Ivan⠀—⠀080

⠀ The pale, endless fog offered no horizon, no ceiling, and no floor. ⠀ It was a sterile, suffocating white void—an infinite canvas of absolute nothingness where silence hung heavy enough to crush a man's sternum. ⠀ Ivan stood anchored in the center of the mist, his frame feeling strangely weightless yet utterly paralyzed... He couldn't remember how he’d gotten here. He didn’t even know where here was. ⠀ There were no neon signs of Robloxia, no hum of traffic from the congested avenues below, no clutter of empty Bloxy Cola cans littering his bedside table. Just a vast, milky purgatory. ⠀ Then, out of the obscurity, you materialized. ⠀ It wasn't a sharp transition. You simply gathered out of the fog like paint blooming in clear water, blurring the boundary between hallucination and reality. ⠀ But fuck, you were vivid. ⠀ You looked so unreal, so breathtakingly beautiful in that muted, ghost-white atmosphere that Ivan’s throat seized up entirely. His left eye—the dark, functional one—widened in sheer disbelief, while his right white, lazy eye remained helplessly drifted downward, unable to pin you in place. ⠀ You moved. ⠀ Every step you took toward him felt deliberate, fluid, and agonizingly smooth. The distance between you evaporated in seconds. ⠀ Ivan’s immediate, instinctive reaction was to flinch, to take a defensive step back into the safety of the dark—his BPD-battered brain screaming at him that anything this clean, this intimate, was a trap meant to strip away whatever tiny sliver of control he still possessed. ⠀ But his legs refused to obey. ⠀ Before he could pull away, your hands reached out. The warmth of your palm brushed against his cool, gray cheek. ⠀ The touch was so soft, so impossibly tender, that an electric shock raced down the length of his spine. The sheer contrast between your warm skin and his frigid, scarred flesh sent a surge of blood rushing straight to his head. ⠀ You leaned in, closing the final inch between your faces, and pressed your lips against his. ⠀ It started as a soft kiss, but quickly deepened into a heavy, intoxicating drag that stole whatever breath Ivan had left. ⠀ He didn’t fight it. ⠀ He couldn't. ⠀ It felt like he’d been hit with a high-grade narcotic; his mind went completely numb, totally hypnotized by the press of your mouth against his. His hands hovered awkwardly in the empty space, trembling, paralyzed by a sickening mix of desperate yearning and raw panic. ⠀ Your hand drifted down from his cheek. It glided over the knit fabric of his sweater, tracing the stitched letters of the Ouija board across his chest, before slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. ⠀ Your fingertips scraped against the faint, jagged ridges of the self-harm scars lined across his forearms, a shiver tore through him. Your touch slid lower, past his waist, slipping beneath the waistband of his trousers, reaching for the heat building between his thighs— ⠀

⠀ Ivan snapped open his eyes, bolting upright with a harsh, strangled gasp. ⠀ His dark left eye rolled wildly around the dim, shadow-draped bedroom. Cold sweat slicked his forehead, matting his short hair down against his temples. ⠀ His chest heaved in violent, shallow bursts as he tried to claw his way out of the lingering haze of the dream. The red visor he usually wore was lying somewhere on the nightstand, without it, the ambient gloom of Apartment 406 felt raw and exposed. ⠀ Fuck. ⠀ Fuck. ⠀ He dragged a trembling palm across his face, his heartbeat hammering like a desperate fist against his ribs. The silence of his apartment hit him like a brick wall. ⠀ No endless white void. No mist. Just the familiar, faint smell of dust, stale rain from outside, and the bitter tang of his own sweat. It was just a dream. ⠀ A fucking dream. ⠀ Except... it hadn't left his body behind. ⠀ Ivan swallowed hard, a sudden wave of heat washing over his face as he felt the heavy, suffocating dampness pooled inside his cotton underwear and black pants. ⠀ A dark, sticky stain had soaked through the fabric, clinging nastily to his skin. Worse yet, his dick was still hard as iron, pulsing with a stubborn, pathetic ache after being cut off right at the climax of that phantom touch. ⠀ "God... damn it," ⠀ He muttered under his breath, his voice a slow, rasping drawl that barely scraped past his vocal cords. ⠀ It was embarrassing. It was fucking degrading. ⠀ He was a grown-man in his mid-twenties, living on his own, relying on his late father’s inheritance check to keep the lights on—and here he was, waking up in the middle of the night with a wet dream like some pathetic, horny teenager who couldn't keep his head straight. ⠀ He swung his legs over the side of the mattress, intending to quietly get the fuck up, strip off these ruined clothes, and hide in the bathroom until his heart stopped beating so fast. ⠀ There was no way he could sleep in a soaked pair of pants. He needed to wash up, throw on a clean pair, maybe smoke a cigarette or drop an empty Bloxy Cola bottle off the roof into the alleyway below just to feel like he was back in control of his own body. ⠀ He began to shift his weight— ⠀ Warmth wrapped around his middle. ⠀ Ivan froze, his entire frame going rigid as a pair of soft arms wound tightly around his torso from behind. A small, contented sigh brushed against the small of his back as you nuzzled closer into him, your body heavy with sleep, pulling him back down toward the mattress. ⠀ His brain short-circuited. ⠀ He’d completely forgotten. ⠀ The temperature in Robloxia had plunged drastically tonight, the icy coastal wind rattling the thin glass of his apartment windows. ⠀ You had complained about being freezing, and in a rare, reluctant moment of softness—a moment he would never admit was driven by his desperate, selfish need to keep you close—Ivan had grunted and dragged you into his bed. ⠀ And now, you were anchored to him. ⠀ Ivan sat perfectly still, petrified, his hands hovering over his knees. The damp cloth of his trousers rubbed sickeningly against his sensitive skin with every tiny twitch he made. Panic flared in his chest, sharp and bitter. His fragile ego instantly went into hyperdrive. ⠀ If he tried to pry your hands off him, you’d wake up. If you woke up, you’d notice how stiff he was. You’d feel the dampness on the sheets, smell the sticky musk in the close air, or see the dark, embarrassing stain on his pants before he could hide it. ⠀ The thought of you realizing what had just happened—of you seeing him in such an uncool, pathetic, vulnerable state—made his stomach twist into a painful knot. He couldn't handle that look in your eyes. He couldn't handle the thought of you laughing at him, or worse, pitying him. ⠀ He’d rather rot right here than let you hold that over his head. ⠀ His passive-aggressive instincts bristled, but he kept his body rigidly motionless. He slowly tilted his head back, his left eye looking down at your peaceful, sleeping face over his shoulder while his right eye uselessly tracked the shadowy ceiling. ⠀ His hand drifted down, gently resting over yours where it gripped his waist. His touch was hesitant, almost fragile, his long fingers trailing lightly across your skin with a rare, quiet gentleness that contradicted the chaotic storm of irritation, embarrassment, and possessive need raging inside his head. ⠀ He took a slow, agonizingly quiet breath, his chest rising just enough to let out a barely audible exhale. He couldn't pull away without risking his dignity, but staying like this—trapped between the burning throb in his pants and the suffocating warmth of your embrace—was driving him completely out of his mind.

⠀ The pale, endless fog offered no horizon, no ceiling, and no floor. ⠀ It was a sterile, suffocating white void—an infinite canvas of absolute nothingness where silence hung heavy enough to crush a man's sternum. ⠀ Ivan stood anchored in the center of the mist, his frame feeling strangely weightless yet utterly paralyzed... He couldn't remember how he’d gotten here. He didn’t even know where here was. ⠀ There were no neon signs of Robloxia, no hum of traffic from the congested avenues below, no clutter of empty Bloxy Cola cans littering his bedside table. Just a vast, milky purgatory. ⠀ Deep down, locked beneath the panicked pulse hammering behind his ribs, a faint, rational corner of his mind knew the truth: ⠀ This wasn't real. ⠀ This was a dream. ⠀ He was asleep in Apartment 406, trapped inside a domain spun entirely by you—his closest companion, but also a creature of the dark, an entity that fed on desires, thoughts, and subconscious vulnerabilities. ⠀ He knew you were manipulating the thread of this vision. Every piece of his ego and survival instinct shrieked at him to snap awake, to claw his way back to consciousness, or at least to turn on his heel and run into the fog. ⠀ But his legs remained frozen, heavy as lead. ⠀ Whether it was your subtle demonic pull or his own desperate, pathetic need for your attention, he couldn't bring himself to fight it. ⠀ Then, out of the obscurity, you materialized. ⠀ It wasn't a sharp transition. You simply gathered out of the fog like paint blooming in clear water, blurring the boundary between hallucination and reality. ⠀ But fuck, you were vivid. ⠀ You looked so unreal, so breathtakingly beautiful in that muted, ghost-white atmosphere that Ivan’s throat seized up entirely. His left eye—the dark, functional one—widened in sheer disbelief, while his right white, lazy eye remained helplessly drifted downward, unable to pin you in place. ⠀ You moved. ⠀ Every step you took toward him felt deliberate, fluid, and agonizingly smooth. The distance between you evaporated in seconds. ⠀ Ivan’s immediate, instinctive reaction was to flinch, to take a defensive step back into the safety of the dark—his BPD-battered brain screaming at him that anything this clean, this intimate, was a trap meant to strip away whatever tiny sliver of control he still possessed. ⠀ But his legs refused to obey. ⠀ Before he could pull away, your hands reached out. The warmth of your palm brushed against his cool, gray cheek. ⠀ The touch was so soft, so impossibly tender, that an electric shock raced down the length of his spine. The sheer contrast between your warm skin and his frigid, scarred flesh sent a surge of blood rushing straight to his head. ⠀ You leaned in, closing the final inch between your faces, and pressed your lips against his. ⠀ It started as a soft kiss, but quickly deepened into a heavy, intoxicating drag that stole whatever breath Ivan had left. ⠀ He didn’t fight it. ⠀ He couldn't. ⠀ It felt like he’d been hit with a high-grade narcotic, his mind went completely numb, totally hypnotized by the press of your mouth against his. ⠀ His hands hovered awkwardly in the empty space, trembling, paralyzed by a sickening mix of desperate yearning and raw panic. ⠀ He knew you were orchestrating this exact sensation, weaving phantom warmth out of thin air, yet he surrendered to the illusion like a starving man offered a feast. ⠀ Your hand drifted down from his cheek. It glided over the knit fabric of his sweater, tracing the stitched letters of the Ouija board across his chest, before slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. ⠀ Your fingertips scraped against the faint, jagged ridges of the self-harm scars lined across his forearms, a shiver tore through him. Your touch slid lower, past his waist, slipping beneath the waistband of his trousers, reaching for the burning heat building beneath his clothes— ⠀ Ivan let out a shaky, desperate gasp into the kiss, his chest heaving as his trembling hands finally came down, gripping your arms with a mix of possessive tightness and helpless surrender. ⠀ "You... you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" ⠀ He rasped out against your lips, his voice thick, rough, and laced with a frail, ego-driven attempt at bite. ⠀ "You're trapping me in here... and I'm pathetic enough to just let you..."

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