#but are still so obsessed with the object of their devotion

[dioslesbianwife]

Hiii, this is the anon that sent in the ask for the stardust crusaders and the reader having a Stand that heals and calms. I just wanna say that your writing is amazing, and I'm so so thankful you did that for me! But now I'm curious...what would the jofoes think? Would it also be possible to include all of the pillarmen instead of just Kars? Thanks in advance, and I hope your trip goes well!!!

hi, ty- sure, hope you enjoy and thank u for requesting <3

Dio

At first, he’s fascinated. “You can… heal? Calm others?”

He lets you use it on him out of curiosity- but when your fingers brush his skin and the warmth settles over his chest, he freezes.

“What… is this?” It’s the first time in centuries he’s felt at peace.

He immediately becomes obsessed.

You’re the only one allowed near him when he’s injured. You’re the only one who can make his mind stop racing.

“You belong to me now,” he says, almost tenderly. “No one else will ever touch you.”

Kars

He scoffs at first. “Calming people? Healing? How quaint.”

But after a battle, you place your hand gently on his arm- and his body stops aching. For the first time in a long time, he breathes without tension.

He doesn’t say thank you… but he watches you more after that. Closely.

Eventually he lets you stay by his side during strategy meetings, claiming, “You’re easier to tolerate than most.”

He’ll never say he enjoys your Stand- but he asks for it when he can’t sleep.

Wamuu

Completely in awe of your abilities.

The first time you use your Stand on him, he kneels, head bowed. “This gift is… divine.”

Respects you deeply. Sees you as a sacred companion- someone he must protect and honor.

If you ever heal him, he insists on returning the favor tenfold. “You gave me strength. Now allow me to fight for you.”

Might fall in love without realizing it. That devotion? That loyalty? It becomes personal.

Esidisi

He’s a chaotic drama queen at first, pretending he doesn’t need it.

But when you soothe one of his fits of rage with just a hand on his chest, he quiets like a flame flickering out.

“Oh. Ohhh.,”

Starts hanging around you all the time just to feel the calm again.

Gets extremely jealous if you use your Stand on anyone else. “WHY does that peasant deserve YOUR DIVINE TOUCH?!”

Santana

Completely nonverbal response the first time you use your Stand on him.

He just stares at you. Like he doesn’t understand why he suddenly doesn’t want to kill everyone.

He becomes weirdly attached to your presence. Like a cat that only sits on your lap.

You become his handler, translator, and comfort object. People have to come through you to deal with him.

You swear he purrs a little when you touch him with your Stand. You’ll never say it out loud though.

Yoshikage Kira

Your Stand pleases him because it’s beautiful, pure, and draws little attention.

“Don’t let anyone else see you use it,” he warns.

The first time he comes to you with an injury, your Stand touches him and he goes dead silent. His heart slows. The compulsions in his head quiet down.

He grows addicted to it. To you.

Will do anything to protect his little bubble of peace. Anyone who threatens it? Gone.

He doesn’t know if he loves you, but he knows he’ll kill to keep you.

Diavolo

He HATES how much he wants your presence.

“Stay away from me,” he growls, over and over- but you still find yourself summoned to his side whenever he’s hurt or overwhelmed.

Your Stand dulls the migraines, quiets his paranoia, stops the trembling. He doesn't deserve it and he knows it.

“If you ever betray me,” he says softly, “I will erase you from time itself.”

But then he gently holds your wrist. “...But I hope you never will.”

Enrico Pucci

“You are a chosen instrument of God,” he tells you reverently.

He believes your Stand is proof of the divine.

Has you bless him before missions, place your hand on his chest, pray with him. It becomes ritual.

Might even alter his own twisted plans to spare you pain.

His obsession with tranquility turns into obsession with you- your voice, your presence, your power.

“Let me build heaven for you,” he says. “You, of all people, deserve paradise.”

Diego Brando

Cocky as hell about it: “Tch. What, you think I need your little spa treatment?”

Gets beat up. Crawls to you. Doesn’t say a word, just points to his ribs.

He HATES how easily you calm him. No one else gets to see that side of him.

Grumbles while you heal him: “You better not be enjoying this.”

Later that night: “...Can I sleep next to you? Just… for a little while. I sleep better when you’re near.”

Funny Valentine

Acts polite. “Your Stand is quite remarkable. Healing… very useful.”

But beneath the surface he’s fascinated. Captivated. Maybe even worshipful.

When you use it on him, he murmurs, “You feel like peace incarnate.”

You’re not allowed to die. He’ll move timelines to keep you breathing.

Has you sit beside him during speeches and meetings. One hand on his knee, Stand gently pulsing against his skin, anchoring him.

“Stay with me,” he says under his breath. “For all our histories.”

Tooru

Acts like it’s no big deal: “Ah, you heal people? That’s cute.”

But the first time you soothe his pain- when you calm the whirlwind of thoughts in his head- he goes quiet. Like scary quiet.

“...What did you do to me?”

He’s lowkey addicted to it. Will subtly sabotage his own health to get you to heal him.

“You’re the only person I can stand being around,” he mutters one night.

Gets incredibly possessive, but in a sneaky way. “They don’t deserve your touch like I do, baby.”

[shadows-aflame]

The thing about Enver Gortash that gets me the most is like

Here’s perhaps the most complex and well thought out character in the game. You can feel his presence all throughout as early as act 1 by seeing just how far his influence has come. He’s ruthless and irrevocably evil, but also broken in a way that doesn’t justify any of his wrongdoings. He’s a brilliant mind who clawed himself out of the hells and into this seat of power, yet he doesn’t want to rule alone.

He’s grieving over his partner, and it’s very apparent when you look at the actions he took after losing the Dark Urge.

He wants to rule with you. If you play as the Dark Urge, he clearly loves you in whatever manner you interpret that love to be.

But you can’t love him back.

[lavenderprose]

Imagine you're Johanna Hezenkoss and your one goal in life is to Be Right All The Time and you've got this sidekick named Emmrich. He can do the whole corpse whispering thing and he's an objectively pretty skilled necromancer but, of course, YOU are Johanna Hezenkoss. And you decide that you like Emmrich enough to drag him along with you to glory. So you spend a few decades doing that. Only Emmrich is six and a half feet of saccharine poetry and fanatical devotion to the core tenants of the Mourn Watch and YOU, Johanna Hezenkoss, are just counting the moments until you can go Beast Mode in this bitch and show everyone what TRUE NECROMANTIC POWER means. So Emmrich weighs you down a bit but you're a little obsessed with him only because he's like. Real? That's a real dude? Saying that shit? Wild. Totally insane. He's like an annoying chattering dog who keeps all your secrets and makes the biggest saddest eyes at you when you say stuff like, "The world could be exactly what we want it to be. Aren't you MAD. Aren't you ANGRY at what they've taken from you. Don't you want to MAKE THEM SUFFER LIKE YOU'VE SUFFERED--"

Yeah. Whatever.

And then Emmrich betrays you because you're scaring him. SCARING him? After everything you've done for him? You were going to reinvent the world--you were going to put him at the top of it all so NOBODY could step on either of you ever again and now he's all, Oh Johanna, you're scaring me, this isn't what we believe in, you're letting your fear control you, blah blah BLAH he never shuts UP

Fear? FEAR, Volkarin? How fucking rich.

Then some stuff happens. Half lich 125 foot skeleton someone named Elgar'nan, maybe a God, who cares. You get so close--SO CLOSE--and then fucking Emmrich rolls in and this time he takes it ALL. Your power and your mortal life and your last remaining shreds of fucking credibility in this fucking world. And then he doesn't even have the basic fucking decency to say I Told You So. He keeps you on his desk like a tchochke and listens to you scream and spit and even THEN he doesn't do anything.

All the while he has his own sidekick now. Some vapid little thing always batting their eyelashes and paying Volkarin the kind of lip service that always distracted him, made his eyes go soft and his chin quiver. He's still such a weak man. You tell him so. You tell him and tell him and tell him until--

The sidekick disappears. Emmrich's eyes go empty and haunted in a way that makes you wonder what he's done to himself in his heartache and grief.

"Whoever did this to you," you tell him on the worst day, "You can make them pay. You're powerful enough. You defeated me." You being, of course, Johanna Balls of Steel fucking Hezenkoss.

"I just want them back," Emmrich admits. Because he's weak WEAK he's a weak man mewling pitifully in a dark room for his piece of ass while the moon rises red in the fucking sky and a God walks the earth.

"You have the power," you tell him. "When the world takes from you, you take those things back. This is what I've been telling you all these years, Volkarin. For once in your miserable life, LISTEN TO ME."

Finally, finally, Emmrich reacts. He screams. He throws a few books. He kicks his desk. Punches something, probably, because his knuckles start bleeding at some point. You watch it all with barely-contained glee. Anger, yes, fucking finally. You've been waiting your whole goddamn life for this man to realize how fucking ANGRY he is.

"How do I break into the fucking Fade?" He screams. He's not even looking at you. His hair is seven different kinds of fucked. His shirt is unbuttoned to the navel, and he's missing a boot.

"You could start by asking someone who's done it," you say. Emmrich turns, startled for some reason to hear you. Again you say, "Listen to me."

"Oh, Johanna," he sighs. "I've rarely done anything else."

It's not the words 'Thank you' or 'You're right'. It's certainly not lichdom or godhood or a 125 foot tall skeleton. But it's one point for Johanna Hezenkoss.

You'll make up the deficit eventually. Volkarin has a kid, after all.

[tragic-ships-tournament]

Tragic Ships Tournament: FINAL ROUND

Propaganda under the cut!

Orphydice:

"y'all probably know the story of orpheus and eurydice. but they are SO tragedy. they are TEXTBOOK tragedy. they redefined the genre. on their literal wedding day as she's walking down the aisle eurydice gets bit by a snake and dies. orpheus loves her so much he goes down to the underworld to try and save her. hades allows him to take her back to the land of the living, as long as she walks behind him, and he cannot look back, otherwise her soul will be taken. he's mostly fine , but begins to doubt and at the very end of the tunnel, he looks back. they lock eyes for a moment before she disappears back into hell. orpheus is then so distraught that he wanders the earth singing mournful melodies and gets stoned to death by some nymphs who think his sad songs are bumming them out. DUUUUDE their story consumed my every waking thought as a child."

Madohomu:

"madoka magica aired 12 episodes in 2011, with a sequel movie titled “rebellion” released in 2014. it’s been over 10 years since then, and these two have become the face of yuri. if someone makes a meme about loving yuri and makes a collage of example ships, madohomu are 100% gonna be present. video essays, fanart, fics, music videos and all kinds of fan projects featuring them are still wildly popular on all social media platforms.

but let’s talk about them (without going into too many spoilers, so this will be about the thematics in their relationship). they are light and darkness. the ying and the yang. forever intertwined. one would not exist without the other, yet they cannot exist together. for madoka has too much love for every living thing and too little for herself. and homura has too much love for madoka it blinds her to everything and everyone else, and she struggles with deep self-hatred. madoka has forsaken her own existence for the world, and homura has forsaken the world she created for her. the show has a lot of religious imagery, and madoka is akin to a god; there’s a shot of homura, who grew up catholic, kneeling at the feet of a gigantic statue of madoka, praying, but her hands stain her clothes. because if madoka is god, then homura is lucifer - specifically, iblis, the muslim version of lucifer, who loved god so much he betrayed him, for he’d rather defy him than bow to his creation, humans. and homura would rather defy the sanctity of madoka’s wish, rather than obey its laws, for she will take madoka’s happiness in her hands, if she refuses to. in the movie, dolls representing homura’s inner machinations yell, “gott ist tot”, for homura’s god, madoka, dies in the movie, when homura remembers that madoka was human first, and godhood was something she reached to save everyone, against her best interest and happiness. their relationship is one of love, kindness, obsession, devotion, hope, faith, worship - they are the thesis and the antithesis, the beginning and the end, the alpha and omega, an unstoppable force and an immovable object. forever locked in a struggle, never fully embracing, for madoka will always sacrifice herself for the world, and homura will always doom the world and herself for madoka."

[senseofnewness]

SILENT DEVOTION

pairing : patrick zweig x f!reader | art donaldson x f!reader | patrick zweig x tashi duncan | tashi duncan x f!reader

rating : explicit

word count : 17.6k

contains : smut 18+, obsession, delusion, stalking, jealousy, toxic relationship, vaginal sex, object insertion, masturbation, eating disorder, mentions of underage sexual awakening but nothing graphic until they’re all of age

summary : Patrick Zweig was your everything. For five years, you took every opportunity to get closer to him and learn everything about him, shaping yourself into the woman you believed worthy of his love, even as he remained unaware of your existence. But soon, he would notice you, you were determined to make sure of it.

Patrick Zweig had been a part of your life for as long as your older brother had been enrolled at the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy, yet you had never really noticed him before.

Though tennis had once held a special place for you in your childhood, the thrill that once accompanied the sport had long faded. Attending tournaments had gradually transformed into a dutiful obligation imposed by your parents in order to support your brother. Your brother, the prodigy who was flourishing in sports while you had yet to find an interest of your own. Sure, you found enjoyment in many activities, but none seemed to garner the same level of pride from your parents as your brother's accomplishments in tennis did.

Only at the age of fourteen did your life begin to find its true purpose. Your brother faced off another student on the court, and perhaps it was the hormonal changes in your body taking over your mind, but your attention fixated solely on that boy with a lanky figure with sharp features and captivating green eyes. His every move executed with an intensity that seemed to transcend the game itself. The confident smirk he wore as he claimed victory stirred something deep within you, so deep that it left you feeling physically unwell for the rest of the day. That night, the urge to relive the moment with your hand down your panties was so overpowering that you had barely slept.

You had attempted to inquire about him from your brother, but without much luck. He had simply shrugged with a sigh, still nursing the sting of defeat. "He's around fifteen, I guess. Comes from a wealthy family, the Zweigs. Why the sudden interest?" You found yourself crafting a tale, pretending to be unaware of Patrick's presence until now, expressing surprise at the notion of a newcomer joining the academy so late in the year.

You only caught glimpses of him a few more times that year. Each encounter filled you with eager anticipation, dressing in your most mature outfits, and accentuating your features with your mother's makeup, all in the hope of capturing his attention. Yet, despite your efforts, he remained immersed in the game, seemingly oblivious to your admiration. Even so, you held onto the belief that he might eventually look up during a set and acknowledge your support with a smile. However, he never did. Nonetheless, this didn't deter your teenage imagination from running wild, crafting fantasies of a future life together where he would confess he had loved you all those years. Then would come dating, then marriage and babymaking. Every detail meticulously mapped out in your mind.

●

You were now sixteen, and despite being only a year older than you, Patrick had morphed into a man. Or so the adolescent you were, thought so. Gone was the thin boy of the past. His body had doubled in size, with his biceps and thighs notably thicker. You couldn't resist imagining the sensation of being embraced by him, or sitting on his lap, and gently running your fingers through his dark curls. You hoped Patrick would also recognize the changes your body underwent over the summer. "Maybe you should pay a bit more attention to your diet." Your mother had suggested, her gaze lingering on your slightly rounded stomach. Sure, you didn't look as toned as you did when you were younger but you had breasts and hips now. Like a real woman. A woman worthy of Patrick Zweig's affection.

He was dominating the match, as usual. Or at least, that's what you believed. You weren’t really paying attention to what was happening on the court, but you knew for a fact that he had it all, looks AND talent. Plus, losers weren't your type.

Although no one was really your type except Patrick.

When the umpire announced the set break, you watched your Patrick walk to his chair and remove his shirt. You had to stifle a gasp in front of your parents, at the sight of him. You had seen your brother and father shirtless before, but it was nothing like it. His skin was smooth with freckles adorning his broad shoulders. His arms were slender yet defined, with muscles that showed his dedication to tennis. His toned stomach and firm abs were accentuated by a trail of black hair disappearing into his shorts. Following the line, you let your eyes linger a bit too long on his crotch. Your knowledge of the male anatomy was minimal, and you had never felt compelled to learn more until that instant. That thought made you cross your legs tighter and clutch your skirt in an attempt to keep the dampness forming in your underwear under control. His adjustment of his shorts only intensified the sensations coursing through your body.

After the match, you hastily excused yourself to the bathroom. The image of Patrick's hand gripping himself through his shorts played on repeat in your mind. Sometimes, you imagined your hand replacing his, or him touching you instead. It was enough to ignite a fire within you. After finding release, you stared at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your skirt and shirt with care. The realization of what you'd just done hit you, doubts about your sanity creeping in. But the thought of sharing this story with him one day, perhaps after you're married, eased those worries and brought a smile to your lips. Feeling lighter and fulfilled, you exited the bathroom, only to come face to face with Patrick. His brief glance, meeting yours for a split second, sent a rush of excitement through you as he disappeared toward the locker rooms. Finally, he knew you existed. It was the best day of your life.

●

Upon hearing of his qualification for the US Open Junior Boys Doubles Championship in 2006, you were convinced you were supposed to go. He would want his future wife there to witness his victory, you thought to yourself, so, as always, you attended. For the doubles, he was paired with another young man who appeared to be around your age. While his face seemed familiar, you had never paid enough attention to the game to notice anyone else but your man. When Patrick hit the winner, the two boys leaped into each other's arms, shouting with joy, tumbling onto the court in an affectionate embrace. You couldn't deny the cuteness of the moment, but how you wished it were you he was wrapping his muscular thighs around and showering with kisses.

After the game, you wanted to congratulate Patrick but there was so much attention around him that you decided against it. You didn't want to share this moment, your moment, the moment he would lay eyes on you and fall in love with you, with anyone else. You weren't just one of his fans, you were the woman he was going to marry after all. Disappointed, you walked back to your hotel room. You knew that winning the doubles assured them a spot in the singles and that tomorrow was going to be THE day. The day you would reveal yourself to him. You knew he was going to win. He always did. You could already imagine yourself sharing the sweet memory of falling in love with Patrick on the day he became a US Open champion with your friends, or even with your kids in a few years.

The day was still young, with a few matches scheduled for the afternoon, yet none captivated your interest if Patrick wasn't involved. Thankfully, memories of Patrick's triumphant grin would be enough to keep your mind and hands occupied for a couple of hours.

 Except it did not. 

Those kinds of things sufficed when you were fifteen, but now, as a woman with deeper needs, they fell short. You sighed, mindlessly gazing at the ceiling while lying on your bed. Your imagination was running dry, you needed to see him, touch him, smell him, feel him.

Perhaps tonight's party, which your brother mentioned was being thrown in honor of the female winner of that afternoon's game, would spark material for your fantasies. All the players from the championship were invited, so there was a chance Patrick might attend. You would finally see him outside the court, in his everyday clothes and without his racket, the true object of his affection. You had the entire afternoon to prepare yourself both physically and mentally. If tomorrow was destined to be the big day, tonight could serve as a rehearsal.

Despite being already dolled up from the earlier match, you aimed to make a statement tonight. Entering the shower, you scrubbed vigorously, intent on achieving the smoothest skin possible. Every inch mattered. You reached for your razor, meticulously attending to your legs and intimate areas. What grooming choice would Patrick prefer? Was he the full bush type of guy? Would he like a bit of hair left intact? Completely bare? You opted to keep a small amount of hair. While shaving it all off would be ideal for tonight, the regrowth would definitely ruin your big day tomorrow.

After lathering, rinsing, and drying off, you smoothed lotion across your entire body. Spritzing perfume onto the nape of your neck, the insides of your elbows, behind your knees, and even sparing a dash of fragrance for your bits. You generously applied deodorant under your armpits, secretly wishing Patrick would skip this step of his routine. You were eager to experience his natural scent. The thought of burying your nose in his sweaty, hairy pits was utterly intoxicating.

You had packed lightly for your trip, leaving you with a sparse collection of makeup products. In that instant, you wished for better makeup skills or the company of girlfriends to lend a hand and share their supplies. You settled for a touch of pearly eyeshadow, mascara and pink lip gloss. As for your outfit, the options were equally limited. With only one dress, a common black piece with spaghetti straps, hitting at knee length. Feeling underwhelmed, you made a silent vow to yourself that once Patrick would be yours, you would dress sexier. Slipping into the dress, you tugged at the fabric, attempting to shorten it just enough to expose your thighs.

You gazed at your reflection briefly. Despite your best efforts, you didn't perceive yourself as particularly attractive. At best, you would qualify yourself as average. You pinched your stomach, acknowledging your mother's previous comments about letting yourself go. With a deep breath, you sucked in your stomach while pulling your hair into a ponytail, hoping to remember to maintain that posture throughout the evening.

You grabbed your cream-coloured luxury purse, a gift of your parents for your eighteenth birthday, trying to fit all the essentials for touch-ups in there. One essential item was missing : condoms. If the evening was to take a favorable turn, they would be necessary. Surely, he would have some, being a guy and all, right? Upon further reflection, you hoped he didn't. The idea of feeling him release his warm load inside you was enticing. You would probably spend days in bed afterward, with your legs crossed in an effort to keep a part of him inside you for as long as possible. Plus what was the worst thing that could happen? Pregnancy? You had been waiting to carry his child since you were fourteen.

●

The party had been underway for some time. While preparing had consumed a significant amount of your time, it was the mental rehearsal of what you would say upon seeing Patrick that had caused the delay. Your brother was already present, encircled by friends, casually sipping a beer. You couldn't help but envy how effortlessly he blended in. A successful career, a social circle, a loving girlfriend, and a genuine passion. He had it all.

All you had was… Patrick. 

Was he even present? Scanning the room, your gaze instantly locked onto him. He possessed the ability to stand out in any crowd. With his head of messy curls, his devilish smirk and his baby blue polo shirt paired with beige shorts, he was a vision.  His shorts showed just enough of his oh-so-biteable meaty calves. You could tell he had strong legs, strong enough to carry your weight as you would ride him like there was no tomorrow. You closed your eyes and exhaled deeply. Were you losing your mind? The mere sight of the curve of his ankles was enough to bring heat to your cheeks.

He wasn't alone, his earlier teammate stood beside him. Perhaps it was the perfect moment to introduce yourself and offer congratulations on their victory. But first, you made your way to the bar to grab a drink. You wanted to appear nonchalant, just a random guest blending in rather than coming across as one of his groupies. You were fond of sugary drinks but since you needed to watch your diet, you opted for a bottle of Perrier. When you turned back around, bottle in hand, the two boys had vanished. Spotting them a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with Tashi Duncan. You recognized her from the posters your brother hid under his bed. The tennis star. The embodiment of beauty.

There was something truly hypnotizing about Tashi Duncan. She was athletic yet slender with long tan legs, a thin waist and toned arms. Her facial features were equally striking, with piercing black eyes, high cheekbones, and a captivating smile that could light up a room. Her hair flowed in dark luxurious waves, the undulations tumbled in soft patterns, framing her face with an effortless grace. It cascaded down her delicate back, reaching the spot right above her perfectly firm muscular ass. She was like a siren. Captivating all attention on court and outside. You envied her. Especially now that Patrick's attention was on her. You could never be half the woman she was. Her beauty did not only reside in her physical features but also in the way she carried herself, confident but also playful.

Intrigued, you navigated through the crowd, drawing nearer to them, and leaned against the wall behind the couch where the tennis queen was seated. Taking a sip from your bottle, you struggled to listen to their conversation above the din of the music. They were discussing their future endeavors. A couple of references to Stanford in their conversation hinted that Tashi Duncan was enrolling too. Would she become a rival for you? Despite her apparent lack of interest, it was clear that Patrick was mesmerized by her. You had to intervene.

"Sorry for eavesdropping but you're going to Stanford too?" You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a handshake. You could tell by the dozens of posters celebrating her that she was the victor of this afternoon's match. "Congratulations by the way!" Despite the jealousy gnawing at you, you forced yourself to be friendly. You barely knew her, yet Patrick's attention seemed solely fixed on her. Forming a bond with her would surely draw attention to you as well. "Thank you. And yes, and he's going there too actually." She nodded in the blond boy's direction. You glanced at him indifferently and stepped closer, ready to shake his hand too. "Art Donaldson. Nice to meet you. I've seen you before right?" You vaguely recalled him from earlier but you weren't sure you ever crossed paths before. You would have remembered. He was a handsome boy. Tall, athletic, with messy golden locks and a bright smile. There was a certain boyish charm about him. Surely, a lot of girls were drawn to him. However, he paled in comparison to your Patrick.

"Maybe. My brother is at Mark Rebellato." You mentioned casually, subtly dropping your brother's name, showing little interest in engaging in small talk with Art. "And you, are you also...?" You then turned towards the man of your dreams, extending your hand towards him. "Patrick Zweig." As he shook your hand, the sensation of his cold, calloused hand against your skin sent shivers down your spine. Images of him grabbing his crotch years ago were suddenly flooding your brain.

It was the first time you were seeing him up close, you delicately examined every contour and feature of his face. From his long, pointy and slightly hooked nose you dreamt of sitting on to his adorable protruding ears you would use as handles while doing the said sitting. The charming way only one side of his mouth curled when he smiled, his sun-kissed skin covered with hundreds of freckles, each more loveable than the other or his straight teeth that would leave the most exquisite marks on your body. There wasn't a flaw to be found in that man. "No, college isn't my thing." He explained, casually sipping on his Coca-Cola bottle. Your smile fell, replaced by furrowed brows. Stanford had a reputation of recruiting talents from the Rebellato academy, which was the sole reason you had applied there. You harbored hopes of encountering Patrick on a daily basis. "Oh?" Before you could delve further, a deep voice interrupted the moment.

"Baby, I need to steal you for a second. Over at the trophies." Tashi's father had requested her presence. She excused herself, greeting each of you with a goodbye. "I suppose I'll see you at Stanford, Tashi!" You waved politely, secretly hating her for being so perfect and for the effect she had on your man. With her departure, you found yourself only in the company of the two boys. Just one left and you would finally be alone with the love of your life. Your stomach twisted into a knot of anxiety. You realized you needed to come up with a topic of conversation quickly to redirect the focus onto yourself. Despite all your mental preparation, you had not considered the fact that Art and Patrick would be glued to the hip.

Patrick sank into the couch with a heavy sigh. You mimicked his action and sat opposite of him on the second couch. He looked defeated by the sudden absence of the great Tashi Duncan. Before you could even open your mouth to cheer him up, Art turned to Patrick. "Now what?" Both of them had their eyes fixated on her. "What do you mean, that was it." They continued to talk as if you weren't even there. The night couldn't get any worse until Patrick mentioned taking the shuttle back to their hotel. You couldn't believe it. After all the effort you put into making yourself worthy of him, he was ignoring you, you felt nauseous.

"Let's go." Art proposed, prompting Patrick to rise from his seat. "Yeah, let's go." He stood up and headed towards the exit without so much as a glance in your direction. With a polite smile and nod from Art, the two boys vanished from your sight.

Your night was ruined, perhaps tomorrow would bring better fortune? As you made your way towards your hotel, you spotted them seated away from the crowd, smoking cigarettes. Approaching them, you noticed Tashi was already present. Feeling overwhelmed, you stepped back, knowing you couldn't bear witnessing Patrick's attention fixated on someone else. Seeing all three of them leave together only exacerbated the lump in your throat and the tears welling in your eyes. Taking a seat on the couch, you picked the very spot Patrick had just left, longing to feel his warmth. On the table before you rested the ashtray, bearing the cigarette butt that Patrick had just put out. You picked the discarded cigarette and placed it carefully in your pocket.

Once you returned to your hotel, you didn't bother undressing or removing your makeup, too eager to examine your newfound treasure. You simply lay on your bed and placed the cigarette between your lips. Having never been kissed, this was the closest thing to it for you. You probably wouldn't ever know as you couldn't imagine anyone but Patrick tasting your lips and touching your body. 

Despite Patrick's lips having touched the cigarette, it felt cold, damp, and impersonal. The smell of cold tobacco, however, reminded you of him. You closed your eyes and slid your hand down your underwear. That very same hand he had shook earlier was now caressing your cunt, stroking your folds, you were so wet for him. You had recently found an interest in porn in an effort to calm the heat in you and now you knew how to make yourself cum with a few precise strokes of your clit. Porn had been very instructive when it came to finding new things to fantasize about. Maybe you were even getting a bit too addicted to it. But now you ached for Patrick's thick cock down your throat making you gag with each thrust, Patrick violently slamming himself up your ass, so deeply that you would feel him in your stomach, Patrick using you like a whore, plunging himself in you only caring about his own pleasure not yours and denying you orgasms, forcing you to gobble his big hairy balls or using your tongue as a cum rag, Patrick choking you with his veiny hands, so hard that you would lose consciousness and he would continue to fuck your inert body. God, his hands. You moaned rubbing your clit one last time before exploding, calling his name. You placed the cigarette on the bedside table, breathless. You could tell your fantasies were becoming more and more… uncommon but it was only a proof that you would let him do anything of you. Nobody would ever love him more than you and he needed to know that.

●

Waking up the next day had been challenging. You were still wearing your dress and you could tell by the stains of your pillow that your makeup was also still on. After a long shower, you grabbed one of those tiny tennis skirts you had prepared for the occasion. If he was too bothered to notice you yesterday, you would be sure to be seen today. It probably wouldn't be the big day you had dreamed of, with a declaration of love, Tashi Duncan was the reason for that, but it could still be worth it. It was time to revise your plan. If his mind was someplace else, you could still fuck your way to his heart and drive him insane. Once he would see how devoted you are to him, he would surely choose you. Tashi Duncan wasn't the type of girl who would get on her knees and worship his cock. She wanted to be worshiped while you didn't care how badly he treated you as long as he filled every single one of your holes. 

Today's match featured Patrick Zweig against Art Donaldson, marking the highly anticipated finale of the US Open Junior Boys Singles Championship. To secure a front-row seat, you had arrived an hour early and witnessed the two boys stretch and warm up on the court, engaged in conversation. Their close friendship was evident. You couldn't help but wonder how their bond would influence the game's dynamics. You were concerned that the match might be underwhelming if neither of them was willing to assert dominance, fearing it could strain their relationship. Observing the scoreboard, you couldn't help but notice their respective seeding positions. Patrick held the second seed, whereas Art was ranked fifth in the tournament. It was evident that there was already a significant disparity in power. That would probably make the game interesting.

The thought of cheering for Art as loudly as possible to make Patrick jealous had crossed your mind. Normally, you were Patrick's most vocal supporter, and he would undoubtedly notice the absence of your chants. Without you, no one would be shouting his name, but you would be doing so for Art. However, you quickly dismissed the idea, as the concept of screaming another man's name made you physically ill.

When the umpire tossed the coin, it flipped in favor of Art who decided to serve first. The two boys took their positions. "Game on." The umpire announced, blowing his whistle as Art delivered his first serve. Patrick promptly returned it, initiating a series of exchanges. The ball moved like a blur between the two. The crowd held its breath with every swing of the racket.

Patrick was the first to score, letting out a triumphant yell. His vocal enthusiasm throughout the game had made you feel light-hearted. The groans he emitted each time he struck the ball with his racket were indecent. Was he that loud in bed? You were dying to find out. And it wasn't the only thing. The way his hand was so tightly wrapped around the racket reminded you of your earlier fantasies. You wondered how his large sturdy hand would look, milking himself all over your face. The echo of the racket striking the ball filled your mind with fantasies of a day you would be enduring such forceful backhands on your ass.

After winning the first set, he bowed his head and curtsied towards the audience.Your eyes followed his gaze. Of course. Tashi fucking Duncan. You let out an irritated sigh, and you weren't the only one who noticed. The tension between Patrick and Art was palpable. Art glared at his friend, feeling humiliated by his arrogance.

You had to admit tennis was growing on you even if Patrick was the one you wanted to feel growing in you. The match ended with Patrick winning the game. You exploded in joy, screaming his name and clapping as hard as you could. You didn't care to look desperate for him at that moment, you were. You knew he would win, he simply was the best.

Patrick draped his arm over Art's shoulder as he escorted him to the locker rooms. It was evident that something had changed in the demeanor of the blond boy. He appeared defeated and withdrawn, while Patrick was radiant, boasting to his friend. As the audience began to trickle out of the court, you lingered near the locker rooms, uncertain of your next move. You hadn't yet thought of a plan. At the very least, you could congratulate the champion. Hopefully, he would recall your encounter from yesterday and engage in further conversation. Or so you hoped. If not, maybe you would drag him back to the changing rooms, drop your panties down your ankle and bend over. Offering your pussy to him without asking anything in return, a proposition difficult to refuse.

Your scenario was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of the golden girl herself, Tashi Duncan. She greeted you as she noticed you leaning against the wall. Moments later, Patrick emerged and joined her. She smiled at him, slipping a piece of paper into his hand, eliciting a chuckle from him. His grin far surpassed any victory smile. "You earned it." She said, planting a soft kiss on his lips. That fucking slut. You couldn't believe your eyes. Sensing your eyes on them, she looked back at you and so did Patrick, finally noticing you. "Are you waiting for Art?" He asked. "Yeah, sure. I will come back later." You lied before sprinting back to your hotel room.

Upon entering your room, you flung yourself onto the bed and let out a scream into your pillow. How could he betray you like this? You had put everything on hold for him. He was supposed to be the one. That night, you had cried so much that your eyes were red and your voice gone for days.

●

The few weeks before freshman year had been the most depressing period imaginable. The horny young woman with a wild imagination that you once were seemed like a distant memory. Without Patrick, life felt devoid of excitement. You struggled to have an appetite, found sleep elusive, and questioned the purpose of your existence. Even masturbating had lost its fun.

During those couple of weeks that felt endless, you haven't heard a thing from him. You had even tried to add him on Facebook, but your request remained pending. Your sole source of information was Tashi. She reached out to you on Facebook a week before school, expressing eagerness to find a familiar face in Stanford's halls. Despite your conflicting feelings about her, you couldn't resist putting on a friendly facade. Your dad's advice to keep your friends close and your enemies closer echoed in your mind. If Tashi wanted a girl friend, you would oblige and be the best of friends. After all, she was your only link to Patrick.

You learned that he was on tour, striving to turn pro, and you were also aware that he and Tashi had started dating shortly after the championship.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He wasn't meant to thrive without you. He was supposed to be miserable. As miserable as you were.

Your blooming friendship with Tashi wasn't the most unexpected aspect of university life. That dreadful meeting in front of the locker rooms after the match had seemed to plant the idea in her mind that you harbored feelings for Art, leading her to make it her mission to play matchmaker for the two of you. She extended invitations to every party and lunch they shared, often bailing at the last minute to leave you alone together. Despite Art being a kind and supportive friend, you found no romantic interest in him. Nonetheless, you went along with Tashi's schemes, knowing that if anyone was closer to Patrick than Tashi, it was Art. At least this arrangement allowed you to stay within their social circle and be present whenever Patrick made an appearance.

Your heart raced when spotted him in the cafeteria during his first stay over, his dark curly hair and athletic frame catching your eye right away. Tashi sat beside him, with Art across from him. You resisted the urge to dash to him and wrap him in a hug. You took a seat next to Art and set down your lunch tray. "Hi, Patrick." You greeted, grinning from ear to ear, your voice betraying your excitement with a slight crack. "Hey." He responded with a nod, his hands buried in his pockets. How much you had missed him, it was maddening. Wearing jeans, it was the first time he wasn't exposing his legs to you. Was this some form of punishment? After all that time, you couldn't get a glimpse of his hairy thighs that you desired to be strangled with? Just thinking about them, you could feel the tingling sensation in your lower stomach that you had thought gone for days.

Apart from that, he didn't look that different except for a tanner skin. He was even sporting a sunburn on the bridge of his nose. You only wanted to kiss it better. "So Patrick, heard you've been losing. A lot." Art bantered before you shot him a kick under the table, diverting your attention to your salad. What a fucking cunt. "Be nice." You scolded him, avoiding making eye contact with any of them.

"I can't be lucky in every field. I already won the best prize." He jokingly knocked Art's cap off his head and planted a kiss on Tashi's cheek. Disgusting. You looked at them in disbelief. They really shouldn't act like that in your presence, especially when you were holding a knife. They carried on with their conversation, mentioning classes, the tour and tennis, of course. Feeling uneasy, you directed your attention to your tray of food, consuming more than necessary. Once done, you discarded your dishes and followed them outside.

Patrick had lit a cigarette and was pulling on it. The trio bursted into laughter, while you were watching them, a smile on your face. Even if the two parasites were standing between you two, you already felt immensely better just being near him. You were convinced that Patrick possessed some kind of power over you, the kind that could mend you with just a glance. It made you wonder if you would explode with happiness if he were as close to you as possible, if he were inside you. Or maybe you wanted to be inside of him? How you longed to be in the place of his cigarette at that moment. "Mind if I take a drag?" You asked although you didn't smoke. Health was a second thought when you already knew your love for him would be the death of you, before cancer could even reach your lungs. He passed it to you and you placed the stick between your lips. It felt different from the first time you had done that, in your hotel room. You could feel the warmth from his lips this time. Art glanced at you with curiosity, taken aback by the sudden action. You returned his gaze, silently pleading that he wouldn't bring up the fact that you didn't smoke in Patrick's presence. You handed the cigarette back to Patrick, ensuring your hand brushed against his as you did. Above all else, you yearned for physical connection.

"By the way, how did you two start dating? Tashi never told me." You asked him. She had not told you because you didn't want to ask. What had she done that you couldn't do? "It's quite the tale." He warned before recounting the event of the Adidas party. It had started on the beach, continued in the hotel room and finished on the court. He didn't forget to mention the kiss they shared, all three of them and brag about how he managed to seduce THE Duncanator once her number was in his possession. Tashi rolled her eyes, a grin playing on her lips, while Art turned bright red. Patrick seemed thoroughly pleased recounting the story, making you wonder if boys were now also in the competition for Patrick's affection. You couldn't ignore the fact that Patrick always lit up when discussing Art or anything related to him. Was there more to their connection?

Struggling to conceal your jealousy, you chuckled at the story and flashed a smile at a sheepish Art. "The three of you?!" That little fucker. He had possessed Patrick in ways you had not, and you could swear something had shifted in you. You had never found him as appealing as you did at that moment. You felt an urge to devour him, to experience Patrick through him, and that's how everything began.

That evening, Patrick and Tashi were unreachable. You tried calling her on her cell phone repeatedly, but received no response. As for Patrick, you didn't have any way to contact him at all. Despite their silence regarding their plans for the night, you weren't oblivious. You knew they were fucking. And your effort to disrupt their evening with your presence had been unsuccessful. Returning to your dorm room after a review session at the library, you walked past Tashi's room. Driven by curiosity, you leaned in, pressing your ear against the door, and were met with Tashi's muffled moans, Patrick's heavy panting and the creak of the bed beneath them. You felt a sudden wave of sickness taking over your body. You knew this was happening, of course, but hearing it was a whole other thing. Sadness settled over you, weighing heavily on your chest, as the reality of the nature of their relationship sank in. Each moan felt like a stab to your heart. You sprinted back to your room, not wanting to hear them any longer.**

●

Entering your room, you collapsed onto your bed, tears of rage forming in your eyes. Their moaning had sent jolts of electricity to your core and you could feel wetness between your legs. Your hand would have been enough to calm yourself on any other day but you were so sickened by the betrayal that you decided to go against your own principles. If Patrick was going to act like a whore, why would you bother saving yourself for him? You reached for your phone, sending a text to the only guy who cared enough about you to show up, hoping that he would be willing to offer some sort of comfort.

← [To : Art - 8:13pm]

Movie night? 

→ [From : Art - 8:14pm]

Sure.

← [To : Art - 8:14pm]

Roble Hall, Room 74. Bring the snacks.

●

When Art showed up at your room, you were in an oversized t-shirt and gym shorts. This was not exactly the sexy outfit you had imagined wearing to mess around with a boy. But after your rushed cold shower, you couldn’t be bothered to pick a nice outfit. He wasn't Patrick anyway, dressing up for Art wasn’t necessary, it would even be out of character. Besides, he was also in gym clothes. You wondered for a second if he thought of this as a friendly invitation or sports clothes was all he owned. With a big smile, he revealed a bag of salted popcorn he had been hiding behind his back as if it were some kind of great gift. Even his snack choice was bland and unoriginal. You invited him in, gesturing towards the twin bed where your portable DVD player was resting.

You didn't own that many DVDs, but Art still took the time to skim through each one, reading the back covers. He settled on Batman Begins. You inserted the disc into the DVD player. The cramped bed and the tiny screen forced proximity between you, leaving you practically all over each other : both lying on your stomachs with your hips touching and your feet occasionally brushing against one another.

"Christian Bale's hot." You squinted at him, amused. Men could appreciate other men's attractiveness without wanting to fuck them, you were aware of that. But knowing about his little experience with Patrick, you couldn't help but scrutinize Art's every action and word. What if all this was pointless? You needed to ensure you weren't wasting your time. You gently grabbed his chin, turning his head to study his face in detail. His slender face boasted a sharp jawline, framed by a fair, smooth skin that, despite its youth, bore faint lines on his forehead and around his eyes, lending him a tired appearance. His small, downturned blue eyes, one spotting a curious half-brown hue, seemed to vanish when he smiled, his thin lips parting to reveal prominent teeth. The feature of his you liked the most had to be his sizable, slightly curved nose. Completing the picture was his blond, wavy hair, adding to his boyish allure. Nothing Patrick-like but that would do. "I think you're hotter than him." His blush reassured you that you weren't a lost cause.

As the movie continued to play you realized you officially hated action movies, though Art seemed completely engrossed. You reached for the bag of popcorn and noticed the brand. "Skinny Pop? Is it an intervention?" You joked, playfully slapping your own ass to make it jiggle. You caught him staring for a moment. "No, I just stole them at practice." You popped a piece of popcorn into your mouth and fed him another. "You were at practice? Did you even shower before sitting on my bed?" You prayed he had not. "Of course! Who do you think I am?" He said, feigning indignation. Shit. He really had a knack for making things less exciting.

Things weren't progressing the way you desired. And naturally, he had chosen the least sexy movie ever. Despite your attempts to engage : playing with his feet, tracing patterns on his back, even shifting positions to lay facing him, the only reward you got was a smile. It was clear you needed to take matters into your own hands. So, when he reached for popcorn, you tapped his shoulder and opened your mouth, waiting for him to feed you and as he did, you playfully bit his fingers. "Eh!" He protested, frowning at you. Finally, a reaction! You seized his hand and enveloped your lips around his index finger, gently sucking on it. He watched you in astonishment as you shifted your attention to his thumb, licking off the salt. Releasing his hand, you leaned in closer, crushing your lips against his.

Despite his initial surprise, you sensed the tension ease as he leaned in to meet your kiss. With closed eyes, you both immersed yourselves in the moment. Just a few hours earlier, kissing another man would have been unimaginable. Yet, here you were. As he turned to face you, aligning his body with yours, your fingers traced the contours of his jaw before gently cupping it, drawing him nearer. Craving to deepen the connection, you explored his lips with your tongue, begging him to reciprocate. The sensation of his firm hand on your waist sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, not quite butterflies, but a tickling feeling nonetheless. As he responded, parting his lips, his tongue mingling with yours, you playfully nudged your nose against his, unable to contain your amusement. "Oh god, finally." You murmured, a laugh escaping as your lips met. He pulled back, chuckling softly. "Why do you say that?" His ears flushed a bright shade of red, adding to your amusement.

With a playful shove, you tipped him onto his back, confidently straddling his hips, your weight settling comfortably and your hands resting on his chest, tracing the outline of his pectoral muscles. "Well." You teased, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you gazed down at him. "Let's just say that if my tongue wasn't enough for you to get the hint, I was already planning my next move along those lines. Something a tad more... persuasive." You slowly bounced on top of him before leaning over him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before trailing a series of gentle pecks down his jaw, nibbling on his skin. "To be honest with you, I thought you were into Patrick." He mumbled, his voice breathy from the attention you were giving him. You arched an eyebrow, surprised by his comment. Even Art could tell? You snorted, feigning to be offended by the idea. You briefly considered retorting that you had your suspicions about his interest in Patrick as well, but instead, you chose a different response to his comment. "Would a girl who is into Patrick invite YOU to her room?" Probably, if she were as desperate as you.

You didn't give him a chance to respond, pressing your lips against his once more and running your hands through his hair. His hands hesitantly found their way to your hips. You were pissed that he could see right through you, but you weren't about to let that frustration go to waste. You now found yourself kissing him with hunger, holding your breath as you swirled your tongue around his. The kiss turned sloppy as you weren't really sure if you were doing things right. Your high school friend had once told you that you didn't need practice, you just needed to follow your instincts. But those very instincts urged you to sink your teeth into that tongue, bite it off and swallow it. It was the exact same tongue that Patrick had tasted but now it yearned eagerly for you. You withdrew, taking a moment to catch your breath, your fingers still tangled in his blond locks. You traced your hands down his chest, lifting his shirt as he sat up to assist in removing it with a certain impatience. Once his shirt was off, he grabbed your ass, fondling it with firm hands. You then embraced him, wrapping your arms around his neck, drawing him nearer to you. He felt sturdy and reassuring in your embrace, yet you yearned for the sensation of his soft bare skin against yours. "Take off mine…" You purred into his ear before turning your attention to his earlobe, enveloping it with your lips and giving it a gentle suck.

With a ferocious tug, he grabbed the hem of the oversize shirt, lifted it over your head and threw it aside. You didn't need to ask twice before your chest was bared to him. The awkward boy you had to kiss with insistence was now a distant memory, replaced by a lustful impatient man. You could sense his gaze lingering upon your chest. He raised his hips, bringing you up higher so your breasts were now at mouth reach. He encircled one of your nipples with his lips. You gasped audibly, taken aback by how delightful it felt. His wet tongue flicking your bud made your legs shake. You wanted to experiment more of this. It felt like you were on a high.

Growing increasingly impatient, you pressed your heated core against his clothed arousal. He was hard and throbbing. You raised your hips, eager to remove his pants, leaving only his underwear and your shorts as barriers between you two. Rolling your hips against him, you began with a slow, deliberate pace, ensuring maximum pressure each time your body met his. The sensation was maddening so much so that you momentarily forgot about his mouth on your chest. You didn't know you were capable of making sounds of this sort. Feeling self-conscious about your voice, you rashly took his face in your hands and kissed him passionately while still bouncing onto him. His frustration at losing contact with your breasts was evident so you decided to distract him in your own way.

You let your hand glide down his abdomen, your fingers toying with the elastic band of his underwear. The smoothness of his body was a stark contrast to Patrick's. The absence of hair leading to his groin was disappointing. You then slipped your hand beneath the fabric and palmed his length. The boy squirmed beneath you upon contact. Aware of how porn could create unrealistic expectations, you braced yourself for disappointment. However, you were pleasantly surprised to find that Art's member was of a respectable size. This was an interesting new sensation. It didn't feel as smooth as you thought it would, you could feel texture due to the presence of veins and the stubble from his recent shaving. You ran your thumb across his circumcised head, coaxing a moan from his mouth. This part felt much smoother. You teasingly squeezed his balls before retracting your hand. It was your first time attempting such a move, but there was no need for him to be aware of that fact. After immersing yourself in porn for the past year, you felt confident in your ability to handle the situation. It was just jerking a guy off. You broke the kiss, spat into your hand, maintaining eye contact with Art, and with a teasing smirk, slid it back down into his shorts. 

You gripped the base of his shaft with your hand and began to stroke it slowly, moistening it with your saliva. Meanwhile, his mouth returned to your breast, lavishing attention on your other nipple. You also felt his fingers teasing you through your shorts. You hated that you were wearing clothes, all you wanted right now was to feel his fingers in you. You sat on his hand, trying to feel him more. You gasped, your eyes fluttering as the overwhelming sensation washed over you. It was evident how wet you had become. You continued to grip his cock firmly. Honestly, you weren't sure what to do next, it felt like you were endlessly stroking him, and he was nowhere near climaxing. While you could tell he was enjoying it, you were eager for him to reach orgasm. Porn had made it seem so easy.

After some time, Art began delicately slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your shorts, exploring your moist entrance. The sensation sent waves of ecstasy through you as you clumsily stimulated him. His fingers pressed against your opening, the touch distinctly different from your own.

"I want you so much." He whispered into your ear, his fingers still toying with you. "Then take me now." You whimpered, unable to wait any longer.

"Condoms?" He asked as you shook your head. That had not crossed your mind. He rolled his eyes with a frustrated sigh, laying back on the bed, resting his hands back on your hips. You slided your hand out of his underwear and placed it on his chest. The loss of contact made him whine, frustrated. If it had been Patrick, you would have let him slam himself bare inside you but there was no way you would let another man fill you. There was always pulling out. You could tell by the way Art was looking at you that the idea crossed his mind and the question was burning his lips. But you were now, with thoughts of Patrick filling you up, totally turned off by Art, dry as sand. "I can blow you.. If you want." 

In a hurried motion, you stripped off his underwear, discarding them entirely. You knelt beside him, your fingers trailing along his chiseled abs as you leaned in closer. His cock twitched beneath your touch, hardening even more under your gaze. Now, you could fully admire his body. While his shaft matched the rest of his skin tone, his tip boasted a subtle pink hue. Without hesitation, you took him into your mouth, savoring every inch of his length. Your hands stroked his thighs eagerly while you continued to devour him hungrily. Your tongue darted in and out of his slit, tasting his salty sweetness as you relished every moan and whimper he made. With one hand on his balls, massaging them gently, you used the other to grip the base of his shaft firmly, pumping rhythmically as you blew him

His hands gripped your head tightly, guiding you deeper until you slightly gagged on his thickness, your nose buried in the stubble covering his lower abdomen. What a shame that he was so keen on getting rid of any kind of body hair. You wrapped your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue around its sensitive ridge. Moans escaped from both your throats as you sucked harder, drawing out each groan as if it were music to your ears. You looked up at him in an attempt to stare into his eyes. You had heard that guys enjoyed eye contact during a blowjob but Art was struggling to keep his eyes open. You could gauge the impact of your actions from the way his stomach contracted and his legs trembled. It was a good sign, you didn't completely suck at this. Your jaw was starting to hurt like hell though and your mouth was filled with saliva. How much longer did he need?

"I'm about to..." He gasped. There was no chance you would allow that man's load to be shot down her throat. Quickly, you withdrew yourself and began manually stimulating him again. When he ejaculated, you didn't anticipate it to splatter everywhere as it did.

You crawled off him, grossed out by his fluids and grabbed a tissue from your bedside table, wiping your hand. While you were busy getting rid of the cum running down your wrist, Art seized the opportunity to pull down the hem of your shorts, exposing your buttocks. "What are you doing?" you asked, panic evident in your eyes. "Returning the favor." He replied, wearing a foolish grin. "You don't have to." You reassured him, tossing the tissue into the bin. "I want to." He insisted firmly. No one had ever gone down on you before, and the thought both excited and terrified you.

With hesitant movements, you flopped onto your back, sliding your shorts down your legs and kicking them off. Your heart was pounding in your chest as Art positioned himself between your legs.

He looked up at you for confirmation before lowering his head, his warm breath tickling your sensitive flesh. Your body twitched in anticipation as he placed a gentle kiss on your inner thigh.

Slowly, he traced a line of kisses up towards your core, teasingly avoiding the place that craved his attention the most. When he finally made contact with your folds, a gasp escaped from deep within your throat. His tongue glided over your clit in slow circles, applying just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

You arched your back and tangled your fingers in his hair as he continued to work his magic. His tongue dipped lower, giving your opening short and quick laps before returning to focus on your swollen clit.

The sensations were overwhelming. It felt like you were on fire. Art obviously had experience in this area. "Don't stop…" You moaned, your hips instinctively bucking against his mouth.

Art moved one of his hands to your cunt, sliding his index and middle finger into you as he continued to eat your bud with a hunger that matched your own. He replaced his lips with his thumb over your clit, massaging it as he sloppily nibbled on your labias. He raised his second hand to one of your breasts, groping it. Your hand quickly joined his on top of your breast, tightening his grip while your other hand tugged on the sheet.

You felt pressure in your lower body as your orgasm built up, threatening to crash over you at any moment. The pressure was becoming too much to handle. "F-fuck…" You moaned while trying to muffle the sound by biting into your arm. 

With one final flick of his tongue, Art sent you over the edge. Your body convulsed as the waves of pleasure washed over you.

You had brought yourself to come countless times, but this was the first time someone else had given you an orgasm.

The post-nut conversation turned out to be less awkward than anticipated. Art revealed himself to be interesting when tennis wasn't the sole topic. Eventually, he checked his watch and rose from the bed. "He's waiting for me." He remarked as you watched him retrieve his crumpled clothes from the floor and dress up in hurry. You felt a bit abandoned but the fact that he did not invite you to come with him. You knew he was going to join Patrick at the court for a nighttime match. "See you later." You murmured, disappointed. He leaned in for a sloppy kiss that you broke after a few seconds, tasting yourself on his tongue. You briefly considered mentioning that your juices were spread all around his chin and cheek but you didn't. "For sure." He responded with a grin so wide that everyone could tell he just had some action and then left your room.

●

You were having lunch with your English literature classmates when you noticed Patrick leaving the cafeteria alone. Without hesitation, you stood up, excused yourself, and followed him outside. If he was going for a smoke, it was the perfect opportunity for a private moment. As you opened the exit door, you saw Art already there, sitting on a bench and chatting with Patrick. Fucking parasite. He smiled and waved at you as you approached and took a seat between the two. "Hey there." Patrick greeted you with a smirk, making your heart skip a beat. You glanced at Art, who was grinning from ear to ear. Of course, he had told Patrick. If fucking Art finally made Patrick see you in a different light, hell, you'd do it every day. "What are you guys doing?" You inquired, already aware of the situation. "Just chatting." Art responded, smoothly extending his arm behind you, his fingertips lightly brushing your spine. What was he trying to prove? "How was the game last night?" You asked, though you weren't particularly interested. "Fun. I'm sure Art enjoyed himself a lot." Patrick snickered as Art shot him a dirty look. You looked from one to the other before rolling your eyes. "I'm sure the game didn't go as well as he hoped. I heard he couldn't play the final set." You commented, taking a jab at Art. He looked at you in disbelief, while Patrick laughed at your remark. You nibbled at your lower lip, wondering if you had gone too far. But you didn't really care, you were the reason Patrick was laughing. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Art's gentle pinch on your back eased your racing heart. "Alright, I should head back to my table. You can get back to your gossip." Before you could stand up, Art caught hold of your arm. Leaning in close, he whispered in your ear. "Wanna hang out in my room tonight?" You shrugged. Did you really want to? Not particularly. But it was too late to back out now. Patrick would be grilling Art for details in the morning. His room, though? Tonight was definitely the night. He was so tactless that you wouldn't be surprised to find his bed littered with condoms. "Sure." You replied, then swiftly left the scene.

●

Art's room wasn't that different from what you had imagined. It was clean, with the bed made and the room smelled like deodorant. There were also more personal items : trophies, medails, posters and pictures. You looked closely at all the pictures of the wall. You didn't know the vast majority of those people although you could guess that some of them represented his parents due to the resemblance. There were many pictures of the Mark Rebellato academy players. You could even spot your brother in the background of one. But Patrick's face was present in every picture but one of them caught your attention. It was a recent picture of the two of them, plastered about the bed. Patrick had that side smirk that made your clit throb while Art was smiling with all his teeth.

As soon as you sat on the bed, Art joined you, sitting by your side. He smiled, gently brushing your hair away from your neck before kissing you passionately. It was clear you weren't there to chat.  You tilted your head, giving him room to explore your neck, while you placed a hand on his thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. "Honestly, I thought I'd be greeted with you tossing condoms like confetti." You chuckled, your hand sliding up his thigh, nearing his crotch. "I kind of pictured you running to the store first thing in the morning." Art grinned at your comment, then leaned over to his bedside table, grabbed a handful of condoms, and playfully tossed them at your face. You threw a few back at him before pushing him onto the bed and straddling him. You lifted his shirt, exposing his bright pink nipples and hairless chest. "Did you go around telling everyone I gave you head?" You asked. Patrick wasn't just anyone, though. He shook his head. "I only mentioned it to Patrick... Sorry about that. And just so you know, he's also aware of the pussy-eating part." You shrugged as you unbuttoned his pants and pulled down the zipper. "Patrick's fine, don't worry. But now you're going to have a reputation. Plenty of girls lining up at your door." You teased, tugging at his underwear to take a peek. "Let's hope they knock loud enough, we might not hear them tonight."

●

You watched, captivated, as Art smoothly rolled the latex onto his erection, his eyes never leaving yours. You couldn't back out, Art was on top of you, ready to enter you. It was official, Patrick wouldn't be the one deflowering you. 

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer after all that foreplay, you begged him to enter you. As Art penetrated you, the pressure was intense yet exhilarating. You gripped onto his shoulders tightly as you tried to adjust to his size. At that moment, you hoped that he couldn't tell you were a virgin. Art began to move within you, his thrusts slow but steady. Each time he sank further into your warmth, your senses heightened, your mind lost in the sensations coursing through your veins. You let out a breathy whine and bit into his shoulder, trying your best to not name the wrong man.

Soon, his rhythm quickened, becoming more urgent. But even as your body responded eagerly to his touches, your mind wandered back to Patrick's face, frozen in time in the picture on the wall. He pushed inside you, savoring the way your muscles clenched around his shaft. You moaned softly, arching your back and inviting him deeper.

"Fuck, you're driving me crazy." You wrapped your arms around his neck, rolling your hips beneath him and melting into him completely. Despite Art being an attentive lover, you couldn't bring yourself to climax, your mind too cloudy with conflicting emotions. Finally, Art exploded in a series of shuddering spasms. He collapsed onto the mattress, spent and exhilarated. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, you let out a small groan before leaning into his embrace, feeling more confused than satisfied. Was this really what you wanted? There was tenderness here, gentleness. You wanted raw, unbridled passion, the kind that threatened to consume you whole.

"I came so hard." Art whispered soft words of praise into your ear. "Did you?" You felt a pinch of guilt stirring inside you once more, wondering whether you should confess your true feelings. But then, you remembered why you started sleeping with Art in the first place: to get closer to Patrick. And so, you forced a smile and assured Art that you had a good time. "Yes." You breathed, pulling him into a deep kiss to avoid dwelling on the question. Sex was enjoyable, but it didn't live up to the glamorous portrayal in the media. Perhaps it lacked satisfaction without emotional involvement. You attempted to push these thoughts aside as Art's fingers traced down your spine, sending shivers down your body. Yet, whenever he kissed your neck or whispered sweet nothings into your ear, your mind wandered back to that photo.

●

It only took a couple of weeks for Art to ask you to be his girlfriend. The reason for that decision was still a mystery to you. Because outside of sex, which had gotten so much better with time, you weren't really seeing each other. Maybe he felt obligated after using up your holes so much. Perhaps he had asked you because he was so busy with you that he didn't have time to meet other women?

You had no idea how long it had been since his last partner because that boy was always horny. You would spread your legs for him every day, sometimes meeting him twice a day. And when you weren't together, you would receive grainy pictures of his erect penis. One positive aspect of all the sexual activity was that now he could make you climax most of the time. But you still wondered how he would manage to find all that energy after tennis practice.

The officialization of your relationship had been pretty much uneventful. He had uttered the words as you laid in bed, your face nestled in his hairy pits, fully inhaling his scent. Sex being the only time you could savor Art's faint smell of sweat. "Should we be exclusive?" His choice of words amused you because you knew for sure that he wasn't fucking any other girl since you already had the talk about giving up condoms and getting on the pill. You had thought about your answer for a second. In your wildest fantasies, Patrick would have been your one and only but you said yes anyway because being with Art was as close as it was to being with Patrick. 

No one knew Patrick like Art. And Art knew a lot. He would tell you about Patrick's history, his family's business, his tastes in music, his previous girlfriends whom he always found weird, or about his seeding position before each tournament he would take part in. You were told numerous tales of their childhood adventures. You barely remembered Patrick's appearance as a boy. These anecdotes predated your teenage infatuation with Patrick, yet you couldn't help but smile at the genuine love with which Art recounted his bond with his best friend. While some stories were cute, some would turn you in unspeakable ways, like when he told you about his first experience with masturbation. You couldn't help but imagine them stroking themselves in sync, Patrick instructing Art on which move to make and Art acting like a studious learner. You could tell you were completely wet at the thought, so much so that you had suggested recreating the scene, masturbating in front of each other.

"Why would I jerk off when I have you?" He was hesitant at first until you grabbed his hand and slid it down your panties. Your underwear was soaked with your juice. Of course, he tried to insert a digit into you but you tugged on his hand to remove it from your pants. His hand and fingers were now coated with your secretion. "Use me as lotion." 

You were both lying side to side, on your backs, Your eyes were focused on Art's hand grasping his tip. "Does that feel good?" You breathed, locking your half-lidded eyes with his. He nodded, breaking the contact with you and staring at your hand between your legs. "Describe to me what you're doing…" You found his request hot. "It might sound weird but I actually prefer my legs crossed, it creates more sensation. And then it's all about clitoral stimulation." You explained with a whine. Your hand was furiously rubbing your clit. It wouldn't take long for you to climax, you had done it so much, you knew how your body worked. "What about you? What do you like to do when you're alone?" Art was fisting his cock at the pace as you were stroking yourself. "I love holding it very tight, when it's on the edge of hurting." He grunted, tightening his grip. "Come for me.." He continued to stroke himself, twisting his wrist to his tip. The head of his penis was red and throbbing. He moaned  your name and released himself all over his stomach. "Fuck, you're so hot." You turned to him, your hand still between your legs, rolling your hips at a faster pace. Your eyes were now closed and you were biting your lower lip as you could feel your orgasm coming. You grabbed your clit and let out a low moan. Your breasts were lifting with each pants as you tried to catch your breath. "Was I better than Patrick?" He laughed and pulled you closer into a kiss.

●

Being Art's girlfriend, the clean-cut and sweet guy, could have been worse. He would take care of you, speak highly of you, always make sure to include you in every activity he was a part of. You enjoyed his company but it was clear that you didn't love Art. Instead, you found yourself drawn to the fact that Patrick loved him.

Dating Art came with another perk : you always knew in advance when Patrick would come visit. And each time you would ensure to fulfill Art's every fantasy beforehand. The kinkiest, the better, as you knew Patrick would be the first informed. And if Patrick knew you were willing to do all those degrading things, he would undoubtedly reconsider his relationship with Tashi.

The only issue was that Art's kinkiest fantasies were still quite vanilla, nothing noteworthy. From riding him to doggy style to 69ing, there wasn't anything that really excited you. You had succeeded in broadening his horizons, but you were always the one taking the lead. You had to guide his hands to encircle your neck and coax him to tighten his grip. Most of the time, he was so gentle that you could still breathe normally. As for public sex, that option didn't even cross his mind until you had massaged his dick through his pants in so many rooms of the university that he was unable to hold back anymore and screw you against a wall behind the main building. You also had to suggest to let you ride his face. It didn't take much convincing for him to say yes. If that man was a thing, he was a pussy eater. But as always you always wanted to take things further and one night after he had released himself in you, you sat on his face and let his own cum drop down his mouth and commanded him to swallow it, which he did. He was lapping your slit like a thirsty man, scooping his seeds out of you with his tongue. He had enjoyed every moment of it, but you were confident that he never shared the story with Patrick. And if anyone asked, he would likely act as if it had never happened. You could tell by the way he would shush you everytime you would call him your little cumslut. His shame was so enticing that you would occasionally spit his semen back into his mouth after blowing him. Watching him swallow his own load was the hottest thing.

There also was a time when you practically had to beg him to fuck you in the ass. He was uncertain about whether he would enjoy it, but you were confident he would love it even more than you did. You reassured him that he could stop at any moment if he felt uncomfortable, and with that assurance, he agreed to try. Ever the considerate and attentive boyfriend, Art had spent days researching online how to do it safely. Knowing this made you tempted to sneak onto his computer and check his search history to find out what kind of anal sex content he had looked up. After an hour of prepping you with lube and his fingers, which had removed parts of the fun, you were stretched out and he was ready. You were ready too, but deep down, you knew you didn't need all that preparation to begin with, you just wanted him to spread you open. You grabbed the headboard, holding yourself as you arched your back when he shoved himself into you from behind. You didn't feel any kind of discomfort, you mostly felt… full. Your ass wasn't as sensitive as your cunt, the feeling was entirely different. "Move already, you asshole." You snapped at him before he grabbed you by the hips, lifting them and violently slammed himself deep into your core.  Right in front of you was the picture of the two boys you were constantly looking at. You were starting to really enjoy it, staring at Patrick in the eyes while Art was pounding into you. "Touch me." You pleaded, grabbing one of his hands resting on your hips and placing it over your pussy. When he finally started spreading your folds and stroking your sensitive clit, you let out a growl. You were now bouncing back on his cock, rocking your ass against his hips as his fingers roamed their way to your opening, adding his middle finger. You whined, frustrated by his action. You didn't need his fingers in you, you needed the on your clit, abusing it. You grabbed his hand again and pressed it as hard as you could against your crotch. You were practically humping his hand at this point trying to create some friction against your bud. "You're such a horny slut." He was talking to you but all you could hear was his high cry when you would clench your anus and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. You could feel him grow tenser in you, he was close to coming. "Pinch my clit, I beg you." You groaned as you could feel your climax build up. He acquiesced and grabbed your button forcefully, pinching it until you could feel your blood circulation being cut off. "P-..Art!" You cried out as you exploded. You felt him spurt his thick load into you. It had to be one of the best sex you ever had with him. Not having to watch Art's face as he climaxed was also a big plus. You despised it so much as it reminded you of the obvious fact that it was not Patrick. As you laid afterwards, tangled in sheets and limbs, you couldn't help but marvel at just how far you had come since meeting.

●

You were running low on ideas to spice things up, but your friendship with Tashi proved to be a valuable resource. Over the course of a month, your bond with Tashi had deepened. Despite not having much in common, and secretly hating her, you clicked well together. Additionally, you often joked about the unique situation of your respective boyfriends being boyfriends together, which led to a secret nickname between you: ‘The other women’. Having someone you could rely on was comforting, and Tashi felt the same. Being in a relationship with her boyfriend's best friend made you her confidante, and she would often confide in you, even though it was sometimes difficult to listen. Despite this, you couldn't resist the urge to learn every detail about her relationship with Patrick.

It had become a weekly ritual after a significant match: you and Tashi would retreat to her room, crack open a few beers, share a joint, and exchange amusing stories.

On one particular evening, fueled by a bit too much alcohol, you both felt mischievous. "Shotgun?" you suggested, and Tashi nodded, a smile playing on her lips. Taking a drag, you gently held her face and leaned in, exhaling the smoke into her mouth. Curious to understand the sensation Patrick experienced every time he kissed Tashi, you closed the gap between you and initiated a soft kiss. It was an innocent moment, devoid of sloppiness, yet kissing Tashi proved to be exhilarating. As you both pulled away, laughter bubbled up from within, leaving you both in fits of giggles. "Look at us, we could be girlfriends too!" Tashi suggested, her hands resting on her hips.

The notion wasn't as off-putting as you initially imagined. Tashi was undeniably attractive. If Patrick proposed a threesome, you wouldn't hesitate for long. You might not be experienced in eating a woman out, but you were willing to learn. After all, you had no knowledge of sucking dicks just a few months ago.

●

When Tashi was tipsy, she became so chatty it was difficult to stop her. But there was one specific topic she couldn't seem to stop talking about: Patrick.

She would complain about how he would never shut the fuck up during sex. And how he was constantly talking dirty to her, no matter the time and place. How was that a problem? Patrick could whisper his shopping list into your ear and you would come on the spot. Or the way he was always demanding blowjobs, even in the most random places. Was she aware that you would blow him on the tennis court in front of the audience if he would ask? She almost killed you on the spot when she mentioned how he liked coming on her breasts but she hated it. What a spoiled brat. You would let him completely cover you with cum without even thinking twice. You would even ask for more. His enormous uncircumcised dick bumping into her cervix and making her feel uncomfortable for days was apparently an issue too. It only sounded like the most heavenly way to die to you. Or when he would try to slide it into her ass which she refused to do. What a cunt.

You took a mental note to check all those boxes with Art so he could brag to his friend, like boys usually do, and make Patrick die of jealousy. "What about Art?" What about him? You thought about it for a second. You didn't have much to say about Art but maybe if you praised the quality he possessed that Patrick didn't, it would intrigue Tashi into experiencing it. "He's very attentive to my needs if you know what I mean." You held your index and middle finger up in a V and flicked your tongue between them which made Tashi snort. "Maybe that's cheesy but he's the best sex I've ever had." Only sex you ever had, but she didn't know that. You knew exactly what would pique the ever-demanding and controlling Tashi Duncan's interest. Leaning closer, almost whispering as if sharing a secret, you said, "He's a bit of a sub. Quite a strap fanatic." That was a lie. Once, you had suggested fingering his ass while blowing him, and he freaked out, insisting he wasn't gay, which led to a snort from you and an ensuing argument. 

"Really?! Now that you mention it, he does give off that vibe." Tashi responded. Ah! Take that, Art. "Have you ever..." You mimicked a thrust. "...with Patrick?" She shook her head, slightly pouting. "No. Wouldn't it be weird if I refused to give him my ass but asked him to give me his?" You took a sip of your drink and shrugged. "I don't think it's weird, when you love someone, you are willing to do everything to make them happy." Of course that comment was targeted to her as well, planting the seed in her brain that she might not love him as much as you 'loved' Art.

To be truthful you actually knew even more than Tashi suspected about her intimate life. Every time Patrick would visit, you would sneak at night just to listen to them through her dorm's room like that first time. Except now, you had your hands down your panties massaging your swollen clit. It was even more exciting to think that someone might surprise you in the corridor. You had become intimately familiar with the sound of his balls slapping against Tashi's ass, his loud moans, how long he lasted, and the noises he made when he came. Sometimes, you would finger yourself to climax in sync with him. Afterwards, you would slip into Art's room and have sex with him without offering any explanation. Often, you would mimic the exact actions you had heard through the door, your eyes still fixed on the picture of Patrick on the wall.

●

You waited until dinner time to ensure no one would be in Tashi's room. Sneaking in and going through her things wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision, you had been planning it for weeks. You had tried a few times before, but the door was always locked. Today, however, you grabbed the handle and pushed, and to your luck, the door opened. You stepped inside and quickly closed the door behind you.

Her room was unusually messy, a stark contrast to her typical tidiness. The disorder could only be attributed to Patrick's presence. His bag was tossed in the middle of the room, with his shoes and clothes strewn across the floor. You started rummaging through Patrick's things.You weren't entirely sure what you were searching for.

One of the first things you noticed was one of his rackets. Though completely worn out, you admired the shaft, noting how Patrick's sweaty hands had eroded the handle. The blue grip tape had turned brownish and frayed. Lifting the racket to your mouth, you kissed the handle, tasting the saltiness. Your mind wandered back to countless hours watching Patrick dominate opponents on court, sweat pouring down his face as he hit each ball with precision and skill. You pictured his toned arms flexing as he swung the racket, sending the ball hurtling towards his opponent. But tonight, the racket would serve a different purpose. A crazy idea had crossed your mind. If you couldn't touch Patrick, you could let Patrick touch you. 

You slipped off your underwear, exposing your bare cunt beneath your dress. Sitting on the edge of Tashi's bed, you spread your legs wide open. Guiding Patrick's racket between your thighs, you closed your eyes and let out a moan, pressing yourself against its handle. As your body responded to the sensations, you gripped the racket tighter, drawing yourself closer to ecstasy with each stroke. You maintained the rhythm of thrusting the handle into your pussy while simultaneously rubbing your clit with the same pace. The intensity built with each thrust until finally, you cried out in a hushed moan, overwhelmed by pleasure.

You didn't take time to catch your breath as you had to be quick before any of them returned. Carefully, you pulled the handle from your folds and placed the racket back into his bag, relishing the thought of his hands covered in your dried juices during his next match. You pulled your panties back on. Now onto your next treasure.

Patrick hadn't packed many clothes, so stealing one of his shirts would be too obvious. Instead, you rummaged through his belongings and settled on an old, worn pair of socks. Bringing them to your nose, the initial whiff was pungent and overwhelming, yet strangely captivating. As you buried your face in the fabric, the scent became a heady mix of musk and earth. He smelled divine. Unable to resist, you discreetly tucked one of the dirty socks into your bra before quickly leaving the room with your treasures. 

On your way out, you spotted Tashi's pink gym shorts, the ones she had been wearing earlier before her encounter with Patrick. Upon closer examination, you noticed an obvious wet spot on the front of the shorts. Whether it was Tashi's or Patrick's doing, you didn't care. Without hesitation, you grabbed the shorts and exited the room for good this time.

When you got back to your room, you couldn't wait to begin exploring those newfound objects of desire. You couldn't help but smile at your mischiefs. 

The sock was perhaps your most prized possession. It carried the scent of Patric, Patrick after practice. You inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma before biting into the fabric, sucking on the spot where Patrick's toes had been earlier. You knew you were acting irrationally, but you couldn't resist. You were addicted to his scent, his taste, to him.

Next up was Tashi's shorts. You longed to mix your own wetness with Tashi's juices. However, when you attempted to put on the shorts, they wouldn't budge past the middle of your thighs. In that moment, you felt larger than ever before. Was this the type of woman Patrick desired? Reflecting on it, Tashi had a lean, sculpted body. Quite the opposite of yours. You tried to suck in your stomach, attempting to force the shorts over your hips, but to no avail. You had to confront the truth: you felt enormous. Perhaps your mother was right? It was time to start watching your diet. If you hoped to capture Patrick's attention, you had to become worthy of it.

You swiftly hid the items in a suitcase under your bed and decided to get to work immediately.

●

Youtube was a never ending source of working out videos. Every morning you had a routine of pilates and running around the block. While at first it had been hard to move your body so much while continuing to have enough energy to satisfy Art's needs, you were now used to the challenge. You were also following a strict diet. While the app you had downloaded suggested a 1200 calories a day diet, you were now down to 500 calories a day.

As you entered the cafeteria, you scanned the crowd for them. The trio had secured a spot near the window, leaving room for you. You settled in, placing your soda and an apple on the table. Greeting them, you cracked open your diet coke. "Hey you." You placed a quick peck on Art's cheek. "Your highness." You waved at Tashi "Patrick." You nodded your head in his direction "Hey. Well fuck, you okay?" You raised the can to your lips and glanced up at him, puzzled. Was his question directed at you? His gaze seemed fixed on you, leaving you uncertain. Was he concerned about you? You flashed your brightest smile and nodded. How could you not be okay now that you knew he cared? He raised an eyebrow and went on about his tour. He wasn't doing too well, and Tashi was giving him a hard time about it. However, he seemed to enjoy himself otherwise, sharing stories of parties and sightseeing in numerous cities. The boys were chatting energetically while both you and Tashi remained silent, only listening. It felt as if you didn't exist anymore. They had so much to discuss and were planning to stroll by the courts. You were jolted back to reality when you felt Art's soft lips against your nape. "See you later. Your dorm?" Art gave you a familiar look, the same one he always gave before asking for a blowjob. How amusing it was that nothing seemed to make both of you hornier than Patrick's visits. Patrick planted a gentle kiss on Tashi's lips. You already felt nauseous but now there was no way you were going to touch that apple. It pained you to see how your misery deepened as the months went by and Tashi and Patrick's relationship flourished. You knew this love was slowly killing you physically and mentally. The boys left the table, waving goodbye.

Wrapping his arm around Art's neck, Patrick put him in a headlock and guided him out of the room. You could still hear their voices. "Your girlfriend looks..." Was Patrick referring to you? Art's glance back at you confirmed it. What was he talking about?

As you refocused on your meal, you noticed Tashi sitting across from you, lost in her own thoughts. "Can I trust you with something?" You nodded in response. "This conversation stays between us." Despite Tashi being the primary obstacle to your happiness, she was now your only confidante, with Art no longer filling that role as he was way too busy filling something else. "Did Art mention another girl Patrick was seeing while on tour?" Another girl? Oh no, you could feel the anger growing in you. Was he seeing someone else? Tashi was one thing, but another bitch? You were RIGHT THERE, ready for him to fuck you into oblivion, why would he need another girl? "No, I never heard anything about that. Why do you ask?" She toyed with her food, clearly uncertain of how to proceed. "Art said Patrick is not in love with me." You couldn't believe your ears. Art had grown balls and was going on the offensive. Leaning back in your chair, you narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms. "Uh. Did he?" Your mind raced to devise a strategy that would benefit you. "Do you think Patrick told him that?" You asked, trying to gauge the situation. "I don't know... I can't think of any other reason why Art would tell me that." She responded. Oh, you could think of plenty of reasons. "I swear those two are just waiting to drop our asses and just buttfuck each other." You sighed, trying to lighten the mood. Her lips twitched into a small smile."If you want my advice. You should talk to him. Like, it's ok to not be in love so early in a relationship, but it's not when there's a difference in intensity of feelings."

You hugged Tashi, gently rubbing her back and lightly tickling her with your fingertips. The heady scent of her shampoo and perfume filled your senses. You didn't want Patrick to love her, but at the same time, any guy who wasn't madly in love with her was an idiot. "Good luck tomorrow, champion. I'll be there to cheer for you." She thanked you as you left the cafeteria, abandoning your apple and can.

You walked back to your room, you had a lot to process. Art's scheming had added a new layer to your plan. Even if you benefited from Tashi and Patrick breaking up, would Art become a rival? What was his endgame? Did he want Tashi or Patrick?

You sat on your bed, still consumed by the fact that you had overheard Patrick mention you. Even though you had no idea what he had said, the thought filled you with joy. You longed to hear him say your name, to talk to you, touch you, kiss you, and more. Leaning over, you pulled out the suitcase hidden underneath the bed. Opening your treasure chest, you took out the sock and pressed it to your nose, savoring the fading scent. Your reverie was abruptly interrupted by Art's energetic knock on the door. Quickly, you hid the sock back in the suitcase and shoved it under the bed. You opened the door, and Art immediately jumped on you, smothering your face with wet kisses. "Art!" You whined, kicking the door shut.

●

Exhausted and breathless, you both lay intertwined, Art resting on top of you, his full weight pressing down, as you wrapped one leg around his hip. Cuddling you while still being inside you was one of his favorite things, which you found deeply bothersome. "Patrick said something earlier and I didn't really notice until now since I see you everyday but…" You looked at him curiously, excitement in your voice. "Patrick talked about me?" You could feel yourself getting in the mood again, the fire between your legs burning. This was so much more exciting than anything that had happened earlier. You slightly rolled your hips under him, trying to create some friction against your clit. He gazed at you, nibbling on his lower lip. That look made you wonder if he was now assured of the impact Patrick had on you. You hadn't been subtle about that one. "Yeah.. He said you have gotten really thin." So Patrick had noticed? This confirmed your suspicion, his type really was svelte girls, how shallow of him. You didn't care how bad that made him look though, you were a few steps closer to his type. You clenched around Art's length trying to get him to move as he went on about what Patrick had to say about you. But he didn't, he only huffed and kissed your neck.

You still had a long way to go to be perfect for Patrick. Tashi's shorts fitted you now but they were still quite snug around the thighs. "I want to get healthier. A couple of months ago, I was having a sleepover with Tashi and she gave me one of her pajamas. It was so tight, I could barely breathe. I realized how I had let myself go." You confessed wrapping your other leg around him, and grabbing his asscheeks in an effort to feel him deeper into you. If he wasn't going to relieve you, you knew what could get that little conniving bastard to. "Tashi always wears the best outfits. Wouldn't it be fun if we could lend each other clothes? I'd die to be able to fit into one of her tennis skirts." You knew that put ideas in his mind. In fact, you could feel himself growing hard again inside of you. "Just don't overdo it." He mumbled, his face in the crook of your neck. "Maybe I should get into tennis? I want a body like Tashi's. Her thighs are so firm and tanned." You rolled your hips once more under him to get him to start pounding into you. "Have you noticed how her breasts stand on their own? She doesn't even need a bra. She told me she doesn't even own any." Finally some movement. You let out a sigh of relief while he was biting into your shoulder. You had done it so many times before that you knew for a fact that he was trying his hardest to not pronounce the wrong name. "Have you seen how firm her ass is too? No wonder Patrick likes her so much." It broke your heart to say it out loud but you needed to bring Patrick back on the table. Art wasn't the only one who could get his little fun. "They make a hot couple though. He's gorgeous too."  He was now aggressively thrusting, deeply buried into you. "His thighs.." You moaned, back arched under him.

You were aware that his mind was filled with images of Tashi while he was ball deep in you. Or perhaps it was images of Tashi and Patrick. Who even knew at this point? Watching his eyes roll back, highly responsive to your words, you felt compelled to propose something to him to add excitement, an idea that had been on your mind for months. 

It would start with you being Tashi. Wearing one of her tiny tennis outfits, the kind that showed the underside of her ass everytime the wind blew. Pretending to train him to be a champion, calling a little bitch and insulting him at every mistake of his. You would make him overwork himself just to get a praise from you and even when he would do it, you would just command him to worship your cunt. When he would beg for a release, you would just let him jerk off while watching you play with your cunt.

And he could be Patrick. Even if you doubted Art had it in him. He would treat you like the little whore that you are. Making you gag on his gross sweaty cock right after practice. Wrapping his hands around your throat, while ramming into you. You would let him abuse every single one of your holes while reminding you how you're nothing to him and nothing without him. And even when he would be asking you to ride him, not willing to put any effort into fucking such a used-up whore, he would still be… dominating you.

Thinking about it, their relationship dynamic did not make sense. Was it a constant fight for dominance? Perhaps you had misjudged Tashi? But you couldn't be mistaken about Patrick, you knew him better than anyone else.

But you had too much on the line to make such a request anyway. In theory, he could only love the idea, but in fact? He was a coward who refused to see the truth. Would he call you a freak and put distance between you? And distance between you and him meant distance between you and Patrick. You couldn't risk that.

It didn't take long for you to climax, as you were already sensitive from the first round. Just a few precisely angled thrusts and Art's skilled fingers on your clit did the trick. You had to admit that Art had gotten better at pleasing you, you didn't have to fake it as much anymore. But it was also pretty easy when Patrick was occupying your mind. Art came a moment later with a low grunt. After a brief pause, he withdrew and rolled onto his back.

Your conversation with Tashi kept replaying in your mind. She appeared so insecure at that moment. How could she doubt Patrick's affection when he only had eyes for her? You were the best person to testify to that, as you counted the moments he glanced your way. Art had truly succeeded in toying with that poor girl's mind. Hold on a second. Were you feeling sorry for the woman who possessed everything you desired?

Art was now affectionately nuzzling your neck, planting gentle kisses behind your ear. Yet, his actions repulsed you more than it usually did. Were you angry at him because he had begun plotting to seduce another woman, or was it because he had taken a step forward in the race while you remained stagnant with Patrick? The scenario where he would begin dating Tashi, leaving you without him, Tashi and Patrick was now likely You found yourself in a position of weakness, a clear indication of the chaos in your relationship. You had shamelessly used him for months, but now that he was the one with the upper hand, that was unacceptable. It was time to call it quits. Art wasn't the one for you anyway. You were meant to be with Patrick. And Art was meant to be with Tashi or whoever else he pleased, you didn't really care anymore.

●

The next day, Tashi Duncan was playing against Maria Foster from Pepperdine. 

Patrick's visit that week revolved around the match, and tonight marked his departure. It would be months before another opportunity. Although you hadn't yet ended things with Art, your plan was to do so after the match. There wasn't any certainty that things would progress your way after that but you needed him off your back. One idea you had was simply offering yourself to Patrick. 

Showing him how much of a good girl you could be for him. His needy whore, little play toy. Dropping to your knees, your face buried in his balls, inhaling the exquisite musky scent of his sweat like an addict. You would then gobble on them like a starved woman. His hard sack felt warm and well-filled against your lips, it would take everything in you to not bite into them. You would then trail your wet tongue along his shaft following the pattern of his veins up to his head. Seeing his dick would be the well-deserved reward for all those years of longing. Without hesitating a second, you would pull his foreskin back, exposing his head and flick your tongue against it, paying extra attention to his slit, almost dipping your tongue into it wanting to taste every single drop of precum you could find. That cum was yours, it had always been yours. Wrapping your lips around the head, you would twirl your tongue around, tasting him fully for the first time before hollowing cheek, sucking him as hard as you could. You would probably slobber all over his length and he would love it, you were sure of it. With your head bobbing frantically, you would look like a maniac. You wouldn't even give yourself time to warm up before taking him whole in your mouth. The pain that would come with his crown hitting the back of your stiff throat was the most intoxicating part. Throating him desperately like the future of your relationship would depend on the quality of that blowjob. You would let him use your mouth like a fleshlight, fucking it aggressively, your nose crushing against the messy wet curls of above his cock. You would love the feeling of his strong hands pulling your head closer to buckle his hips into your mouth, his fingers pulling on your hair with force. Being able to breath would be the least of your worries as choking to death on his cock would be an honor. You would keep him in your mouth for hours, no matter how much your jaw hurt. But then your favorite part would come when he would. Swallowing his cum had always been one of your dreams but you wanted him all over you. You would pull away and stick your tongue out for him, drool running down your chin and clothes. Begging him to shoot his cum all over your face and tits, the same way Tashi refused to do. You wouldn't even bother to wipe his semen off, wearing it with pride, like a trophy, in Stanford's halls. But that was just an idea, of course.

In the worst-case scenario where you would be facing rejection, you planned to use Tashi's doubts about his loyalty as a justification. And like the exceptional friend that you are, you wanted to ensure he was worthy of your friend. You would both laugh it off and move on. 

But before that, you were stuck with Art, who was acting distant. You could feel something had shifted last night. You were both aware of each other's plans and everything felt forced. You and Art had agreed to attend to support Tashi, as good friends should. Or at least, that was Art's justification. For you, it was obviously because you wanted to fuck her boyfriend. That very same boyfriend who soon would be sitting on the empty seat beside you.

"Where's Patrick?" You asked, disappointed by his absence. The game was about to start, Tashi was entering the court and Patrick was nowhere to be seen. Art was typing on his phone. "Seems like they had a fight." Art shrugged and rolled his eyes, like their altercation was something predictable. You could tell he had something to do with it. A fight? You couldn't help the smile on your face. That surely helped your case. 

The game reached an intensity you hadn't witnessed before, with Tashi displaying an unprecedented determination to win. The ball darted from one end of the court to the other so swiftly that it was challenging to track. Tashi's backhands grew progressively stronger with each strike, her focus unwavering as she moved with agility. Suddenly, Maria Foster's throw forced Tashi to sprint across the court. In the midst of her movement, her knee gave out, causing her to stumble and fall.

With a scream, Tashi collapsed to the floor. Art sprang to his feet immediately, naturally the first to rush to Tashi's side. Could you blame him? If it were Patrick lying there in pain, you'd likely be by his side, holding his hand.

Without much of a choice, you had followed both of them to the infirmary. Waiting in the corridor for the ambulance to arrive was the best alternative to not witness their sickening intimate moment. Art had won the game. You also wanted to be available in case one of them would ask you to call Patrick. That way you would finally get a hold of his number.

But without a call, he showed up. There he was, finally, panting, his brown curls slightly disheveled, and his shirt clinging to his damp skin. Your smile faded into a frown as you noticed Tashi's shirt adorning his back, another indication of her ownership over him.

"Patrick, get the fuck out!" Art's raised voice startled you. Why was Art screaming at him? You didn't know the circumstances of the fight, but you could fathom Tashi being mad at Patrick. But Art siding with her and not his best friend? Was his friendship with Patrick just an excuse to get closer to Tashi all along? You would have never guessed how alike you and Art were.

Patrick walked out with red eyes and a visible lump in his throat, leaving the campus in a rush without a glance in your direction. That had been the last time you ever saw him.

●

Despite the weeks that slipped by, you couldn't help but cling to the hope that he might appear. That Tashi and him would somehow make up, that he and Art had maintained a friendship but no. Each morning you believed that today would be the day you would see his gorgeous face, only to have your hopes crushed by his absence. The disappointment became a part of your routine.

Art had left you for Tashi, using her recovery as an excuse. Although he never had the decency to formally end things with you, it was clear he no longer wanted to be around you. Every single free hour of his day would be devoted to training with Tashi or keeping her company during her physiotherapy. Sure, he would still smile at you from across the hall or kiss your cheek hello and goodbye when he would bump into you at the cafeteria. But there were no more texting or late-night visits to your room to release his built-up frustration. 

It didn't make sense, Patrick was out of the way, it was the perfect time to make a move on Tashi. He just didn't. It was not like you were an obstacle either, if he really wanted you gone, he only had to say it. But maybe he wanted Tashi to believe he was still taken and harmless, just a friend without ulterior motives, a good guy helping her out of the kindness of his heart? How noble of him. It made you gag.

She wasn't any better than him. Tashi was avoiding you as well, likely feeling too guilty about her growing affection for your boyfriend to face you. Not that it mattered anyway. Patrick was gone. Forever. And it was all their fault. You hated them for it.

●

Stanford seemed rather dull now. You had spent months with them and had barely made any friends outside of Tashi and Art. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all spent alone from now on. At least the weight of your courses and the ever-growing pile of homework kept your mind busy. As for Patrick Zweig, he only crossed your mind from time to time at night when you would rub yourself to sleep. You had almost accepted the fact that you would probably never see him again. As you opened your laptop to begin typing your overdue essay, a notification on your Facebook wall caught your eye. 

Patrick Zweig accepted your friend request.

You can find part two here.

♠♣♥♦

Tagging : @starrgurl46 @egcdeath @izzywags478

Thank you everyone for taking time to read my stuff. If you have any criticism, please feel free to send a message. I'm trying to improve my writing.

See you next time!

[save-the-villainous-cat]

"I saw you on TV," the villain said. They stared down at the hero. The hero they had bound to one of the incredibly old machines in the warehouse, the hero who had daringly followed them right into a trap. "It was quite...interesting. If I am allowed to say that."

"Interesting how?" they asked but didn't meet the villain's eyes. Surely, the responsibilities the hero had to bear were crushing them and the villain, despite their absolute distaste for people who pretended to be saviors, was fascinated by the true devotion the hero offered. To everyone.

"You looked like a prophet almost. With your heroic speech, your kind words. My god, you almost convinced me that humanity is inherently good. And with all those people around you? It’s a miracle no one tried to jump on top of you and give themselves voluntarily to our saviour."

"You mean the charity event?" The hero sighed and closed their eyes. "Yeah, I told the organizers it was stupid to do it in a public space. People were there for me, not the charity."

"Did it help, though? Was there a lot of money coming in?" The hero raised a suspicious eyebrow and frowned softly.

"Not really. Not until the anonymous donation." The villain couldn't help but be amused by that. That mysterious donation had certainly provided quite a sum.

"You're unhappy?"

"I'm not exactly...satisfied with my work. I wanted to prove to people that it’s not me who stands for goodness, but that goodness is within everyone. I know that’s cheesy, but…" They took another breath in and the villain was disappointed by themselves for feeling sorry for the hero.

"You feel like an object?" The villain leaned forward. They were tempted to touch the hero’s wrist or maybe even their jawline. But they refrained. They had known each other for a while now, but that wasn’t an excuse to do as they pleased.

Especially when the hero wasn’t in a position to move away.

The problem was: the villain liked the hero. A lot. A bit too much. They weren’t obsessed, they weren’t greedy when it came to the hero, but they had fallen in love a long time ago and it wasn’t exactly easy to get rid of.

They had tried, but they were too attached to their enemy.

"…yeah. I know that sort of comes with the job. People say…inappropriate things about me and I know people who idolise me can be…a lot sometimes."

"Have you ever been harmed by a fan? Touched?"

"…a few times, yeah. I mostly brushed it off." The hero pursed their lips. And the villain’s eyes widened. "I try not to think about it."

"Do you know who…?"

"If I told you, that person would be dead by tomorrow." Wrong, they’d be dead in a few hours, but alright. The villain understood that reasoning. They understood the hero would protect citizens at all costs. "And I also don’t know them."

They stared at each other.

"So…how can I help protect you, then?" the villain asked. They shifted a little, unsure what they expected as answer.

"What?"

"How can I help protect you?"

"Oh…uh…" The hero laughed awkwardly.

"I can hire someone, if you-"

"A hero who needs a bodyguard is a little pathetic, don’t you think?" the hero asked. The villain watched them swallow. They looked a little pale.

"Even if it’s me?"

"You’re being serious about this?"

"I could…ignore my usual activities for your social events and make sure you can preach all your horrible goodness," the villain suggested. They shrugged but still blushed horribly.

"Wha-why?"

"Yes or no? You have three seconds to decide. Three, two-"

"Alright, fine." The hero laughed and this time, they seemed actually happy. "I’ll see you on Monday, then."

"Good." The villain left immediately and tried to ignore their enemy as best as they could.

In the end, the hero had to get out of the trap all by themselves.

[twinkling-moonlillie]

Hawks Headcanons

A/N: I am currently obsessed with Hawks (if you couldn't tell) and writing for him is fun. I made these headcanons while procrastinating on my midterm paper a few days ago-

Warnings: Some NSFW content; MDNI. Some angst too

Starting things off with an angsty bang, Hawks has a bad habit of plucking his feathers when he is stressed out. It’s never too often and it’s never to a critical extent, but it does occur. Birds often do this as a form of coping with negative feelings, so perhaps he does this after a brutal mission. 

Like many other people, I firmly believe that Keigo has a thing for shiny or interesting looking objects. Again, it’s not to an obsessive extent, but he does have a good eye for pretty trinkets. Especially ones he thinks will look good on you. 

I don’t think Hawks is a good cook. There, I said it. This man barely has time for himself, do you really think he has time to devote to cooking? Do you really think that the Commission taught him to cook? Fuck no. He sticks to quick take out purely out of necessity. 

They say that the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and this is absolutely true with Keigo. He would love the little lunches and dinners you make for him while he is at work! He gobbles it up like a turkey. He swears that your food is the best thing he has ever had; he literally moans when the aroma hits his nostrils. 

I forget which fic I read this from (I will link if I find it), but I adore the headcanon of Hawk’s taking rut suppressant pills. I just think it makes so much sense since it aligns with his work-centric life and his lack of a wife (we aren’t talking about when you are married to him, obviously). They are probably similar to birth control pills where they stop the rut from happening 5% of the time. 

Even without his rut happening, Keigo still has a huge breeding kink. Can you blame him though? He just thinks that you'll look gorgeous with his cum leaking out of your pretty pussy. 

*whispers* he also has the equipment to match

He has definitely accidentally run into a window from imagining you with a cute lil baby bump. 

He can get a little whiny and needy about wanting to devour your pussy. He will straight up beg you on his hands and knees. Please say yes to him. 

The songs Angel with a Shotgun and Mr Blue Sky fit him so well. Fight me on this. 

Also the song Hey Look Ma, I made it

I just imagine happy birb listening to Mr. Blue Sky after meeting you.

Intentional or not, his wings flap and rustle during sex. 

On the topic of his wings, I don’t think they are as sensitive as we all wish they were. It’s not like he’s gonna start moaning and whimpering when random fans touch his wings (he canonical doesn’t) HOWEVER, it does feel nice when you massage and gently comb your fingertips through them. I’m thinking that it’s similar to hair?? Or maybe his wings are ticklish?? But only in the right context?? 

You are the only person he really trusts to take care of his wings

Keigo loves holding you in his arms and taking you on night flights. The stars always seem brighter when they are reflected in your eyes (at least, Keigo thinks so…). You even have your own set of aviator goggles to wear during these dates.

One of his favorite things is when he DOESN’T have morning patrol and can snuggle you until at least 10 in the morning. Although it may be longer because his sleep debt is so huge. There is just something so satisfying and peaceful with having you close enough to hear your heartbeat. 

His biggest dream is being able to have a family with you in a quaint little house. His life, your life…they aren’t constantly in danger and he can sleep in with you, make you breakfast (it’s only a little burnt), wrap his wings around you. 

Keigo is extremely possessive of, not only you, but the life you created together. He is very sensitive towards things that threaten the small slice of normalcy he has, eliciting a sense of hypervigilance and territorialism. 

His mental state isn’t the best from the culmination of trauma he experiences, leading him to commit psychic cannibalism on himself. He represses all of these negative feelings in order to perform to the best of his ability and be the good lap dog for the Hero Commission. 

Needs therapy.

It’s established that he has some form of echolocation through his feathers. So…hear me out…just to make sure you are safe 24/7, Keigo gives you one of his smaller feathers. I’m not going to rant because I might make this into a small oneshot/drabble later

[jinuaei]

Straight up Transformers x reader rambles and they're probably OOC AF but this is fiction let me live. Also I haven't properly read MTMTE/LL comics, if this is wrong and you want to talk shit, ehhhh you'll live.

I think I wrote this in a way that can be read as Cybertronian reader or Human reader.

I want to whore out Sentinel Prime, tie him up, rail him, just treat him like the slut he is. He wants power? He will find it under you, under your gaze as he lays there to serve you. He will see that you are the one with power within the room that you both occupy, even his size or status is nothing compared to the control that your mere presence has over him.

UGH COCKY LITTLE SHIT SENTINEL PRIME BECOMING A SUBMISSIVE MESS WHEN YOU ARE THERE. I know he'd rather die than to be publicly seen as a SIMP but goddamnit it would be funny to think that one minute Sentinel is passive aggressively insulting someone and the next thing you know he's kneeling in front of you cooing at you, asking how you are and if you want him to grab you refreshments. Him and Starscream. IDGAF if it's ooc I want them literally on their KNEES begging to serve you because just you being happy is enough for them. Or is that more of a Tarn thing?

MMMmm Tarn, the obsessed, the devoted. Perhaps his obsession with the Decepticon cause has shifted towards you and he finds himself listening to more and more of your commands(Its really just you talking about anything) compared to Megatrons original objective and making it as something that Decepticons and DJD should follow. Your word becomes law and you find yourself being followed and revered by this huge purple bot who's body count is in the hundreds, probably even more. Yet you seem to find yourself relaxed under his watchful optic as you know he wouldn't do anything to harm you. The whole DJD becomes your entourage every time you visit some new planet or even just somewhere in Cybertron or something.

When you find yourself unable to sleep, you'll hear a haunting voice echoing through the vents. You might think of it as a ghost, but don't worry! It's just Tarn who knows about your bad sleep schedule and is trying to sing you a lullaby to help you sleep. Maybe just invite him into your habsuite next time, it's probably better than being scared shitless at the deep ass voice singing a ballad.

Though he has the voice that can kill bots with his words, he still finds himself at the mercy of yours. His spark quivers when you speak and every word shoots through him like a laser. He has engraved Megatron's manifesto within his spark and processor, yet slowly but surely, it's getting replaced by yours. Each sentences he has memorized so dearly is now gone, word by word, letter by letter, the whole manifesto becomes redundant, now replaced with your smiles, your interests, your affection... Within such a short time, his objective of hunting down Decepticon traitors has now changed into keeping you happy, even at the expense of other bots.

Additionally, I don't remember if it was .1 percenters or Outliers that are known to be born obsessive, but any bot under that can technically be canonical yanderes. Side eyeing Overlord that plumpy lips little shit.

[darlingdreadwrites]

cam 3

pairing: Edward Nashton x GN!Reader

part: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

summary: Edward finally gets the courage to return the books he doesn’t need. Or maybe he just finally gets the courage to see you again.

contains: reader works at a bookstore, obsessed edward

warnings: dub-con, stalking

word count: 3.5k

masterlist

a.n: i uploaded this first on ao3 under the name "cam" - deerrat

Edward had forced himself to stop watching you every night, and it was agony.

He sits hunched over his cluttered desk, pushing aside the left-over container of takeout from last night. Or is it from the day before then? He can’t remember. His brain felt more jumbled than usual, much like his apartment. Papers were strewn in an organized chaos, books he had bought stacked in front of him, and a desk lamp casting a pale halo over the whole mess. He stares at the black void of his monitor, fingers steepled under his chin as though in prayer. But the object of is devotion wasn’t something traditionally divine. It was you.

He closes his eyes, letting the memory wash over him, just as it had for days now. It still haunted him, wracking him with humiliation – how he hadn’t reacted more to your joke. He had been too worried about his financial situation to notice the way your voice had risen in soft amusement as you made that small joke – ”You sure this is all?” You weren’t making fun of him. You were too kind to do that. You wanted to engage in a lighthearted exchange. At least he hoped this was the case. He should’ve said something clever – wittier. Banter – that’s what people liked, right? Instead, he giggled pathetically, like a nervous schoolgirl. How mortifying.

How did I not find out that you worked there? he thinks. It wasn’t a coincidence, no. Coincidence was too random, too cold for something as perfect as this. This was fate. It was a deliberate act of providence pulling him into your orbit. How could he have been so blind? All these weeks of watching, observing, and protecting you, but he never thought fate would intervene so directly. You, his angel, his penance and salvation, worked in the very bookstore he had visited for his plans without any prior knowledge of this.

Edward shifts in his chair, picking up one of the books from the pile on his desk. He thumbs through its pages, inhaling deeply to pick up any remnant of the bookstore. The words swam meaninglessly in his head – he wasn’t even sure he needed this book for his research. Only a few that he bought were helpful, the rest…had been props that gave him more time with you and not between monitors. The guilt began to claw at him, then, sharper than it had been in days.

That thought burned in him, a smoldering ember of shame. He wasn’t supposed to be monitoring you. He wasn’t supposed to follow your life like this. It was wrong for him to do this – he knew that. Edward swallowed hard and lowered his head. I am more than unworthy. He watched you in secret, through the forbidden lens of your webcam. He worshipped you like a sinner who itched to dare touch the divine. It was maddening torture. He was holding back as much as he could.

He glances at your crumpled photograph on his desk, a grainy printout he’d taken from a frozen frame of the feed. Your eyes were wide – unaware – staring back at him. And, for a moment, he hated himself. He hates how much he grew to need you, how much he craves the heat of your gaze to leave scorch marks all over his body. He wanted you to see him – to see him for who he truly was. He knew you could since you had such a kind soul. Edward presses his palms against his eyes, the edges of his vision turning red.

“Forgive me,” he whispers. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to you, to God, or to the hollow space inside himself.

But Edward had always struggled with the line between right and wrong, hadn’t he? Especially when it was down to something as overwhelming and consuming as you. He clenches his fists, shaking his head violently as if it would get rid of the thought.

But, as he often does, he found a way to justify it. You had come into his life for a reason. He didn’t seek out your hacked webcam – it just happened to be there. He didn’t seek out where you worked – he was only there for his research. He stumbled into the store, nothing more than another nameless customer to you. But he knew there was something more. Surely, there was a purpose behind this. His breath hitches as he remembers your face, the way the overhead lights and fell across your features. Divine. Just… divine. He was, honest to God, grateful that he had bought so many books; his plan for just a few seconds more with you worked somewhat. He only wishes he paid more attention to what he picked up. Some of these were of no use to him whatsoever.

The receipt.

Edward, suddenly frantic, begins digging through the piles of trash on his desk. The thin slip of paper was slightly crumpled, the ink faintly legible. He smooths it carefully over a clean spot on his desk.

He couldn’t go back to that bookstore, right? Could he? What if you realized what he was this time. What if you looked right through him and witnessed the depravity in the recesses of his mind? But what if he couldn’t bring himself to ever go back? The that of letting this chance – this miracle - slip away made his chest tighten almost painfully.

His thin lips twist into a nervous, trembling smile. The books he didn’t need anymore – they were his excuse. The reason he gave himself to go back. How had he forgotten? But it wasn’t just an excuse – it was an offering. He would place himself before you again, risking rejection, risking everything, because that is what you deserved.

With unsteady hands, Edward begins to sort through the books on his desk. He would stand before you, hoping you would see him as him. Not as a stranger, but as someone meant to be there.

Because he was meant to be there.

Fate had made that so.

The soft humming coming from the computer was the only sound in the room, steady and swallowing the silence. Edward sits before the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard in hesitancy. He doesn’t know if he should proceed. He swore to himself – swore – that he wouldn’t do this anymore. No, not after seeing you. Not after speaking to you. That encounter should have been enough to quench any thirst of watching you without your knowledge. It should have been sacred.

But he was weak. Weak and pathetic.

“It’s not wrong,” he murmurs, his voice cracking under the weight of his lie. “It’s not… I’m just making sure you’re okay.”

The mouse moves under his trembling hand, navigating through various folders and encrypted paths until a hacked feed blinks to life. It flickers for a moment before stabilizing, revealing the small, intimate view of your world. The camera is angled to show just enough of this corner of your apartment – your couch, a bookshelf, and part of your kitchen.

God, there you were.

Edward’s breath catches in his throat as he leans closer to the screen, glasses slipping just slightly down the bridge of his nose. You are in the kitchen, back turned to the camera as you reach for something in a cupboard. The nature of the mundane scene was supposed to have reassured him. It should have been proof that you are safe, and that you didn’t need him hovering over you like this. But he can’t look away.

You move with an unconscious grace that he finds absolutely mesmerizing. Every gesture of yours was imbued with meaning. The way you tilt your head as you pour water into a mug, the soft sigh that escapes your lips are you settle on the couch with your tea. You look so cozy; he almost wants to get up and make himself a cup of tea.

“I’m not doing anything bad. This isn’t wrong,” he whispers, brows pinching together. He presses a hand to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater to quiet the rapid pounding of his heart. “It’s not. I missed you. I just wanted to see you.”

The guilt was there, he could feel it, but he pushes it aside. He can’t stop now. You were just too precious, sitting there in the comfort of your apartment. The world was filled with many dangers you couldn’t possibly anticipate. Edward wanted to shield you from them.

His chair creaks as he leans back, tearing his gaze from the screen for only a moment. He taps his fingers on the desk with a relentless rhythm. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. He’s not strong enough to let you go – not yet. A soft sound from the feed draws his attention back to the screen. You had pulled out a book and were now reading, tucking your legs under you. His mouth went dry. This was almost too much for him. His lips part in a quiet gasp as he tries to keep himself from letting his eyes stare greedily at your bare legs.

In a sort of distraction, Edward reaches for the black notebook on his desk. He flips to the page where he had written your name. He adds another line beneath the things he already scrawled:

Reads in the evening. Looks peaceful. Like a saint in quiet contemplation.

The words blur as his eyes fill with unshed tears. He quickly closes the notebook with shaking hands. He didn’t dare look back at the screen.

“Enough,” he mutters pathetically. “That’s enough.”

He minimizes the feed but doesn’t close it, the tiny icon blinks at the bottom of the screen like a beacon. His resolve wavers for only a brief moment before he turns his attention to another task. Pulling up the bookstore’s system, he had found this to be quite easy. He hacked the website shortly after learning you worked there. He navigates through the interface with a practiced ease, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he looks for a schedule. When he sees your name appear, his heart skips a beat.

“Tomorrow?” he whispers, lips curling into a smile. “You’ll be there tomorrow.”

He sits back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders easing. What he was doing wasn’t wrong. He was just preparing – it was part of his mission. He had to know and make sure that you would be there when he returned the books. Edward glances at the icon where your feed was, hand over the mouse. Just one more look - just to make sure you were still safe.

Instead, and with all the strength he could muster, he closes it and stands up, the wheels of his chair scraping against the floor. He turns away from the computer, closing his eyes and clenching his fists at his sides.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs. “Forgive me for what I am.”

The words hang heavy and low in the air as he moves to his bed. The screen behind him glows on, casting long shadows across the room.

Tomorrow. He just had to wait for tomorrow, and then he would see you again. Patience was a virtue.

Edward stands in front of the glass door of the bookstore, the strap of his canvas bag digging into his shoulder as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His pulse is erratic, the beats thundering in his ears like a drum signaling an impending reckoning. Edward had timed his arrival perfectly. He couldn’t be too early because returning books wouldn’t take too long, and he wanted to see you. He couldn’t arrive the second you got there because you wouldn’t have settled in immediately. He came just in time, assuming you’d be behind the counter or doing some other tasks around the store.

He adjusts his glasses with shaky hands and pauses momentarily to mumble a small prayer. He lets his arm fall back to his side and grips the door handle. Stepping inside, the small bell above the entrance chimes. The sound reverberates through him like a church bell, calling the faithful to worship. The bookstore was warm and inviting, the scent of paper and wood polish attacking his senses. He stores every detail – the layout of the shelves, awkwardly placed stacks of books, the other customers browsing the aisles, and the distant singing of a playlist drifting through the air.

You are crouched near one of the lower shelves next to the counter, sliding a book into place with careful precision. Edward’s breath falters, body tensing as though struck by a divine force. You’re entirely unaware of him as you focus on your task. But, to Edward, you are the center of the universe and the axis upon which everything turns. He clutches the strap of the bag tighter, knuckles whitening as a thousand thoughts race through his mind. Should I approach you now? Would that seem strange? What if he says something wrong, something that shatters the fragile connection he believes you share?

For a moment, he considers turning around and leaving – never to return. But the thought of wasting this chance – this gift – was unbearable. He forces his legs to move before the instinct to run away fully takes over. The sounds of his shoes against the wooden floor must have caught your attention because you stand and turn toward him. When your eyes meet his, Edward’s stomach twists violently, a heady mix of elation and terror floods his senses.

“Hi there,” you say sweetly and softly. Recognition lights up your expression, and you offer him a small smile. “Back so soon?”

Edward freezes, his tongue suddenly feeling too large for his mouth. The logical part of his mind screams at him to say something - anything – but the words are tangled in his throat.

“I… uh…” He shifts the bag on his shoulder and awkwardly fumbles with the strap. “I… bought too many. I mean-I don’t need all of them. I thought, thought I did, but…”

His voice trails off and he averts his gaze, rounded cheeks flushing a deep red. You tilt your head slightly, your smile growing a fraction wider. Edward swears he could see some type of glow in your eyes – like a little switch went off. Was it kindness? Patience?

“Hey, it happens,” you shrug and gesture toward the counter. “Go ahead and set them down. I can take care of the return for you.”

Edward moves closer to the counter; his movements were stiff and mechanical as though he were a puppet on strings. He pulls the books from his bag and stacks them as neatly as he can, careful not to let them tumble. You glance at the titles as you begin processing the return, fingers moving deftly over the register.

“Guess you had an ambitious reading list, huh?” Your eyes flick up to his, a playful smile on your lips.

Edward blinks, stunned by the sound of your voice addressing him directly. He nods – too quickly – and clutches the edge of the counter to ground himself.

“Yeah,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whistle.

You chuckle softly, the sound light and airy and perfect. Edward’s chest tightens. That noise had just carved itself into his memory. He watches as you start the return process, using the receipt and credit card he fumbled to place on the counter.

“Well,” you say, sliding the receipt closer to him. “If you decide you need them after all, you know where to find us.”

Edward stares at the receipt for a moment, willing himself to respond, to say something witty or memorable. Instead, all he manages is a mumbled “Thank you.”

As he tucks the receipt into his bag, you give him one last smile. A simple, fleeting thing that leaves him both ecstatic and hollow.

“Have a great day.” You give a small wave before turning your attention back to the register.

Edward lingers for a moment longer, feet rooted to the spot. He wants to say more and extend the moment, but the heavy weight of his nerves presses him back. He turns and walks to the door, each step feeling heavier than the last.

After stepping outside, the cold hair hits him like a slap, shocking him out of his haze. He seizes the strap of his bag tightly, heart still pounding. You spoke to him more than he thought you would. You even smiled at him. And though the interaction was short-lived, it felt monumental.

This wasn’t the end, he tells himself. It can’t be. This was only the beginning.

The walk home was a blur for Edward. The world had reduced itself to muted colors and distant sounds as his mind churns in relentless turmoil. His hand clutches the receipt in his pocket, the thin paper crumpling from the force of his grip. He replays the encounter over in his mind, each iteration punctured by a fresh wave of self-recrimination.

“Idiot,” he mutters under his breath as he climbs the stairs to his apartment. “Why didn’t I say something normal? Anything?”

He fumbles with his keys, the jangling sound sharp against the oppressive silence of the hallway. He finally manages to shove the door open, and slam it shut behind him. He turns around and leans against it, chest heaving as though he ran a marathon. His eyes flutter closed and he presses his forehead against the cool wood. Your face lingers in his mind like an afterimage burning into his vision.

Edward’s heart clenches painfully, the memory of it both calming and tormenting. You smiled at him—four times. Not only out of obligation or politeness, but with a genuine warmth. The kind of warmth that someone like him doesn’t deserve. He pulls the receipt from his pocket, uncrumpling it. This – it wasn’t just a piece of paper anymore; it was proof. Proof that you saw him, spoke to him, shared the smallest moment with him. This was sacred, a tangible fragment of your interaction. He crosses the room with hurried movements. He pulls open a drawer, retrieving a small, unassuming box. He stares at the pictures he has of you in there before gingerly and reverently placing the receipt inside. He stares at everything in the box again, his breathing shallow. It was all wrong, all of it. And, he knew that. But even as shame courses through him, so does something else. Something that’s deeper, darker, and more powerful.

“I can’t help it,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “You’re… you’re my everything.”

He shuts the box quickly and pushes it aside, making his way to his desk. The computer was waiting for him – as if expecting what he was going to do. He hesitates even letting his hands go near the keyboard.

“I just want to make sure you got home safe,” he murmurs as he searches for your webcam.

The soft flow of a nearby lamp shines a light on your figure. You are seated at a table, a pen in hand, scribbling something in a notebook. You bite your bottom lip in concentration, briefly glancing up at your laptop to see whatever you were writing notes for. Edward pretends that he’s sitting across from you – admiring you. He rests his chin on his hands, eyes fixing on you.

 But beneath all that adoration, a storm rages. His thoughts spiral into darker places, every moment of calm shattering by the fresh surge of self-loathing. What was he doing? Watching you like this – hoarding every moment like you were lovers. Pretending to be in the same room as you. How could he claim to care for you when his actions were so disgustingly invasive, so wrong?

“I’m protecting you. I’m doing this for you.” But the words sound hollow in his own ears.

The lie is becoming harder to sustain. He knows that. He can feel it in the way his chest aches. His fingers itch to reach out through the screen and finally bridge the impossible distance between you.

Edward pushes back from the desk and stands abruptly. He begins to pace in the claustrophobic confines of his apartment, his hands gripping his hair as he struggles to contain the chaos within him. And yet, he knows he can’t stop.

He can’t walk away. He can’t let you go. The though to removing himself from your life – even in this unseen way – was too painful. You were a light in his darkness and the only thing that made the endless nights worth enduring. He sinks to his knees, hands clasped together, pressing his chest against his thighs as though in full supplication.

“I swear,” he whispers, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I swear I’ll protect you. From everything. Frome everyone.”

He whines as the final vow slips from his lips:

“Even from myself.”

But, deep down, Edward knows that it was a promise he was too weak to keep.

[endlesstrashcycle]

Thoughts on the men of yj

I saw a post or a video (I don’t remember), where they commented on how yj is a postfeminist show, where the male characters are designed in the same way that female characters have been created It's obvious that the girls in yj are not helpless victims, objects of desire, morally pure or that their strength lies in their emotional part. (The most emotionally intelligent act in that show is until Misty decides to go home from work instead of stabbing Shauna)They are violent, messy, sexually complex, power hungry, and yet all these traditionally male traits end up being somehow as female coded within the context of the show. So it’s not surprising when male characters have this gender association inverted. But it's not only the gender stereotypes, I would also say they purposely imitate the laziness of writing decent male characters that so many times show writers have shown with female roles, because it’s not just that the girls are complex, it’s that the men are purposefully not... However, what did surprise me was that I was so into the girls I didn’t even note the way the guys were written until someone else did.

 For a moment I imagined the men in the show as women, wifes, a teen girl in the middle of a bunch of teenage boys etc and oh, I just felt bad. Im not discovering the wheel and im pointing out to something most people for sure know but I still wanted to take it out.

Adam, everyone though there HAD to be something behind him, there wasn’t. He was just a manic pixi dream boy that felt in love with an older woman (I recognize that the character of  Shauna is an epic force to recon with and an icon for feminine madness and fury but in many moments she is nothing but a toxic karen in a unhappy marriage whose first scene was she masturbating in the room of her daughter ), who initially treated him like shit and ends up killing him.

Jeff is a husband that forgives almost everything that his horrible wife has done, he is comic relief but he is also sacrificial, loyal and domestic.

Travis goes from sexualized boy that sleeps with the cool girls/is used to sensitive infantilized soul. The moment he takes off his shirt in the lake he is sexualized, several scenes with boners, the way the girls take turns kissing (and SA-ing) him while high, his family ends up dying and he is dependent to the will all of these girls. In season three, Lottie literally drugs him to induce visions. He’s infantilized and spiritualized in a way that mirrors how girls are often reduced to “mystical innocents”, when the girls go to get Ben they leave him, when they come back, he is waking up in his hammock in a cute as fuck bungalow decorated with his drawings almost as a like magical maiden.

Ben, he is injured, physically dependent of the girls, emotionally wrecked, passive, completely vulnerable, dreaming about his lover, he didn’t participate in the cannibalistic sessions, he refused violence and still survived (for a while). Besides Van, no one was as badly hurt as him, and still this crippled man managed to survive without consuming meat, keeping his innocence, purity and goodness. (Yes, I don’t think ben burned down the cabin) Even Kevin and the predatory police. Kevin is a grown man still holding a candle for Nat, his childhood crush after decades, after his family. He helps her out, gets manipulated, he was gentle and idealistic, and he’s quickly out of his depth.

And Walter, my hated fave. He’s a rich, charming, hyper-competent male Misty. But instead of competing with her or trying to dominate (allegedly), he’s just… obsessed. Devoted. Murderously loyal after barely knowing her. He beeegs for attention and scraps of affection, adapts to her every need, and just wants to be chosen.

I chose to believe that the lack in depthness on the male characters is not part of the messiness, fast pace, writing editions of the show, but actual commentary about lazy writing and female characters being accessories to the male story.

[frozenmoonshine]

How TR boys show affection/love?

Long time no write, but my hyperfixation is very alive and kicking, as always! And since the weather is getting chillier as we're approaching the full blown autumn, it's the perfect time for some cozy, fluffy thoughts! 🍂🍁☕️🧦

TW: none, just some slight exaggeration for comedic purposes; Reader's gender is not specified

MIKEY - bites.

You can't convince me this adorable, emo menace to society isn't a total menace in every other aspect as well! He likes you means he wants you. He also wants dorayaki because he likes it. Dorayaki is something he chews on. ........... You can see what I'm getting at. He'll just randomly start munching on any bit of your skin he can get access to. And if he gets carried away, he can bite for real! It's just Mikey logic, don't question it, there's no use. But, fair be fair, he also protecc!

DRAKEN - acts of service.

He's the type to reflexively take off his jacket and cover you when you're cold, or go get you a bottle of water when you're out in the hot weather and he noticed you struggling with the heat. He'll always carry your bags and stuff, and doesn't allow you to refuse. You need an errand done - he's already on it. And the best part is that he never thinks twice about doing any of that, it's simply his second nature.

BAJI - surprisingly... also acts of service.

CLUMSY acts of service, but acts of service nonetheless! He'll cook for you (as in, more than just instant yakisoba - an actual meal). He'll bring you a cat when you're feeling down to cheer you up. He'll teach you to fight if you need to blow some steam off. (And he'll happily spar with you, but beware - he has ulterior motives in that sparring session, iykwim 😏) Still, the biggest sign of his affection is if he lets you touch his hair!

MITSUYA - support.

I was tempted to say 'words of affirmation', but on the second thought, just support in every shape and form that you might need. He's your shoulder to cry on when you need to, someone who believes in you when you doubt yourself, and someone you can always rely on no matter if you're going through a petty drama or your world actually just fell apart. He's always there by your side, through thick and thin!

KAZUTORA - trust.

They say that jealousy is the sign of love, but it's the exact opposite in Kazu's case! If you really mean something to him, he won't experience the least bit of jealousy, even if he saw you sitting butt-naked in another man's lap! He'll also be fully comfortable being himself around you, and feel safe to share his past, traumas, mistakes, and his healing journey, without fear of being judged or abandoned. He will just know in his heart that you are his person no matter what!

KOKO - self-sacrifice & physical touch.

I think this is pretty much canon, but allow me to elaborate nonetheless.

Hajime is passionate. When he falls in love, he falls head over heels and worships the ground his s/o walks on! His devotion can sometimes border on obsession, and there is nothing he wouldn't be willing to do for his love! And I mean - nothing - literally no limits! He'd kill or die in a heartbeat for the one he loves, no questions asked! And, since he burns so fervently in love, he cannot help the urge to constantly shower the object of his affection in kisses, to hold them tight and just feel their skin, warmth, scent... Sidenote: he doesn't hug, he embraces!

[maxdibert]

And so far, you still haven't given a plausible reason for Bellatrix being a poorly written character, just your limited taste for Snape and the whole "but she's sooo mad" thing 😆

Your followers seem pretty fed up with you too.

Look, I wasn’t planning on doing this, but let’s play the game. You want us to talk about why Bellatrix is a flat character? Then let’s talk about why Bellatrix is a flat character:

1- Bellatrix is introduced as fully formed: she’s fanatically loyal to Voldemort, sadistic, and cruel. And that’s exactly how she ends her story. There’s no personal growth, no introspection, and no hint that her behavior comes from a place that evolves or shifts throughout the narrative. Her allegiance never falters, her motives are never questioned, and we never get a deeper exploration of what makes her tick beyond her madness and obsession.

2- Bellatrix functions more as a symbol than a person. She represents Voldemort’s inner circle and the absolute loyalty of a true fanatic. Her violence is over-the-top and theatrical, meant to shock rather than reveal anything meaningful about her as a character. Her only moment of potential complexity — the implication of her unrequited obsession with Voldemort — is treated more like a twisted joke than a layer of depth.

3- Unlike other female characters in the series, Bellatrix’s femininity is not nurtured, maternal, or intellectual: it’s chaotic, sexualized, and tied to destruction. She is essentially a caricature of “female madness.” Even her appearance is designed to contrast with the idea of traditional womanhood. She’s not given interiority; she’s a foil, especially when compared to maternal figures like Molly Weasley, who literally kills her in a showdown that equates good motherhood with moral superiority.

4- Bellatrix doesn’t drive the plot on her own, she’s an accessory to Voldemort. Her major scenes are never about her, they’re about what she does to others. Torturing Hermione, killing Sirius, dueling Molly… she’s a plot device in other characters’ emotional journeys, not the center of her own.

5- Bellatrix is, ultimately, a flat villain archetype. She’s written as mad, bad, and loyal to the end, without any meaningful exploration of why she is the way she is. She could have been fascinating —a privileged woman radicalized by blood supremacy, used and discarded by the very power she worships— but none of that is explored. She’s a theatrical evil woman, and that’s all the narrative allows her to be.

So no, she’s not a “well-written complex character.” She’s a recurring villain with barely any layers, whose function is to represent chaos, cruelty, and fanaticism. That’s it.

But now we’re also going to talk about why Bellatrix is not a feminist icon, nor a character who challenges traditional femininity, nor one who revolutionises the narrative by breaking the mould or the status quo. And while we’re at it, you’re getting a free feminism lesson, since you’ve been asking for it so much:

1- A caricature of Female Madness: Bellatrix is not a character with real agency or complex psychological depth: she is a flat, exaggerated figure, created to be feared, ridiculed, and punished. Her femininity is presented as deviant not as an autonomous force, but as a distortion of the traditional ideal: a hysterical, fanatical, cruel, and unhinged woman.

This archetype directly aligns with what Laura Mulvey identifies in her theory of the male gaze: many women in patriarchal fiction are not subjects with their own desires, but objects of male viewing and discursive control. Bellatrix exists as an extension of Voldemort, whom she worships with religious fervor and pathological devotion, interpreted as sexualized fixation, yet completely one-sided. At no point does she express personal desires that aren’t shaped by Voldemort’s dominance.

2- The “Madwoman”: Bellatrix embodies the classic stereotype of the “crazy woman,” a cultural construction long used to discipline and discredit women who deviate from the docile, maternal, and rational norms of femininity. Her wild hair, maniacal laughter, and chaotic aggression devoid of clear motivation all reinforce this trope.

This representation is heavily critiqued by theorists like Teresa de Lauretis, who explores how dominant narratives punish women who do not conform to the expected roles (mother, wife, caretaker). Bellatrix is childless, without a visible partner, devoid of maternal instinct, and emotionally fixated only on a male authoritarian figure: her narrative punishment is violent death, without nuance or redemption.

3- Patriarchal Fantasy: From a feminist perspective, breaking gender norms isn’t just about aesthetic or violent power. A woman isn’t automatically feminist just because she is strong or dangerous. Bellatrix does not subvert patriarchal power: she upholds it. Her loyalty is to the existing totalitarian and purist order, she becomes a tool of the regime, not a rebel against it.

What’s more problematic is that Rowling grants her no complexity. We’re told nothing of her interior life, ideological origins, or contradictions. She is a female character constructed purely from the male gaze: hypersexualized in her cinematic portrayal, fetishized as a “bad girl,” and turned into an object of spectacle, not a subject with voice or depth.

4- Narrative Punishment: Like other “strong” women in Rowling’s world who do not embrace caregiving roles (Bellatrix, Umbridge, Rita Skeeter), the narrative punishes her harshly. Only characters like McGonagall or Molly Weasley are rewarded—women who exercise authority while maintaining traditional roles.

In short, Bellatrix is neither a revolutionary character nor a challenge to hegemonic femininity. She is a narrative tool built to symbolize female hysteria, fanatical devotion, and irredeemable evil. Far from empowering, her depiction reinforces the message that powerful women who reject traditional roles must be destroyed.

I hope this has satisfied you. Honestly, Bellatrix has never been a character that interested me enough to analyze her, but since you’ve spent the last 24 hours harassing me about this and insisting that I do your meta homework for free. well, here you go. Now, sincerely, if you’re not going to say anything that requires more than half a brain cell, I invite you to leave.

And if you insist on staying on my blog because you’re clearly obsessed with me (which is basically what it looks like), then I’m just going to block you. Simple as that.

Or like we say in spanish: Te lo metes por el culo payasa.

[tragic-ships-tournament]

Tragic Ships Tournament Quarter Finals

Propaganda under the cut!

Enjoltaire:

"Okay so the whole thing with them is that Enjolras is like the leader of the Les Amis; he believes in the revolution in his heart and soul and his being. He is a shining beacon of hope like Victor Hugo calls him Apollo in the book. He believes in freedom and in the future and that beyond the barricade, there's a new tomorrow waiting for them. Grantaire, on the other hand, doesn't believe in anything. He's a drunk and a cynic and he doesn't believe in that new tomorrow. If nothing had something to offer, Grantaire would stop believing in nothing. When he offers to do something to help the Les Amis, he gets distracted and drunk and I think he ends up playing dominoes? It might have been cards. Anyway, that's Grantaire. BUT Grantaire believes in ONE thing. And that ONE thing is ENJOLRAS. No matter how cynical and pessimistic Grantaire is, he believes in Enjolras. If Enjolras is Apollo, Grantaire is Icarus flying ever closer to him. And then at the end. When their revolution has failed and they are facing down the barrel of guns. Grantaire gets up and stands next to Enjolras and asks if he can hold his hand so that they can die together, and they do. It's heartbreaking and heart wrenching and Icarus brings the sun down with him as he falls."

Madohomu:

"madoka magica aired 12 episodes in 2011, with a sequel movie titled “rebellion” released in 2014. it’s been over 10 years since then, and these two have become the face of yuri. if someone makes a meme about loving yuri and makes a collage of example ships, madohomu are 100% gonna be present. video essays, fanart, fics, music videos and all kinds of fan projects featuring them are still wildly popular on all social media platforms.

but let’s talk about them (without going into too many spoilers, so this will be about the thematics in their relationship). they are light and darkness. the ying and the yang. forever intertwined. one would not exist without the other, yet they cannot exist together. for madoka has too much love for every living thing and too little for herself. and homura has too much love for madoka it blinds her to everything and everyone else, and she struggles with deep self-hatred. madoka has forsaken her own existence for the world, and homura has forsaken the world she created for her. the show has a lot of religious imagery, and madoka is akin to a god; there’s a shot of homura, who grew up catholic, kneeling at the feet of a gigantic statue of madoka, praying, but her hands stain her clothes. because if madoka is god, then homura is lucifer - specifically, iblis, the muslim version of lucifer, who loved god so much he betrayed him, for he’d rather defy him than bow to his creation, humans. and homura would rather defy the sanctity of madoka’s wish, rather than obey its laws, for she will take madoka’s happiness in her hands, if she refuses to. in the movie, dolls representing homura’s inner machinations yell, “gott ist tot”, for homura’s god, madoka, dies in the movie, when homura remembers that madoka was human first, and godhood was something she reached to save everyone, against her best interest and happiness. their relationship is one of love, kindness, obsession, devotion, hope, faith, worship - they are the thesis and the antithesis, the beginning and the end, the alpha and omega, an unstoppable force and an immovable object. forever locked in a struggle, never fully embracing, for madoka will always sacrifice herself for the world, and homura will always doom the world and herself for madoka."

[evielmostdefinitely]

darkened shadows |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: a single earring from the past causes turmoil in coryo's present with you.

contains: dark!coriolanus. manipulative, obsessive coriolanus. past mentions of lucy gray, sejanus. coryo's past. angst.

A single earring, worn- judging by the yellowish tint to the pearls that crested the thin gold hoop; that single earring that sent your world into a spiral. Cleaning your home, a gift from your parents after you announced your engagement to Coriolanus, after six months of courting during his time at University. You just wanted to be good, a prim and proper housewife, devoted just as he was to you, like your mother before you- until a single earring shattered your world. 

“Darling,” Corio’s voice traveled through the grand spiraling stairs, heavy soled shoes clacking against the marble with every climb. “My love, where are you?” His tone held an edge, a jagged sense of urgency that would usually have you stiffening, running to coax him, soothing his worrisome mind. 

Not this time. 

You could hear his heartbeat, heavy in his throat when he spat out your name. No terms of endearment, no breathy gasps between it like this morning, when you were tangled beneath the bedsheets, his hands in your hair, toes curling with pleasure. 

Frantic eyes piercing through the low light of your bedroom, falling onto you. His hair was longer now, coiffed all the same, but the curls you loved returned when Coryowould let them. “Did you not hear me calling for you?” Coryo huffed, a white knuckled grip on his satchel. 

You didn’t answer, lips pursed, legs crossed from your perch on the edge of the bed. Coriolanus frowned, pulling the strap from over his head. “What? What’s wrong? Is it your mother again-” 

“-No.” You snapped, nose scrunching in annoyance. 

Coriolanus paused, unsure. His mind scanned, raced through facts and dates- had he missed a date? An event? Fuck, dinner with your parents? His calendar had been cleared, it was why he stayed late in the lab with Gaul. 

“Why are you upset?” Coryo frowned, tired of the guessing game. He hadn’t meant to bark it out the way he did, but his heart skipped in his chest, squeezing too tight for his own comfort. 

You scoffed, a manicured hand smacking the bed, fist curling around the object. Corio’s eyes followed, the way your white knuckled grip held the object, screwing the sapphire ring off your own ring finger. “Here,” You spat, dropping the engagement ring at his feet, the single earring banging around his shining shoes. “Since you love collecting jewelry so much, you can add that to your lover’s stash.” Your voice drenched in a sarcastic venom that had his stomach twisting. 

Coryo tracked the sapphire, jaw setting. The ring- your engagement ring he’d given to you the night he poured his heart out into yours, in your parent’s garden- had been his mother’s before it found its new home on your finger. One of the few items his Grandma’am had let him have of hers, one of the few she hadn’t sold. There it was, settled next to Lucy Gray’s earring. The cursed object, when she’d betrayed him, tore his heart out in the woods of District Twelve. At the time, keeping it felt right, anchored to him like a cruel reminder. He’d forgotten about the thing, truly, stored away in a drawer far from his mind now that you took up most of the space in his head. 

“You went through my things?” Coryo clipped through gritted teeth, bending to pick up the two pieces, one in each hand. 

You gawked, spinning on your heel furiously to face him. “I was cleaning-” 

“-You were snooping.” Coryo snapped. “We have maids for cleaning-” 

“-And you told them not to come yesterday” You hissed, eyes narrowed to match his. “You wanted to spend the day in bed. Not let them in.” Your finger jabbed in the air towards him accusingly. 

Coriolanus’ mouth tightened into a firm line, frowning towards you. “You still had no right to go through my things.” He huffed. “Cleaning the drawers?” 

“I was putting your father’s compass away.” You sneered. “I didn’t want it out, and I thought you would want the same. You’re always going on and on about how the help will steal it if given the chance.” 

Coryodidn’t respond, eyes piercing through you. “So I take it’s true?” You scoff, hoping your snarl of a tone would disguise the hurt lingering through your chest. “You’ve taken a lover before the wedding?” 

“What? No.” Coryo ran a hand down his face, heart hammering. “How dare you say-” 

“-How dare you.” You snap, taking a step towards him. “Make a mockery of me, of us. Embarrass me this way.” Tears of fury blur your vision, turning before he could see. 

“It’s not- she was from before.” Coriolanus felt his composure withering away with every stomp of your foot. 

He’d rationalize his despond that he was worried about his own title, his own future. Without your family, he might as well be back to living off of scraps in the worn down family home, cracks in the foundation. He’d worked hard but your father’s good graces were securing him his spot as President after the wedding. 

“Before?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Before the engagement?” 

“No,” Coryo shook his head, a strangled huff caught in his throat. “Before-Before I even knew you.” 

“So you kept it around?” You snarled, turning on your foot so quickly it had him flinching backwards. “Pieces of another woman? Another lover lying around in our home?” 

“It’s not like that. I-I didn’t even know I still had it.” Coryo was faltering, stuttering uneasily. He wasn’t used to not being in control, not being able to con himself out of any situation. The truth was, you held the upper hand; he needed you more than you did him. 

“Darling, please, just-just let me explain.” Coriolanus begged, voice lilting higher and higher. “It was before I met you. When-When I was a mentor.” He reached out a hand for you, your dramatic step back making him flinch. 

“Oh? So it’s Clemensia’s? I knew you two were more than you said. And you tried to tell me you-” 

“-It’s not Clemensia’s.” Coryo shook his head gently. “It-It belongs to someone I want to forget about now- I have forgotten about now. At the time, I-I wasn’t in my right mind. I was manipulated and cheated and played to be a fool by this-this girl.” 

That seemed to pique your interest, brows quipping carefully, watching him with caution. Vulnerability, Coryo wasn’t good at that, but he would have to be or try to be. Still, to keep you, keep your family and all his power into place, he’d have to be. 

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” Coriolanus said slowly, eyes taking in every quip, every pull and fall of your emotions. Your breath stilling, hitching in your throat, though you tried to keep yourself steady, calm. 

“In the past.” Coriolanus added quickly, his own voice teetering on a frantic tone that he despised, heart thudding loudly in his chest. “Let me be clear, I-I’ve never betrayed you.” 

Your shoulders seemed to relax though your eyes stayed hard, challenging. “I went to District Twelve because I was sent there as punishment, that was true.” Coriolanus started, hand closing around the pearl earring, the hook piercing into his palm. “But I also went there looking for… someone.”  

“Someone?” You repeated. 

Coriolanus nodded. “You have to understand, I-I was coerced. Tricked by this- this woman, who used me.” His lips pursed, eyes lifting to yours. Your features softened, pulling into a look of sympathy. 

“She used me. Used me and my wealth to escape.” 

“A district girl?” You whispered like you were scared, frightened that someone might hear, even in the room with just the two of you. “Coriolanus-” 

“-I know.” Coryo nodded, turning with the shake of his head. “You-You see why I didn’t tell you? I’m ashamed, my love. This,” He took a shaky breath, turning to look over his shoulder at you. “This is the darkest secret I’ve ever harbored. Not a soul, no one, knows of this.” 

You stood still, unsure, finger twisting around your ring finger, absent of the ring you’d grown so fond of. Coriolanus watched you carefully, over his shoulder, hoping you’d believe him. You’d forgive him. He was so close, so close to his inauguration. Your father had practically promised it when he asked for his permission to marry you. “You take care of her, I’ll take care of you. Make sure you give my darling girl the life she deserves, and I’ll make sure you get the life you deserve.” Coriolanus prayed you hadn’t told your father any of this. 

“But… The earring.” You looked at his closed palm. “Why would you keep it if she was so horrible to you?” 

Coriolanus paused, letting his mind still. He was close, you were close, inching towards forgiveness. Towards forgetting the Baird girl who haunted his dreams. 

“Truthfully, my love, I-I didn’t even-” Coriolanus ran a hand down his face, and out of the coroner of his eyes he saw you take a step towards him. “I didn’t know.” 

“You didn’t know?” Your brows furrowed, halting your quiet crawl towards him. 

“I was in such a state of-of distress.” Coriolanus shook his head, swallowing the hard, burning lump in his throat. “You have to understand, I shamed my family getting kicked out of University, my friend, Sejanus, he-he was hung, found out to be a traitor-” 

“-The Plinth’s son?” Your wide eyed, sympathetic gaze melted Coryo’s heart. Nearly felt it to be too much. Nearly made him feel guilty. 

Nearly. 

“Yes.” Coriolanus nodded slowly, a wave of pain washing over his features, eyes dropping at the name of his fallen friend. “Yes, all of that.” Coriolanus swallowed, eyes gleaming in the low light of the apartment. “And this deceptive, devious girl, she used that. Took advantage of my weakness. Used me.” 

Your small hiccup of a gasp, heart wrenching in an ache that Coriolanus shared with you. Burned in the fact that you felt so strongly for him, chest swarming in an unfamiliar heat. 

“I was so… distraught. Positively sick with grief and-and betrayal.” Coriolanus’ eyes met yours, closer now, with every silent step over the carpet. “I can’t tell you why I kept it. What possessed me, truly, I had forgotten about it entirely, because-” Coriolanus let himself fall silent, eyes cast to his freshly shined shoes on the carpet, so bright he could see his own reflection. 

“Because why, Coryo?” You whispered, stepping so your house slippers were touching the tips of his shoes. Your hand soft, cradling his face sweetly. “Tell me, please.” 

“I met you.” Coriolanus said softly, his hand cradling your own, the engagement ring pressed between your skins. It made your knees weak, swooning at his softness, his kindness. 

“I didn’t lie, petal. From the moment I met you, my life has known nothing but joy.” His eyes held yours, repeating the very same words from his vows weeks before, on bended knee in your parent’s rose garden overlooking the Capitol. 

“She is a sad, dark spot in my past, but you,” Coriolanus’ free hand moved, letting the earring fall to the ground, cupping your face. “You, my love, are my world. My bright, shining future. The sun, the stars, everything to me.” 

Your lip wobbled at his words, eyes shining with tears, moved by his words, the sincerity in his eyes and in his tone. Coryo’s stomach settled, relaxed at your sincere reaction. He let the ring fall in his hand, holding your hand in his, slipping the ring back onto your finger- and you let him. Of course, you let him, how could you not? 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was lying, like I was withholding the truth.” Coryo’s hand wrapped around your fingers, thumb ghosting over your ring, pressing it into your skin. “It pains me to talk about, to even think about.” 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, your hand squeezing his affectionately. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t, my darling.” Coriolanus bit back the smile that threatened to grace his face. It was easy, too easy to convince you. You leaned into his hold, eyes lingering over the dazzling sapphire on your finger. 

Coriolanus swallowed. “Thank you.” He muttered, your eyes flashing to him in surprise. 

“For what?” You frowned carefully. 

“For putting my father’s compass away.” Coryo hummed, fingertips trailing down the shell of your ear, over your own earrings- clusters of diamonds and emeralds, not cheap freshwater pearls like the other, a stark difference between the two of you. 

“For being kind to me, always.” His eyes met yours, icy even in the burn of affection. “So forgiving and gentle.” 

You blushed, cheeks burning in his hold, heating the palm of his hands. He grinned, lips brushing over yours, taking you in slowly. A soft kiss that crescendoed into a passionate one, pressed into the wall, hands grabbing, fisting at the others clothes, hair. Shoving and pulling clothing, limbs, breathy whines and whispers into your skin, his skin. Fingers intertwined with every thrust of Coryo between your legs, teeth grazing over your delicate pulse points, primal. 

The earring stayed on the floor, discarded like his feelings for Lucy Gray- for now, anyways. 

Coriolanus stood over the earring the next morning, the light of the day catching the bits of gold in its rays. Coryo’s jaw set, tongue running over his teeth. In the mirror of the hall, he could see you- still in the bed, sprawled onto the pillows after he’d had you that morning, rougher than the night before. 

Memories of Lucy Gray flashed before him, how she’d never let him do the things he wanted to with her, never let him be himself- not like you. You embraced him, every part of him, welcomed it and celebrated it, where she had rejected it. 

A polished shoe hovered above the earring, Coryo’s body weight pressing down fully, satisfied with the crunch he felt under his sole. A snap, a crumbling and shattering of pearls, the thin gold snapping in half, leaving a shattered disaster under his feet. The earring was her mother’s, and her mother’s before her, passed down through her family. Now, destroyed, discarded, and forgotten just like her family. 

Just like Lucy Gray. 

[aghost-writer]

MasterLists

This will have my fics and my multi-chapter fics master lists! I also have my additional master lists on here as well as anything other post I deem important.

All characters are aged up to adults. Everyone is an adult in these fan fictions.

I updated each master list once a month so there might be fics that haven't be added to the master list yet.

Organized by Fandom!

My other writing platforms:

Quotev

AO3

Bungo Stray Dogs

Lonely (Multiple chapters)

Status: Completed.

Chapters: 47/47

Trapped in a loveless, lonely marriage, Y/N finds solace in running her quiet bookstore. But her mundane life takes a dark, thrilling turn when she crosses paths with a mysterious figure from another world. Drawn into danger and obsession, she wonders if, just maybe, she would not be lonely anymore.

Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x Reader

Between Pages (Multiple Chapters)

Status: Completed.

Chapters: 53/53

Y/N is transported into Bungo Stray Dogs, powerless among literary legends with supernatural abilities. Relying only on her memory of the plot, she must navigate alliances, dodge threats, and survive in a world she once read about. Can she rewrite her fate in a story that wasn’t meant for her?

Yandere BSD x Female Reader!

Boku No Hero Academia/ My Hero Academia

Enough (Multiple Chapters)

Status: Paused

Chapters: 35/?

A young girl, consumed by an insatiable hunger she doesn’t understand, struggles to hide the monster within while yearning for a sense of normalcy. Haunted by her past and the darkness that clings to her, she is grappling with the fear that she’ll never truly be enough.

Yandere BNHA x Yandere Reader x Yandere Aizawa

Sugar (Multiple Chapters)

Status: Paused

Chapters 18/?

In a world where pro heroes secretly indulge in their darker desires, Y/N, a captivating and sought-after sugar baby, find yourself entangled with a group of powerful heroes. Each with their own possessive and obsessive tendencies, they fight for your affection, showering you with gifts and attention—while hiding their darker urges beneath a polished exterior. But as their obsession grows, so does the danger, and you're caught in a world of luxury and chaos, where loyalty can be as intoxicating as their twisted devotion.

Yandere BNHA Pro Heroes x Reader.

Kimetsu No Yaiba/ Demon Slayer

Wisteria (Multiple Chapters)

Status: Completed

Chapters: 68/68

A girl wakes with no memory of the last five years—only wisteria flowers whispering her forgotten past.

Yandere Demon Slayer x Female Reader.

Jujutsu Kaisen/JJK

Ocean Eyes (Multiple Chapters)

Status: Paused

Chapters: 23/?

A young woman is taken away and into her favorite anime Jujutsu Kaisen where she finds herself slowly becoming more and more obsessed with her Nanami Kento as those around her fall deeper into her ocean eyes.

Yandere JJK x Yandere for Nanami! Reader

Followers (Multiple Chapters)

Status: Ongoing

Chapters: 50/?

Able to embed cursed energy into objects, she possesses the unique power to transform ordinary items into formidable artifacts that attract and command followers bound by the dark energy. Each object she infuses gains a life of its own, becoming a vessel for her will and a source of influence in the cursed realm.

This is a Yandere Jujutsu Kaisen x reader.

Tokyo Ghoul

Love Me... Until the End (Multiple Chapters)

Status: Ongoing

Chapters: 65/?

(Y/N) treads a fragile line between two worlds, carrying secrets that could shatter everything. As the cost of her choices begins to take its toll, she’s forced to confront what she’s willing to sacrifice—and whether she can still recognize herself in the process.

Yandere Tokyo Ghoul x Female Reader. Rewrite of my Love Me ... fanfic

Hailkyuu

Goddess (Multiple Chapters)

Status: Paused

The fallen goddess. They just want her to be theirs.

Yandere Haikyuu x Female Reader.

S.C.P Foundation

Logistics Operations Group (Multiple Chapters)

Status: On-going

Chapters: 6/?

Y/N L/N, a Junior Logistics Officer in the LOG (Logistics Operations Group) at the SCP Foundation , carefully manages the transportation of anomalous entities while navigating the shadows of her colleagues' attention. As she balances duty with the growing tension of obsessive affections, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, danger, and unexpected desires.

SCP Foundation Reader Insert

Breaching Reality (Multiple Chapters)

Status: On-going

Chapters: 1/?

Y/N wakes up in a world she thought was fictional, finding herself trapped in a mysterious facility filled with dangerous anomalies and unpredictable individuals. As she navigates this strange reality, she struggles to understand her place in it and what’s real.

SCP Foundation Reader Insert

Alpha/Omega Master List

This will have my alpha/omega fics!

Other Important Things

Guidelines for MY version of Alpha/Omega-verse

My Yandere-Verse

Q&A is Now Open! But Here Are the Rules...

[princelylove]

Yanderes that want to be used, yanderes that are more than content only fulfilling one or a few needs for their darling and won't interfere when they seek them elsewhere. They're not necessarily cucks, although most are, their pleasure is mainly from thinking about their darling seeking them out for one thing and nothing else.

There's plenty of different ways to use someone. Emotionally, financially, sexually, there's probably ways that I've never even thought of. Notably different from those that want to be relied on- these types only feel arousal when they're being treated poorly. Notoriously difficult to get rid of, yanderes that enjoy being used usually have a deep obsession with their darling that seems to 'flare up' the more they're pushed away.

Some yanderes enjoy their body being used because it's a sign that their darling really is attracted to them. Well, some people would fuck anything that moves if given the chance, so not really, but they can hope!

Leone has been known to fantasize about his obsession taking control of him. It's more about control, though- it's about being wanted. Finally feeling pretty. If he was ugly you'd put a bag over his head, or something. But no! You're looking right at his face as you take him- even though mascara is running down his cheeks! He's in heaven! He loves you!

Leone's masochism really knows no bounds, it feels good to be treated like an object, especially a sexual object. He may pretend to be annoyed in the beginning, but he's a major slut for his obsession. He fake scoffs at glances at his 'tits,' he rolls his eyes at any sexual comments towards him and says something snarky in return- but he's up all night thinking about his darling groping him and worse.

God, and you're ignoring him otherwise.... you're so perfect. He pissed you off before, so now you're pretending he's just an annoying old man, but you're clearly still looking at him.... what'd he ever do to deserve you?

Ironically, Risotto loves to be used sexually. Most romantic types usually don't prefer such a thing, but it activates something deep within poor, sweet Risotto. He finds it appealing because it means you really do like him- he's the right length and thickness, you appreciate the rest of his body.... sometimes it's nice to just shut up and let your obsession your partner play with you. Usually he's happier to service his darling, but it just hits a guilty pleasure of his to be used. Don't think about him and if he's getting off, just use him like you would a dildo. A dildo that loves you very much and needs you to finish.

There's also yanderes that want to be put to work and be 'useful' in typical hard labor ways. These yanderes take pride in their physique and usually have a fixation with servitude- whether they're the devoted servitude type or the acts of service type is dependent on the yandere themself.

Above all else, Okuyasu aims to be useful. If he needs to do a truly concerning amount of manual labor to get his darling's attention, so be it. He's not really good for thinking. Or emotional support. Or giving gifts that make sense. Or anything! Anything other than hard, physical labor, that is.

Poor, sweet Okuyasu knows that you're just using him for his body. It's okay! 'Cause that's what his body is meant to do! If you need something- reaching something high or low, movin' something heavy, carrying something, whatever- he can do it! Eagerly! If you're mean to him, that's just how your relationship is supposed to work. You get bossy and mean, he does all the hard things! Yeah!