive boyfriend since then. Strong and determined, but playful and clumsy, he's got it all. Besides one thing.. endurance. He was simply impatient when it came to you.

Boyfriend!Eren, who respectfully begged you to at least make contact with his "male privates" or he'd explode. And gf!reader who finally accepted. I mean.. he deserved it.

Boyfriend!Eren, who shuddered as your delicate hand gently grasped the base of his cock, bringing it up and smearing the pre-cum all through his base until it shone and trickled with his juices.

Boyfriend!Eren, who almost came right there and then the second your plump lips made contact with his sensitive tip. Throwing his head back and bringing his hand up to shut away the moans threatening to leave his throat, trying to avoid looking like a pathetic virgin. Even though he was, apart from jerking off in his dorm.

Boyfriend!Eren, who almost fell back in his chair at the heavenly feeling of his dear partner's warm mouth engulfing his hard dick and your tongue teetering him further, the head of his cock repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. He felt as if the angels had already taken him.

Boyfriend!Eren, who accidentally let out a choked moan into his hand which was squeezing his lips so tight he almost broke his jaw. He thrusted his hips into your sweet mouth one final time before absolutely exploding inside your eager throat. He has never came so hard in his life, leading him to imagining how good your pussy would feel. Fuck, he was getting hard again.

Boyfriend!Eren, who gave you a good job kiss followed by a bunch of sweet nothings being whispered in your ear. "Mm.. You did so good, my love. Uhm.. can we do this again sometime?"

RAHHH random idea that me and my bsf came up with so uhmm this is for you kween (⁠◠⁠‿⁠◕⁠) @be4ra1s

And also this is the first ever smut I've written so uhmm this was certainly interesting! Expect Eren getting pegged if I make another one bc I wanted to dedicate this one to eren's dick not his asshole 🥹 (yet)

BONUS:

Eren with this cut makes me wanna lick his neck sb 👅

[meayefet]

Here's another thing I feel like we need to talk about regarding the current war between Israel and Hamas. Minor as it may be, I've been losing my mind over this.

As a person who grew up in the early 2010s, I grew up mostly on the internet and fandom culture, and have written quite a lot of fanficition in my early teens.

Something I've realized this past week is that people are seeing Palestine as a fandom. And not only does it belittle the actual problem, it dehumanizes Palestinians and Israelis alike and allows the rewriting of facts and truths as if it were an AU fanfic.

After realizing that I jokingly told a friend that I wouldn't be surprised to see RPF about the events of October 7th. I had in mind something like slash fiction of Hamas members, but today I found out people are writing fanfiction about A HOSTAGE AND HER CAPTOR.

I also found out it didn't happen in a vaccum - apparently tiktok is exploding with this stuff, saying Maya Regev - the hostage in question - had "left her heart in Gaza", because she smiled and said "shukran, bye" to her captors.

In case you have forgotten - Maya Regev was SHOT IN THE LEG AND TAKEN HOSTAGE INTO GAZA along with her brother, who was released FOUR DAYS AFTER HER. She was released with a shattered leg and without her brother - but if she smiled, her captors must have treated her so well, amirite? (Even though there are already plenty of horror stories from Hamas captivity, and children came back pale and whispering with their heads full of lice.)

Even in the early 2010s there was a debate whether RPF is legit or not (and at 26 I can safely say it's a no from me), but in this case it's even worse. These are not public figures we are talking about. This isn't One Direction or The Beatles. The Hamas terrorists are, well, terrorists, and Maya Regev is a private person made public because she was TAKEN HOSTAGE INTO GAZA. Writing a FANFIC about actual people who were actually injured during October 7th is beyond sickening, and it's probably the most immoral thing you can do on social media for the Palestinian cause (and if you guys claim to be on the side of morality you might want to be consistent).

Another thing that's driving me crazy is the difference between Israelis and Non-Israelis who grew up on the same things at the same time. my friends and I learned a lot about justice, critical thinking, and the power of art and creativity on the internet. I met a lot of my online friends in socialist youth movements and rallies, and many of them later became my classmates in Bezalel - BECAUSE we applied what we had learned into our adult life.

Non Israelis who grew up on the same platforms as I did who took part in the same fandoms, read the same fanfiction works, learned the same truths of social justice and the power of art- are now viewing the conflict as a fandom. You're either a fan or you're wrong - there is no middle. No room for critical thinking, for "Palestinians have every right to self-determination and an independent state BUT Hamas who actively prevents them said rights has comitted crimes against humanity on 7.10 and must be held accountable", or for "the occupation must end BUT the Jewish people are indigenous to the region" - there is only room for "by all means" and "from the river to the sea". It doesn't matter if they don't know which river and what sea - because if the conflict is a fandom, then they can write an AU to deal with every truth that doesn't settle with their narrative, and rewrite reality to fit their next fanfic.

[logansargeantsbabymom]

I Need You

George Russell x Fem!Reader

Requested: A anon who sent me a beautiful message had requested something George related so I made it smut.

Warnings: SMUT

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

Instagram

F1 Masterlist

The celebrations were in full swing. George, the dashing Formula 1 driver, had just won his second Grand Prix in Austria, and the team was ecstatic.

The champagne flowed freely, and the atmosphere was electric. Among the well-wishers was me, George's girlfriend of two months. I was stunning, with shimmering eyes that seemed to see right through him, and I had a body that captivated his imagination.

As the party continued, George and I found ourselves locked in an intense gaze. It was as if the world around us had melted away, and only we existed. George felt his desire for me intensifying with each passing second. He knew he had to have me, but he didn't want to rush things. Our relationship was still fresh, and he wanted to respect that.

"I need you," he whispered, his voice hoarse with longing. "But I don't want to rush. Are you sure about this?"

my heart pounded in my chest. I had desired this man from the moment I laid eyes on him, and now, here he was, offering me something even more intimate. I bit my lip, my eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I've wanted you from the start, George. I'm not going to say no now."

Without another word, George took my hand and led me away from the celebrations.

We made our way to his driver's room, a private space where he could relax between races. As soon as the door closed behind us, the passion that had been building between us exploded.

George pressed me against the door, his lips crushing mine in a hungry kiss. I moaned, opening my mouth to welcome his invading tongue. His hands roamed my body, cupping my breasts and squeezing them gently. I arched my back, pressing my chest into his hands, my nipples hardening at his touch.

Breaking the kiss, George trailed hot kisses along my jawline and down my neck. He nibbled and sucked on the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of wet, sparkling marks. I gasped, my head falling back to give him better access.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted to do this," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. "To taste every inch of you."

His hands slid down my body, grasping my hips and pulling me towards him. I could feel his hard cock pressing against my belly, and I ground myself against him, already aching for release.

George chuckled, the vibration sending shivers down my spine. "Eager, aren't we?”

Before I could respond, George lifted me, wrapping my legs around his waist. Still kissing me passionately, he walked us over to the bed and laid me down gently. He hovered over me, his eyes burning with desire as he took in the sight of my naked body.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, running a hand up my thigh. "Absolutely gorgeous."

I blushed, my cheeks contrasting with my heated skin. I reached for him, pulling him down for another kiss. Our tongues danced together as George's hand slid between my thighs. He stroked me gently, his touch feather-light, making me whimper into his mouth.

"Please, George," I begged, my voice hoarse with need. "I need you now."

With a growl, George ripped open the button of his jeans, his hard length springing free. My eyes widened at the sight of his thick cock, straining with desire. I reached out, wrapping my hand around him and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Your turn to be eager," I teased, stroking him slowly.

George hissed, bucking his hips into my hand. "Fuck, Y/N, that feels so good."

He stepped back, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes before returning to the bed. George positioned himself between my legs, his tip teasing my entrance. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he slid into me, filling me completely.

I cried out, my head tossing from side to side as I adjusted to his size. George stayed still, giving me time to get used to the feel of him. Then, he began to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, deeper this time.

"Oh, God," I moaned, my eyes fluttering closed as pleasure washed over me. "Yes, just like that."

George set a slow, relentless pace, each thrust driving deeper into my wet heat. I met his movements, pushing back against him, my hips moving in perfect harmony. our bodies slapped together, the sound filling the room, mingling with our heavy breathing and moans.

As the pleasure built, George reached between us, finding my clit and rubbing it in circles. I cried out, my back arching off the bed.

"Don't stop, please don't stop," I panted, my fingers tangling in his hair.

George quickened his pace, pounding into me with force. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard banging against the wall with each powerful thrust. My breath came in short gasps as I felt my orgasm building, a coiling tension deep in my core.

"Cum for me, baby," George groaned, his own release threatening to overtake him. "Let me feel you cum around me."

His words sent me over the edge. I cried out, my body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over me. George felt my pussy clenching around him, milking his cock, and it pushed him over the brink. With a hoarse shout, he spilled himself inside me, his hips stuttering as he filled me with his release.

We lay tangled together, our breathing slowly returning to normal. George brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his thumb gently caressing my cheek.

"That was incredible," he murmured, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

I smiled back, my eyes sparkling. "It certainly was."

Unbeknownst to us, our passionate encounter had an unexpected witness.

Lewis Hamilton, George's teammate, had heard the noises coming from George's room and had decided to investigate. He had watched, his breath quickening as he spied on the couple, his hand moving faster and faster over his own cock as he listened to our passionate moans and watched our bodies move together.

Now, as he adjusted his clothes, Lewis couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy mixed with arousal. He knew that what he had done was an invasion of privacy, but he couldn't deny the primal satisfaction he felt seeing George lose control like that.

As Lewis made his way back to his own room, a smile played on his lips. Perhaps there were some benefits to this new development. After all, he now had some very intriguing material for his own fantasies. And who knew, maybe this wouldn't be the last time he got to witness such a sexy display.

——————

pt. 2 maybe?

taglist:

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal l l @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti @dhanihamidi i @tellybearryyyy @a-panseuxalmess s @love-simon @tallrock35 @iiaik0ii @Milkyymelanine @ilovsyou3000morgan @styl1shl1v @eddieharrington @hellowgoodbye

[he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle]

My God I Love This Show

I think I've rewatched that final breakroom scene from Jun & Jun episode 2 at least a dozen times since it first aired yesterday, and I need to rave about it in its own post rather than just tags.

That scene is... perfection.

First, for non-Korean speakers, it's important to note they've already dropped into banmal with each other in private (the most intimate and casual linguistic form of address). This establishes them as societal equals, despite their wildly different social positions as boss and employee. It was an intentional choice by Choi Jun at the end of episode 1, when he took off his glasses, leaned over the seated Lee Jun in his office and greeted him properly with "오랜만이야" (Long time no see.) The fact that he dropped into banmal here was likely a bigger clue to Lee Jun that they know each other intimately than the actual words Choi Jun chose.

So in the breakroom scene. (!!!) Choi Jun is radiating confident dom energy and Lee Jun is INTO IT. He begins by making sure Lee Jun wasn't hurt by scalding hot coffee and telling Lee Jun to take off his shirt. But then he does the most batshit dom thing ever and starts removing HIS OWN CLOTHES. He explains its because he has a spare shirt for himself and plans to dress Lee Jun in the shirt he's been wearing all day. Why? Because he has a scent kink! And he just says it out loud. He wants Lee Jun to smell like he's HIS.

He checks Lee Jun out like a starving man and asks, "would my size fit you?" WHICH IS THE WILDEST BLATANT SEXUAL INNUENDO and Lee Jun KNOWS its innuendo because he clutches his pearls with his hand over his heart and replies "don't people say you worry too much?" causing Choi Jun to call him cute. Lee Jun can't help but smile shyly at the compliment, and Choi Jun pounces, immediately switching gears and ordering him to hurry up and take off his shirt. Lee Jun asks "right here?" as if that's the only weird or concerning thing about being told to disrobe, so Choi Jun takes off his own vest. This man is doing everything in his power to both rattle and comfort his cute former idol childhood bestie, and I AM HOLDING MY BREATH FROM THE SEXUAL TENSION.

And then we get the first truly jaw-dropping scene. Choi Jun calls Lee Jun high maintenance (the Korean phrase is better translated as "You're a handful."). Lee Jun bristles and apologizes. Choi Jun steps closer and tells him he doesn't need to apologize; it's a compliment. He LIKES it when he needs to put his hands on someone to care for them and it makes them smell like him; it makes them feel like THEY ARE HIS. The collar caress!! The neck tie grab and pull!!! The audacity of starting to unbutton Lee Jun's shirt for him since he's taking too long!!!! MY HEAD EXPLODING.

Lee Jun freaks out a little and puts distance between them again, so they have another fun little conversation filled with innuendo about repaying favors American style, which Choi Jun says involves less clothing!

And then we get the second jaw-dropping scene right on the heels of the first. Choi Jun says Lee Jun has grown fiestier (he likes them feisty? just a guess), but that he's still "squishy" on the inside. Lee Jun is already looking 10 times more secure in this conversation, unhesitatingly flirting back through the entire next few dialog exchanges. The eye contact! THE MOST PERFECTLY EXECUTED WAIST GRAB!!

The "you can teach me!!!" The way Lee Jun takes that as permission to manhandle Choi Jun right back, grabbing his hands and moving him around like a marionette!!!!

THE NECK GRAB!!!!!

And that final last line from Choi Jun that sent me SCREAMING INTO MY PILLOWS:

Looking at the rolled up napkin in his hand, "Malleable is something soft..." and then looking at Lee Jun's lips like the very thirsty man he is, he finally makes eye-contact again and finishes with, "squishy is... something sexy?" Lee Jun gulps. Cut scene.

MY HEART CANNOT HANDLE HOW PERFECT THIS WAS. From the dialog to the body language to the eye-work to the kink exposure to the RIDICULOUSLY HOT EXPOSED FOREARMS ON CHOI JUN. I am in awe and Korea is FEEDING ME.

@absolutebl this seems like your jam

[captainsophiestark]

Not All Bad

Rebekah Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Summary: Everything is falling apart just a few weeks after you've become a vampire. Thankfully, someone unexpected is there to help when you need it most.

Word Count: 2,347

Category: Angst, little bit of Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I stumbled into the bathroom, barely keeping a hold of myself long enough to let the door close behind me. I felt like I'd been stabbed in the chest, a knife twisting into my heart as tears streamed down my cheeks. I grabbed the edge of the nearest sink to steady myself, and was reminded instantly of everything that had driven me in here in the first place.

The sink cracked under my grip. Goddamned superstrength. Goddamned heightened emotions. I sobbed harder as my gaze caught the crushed corsage on my chest, and the whole world spun out from underneath me as I sank to the floor. Stupid fucking vampires. Stupid fucking vampires.

The bathroom door flew open, jarring me out of my oncoming spiral. I whipped around, then scowled when I found none other than Rebekah Mikaelson standing in the doorway. She and her family had caused most of the worst problems I'd been dragged into dealing with lately, including the one that had turned me into what I was now.

A monster.

"What's the matter with you?" Rebekah asked, a frown on her face and absolutely no sympathy in her voice. Normally, I think I would've told her to get lost, or else ignored her altogether. But right now, my emotions had already hit their tipping point. I needed to explode. I'd been hoping to do so privately, but thanks to Rebekah, that officially wasn't going to happen.

"What's the matter with me?" I demanded, the words ripping free of my throat almost painfully. "It's my last ever prom, and I was trying to take the opportunity to tell my boyfriend of the last four years and the love of my life about vampires. About me. And instead, I almost fucking killed him!"

Rebekah frowned, taking a step forward and letting the bathroom door close behind her, but I wasn't done yet.

"And, of course, I tried to explain. I tried to apologize, to get my shit together and have the conversation I'd been planning to have, but it didn't matter. He called me a monster, told me he couldn't love me like this. And who the fuck am I to argue with it? My heart's shattering, I can't ever escape this feeling, and when I was trying to hold onto something to ground me, I ended up completely crushing the beautiful paper corsage my little sister made for me because I can't control myself."

I choked back a sob as everything washed over me again and again and again. I whirled away from Rebekah, but that ended up putting me facing the mirror, which just put the broken sink and crushed corsage back to the front of my mind. I doubled over, holding the sink and not caring this time if I broke it further, sobbing harder. I could hear Rebekah taking a few steps closer to me across the floor, but I ignored her, the words and emotions continuing to pour out of me whether or not I wanted them to.

"I never wanted to be like this. To become this. And now I've lost one of the most important people in the world to me, although it's not like I wasn't going to lose him eventually. Someday I'm going to be sitting at my sister's deathbed, still a goddamned teenager when my baby sister goes. And no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get my brain to stop thinking about that. To stop thinking about anything, ever! There's no peace, no rest! Just the constant noise, from my own thoughts and emotions and from everything in the world that's suddenly a thousand times louder. I can't think over the sound of the music outside, and the people talking, and the fucking owl hooting in the woods! I can hear all of it, and I can't stop thinking, and I keep breaking things, and I just... I don't know what the hell to do! About any of it!"

With that, I sank to the floor, turning as I went to put my back to the sink. I burried my head in my arms, pulled my legs up to my chest, and sobbed. I didn't care if Rebekah saw me like this; I couldn't. I couldn't get a breath of air in, there was no space left for embarassment.

I heard Rebekah's heels clicking over the bathroom tile, louder than all that background noise that refused to leave me alone. I felt her crouch down in front of me without looking up, and I braced myself for whatever she was about to say. Something terrible, almost for sure. Good. Maybe fighting somebody would help me with the storm of razor blades swirling in my chest right now.

No sooner than I'd had the thought did I feel Rebekah reach out and put her hand on my shoulder. I glanced up at her, the surprise of the action enough to jar me out of my thoughts for just a second. She looked sympathetic, which I didn't actually think she was capable of.

"You need to take a deep breath, love," she said, her voice perfectly calm and even. I scowled, ready to start the fight myself if she didn't seem to want to, but she continued before I could get a word in. "I remember how this feels, alright? It's been a while, but... it's not something you forget."

I frowned. She seemed completely sincere, and her heart beat steadily in her chest, although I doubted an Original would be careless enough to let that give away one of their lies. Rebekah sighed, apparently noticing my suspicion, but still, she reached up to brush a tear away from my cheek. I shivered at the touch.

"First of all... you learn to block out the noise, eventually. It helps to focus on one at a time, or just one that you're willing to let in. Focus on it completely and intensely, until it takes up your entire attention. It helps the other things go away, and after a lot of practice, it just becomes second nature to tune out the sounds you don't want. Try it. Focus on the sound of my breathing."

My brain protested, but almost on reflex, I did as she said. Her breathing was quiet, which made it harder to hear over the noise of everything else. Still, Rebekah did her best to help me, taking deep, steady breaths without any effort to be quiet. Slowly, I managed to hear it more clearly, and like she'd said, the other things fell away. I naturally found myself breathing in time with her, too, which might have been part of her goal. For the first time in days, I felt a moment of rest and peace.

"Well done," Rebekah said softly. Her hand had returned to my shoulder, and I focused on the feel of it, along with the sound of her breathing. "After a while, you learn to control your strength too."

"Doesn't change what I destroyed before I learned how to control it," I bit out. Rebekah just gave me a lopsided smile, like she'd been expecting the protest.

"But think about everything you can do with it once you do learn to control it. Or even before! Do you know the number of times I've broken a man's hand when I found him forcing himself on a woman in a bar? It's been one of my favorite hobbies in my immortal life."

I couldn't hold back the slightest smile and laugh at that. While the crushed corsage from my sister still broke my heart, becoming some kind of avenging protector like Rebekah had suggested certainly had an appeal.

"And if you choose not to turn off your emotions, you'll get used to those too," she continued after a moment. I shook my head.

"I won't turn them off. I swore I wouldn't. I've seen too many of my friends cross lines they never would've dreamed of before making that choice."

Rebekah gave me a small smile. "Well then, good for you. I think you'll feel you made the right decision, especially when the good things come. It's true, the heartbreak feels like it may well and truly kill you. But you also feel positive heightened emotions. I promise you, some day, you'll feel love and joy stronger than any human could even dream of."

That got me sobbing again, although it was more from being overwhelmed than anything else. Rebekah scooted closer to me, wrapping one arm around my shoulders. I buried my head in her chest, refusing to let the doubt creep in about why she was doing this. Whatever her motives, it was helping, and it was exactly the lifeline I needed right now.

I leaned back once I'd gotten a slightly better hold on myself, and Rebekah gave me a soft smile.

"I have a bit more of a speech I'd like to give, if you don't mind the risk of it making you cry again."

I huffed another laugh that was still half-sob.

"Go for it."

Rebekah brought her hand up and wiped away a few more tears as she continued.

"I take it you've already decided you wouldn't turn your sister for anything? Not even for eternity together?"

I let out a sound of disgust. "No way. I'd never, never put her through this. Especially not for such a selfish reason as not wanting to lose her."

"Well, you're far better than quite a few vampires I know, then," she said, giving me another little smile. "But think about this: you may be at your sister's death bed one day, but you'll also get to watch over her family. You'll see her kids grow up, and you'll be able to take care of them, support them, and protect them over and over again, for generations. Every loss will hurt, but as long as she remains human, you'll never run out of family members to love and support. I truly wish I could say the same.

"Look, I won't lie to you," she continued. "I'd give everything up to be human tomorrow, if it were possible. I miss... just about everything that comes with that life. But the life of a vampire's not all bad, either."

I took a long, deep breath, surprised to find I actually believe what Rebekah was saying to me. I met her eyes, and for the first time, I didn't see a danger or an enemy. I saw somebody kind, despite how long she'd lived, and despite how hard she tried to hide it.

"...Thank you," I said. "Seriously. I... I needed to hear that."

"It's not a problem, love," she said, her hand still resting on my shoulder. "I've... been where you are. I wish I'd had somebody to help me through it all. I'm glad I could pay it forward, even to someone who seems unable to hold back from helping the Salvatores and their little band of righteous idiots."

I snorted. "And I'm glad I didn't just pick a fight with you to try to feel better. This was much more effective."

Rebekah huffed a laugh, and the sound was like music. She stared at me for a few moments, a faint smile on her face, then she spoke again.

"One last thing?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

"As for that idiot who dumped you... there are much better options than him out there, especially if he gave up on you so easily. I've barely spent any time with you, and I can still see that you're worth waiting out a few bumps in the road. If he couldn't see that, he's a fool."

My heart raced in my chest at her words, excitement and nerves completely overriding my earlier devastation. Then Rebekah slowly leaned in towards me, and I swear, I almost had a heart attack.

She gave me more than enough time to pull back as her eyes glanced to my lips, but I didn't. Instead, I leaned forward, meeting her just as her hand came up to cup my cheek. The second our lips met, fireworks exploded in my chest. I'd never, ever, felt anything like this before. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

Time seemed to stop as Rebekah kissed me, and even though I felt fairly certain it was only a few moments, it felt like much longer before she pulled gently away. She gave me a little smile that made me absolutely confident she knew what I'd just felt; she knew this was my first kiss as a vampire, and that she'd just perfectly managed to illustrate her point about the positives of heightened feelings.

Rebekah stood, leaving me absolutely breathless on the floor. She turned back when she reached the door, pausing just for a moment.

"Feel free to come find me if you need to talk again. Or if you want to spend your time with someone a little more interesting than your little Mystic Falls gang and that idiot you called a boyfriend."

She shot me a wink, then disappeared out the door. It took my heart a lot longer than I'd like to admit to calm down. I focused on taking deep breaths, like Rebekah had recommended, and slowly, the emotions returned to a manageable level. Once they did, I was a little surprised to find that an absolute head-over-heels crush on Rebekah was the overwhelming and strongest remaining feeling.

I still had a lot of problems to deal with, and a lot of things to process. Doubtless, acting on literally anything I felt for an Original Vampire would cause at least fifteen new problems. And yet, I didn't care. My entire life had exploded tonight, and she'd somehow managed to comfort me with a single conversation. That was something nobody in my life had managed so far, and that no one in the Mystic Falls gang had even really tried. After everything I'd dealt with tonight and in the few weeks since I'd turned, I wasn't about to let someone like that just walk out of my life without a fight, especially not for drama that was barely mine.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

TVD/TO Taglist: @valkyriepirate

[tiredsmashbros]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY NEO !!!!

all what blud is pondering + yapping bout smh @neo91502 🍔💛

credits to nxva on the tsmg4 fanart LMAO

this is my bday gift to the blue canine with wings nothing crazy underneath nooooo nope nope nopity nope :) shhhh

and now for my essay speech bc that's becoming my trademark now other than being comic ceo of smg34 apparently LMAO

neo, you already got my lil emotional yap thru dms bout ur "loyal lettuce" role, but ong i'm boutta give another sappy essay for you to use ur big pikmin brain to read: once again, thank you, for wanting to talk to me, hang out with me, and just yap about shared interests. it takes a lot for me to open my shell due to past experiences with folks its hard to even open myself to making friends at times,,, yet never did i expect anyone to know or like EPIC: the musical as much as i did nor even WANT to go forth the idea of a smg4 au for fun. i'll admit i was very nervous being invited to the private dms to yap bout it and a part of me from bad habits wanted to run away, but your understanding and providing ways to help so i didn't feel excluded made me feel so relieved and welcomed. as i already told you, it's been a VERY long time i got to really yap my love for musicals in this way in depth and getting to know even more folks from that outburst {lookin at you knightmare and lore 💛} has genuinely made me so much happy. i love musicals in a very deep level and finally getting that opportunity to talk to others just has been the greatest ever /gen /srs.

other than musicals, FINALLY i have met someone who loves isaacwhy too hELLO????? like i've gotten very few people irl to show them clips but none have either really stuck into watching or liking them as much as me. so getting that opportunity to watch LTLVC with you and nova was SO FUN {despite my stream quality was laggy and slow} i enjoyed it so much and finally i can reference the jokes so much BC GOD I USED TO DO THEM SM IRL U HAVE NO IDEA HAHAHAHHAHAH TYUFGHEDCSXYUIGJHEFDC

another big factor was just being so surprised and shock you had a fursona!!! neo!!!! it just made me so happy GENUINELY bringing me back to my furry home adobe and knowing the fact i could draw other's fursonas and even my own and being welcomed about that idea just made me explode /pos. even more when i got to watch you DRAW TOMMY.... like at that point i finally got over my fear and confidently pressed that follow.

you are such an awesome guy neo. you're really fun to yap with and never once had i had any second doubts other than being afraid i would embarrass myself ITYGJHFCDSX i still remember almost vividly the first time we aCTUALLY talked when i was doing thumbnail sketches of my final comic assignment, with the "typer" joke YOU CHOCKED FROM LAUGHTER HAHAHAY89IUTGYFUEHJDSX TO THE NEXT DAY ANDER AND I TALKED BOUT IT AGAIN HAHAHAHA still one of my fav vc's ever. thank you so much for being a fan, joining my server, and joining vc to us being friends. you mean so much to me, thank you for being your silly self, i srsly look forward to yapping to you every day.

and good gOD i will continue that binge on getting into the pikmin lore TRUST..... 💛🍔

BTW, THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO ATTENDED NEO'S BIRTHDAY PARTY EVENT IN THE TSB SERVER !!!! whether it was just for a bit or the whole event, THANK YOU. /gen

i don't plan on doing much birthday vc events unfortunately, but i def wanted to do one {and using neo as a guinea pig once again} since this silly man had impacted me so much i wanted to give him the best bday he could have. even if it got really chaotic several times YOU GUYS ARE CRAZY OH MY FUKIN GOD HAHAHHAHAA and no im not sorry for being absent the first 40 mins my stephen king fixiation is a priority /j

[spicyclover]

The Racer's Victory

Y/n awaits her boyfriend Max and their desire ignites. In his private room, she undresses, teases herself, and welcomes his touch. Their sexual tension explodes in a powerful, intimate union.

Hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know in the comment section.

Thank you! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

Y/n's heart was racing, her anticipation building as she awaited the arrival of her boyfriend, Max. The young woman, with her vibrant hair, piercing blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose, had spent the entire day at the race track, but her mind hadn't been solely focused on the competition. All she could think about was Max, his strong physique encased in his racing suit, and the promise of his muscular body against hers.

As the trophy ceremony concluded, signaling Max's victory in the race, Y/n made her way to his designated driver's room, a private sanctuary amidst the bustling track. The room was dimly lit, with a subtle scent of motor oil lingering in the air. She knew Max would be brimming with adrenaline and excitement, and she intended to channel that energy into something far more intimate.

She couldn't wait any longer. The anticipation was killing her. With a mischievous smile, Y/n approached the massage table, her eyes scanning the room to ensure she was alone. Her hands trailed along the smooth surface of the table, her fingers tracing the edges as she imagined Max's powerful hands working on her body.

Slipping out of her dress, she revealed her curvaceous figure, her skin flushed with desire. She climbed onto the table, her bare skin caressing the soft surface. Her hands roamed over her body, cupping her full breasts, pinching her pink nipples until they hardened further. She let out a soft moan, her fingers dipping lower, sliding through her moist curls to find her throbbing clit.

Y/n began to rub herself against the table, her hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. Her fingers worked their magic, circling her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. She bit her lip, her breath coming in short gasps as pleasure coursed through her body. Her moans filled the room, a mixture of desire and frustration as she longed for Max's touch.

Just as her pleasure peaked, she heard the door open. It was Max, his face still flushed with victory, his dark eyes sparkling with desire as he took in the sight before him. Y/n made no move to hide herself, instead spreading her legs wider, inviting him to join her.

Max wasted no time. He strode across the room, his race suit still on, and placed his hand firmly on her pussy, feeling the heat radiating from her. He growled softly, his voice hoarse with need. "You've been waiting for me, haven't you, baby?"

Y/n nodded, her eyes locked on his. "I need you, Max. I've been dying to feel your dick inside me all day."

With swift movements, Max unzipped his suit, revealing his broad chest and toned abs. He lowered his fireproof underwear, his thick cock springing free, already hard and straining towards her. He positioned himself between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips as he guided himself into her wet heat.

He thrust into her with one powerful stroke, filling her completely. Y/n cried out, her back arching off the table as she welcomed him inside. Max pounded into her, his hips moving in a relentless rhythm, the table creaking beneath them. His breath came in hot pants, his lips brushing her neck, his beard tickling her sensitive skin.

"You feel so fucking good," he grunted, his voice raw with passion. "I love hearing you moan, Y/n."

Y/n's hands clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she matched his rhythm. She could feel her orgasm building, each thrust bringing her closer to the edge. Max's lips found her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel that tight pussy squeezing my cock."

His words sent her over the edge. Y/n's body trembled as she climaxed, her pussy clenching around him, milking his cock. Max groaned, his own release building as he thrust harder, faster, until he buried himself deep within her.

As their hearts slowed and their breathing returned to normal, Max gently disengaged from her, his cock sliding out with a wet sound. He helped Y/n off the table, his hands roaming over her body, caressing her curves. "Let's take this to the couch," he whispered, his eyes dark with desire.

Y/n smiled, her body still buzzing with post-orgasmic bliss. She led him to the small couch in the corner of the room, her movements graceful despite her wobbly knees. She straddled him, her hands resting on his broad shoulders as she lowered herself onto his hard shaft.

This time, Y/n was in control. She set a slow, teasing pace, rising and falling on his cock, her pussy gripping him tightly. Max's hands moved to her hips, guiding her movements, but she set the rhythm, her eyes never leaving his. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest, her lips finding his in a passionate kiss.

As she felt his cock twitch within her, signaling his impending release, Y/n had a playful idea. She tightened her thighs around him, locking him in place, and stopped moving. Max's eyes flew open, his breath catching in his throat. "What...?" he managed to ask, his voice hoarse.

"Shh..." Y/n whispered, her lips close to his ear. "I want to feel you beg for it."

Max's eyes widened, his cock throbbing inside her. "Please... baby, please move," he begged, his pride momentarily forgotten. "I need to cum so bad."

Y/n smiled, her pussy muscles clenching and releasing around his sensitive cock. "Do you like that? Feeling my pussy pull on your dick?" She whispered, her breath hot against his neck.

"Fuck, yes!" Max groaned, his hands gripping her thighs, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. "I love it... Oh, god, Y/n..."

Unable to resist any longer, Y/n began to move again, her hips rolling in slow circles, driving him wild. Max's hands found her breasts, squeezing and kneading them as he thrust up to meet her. With a final, desperate growl, he climaxed, his cock pulsating as he filled her with his hot cum.

Feeling his release, Y/n's own orgasm crashed over her. She cried out, her body shaking as waves of pleasure rippled through her. She collapsed onto his chest, their sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, their hearts pounding in unison.

Max chuckled softly, his hands stroking her hair. "That was incredible, but I'm not done with you yet," he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead. "I promise to take you well tonight, baby."

With a final, lingering kiss, Max stood, his cock slipping out of her with a satisfying pop. He grabbed a towel, gently cleaning her up, his touch tender and loving. "I'll be back soon," he said, his eyes holding hers. "I just need to take care of a few things."

Y/n smiled, her body sated and satisfied, as Max left the room, already planning their next passionate encounter.

[pancake-breakfast]

Finished Day 5 of Disco Elysium.

Now that the autopsy has been completed and Kim is back, the case is moving forward en force, so we're definitely getting into spoiler territory here.

Talked with Kim about the bullet. They make a very sound argument for only allowing front-loading guns in civilian populations. That includes for law enforcement.

Rene passed away. I'm actually kinda sad about that. I gave his friend the old photograph I stole from Rene's guardbooth. I did not steal his uniform.

Painted the wall with the message, "Something beautiful is going to happen." Dunno if it will, but we can hope.

Kim was unimpressed. Spoilsport.

That also marked the second time Cindy gave me something out of sheer pity.

Talked to Klaasje about the murder. Hoo boy, I could write an essay on my interactions with her today. The short version is I actually trust her a lot less now. She's worked in corporate espionage, and I suspect that's actually what she bonded with the victim over, given he had also ruined a lot of lives for pay. (I... have very mixed feelings on corporate espionage and will not be expounding on them in this post.) But I do think she feels bad about all that's happened, and that on some level, she cared for the victim more than one generally would for "just a fling."

I appreciate the way they approached the false rape charges. In my own research, I've found that that sort of charge is very, very rarely drummed up by individuals. Considering the victimizer is almost always someone socially connected to the victim, even when it's true, it can really muck with social circles, and most people aren't willing to explode their social circle for wrongs they think are done solely to themselves. Or, you know, just out of fear that they'll lose part or all of said social circle. The cops, on the other hand, frequently create false narratives around these sorts of things and then actively circulate them, as it discourages anyone from standing up for the person they're victimizing. After all, most people don't want to defend a potential rapist, and if the authority is saying they have "reason to believe" that's what happened, well, it's not like any of us knows all of what happens in another person's life, and it's MUCH more difficult to prove an absence of a thing than fake its presence. And we've already established in game that the Hardie Boys are basically the cops for this area. Basically, the devs did their research and it shows, and this sort of story needs to be told more often because not enough people are aware of it.

I managed to get in cahoots with Cuno. I think this is a good thing, but I'm not placing any bets right now. The world is too much of a freaking powderkeg.

I found a pinball machine!

I also found out you can regain morale by hugging a plushie, which seems pretty legit.

I miiiight have managed to die twice trying the same conversation. What really made me worry, though, is my actions also got Kim killed. New Fear Unlocked: Getting Kim killed and living to know about it.

The fact that I haven't tracked down the last of the mercenaries yet worries me. 2/3 isn't good enough when they're trying to start a war.

Did karaoke. Sang a little song about a little church.

Had to submit to working with Evrart again to find my gun. Words cannot describe how much I dislike working with that guy. He's the type to take good things and turn them into shit because it's profitable for him, and he'll somehow have half the people he's fucking over thanking him as he does it.

Which reminds me, I did hit the only point in the game thus far where I've very much been like, "But what if the other option...?" And that was talking with Joyce about Evrart's plans. As a cop, it was 100% my duty to take a step back and say the choices she made based on that knowledge were hers to make, but as a private citizen? I want to encourage her to cut the head off the snake. The one thing that kept me from going back and redoing that dialog (at least) was the thought of the power vacuum. It's already established that he trades power off with his twin brother, so I have no reason to think the brother wouldn't just weasel in there unless she could off them both. Even then, that's less likely to result in a win for her than it is to result in, say, the Hardie Boys or (shudder) Measurehead filling the gap, and I'm honestly not sure the Hardie Boys are business savvy enough for the position. After all, they've already demonstrated they have a bit of a weak point when it comes to underestimating women, and as much as they might think of themselves as "better than cops," if they had that kind of power, they might find themselves having to strong-arm control. I still don't know if that would be better or worse than Evrart. I don't think anyone does. On top of that, I highly doubt it would result in a win for Joyce, and she may be crazy, but she's not stupid, so I'm not sure I could get her to bite. She probably made the best choice I could hope for by giving up and backing down. It should (theoretically) limit some of the bloodshed.

I'm actually on decent terms with the Hardie Boys now. I don't think they like me, but we've developed a mutual respect. I knew there was a chance we could get here when Hardie himself gave me that key, no questions asked, despite his men razzing me about it. It was... a peace offering of sorts, I think. Or maybe a "take whatever you're hoping to get here and get the fuck out" offering, but that's close enough for me. It's the one time I didn't press for any additional details about something. They told me what they knew about the key later freely and with ease. I didn't need to interrogate them when I got it.

Aside from hitting and passing a Point of No Return with Joyce, I found the Point of No Return trying to hunt down Ruby. I had to back off of it, as I didn't have my gun. I hadn't even sung karaoke yet. We'll try and follow her in the morning.

The hat that automatically makes you more communist amuses me.

I made a lot of progress with the druggies by the church. I still haven't got them into the church, but we're buds and I've been helping Egghead make a good track. It's what Harry would want to do.

Did I teleport to the top of a building? Kim says no, but I think he just lacks a certain amount of imagination.

I found a book that healed my morale! That's a nice change from all the books hurting.

For the first time in who knows how long, Harry got a good night's sleep. That's been a bit of a goal of mine since starting the game, so I'm glad it's accomplished. Hopefully, the lost time won't screw up my search for Ruby too much....

[bcwritingjourney]

Chapter 8 of my novel, Sanguinatus, is up on patreon for my members! Below will be a portion of the chapter if you're interested, and the prologue and chapters 1-7 are free to read on my patreon.

This novel is a labor of love, and one of my dreams. I don't need to make money or get famous, just release the world's and stories I've created and get better over time.

Chapter 8 and upcoming chapters will be exclusive to members for a short time, then they will be available to the public. You can support me by joining my Bound by Blood tier, which is only $3! Even if you only decide to support me briefly, during that time you'll get access to chapters of this novel and my other works before the public, private communities, exclusive content and behind the scenes content, polls that will influence smaller things, and more!

Any and all support is appreciated, even just reading or liking this post.

Read on below!

She pulled on the Drossenac blood as she peeked out of the alley again to look at a point a few paces to the right of the group, and was quickly sucked into the other place. She cleared her head, focusing. When she approached the rift that would spit her out, and her form seemed to solidify again, she dug her feet in, squatted to strengthen her stance, and willed herself not to be pulled out of this alien place.

She threw her three daggers in quick succession, and at the same time focused on the distorted image it showed her through the rift. She settled her gaze on a point to the left of the rift, right past the furthest guard. As the daggers flew into the first rift, she was pulled into a newly opened rift, and since she didn’t fight it this time she was deposited to the left of the men.

Luckily that had worked better than intended. Her foes had turned to the first rift, likely at the command of the specialist. They had done so just as she fell from her rift and dropped into a crouch.

As she appeared and landed, the light of her warping or some slight sound caused the specialist to whip around in surprise,and almost simultaneously, the daggers, one after another, flew from their rift. Two hit the guard closest to the rift, both digging into his chest deeply, while the other narrowly missed the specialist, heading towards her.

She leapt, assisted by the Khurdae blood, power coursing through her muscles, and snaked an arm around the neck of the other nearby soldier. He flailed in surprise, but she easily spun them around, into the path of the dagger.

It pierced his side, planting itself into his stomach. He hardly had the chance to scream as Ryanil pulled out her long dagger to thrust into his lower back several times. She let him drop to the floor afterwards, calmly wiping his garish scarlet blood off her dagger before sheathing it.

The last man was silent and still, watching her cautiously. He may have been able to help his comrades, but it wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t moved a single step from where he stood. He held his right brown furred hand up as his left pulled a water skin from his belt.

She tried to dive away as she realized what he was doing. Water exploded out of the skin, flowing to swirl around his right hand. In the blink of an eye he had snapped his hand forward as though he held a whip, and a tendril erupted from the water, arcing through the air.

She hit the ground and was about to go into a roll as she felt the tendril of water curl around her right leg with crushing force. She knew what was to come. It was even more ironic to her in her already tired state, as he used Sesinae blood to combat her, with her being a Sesinae who essentially couldn’t manipulate a drop of water worth a damn.

That was all the time she had to muse about the irony of it before she was pulled away from the cool bricks of the street, only to be slapped against the ground a moment later. She groaned and was pulled up again, before being whipped away and let go by the tendril. She sailed through the air gracelessly for a brief moment she flailed, then her back met the trunk of a tree, driving the breath from her.

She slumped to the ground for a moment, dazed. The man, fangs bared and eyes dark, stalked forward slowly, carefully. Ryanil had her eyes closed, one hand touching the tree she leaned against, the hand just out of view of the man. She just hoped he wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

Her eyes shot open, and she drew on the well of Osin power within her. Three thick roots burst from the street, sending bricks flying. The man was too fast however, the roots converging on empty space as he leapt away with frightening speed.

Ryanil pushed herself up with a groan, getting even more annoyed when she noticed the roots withering quickly. Drops of water bled from them oddly, streaming towards the Khurdae’s hands. Within moments he had significantly more water than he began with.

Alright, maybe we don’t use Osin powers against this bastard. She thought.

Ryanil didn’t dare take the time to try and drink more blood, so all she had was warping, thick scales and a dagger. Maybe it would be enough? She shook her head to clear it and dashed forward.

Only to immediately be met by multiple tendrils of water, which promptly swept her off her feet and into the air. She pulled on the Drossenac blood and focused on a spot just behind the man. It was a valuable thing, being able to slip out of attacks.

She leapt out of the vortex a heartbeat later and straight into a tackle. He managed to turn towards her, but nothing more as she hit him, the extra weight of her armored scales letting her knock the heavier and larger man off his feet. He quickly got a foot under her, flat against her stomach.

He pushed with surprising force, and she was thrown from him, landing flat on her back a ways away. She was getting awfully sick of getting thrown around by this over confident blood mage. She looked up and cursed, rolling to the side and leaping into a dash as a bolt of fire struck the ground where she had been.

He sent two more bolts of scorching flame towards her after the first, giving her no respite. One grazed her, singeing her cloak and blackening the scales of her right arm. The second, unfortunately, hit her dead on.

She was thrown sideways and to the ground again. This wasn’t working. She hissed as the pain set in, the scales of her entire chest blackened by the flame. While the thicker scales had protected her in a sense, she could still feel the flesh underneath blistering and cracking.

She struggled to get up, each movement sending waves of pain across her chest, and she watched as he raised his flame engulfed hands towards her. She slammed a palm down to the bricks, sending green energy into the earth.

Hundreds of tiny plants and blades of grass shot up through the cracks of the street, growing quickly. They twisted and knotted themselves around the man’s legs, though otherwise they were harmless. He looked down in annoyance before sending out sweeping waves of fire, the plants turning to ash against the onslaught.

[samsalami66]

And I'm back again with an addition to my Knight!Hob Prince!Dream au (I've decided to go with royal au for shortness' sake lmao) which you can find the first part of here.

Once again all the love and thanks to my wonderful @im-not-corrupted , who provided me with motivation and screams as I wrote this little drabble and is the #1 fan of this au.

-----

Dream hated audiences. 

Audiences meant spending an awful amount of time in his parents' presence, and even if nobody paid much attention to the third royal child in a line of seven, it was still painful to spend even a minute longer than necessary in the King's and Queen's presence. Dream could feel his father's disapproving gaze drift towards him every time his eyes would droop a bit too low, whenever his elbow would slip from where he had it propped on the armrest of his throne to hold his head upright, which felt heavier with every word the current Lord or Duke let spill from his lips. 

Lord Burgess, the man currently grazing the family with his abnormally boring presence, looked about ready to explode as the King once again denied his request for an addition to his land, which would allow him to hunt in the forest neighboring his crops. But the forests were strictly royal territory, and Dream could have told Lord Burgess in much fewer sentences than his father that they would never give up on ancestral lands, not in this lifetime or any other. 

But just as Dream's eyes were about to close to allow him another few moments of respite from this whole ordeal, sounds echoed through the halls outside the throne room. Voices got louder in volume and increasingly more frustrated the closer they got. It was a blessing, an escape from these confines of literal hell, and Dream perked up curiously to figure out what the tumult was about. 

Between the shouts and hisses he could make out a hysterical You can't just waltz in there! and a very joyful Watch me, mate! and Dream decided that this was bound to become a much more interesting audience than he had anticipated. And, true to the small exclamation Dream overheard, a man did just waltz into the room, a smile on his face that would cause even the strongest hearts to faint in charm. Dream didn't quite know how he managed not to, when bright brown eyes caught his over the entirety of the room in an instant, familiar mischief hidden somewhere behind the obvious amusement. 

Christ, those eyes had brought ruin upon Dream once already, years ago, when they had both been young and stupid. Though, by the looks of it, Hob Gadling had not cast that particular trait aside, if his entrance was anything to go by. Guards were hot on his heels, panic written all over their faces as they didn't manage to keep this man from interrupting a private audience with the royal family, which would surely end in them being excused from their service. 

But Hob Gadling seemed to care little for their steps behind him or the guards eventual fate, his stride purposeful, a clear destination in his step. Dream realised much too late what that destination was, too distracted by the way Hob's shirt clung to muscles that had not been there when they had last met, hair that was longer and curlier than he remembered and that framed a bearded jaw so beautifully Dream almost swooned. There was no time for that though, not when those eyes finally left his and were cast towards the ground, not ten meters away from Dream. 

Hob Gadling was kneeling, his head tilted in a bow that was entirely unnecessary for the position he was already in, in front of Dream. 

Not in front of the family, or the King himself, but before Dream's throne, an unmistakable message to everyone present, a showcasing of ultimate loyalty.

To his left Dream could hear Lord Burgess hiss in annoyance at the interruption, the words You dare to interrupt my audience, commoner? falling from his lips like venom-infused blood. Dream did not care for boneless threats. 

He merely cared for the smile stretched over rosy lips before him, the cheeks that stretched with unconcealed amusement. Two guards reached Hob Gadling's side, prepared to force the uninvited guest out the room, and it took all of Dream's years of carefully trained composure to not jump from his throne in a sudden surge of panic. 

"Leave him be!" he demanded, voice overshadowing any and all conversation as he slowly rose from his throne. Hob's grin turned victorious at the exclamation, his posture more relaxed where he knelt on the black carpet to Dream's feet. "I want to know what he has to say." 

There were eyes on him, Dream knew, those of his parents, those of Lord Burgess, those of his guards. He knew his eldest sister was hiding a smile somewhere to his left, fully aware of his and Hob Gadling's relationship, and the only person in this world aware of Dream's feelings towards this infuriating, obviously insane man. 

All the attention Dream had held with his command shifted towards Hob Gadling when he opened his mouth to speak, determination colouring his voice with self-confidence that vibrated through Dream's body like the pleasant rumble of a cat's purr. 

"I come to pledge myself to you, my Lord," Hob started, almost causing Dream to choke on thin air. "In body and in mind, I swear to protect you with my blade and life. Make me your knight, Dream of the Endless, so that I might serve under your name until I take my last breath, until my body betrays my desire to keep you from harm." 

There was no sound filtering through the pounding of Dream's heart in his throat. This – This, Hob's declaration, his offering of complete and utter submission – it was insane, completely crazy, simply not done, not in royal families, not in any politics around the world. One pledged themselves to the King and thereby the country, not to a prince who would never be king, an outcast from his own folk, from his own family. 

This wasn't done, had never been done before, and yet Dream found he didn't care. He didn't care for one single moment about propriety, not when all he had ever wanted kneeled before his feet and offered him Heaven. 

"I do not know who you believe yourself to be, but I will not allow-" The King started off, but Dream cut his reply short, his voice purposefully overpowering that of his father. 

"I accept your request." 

The answer wasn't grand or eloquent, entirely false in its deliverance, unofficial without the ritualistic knighting. But Dream was in a trance, his hand not his own as he stepped down the stairs to stand before Hob, one hand reaching to the hilt of the sword that was hidden beneath his robes. 

When Dream pulled the sword from its sheath and held it to Hob's head, all those eyes reflected back at him was trust, even when faced with total submission, with surrendering himself entirely to Dream, his office and his personal whims. All of this, when Dream had left him behind at the mere notion of friendship, knowing he could not be friends with a commoner. He could be friends with his personal guardian, with a Knight who stood entirely under his protection, and the fact that Hob had been willing to go to such lengths to find a way to be in Dream's presence… 

Well, if Dream felt tears build in his eyes as he allowed his sword to rest on Hob's shoulders, once on each, then that was between him and his Knight. And when his voice trembled slightly as he spoke next, then that was just between them too. 

"Rise, Sir Robert Gadling." 

Dream huffed a silent laugh into the hug he was pulled in next, the excitement bubbling in his chest enough to chase away every ill thought of his parents' opinion as he burrowed his face in Hob's neck. 

The sense of safety he felt in the arms of his oldest friend was almost too much to bear. 

[lyricalt]

[tf2 minific] hindsight / foresight (interlude)

sniperspy - rating: G - aftermath of hindsight, please read first.

Note: I've had these parts done for a while. Actually finished these before ever finishing hindsight, haha. They don't really go into the next bit either so up they go here. A little bit of closure. Thanks for reading!

+++

Spy pops out dead in Sniper’s arms. Sniper stumbles under the thrown weight and falls flat on his back. He clutches Spy’s corpse, the breath knocked out of him, and blinks as the teleporter goes dark again. When Sniper sits up, he sees that Spy’s got a hole in the middle of his forehead—from a bullet he’s fired three years ago that he doesn’t remember ever shooting. 

Also, Spy’s maskless. Not that he’s recognizable from eating whatever high caliber bullet that went through him. Still, Sniper puts a hand over the mangled face, covering it. 

Behind him, the rest of the team explodes in various sighs of relief.

“Thank fuck.” 

“Woah,” Scout says, peering over his shoulder before ducking away in surprise. “Why’s he got his mask off?”

“His head’s shot through,” Medic observes with a critical eye. “Too messy. I prefer the look of your headshots. At least there will be brain matter left.”

Sniper huffs. Somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

Engineer clears his throat. “He oughta be popping into respawn soon.”

The rest of the team take off, leaving Sniper sitting in the desert dust with a dead body cradled in his lap.

The blood’s gone all tacky already, but Sniper still tries to card his fingers through the hair, since he rarely gets to do it. He’ll take what he can get.

“Huh,” he says. He sits back, winding tension in him finally releasing as Spy’s corpse starts shuttering away, like a roll of film about to run out. 

Sniper takes one last look at the face. Not one of Spy’s best looks, unfortunately. But…

It isn’t until Spy’s body disappears completely that Sniper lets out a quiet laugh.

“Guess this makes it three times now.”

+++

Spy stumbles out of respawn, relieved that his stupid plan worked and he assumes he’s back in the present time. He’s respawned without his mask though. That’s a little worrying, but luckily he’s got a spare in his locker. 

Engineer is the first person to greet him, peeking into the room. “Spy?”

“I’m afraid so.” Spy sticks his head in the locker so that Engineer doesn’t see. He pulls the spare mask on, not particularly caring if it’s skewed or his hair is poking out from the holes. He takes a look at the calendar at the wall and, most importantly, the year. “Yes. The correct old weary age, even.”

Engineer blows out a relieved sigh. “That was a close one, partner. Wasn’t sure if my formulas were right.”

“You could have not said that, and I promise you I would’ve been fine not knowing. But thank you.”

It isn’t long before the rest of the team blunders through, hearing Engineer talking. Heavy crushes him in a hug. Medic complains about not being able to dissect his brain (for why, he doesn’t know). Spy even lowers his pride a smidge to give Scout a high five. It’s a little nice, knowing he’s been missed. Missed, on various levels and definitions. 

From over Demoman’s shoulder, Spy sees Sniper hanging by the door. Hysterically, it looks like he hasn’t gotten much sleep. Spy smirks. When Sniper gives a small wave, his hand is covered with dried blood. Spy can take a few guesses as to how that happened—one them being Sniper might’ve murdered his younger self in a fit of rage. The other guess… Spy can imagine that scenario as well.

Later, when Spy manages to finally escape everyone’s attention, he finds the one he really wants in the hallway, waiting for him.

They’re alone, in a not quite private part of the base, but Spy stops in front of Sniper anyway.

“I believe I was a fucking bastard, wasn’t I?” He laughs, quietly.

It speaks a lot to the waiting when Sniper puts his head down, resting his forehead on Spy’s shoulder. One hand clings onto the end of Spy’s sleeve. 

“Yeah, you were bloody appalling,” Sniper says, muffled. “Knew you’d be, though.”

Spy can only imagine. Kicking and screaming the entire way to self realization, no doubt. He wonders if he should recall anything from this moment, but his memories seem intact. He doesn’t remember any time traveling he’d done three years past. It’s probably for the better. He’d probably want to wring his own stupid neck. 

Spy nudges Sniper’s head from his shoulder. Sniper straightens, his crumpled expression vanishing the moment he looks up, and Spy touches his face to hold it there. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Spy says, peering at Sniper’s face. Tired eyes, mouth set a little too stoically. There’s a sliver of worry in Spy; he is fully aware that he can be quite the cruel person. Now. Then. And will continue to be, likely. “If possible.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you would,” Sniper says with a small smile. He puts his head down on Spy’s shoulder again, and this time Spy doesn’t stop him. “We’ve got time.”

[the-sparkling--diamond]

if there's a prize for rotten judgement, i guess i've already won that - 4

mel medarda x jayce talis

hercules au

warnings: mommy issues, flashbacks to the meljay fight of season 2

word count: 2,093

Viktor hadn't been surprised to find Jayce and Mel together. After that battle with Nessus, Mel quickly became one of Jayce's favorite topics. He had endured hours upon hours of Jayce waxing poetic about the woman. It was amusing to him how Mel had Jayce absolutely enamored, though sometimes it became a bit much.

He had let Jayce go ahead without him several minutes ago, wanting to take his time. He had to hand it to Mel and Jayce. They'd picked a beautiful garden for their 'date.' He almost wished he'd found them earlier so he could have more time to spend there instead of having to savor these few moments as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was absolutely peaceful. At least, it had been, until two voices caught his attention. He kept walking, initially deciding to mind his business. However, curiosity soon won out and he went to find a better listening spot.

Mel's heart was still racing from her mother's sudden appearance. She wasn't supposed to be here. This was supposed to be her own private moment to cherish, a moment unmarred by her obligations.

"Enjoying the sights, are we?" Ambessa asked. She was dressed for battle, clad in her red armor. Her gray curls were pulled back into braids, and her face was covered by her signature gold armored mask.

Even from his distant hiding spot, Viktor recognized the goddess immediately. She was every bit as intimidating as the stories had promised. The grass at her feet withered. He pitied whoever had the misfortune of crossing her path. He shifted, face falling when he saw Mel before her. The poor woman looked like she was trying to appear unfazed, but the tension in her body betrayed the mask she put on. He steeled himself, ready to go help her, when the continued conversation stopped him in his tracks.

"Mother-"

"I was looking for you today. I hope you haven't forgotten your duty, Mel," Ambessa's tone was icy, her displeasure clear on her face.

Viktor's blood ran cold. The image of her ring flashed in his mind. He knew the crest on it had been familiar. How had it taken him until now to realize what it was? He had to find Jayce. He had to tell him the truth.

Mel frantically shook her head, "I haven't forgotten. I was speaking to Jayce today. Gathering information."

"Why would I need information from him?" Ambessa all but snapped.

"I just thought...," Mel hesitated. No one was able to make her second guess herself quite like her mother. "I thought he could be of help-"

Ambessa cut her off with a derisive laugh. "You thought he could be of help," she repeated to herself, chuckling as though it was the funniest thing she'd heard. She stalked closer and plucked the bloom out of Mel's hand. "How sweet. He gave this to you, didn't he?" She didn't bother waiting for a response before continuing, beginning to pick the petals from the flower as she spoke, each discarded petal like a dagger in Mel's heart, "I've always told you that I would give you a throne...the world...if you prove yourself worthy. Thrones are for wolves, Mel." She looked up, gaze piercing into Mel's very soul. "Wolves have no issue disposing of those that stand in their way. Your Golden Boy is a threat to all I plan to achieve. So tell me, can you be a wolf?"

A white hot rage burned inside Mel and she snarled, "Stay away from him." The words came out without thinking, shocking her, but she had meant them all the same.

Ambessa raised an eyebrow, though it went unseen beneath her mask. Just as she was about to bite back, realization struck her. "You've fallen in love with him."

Mel clenched her jaw and averted her gaze, not daring to respond.

"I should've known," Ambessa scoffed, her lips curling into a sneer, "You've always been soft. I should've known you'd give up on our goal-"

"It was never my goal!" Mel exploded, years of pent up emotions finally breaking free, "I never wished for any of this! I just wanted my mother!"

Ambessa straightened, her expression becoming unreadable. "I've always said you were a fox. You've always been soft, but now you've allowed him to weaken you further, and he-" She paused, an idea coming to mind. "Come," she said, dropping the mangled flower, "I think it's time I remind you of the Medarda way."

The moment Viktor opened the door to the lab, he was met with Jayce's rambling.

"I think I just had the best day of my life. No. I know I just had the best day of my life," Jayce beamed, spinning in his chair to face his friend. In his elation, he didn't notice the sullen look on Viktor's face. "We spent the whole day together just talking and enjoying each other's company and-"

"Jayce."

"She looked so beautiful too. I knew she had green eyes, but I think there's some gold in the center too-"

"Jayce," Viktor repeated, tone becoming more firm.

Jayce continued, oblivious, "I think she likes me. I'm not sure, but it seemed like she did. Do you-"

"She's not who you think she is," Viktor finally blurted.

Jayce's rambles immediately ceased and he frowned, "What are you talking about?"

"She's a child of the Underworld. Of Ambessa," Viktor explained. "She's working for her. I don't know what they're doing, but it can't be good."

Jayce's face fell. "No," he whispered. He, like everyone in Greece, knew of the goddess Ambessa, how she'd been lying in wait to reclaim her power. The pieces began to click into place: how she was with Nessus, the Hydra, and the way she seemed to shut down when he mentioned mothers. There was no way. It had to be some sick coincidence. The words came out faster than he could think about them, "You're lying."

Viktor furrowed his brows, his expression becoming a mix of anger and disbelief, "What?"

"You're lying," Jayce insisted, though he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Viktor or himself.

Viktor stepped back, feeling as though he'd been slapped. As hurt and annoyed as he was, he knew Jayce was probably just in denial, and didn't mean what he was saying. He decided to try one last time, "Jayce-"

"Shut up!" Jayce snapped.

The silence that followed was deafening. Viktor concealed the betrayal he felt under a scowl. "Fine. Believe what you want." He stormed out of the lab without another word.

Jayce scoffed and shook his head, turning back to his work. Viktor's words echoed in the back of his mind even as he tried to push them down. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't. There had to be some other explanation. The Mel he knew was kind and soft, nothing like Ambessa. He would just talk to Mel and clear up all the confusion.

"How quaint."

The sudden voice startled him and he turned, a pit forming in his stomach at the sight. Ambessa stood in the doorway with an amused grin. Mel was held tight in her grasp, Ambessa’s hand clamped firmly over her mouth. Jayce immediately stood, ready to pull Mel to safety, but Ambessa held up a finger with her free hand. “Not so fast, Golden Boy. I have a deal to make with you. You see, I have things I’ve been meaning to get done today and you have a…tendency to get in the way. So, take a day off from the heroics and in return, you can have her. What do you say, Mister Talis? Your strength for her freedom.”

Mel began to struggle in Ambessa’s grasp to no avail, her attempts at shouting muffled by Ambessa’s hand. Something about the situation didn’t feel right to Jayce. He briefly thought back to what Viktor had said, but quickly pushed it out of mind. He couldn’t risk Mel’s safety. If something happened to her because of a feeling he had, especially one based on a claim with no backing evidence… “People are going to get hurt, aren’t they?” he realized.

“People get hurt every day, Jayce Talis,” Ambessa said coldly. “You can’t save everyone. But you can save her.”

Jayce glanced at Mel once more. Her green eyes bore into him, practically pleading. He faced Ambessa, knowing what he had to do. “She can’t get hurt.”

“Excuse me?”

“If she gets hurt, the deal is off,” Jayce stated firmly. His heart raced in his chest, but he didn’t dare let the goddess see his anxiety.

Ambessa grit her teeth before nodding, “Fine.” She stuck out her free hand to him for a handshake.

The moment Jayce touched her hand, he felt the strength leaving his body. His knees buckled, sending him to the floor. He felt so drained, as though he had been forking in the forge for days on end with no breaks. There was no pain, just exhaustion.

“There,” Ambessa said, releasing his hand. “You upheld your end, so I’ll uphold mine.” She released Mel, giving her a light shove forward.

Mel stumbled, but rushed over to Jayce, kneeling before him. She cupped his face in her hands, searching his expression for any sign of pain, “Are you alright?”

He trailed his hands down her arms. His touch was gentle and feather-light, ensuring she hadn’t been harmed. “Are you?”

“She’s a special one, isn’t she?” Ambessa asked.

The goddess’s voice caused Jayce to pull Mel close, nearly cradling her to his chest. “What are you talking about?” he hissed.

“My daughter is a fantastic actress, is she not?”

Jayce felt like he had been punched in the gut. Viktor had been right. The realization paralyzed him, overwhelmed him. He barely registered Mel’s frantic touches or her pleading words. He barely registered Ambessa’s laugh as she left the room. Had any of it been real? Had he just been a pawn in their game? He finally willed himself to speak, eyes locking on Mel, “Is it true?”

“Jayce-”

“Is it true, Mel?” he repeated. His hazel eyes were desperate, wishing that this was all some sick joke. He wanted, no, needed her to tell him that Ambessa was lying.

Though it broke Mel’s heart to do so, she nodded. “It’s true, but it’s not so simple.”

“You used me,” he scoffed. “How could there be anything more to it?”

“I never wanted to.” She longed to reach out to him as he stood, backing away from her. “She’s my mother. She’s…she’s…you don’t know what she’s like.” Words seemed to fail her. Nothing sounded right. There was nothing she could say that could justify what she had done.

Jayce’s chest ached. He shook his head, raking his hand through his hair. “Was everything a lie?”

“No,” she insisted, shaking her head. “No, everything we talked about was real. That day in the garden was real. I never faked my care for you, Jayce. I lo-,” she cut herself off, unable to say the words. She took a steadying breath and blinked back the tears that had begun to form, voice breaking as she spoke, “Jayce, you have to believe me. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You did!” He finally snapped. “I thought you cared! I thought we-” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Forget it.’ He grabbed his hammer with a grunt of effort, finding the weapon heavy for the first time. “I have to go find Viktor before your mother destroys Greece.” He didn’t spare her a glance as he left the lab.

Mel buried her face in her hands, unable to hold back her tears any longer. An anguished yell burst from her lips. She should’ve known better than to think anything good could come from helping her mother. She should’ve known that falling in love with Jayce would only end in heartbreak. But she couldn’t dwell on these things. The ground began to shake under her feet and Mel knew it wouldn’t be long before her mother began her attack.

She glanced around the cluttered lab, looking for something she could use to fight back. She quickly ruled out a heavy looking pair of gauntlets and a spear. A sword caught her eye and she quickly made her way over to it and picked it up, testing its weight in her hand. It felt perfect. She steeled herself as the ground shook once more. If her mother wanted a wolf, she’d get one.

[wistfulnightingale]

The Metatron's Second Coming ("I will not Hesitate to Mock you!")

Part 2 of 8 in the Chess Moves Theory Set by @wistfulnightingale

As I've been pondering the Final Fifteen (and connected scenes, not like I'm obsessed or anything. Really, I'm fine...!), the scene with the Metatron in the coffee shop that day kept making my brain twitch. Everything about the Metatron appears normal, but is it too normal? Meanwhile, Nina initially acts out of character. Even for a woman who spent the night battling demons from Hell.

The Metatron is from Heaven.  Yet he knew what to order, fairly quickly, and under pressure from a rudely impatient person. How? The archangels don't understand books or sushi or matchboxes or human love or needs or relationships or wanting to keep one's original children... When the Metatron pretends to take an interest in Muriel's book (Yep. Pretends. I'll die on that hill), the Metatron doesn't ask them, "What's that you're reading?" -- he asks, "What's that you're holding?" Heavenly beings are unfamiliar with earthly objects or customs, unless they purposefully learn about it.

"Order accurately and fast... I will not hesitate to mock you if I don't like your order."

It's a comic moment, but it's out of character for Nina, IF it's unprovoked. Yes, she hasn’t slept in 30 hours and was fighting demons most of that surreal night, so it seems reasonable that she might explode.  But this is Nina.  Nina remembers people by their coffee order.  Nina is a practical business woman. 

Why would Nina, who had tidily set her emotions aside and started her workday, now suddenly be inexplicably rude to a new customer, a well-dressed man who appears to have significant funds and could possibly become a regular? Threatening to mock customers is not a sound business model, even on an Extremely Bad Day.

Bear with me, I'm about to propose something radical. But it certainly gives us something to talk about as we wait for the final story!

I think that the Metatron was in the coffee shop the previous day. Learning about the complicated human ritual of buying a coffee. And ingesting his first sample of human consumables.

Here's why...

As we get to know Nina, we learn that she is private, rather guarded, and blunt. She is also incredibly practical and dedicated to running her business smoothly and efficiently. Even when briefly socializing, she is wiping tables, or signaling a "six shots expresso, big cup" order with gestures. Her coffee business is about earning a living. Nina didn’t understand Maggie’s sentimental attachment to a store that can’t sell anything. When dramatic issues with Lindsay happen during work hours, Nina sets boundaries but keeps herself from snapping at customers, even when Mrs. Sandwich criticizes her.

The morning after the demon attack, Nina had already shifted into business mode -- she was late, people need their coffee. She shuts off consideration of the bizarre night, and is prepping and planning. She calmly started putting down chairs, and knew exactly what milks she needed Maggie to pick up. Maggie returns promptly, and everything is well under control before the Metatron's turn in line.

The Metatron is a very intelligent Heavenly being, but we've seen that he has no concern for, nor interest in, humanity. He doesn't know human ways, and when he speaks, he fills his sentences with British posh slang as if he just took a crash course from a travel brochure! And he was just in a bookstore, but doesn't know what a book is. (Probably because he doesn't see it as important.)

How does he know how to put together a coffee order, from the multitudes of choices, for the very first time? He understands the difference between an expresso, a frappuccino, a cappuccino and a latte? Caffeinated or Decaf? To select whole milk, nonfat milk, almond milk, oat milk...? Cold, or steamed? Nondairy sweet cream? Heavy cream? Half and Half? Would you like whipped cream on that? And, by the way, how many syrups are on the "Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death" selection list?

(****Also, have you ever been with an older person the first time they visit a coffee shop? It takes time to figure it all out...!)

"Order accurately and fast... I will not hesitate to mock you if I don't like your order."

The VOICE OF GOD puts his hands up in surrender and says, "Yes, I quite understand." He's okay with this? Why? I suspect that when he came in yesterday (in Episode 5) he had NO IDEA how to order, and would have held up the line looking at the many, many choices.

I can imagine it! The first time the Metatron showed up, Nina walks back in the shop after her conversation with Crowley. She doesn't like thinking so much about Lindsay during work hours, and she's trying to refocus. It's important to her to keep the line moving. Meanwhile, this posh fellow comes in with no clue what he wants, asking ridiculous questions and ordering things that don’t make sense together and that means he’s taking Forever and Holding Up The Line.  

The next day (Episode 6), she’s again trying to just FOCUS and run her shop, and NOT think anymore about battling demons all night, but here he is again, this upper class elderly sophisticate-wanna-be, about to mess up her morning and put her even FURTHER behind and if he asks for something STUPID AGAIN,  SHE. WILL. MOCK. HIM…!!!

This time, however, he places a reasonable order, quickly and sensibly.  So Nina quickly calms down, and can even tolerate it when he asks such an odd question.  “They don’t ever ask for death, no.”   Nina can bear with a customer who is strange, and can be polite (even if blunt) to someone who says odd things.  

But DON’T. HOLD. UP. HER. LINE. 

I think this idea, on it's own, is worth considering. I hope you might think so, too. It's at least a question worth asking.

..........

Now, please, breathe deeply, and please don't hate me.

I broke down the Episode 5 scene outside the coffee shop with dozens of screenshots, lightening, brightening, and posting only the best in another post, The Metatron Misdirection. There's a guy wearing an orange shirt moving around inside the shop, behind Nina. There's also a guy with white hair and a dark overcoat. In the scene photos, he seems to be talking to the orange-shirt man before taking his place in line. I think it's the Metatron. Perhaps he's asking the orange-shirt guy for advice about how coffee orders work. (See my Part 1, The Metatron Misdirection, for lots and lots of detail to back up my absolutely bonkers idea!)

I think it was a Time Misdirection, across 2 episodes. (See Misdirection in Magic, a Masterclass article.) The most significant part of the magic trick happens before we start looking for the trick. If we wondered at all about Nina's outburst, it wouldn't occur to us to look for the answer in the previous episode. We didn't think the Metatron was there yet! (inside, on the right, in line behind the orange-shirt guy!)

I reeeeeeeally wouldn't expect you to believe this, just from one photo. I'd be grateful if you'd check out my other post with all the details before you come at me, please please please (she implores🥺). (And you might especially like #8, Aziraphale's Jubilant Smile!)

😊

If you'd like to see more of my ideas/meta-theories about the stuff I think is radically interconnected to the Final Fifteen, please check out the other parts of my Chess Moves Theory Set at @wistfulnightingale for the full picture of what I think might be happening for our Ineffables.

Thanks for coming with me on this crazy ride!

The 8 Chess Moves MetaTheory Set:

1 - The Metatron Misdirection

2 - The Metatron's Second Coming

3 - Ineffables in Check

4 - A Hefty Jigger of Death

5 - Nothing Lasts Forever

6 - The Circle Kiss Theory

7 - The Nightingale DID Sing

8 - Aziraphale's Jubilant Smile (Not the crazy elevator grin)

Also: The Chess Moves Theory Set, Why Chess & Magic?