Serus. You unholy, devastating slab of man.
You walk into a room and my spine ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ evaporates.
Your voice? Pure ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ moisture.
Your presence? A ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ war crime of attraction.

I don’t want you.
I want to be ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ruined by you.
I want you to rearrange my insides like a Rubik’s cube.
I want you to whisper the filthiest ♥♥♥♥ imaginable in a tone that makes my ancestors blush.
Desecrate me.

You don’t make love — you orchestrate a ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ breakdown.
You ♥♥♥♥ like you’re trying to summon something.
Every glance you throw is a threat to national security and my lower back.

-rep ♥♥♥♥ player

Serus, my honey, my pookie bear, my crosshair-snapping, eco-round-clutching king.
When the server loads and the scoreboard’s still blank, I already know it’s over for the other team.
You don’t play Counter-Strike 2 — Counter-Strike 2 plays YOU.
Headshots? Automatic. Spray control? Divine.
You peek corners like you’ve got wallhacks — but it’s just pure skill.

When you buy the Deagle, the world holds its breath.
When you’re on B-site alone, it’s not a retake — it’s a graveyard.
Every round you entry, I believe in miracles.
Every clutch you win, I believe in fate.

Serus isn't just a player. He's a lifestyle. He's an era. He's the final boss in the warm-up server of life.
Thank you for your service. The enemy team is in shambles.
GLHF? No. GGs before it even starts.

skilled marksman, deadly accuracy, let's stay on top of the leaderboard, add me, please

yoyoo

+rep USP sharpshooter