#eye floaters no more

[iras17514]

my eye floaters are so large and opaque that i frequently mistake their movement for insects

[yifftwiceplz]

.

[thelaughingmerman]

Everyone's always hit me with the "you're a hypochondriac" so I stopped mentioning symptoms to my parents and now that leaves me in a bind because my anxious ass trying to deal with getting this stuff sorted? Horrid.

[firstenchanterorsino]

random actual trivial fun fact about me: i have visual snow syndrome but very mild so it’s not obtrusive to daily life and just kinda smthn thats always been there

basically my vision 24/7 has a film grain filter applied to it but the opacity is set to like. 5%

not a big deal to me but it’s just neat because APPARENTLY the way i have been seeing my entire life is not how im supposed to be seeing and im actually in the goddamn 2% population statistic of the whole fuckin world

[finnstansonly]

kinda need to figure out of its the visual processing, the conditionsTM or my prescription changing that's making it so hard to focus my eyes on words rn and honestly idk which is worse

[sndwave]

hm. misread numbers due to floaters 3 times in as many days. fun.

[autistic-shaiapouf]

My eyes are doing some very strange things since I got sick

[vaidyaeyehospital]

What is Retinal Detachment?

Retinal detachment describes an emergency situation in which a thin layer of tissue (the retina) at the back of the eye pulls away from its normal position.

Retinal detachment separates the retinal cells from the layer of blood vessels that provides oxygen and nourishment to the eye. The longer retinal detachment goes untreated, the greater your risk of permanent vision loss in the affected eye.

Warning signs of retinal detachment may include one or all of the following: reduced vision and the sudden appearance of floaters and flashes of light. Contacting an eye specialist (ophthalmologist) right away can help save your vision.

For more information, consult Dr. Vaidya Eye Centre the Best Retina Specialist in Mumbai.

[chukys-mouthguard]

taste

you’ll just have to taste me, when he’s kissin’ you

featuring -> auston matthews x female reader

warnings -> sexual themes, cheating, semi-public sexual acts, 18+ content

word count -> 1.3k

-> short n’ sweet series masterlist

The taste of your watermelon lip gloss mixed with the jack and coke’s Auston had crushed on the golf course would never get old. As his hands traveled from your chest to your hips, to your thighs, lifting you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist. The storage closet of the country club has become a familiar place for the two of you to escape during your lunch breaks.

The way he smirked against your skin as he heard you moan in approval at the things his fingers did to you, dipping underneath your skirt to take note of how wet you always were for him. He had to control himself, wishing so badly he could have his way with you, but marking was a no-no as you’d have to go back to your shift in just thirty minutes. Which was never enough time for Auston, but he made it work. Always giving you the best thirty minutes of your day.

The way he knew exactly what to do to bring you to your peak as quickly as possible, it drove you wild. His muscles flexing on either side of your face as he bent you over, his hand pressed tightly over your mouth to muffle the moans he’d elicit from you over and over and-

“Excuse me! Can you get me a rosé or no?”

Snapping from your thoughts, your eyes met her, Auston’s girlfriend. And the main reason your escapades were exclusive to the storage closet only.

Rolling your eyes you grabbed a glass, pouring her rosé before adding her staple three ice cubes. No more, no less.

“Thanks, and here’s a tip…don’t day dream at the bar.”

She forced a laugh as she headed back to their table. Auston’s eyes fixated on you as he smirked, knowing you were thinking back to earlier because he was doing the same. Seeing you roam the country club in your uniform always had him thinking unholy things. The way you hiked your skirt a little higher just for him, it drove him wild.

She took her seat next to him, her hands immediately all over him as she wanted everyone to be sure they knew he was hers. Or at least, so she thought.

-

“Grab a table baby? I gotta stop by the front desk, need to reserve the golf cart for later.”

“Okay, I’ll get you a jack and coke.”

You walked past her as she went to their usual table, thanking the country club gods that you weren’t working at the restaurant today. Instead being more of a floater helping where needed as you’d picked up a last minute shift.

“Psst.”

Rolling your eyes you knew it was Auston. Catching him eyeing you in your uniform as he wrapped up reserving his golf cart.

“Yes Mr. Matthews, what can I do for you?”

He bit his lip at hearing you call him that, though he hated the formalities, he loved the way it rolled off your tongue. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, quickly taking your hand and pulling you off to a nearby restroom.

“Are you crazy?”

He smirked down at you as he undid his belt buckle, dropping his shorts to the floor.

“Crazy about you. Now turn around, we don’t have long.”

You two emerged from the bathroom, heading your separate ways as you wondered how he’d explain reserving the golf cart to have taken twenty minutes. Though you knew she’d believe anything he said, she was a ditz. Clearly since she’d not once caught on to the things Auston was doing right under her nose.

Their relationship was one you’d never understand. Auston hated her, she was with him solely for the money, a true match made in heaven. But you also didn’t expect him to run away with a country club cart girl, simply enjoying the thrill of the various locations the two of you could get away with hooking up in.

-

“Miss?”

You let out a sigh, this was the fifth time she’d called you to their table in the last thirty minutes. The rosé was surely going to run out with how quickly she’d been throwing them back today.

“Another rosé?”

“Please.”

You headed to the bar, grabbing the bottle before you returned to fill her glass. Her eyes flashed up to meet yours as you felt your heart racing, assuming you’d done something to piss her off because it just seemed to be one of those days where nothing pleased her.

“Is that too much? Do you need more ice?”

She shook her head, pursing her lips as she looked at Auston.

“No, it’s your perfume. It just smells awfully familiar.”

Auston’s reaction didn’t change, he knew what she was doing and didn’t bother to entertain it. Simply playing it off as you’d been freshening up while driving the cart earlier and he’d passed through the spritz of perfume.

Somehow she’d bought it, lucky you.

-

“Baby, tennis lessons, you promised??”

She begged as she pulled at his hands, her whine had to be the most annoying thing you’d ever heard. You were grabbing the keys to your cart for the morning, having just wrapped up a quick make out session with Auston before clocking in for the start of your shift. Your lips still tingling from the kisses as you heard him say something about Mitch booking them a round of golf, knowing it would mean a good tip day for you.

“Fine, but you better make it up to me later?”

Her attempt at being flirty made you gag, Auston just agreeing as she kissed him, hearing a slight comment about the taste of watermelon on his lips making your heart skip a beat. Though Auston just shrugged it off, saying it was a cocktail he’d had, as he urged he’d be late if he didn’t run.

-

“Where are the boys?”

You found Auston sitting on his phone by your golf cart as you were about to go stock up on drinks. A smile on his lips at the sound of your voice, eyes scanning your figure head to toe as he’d never get over the way you looked in your work skirts. Though he enjoyed them better off of you or hiked up on your waist.

“No boys today, thought we’d have a little fun?”

“Is she gonna like that? You bailed on tennis lessons bay-beee.”

He rolled his eyes as he walked over to you, laughing at the way you mocked how she’d spoken to him earlier. His hand resting under your chin as he stole a quick kiss, then placing his bucket hat onto your hat with a pat.

“Get your ass on the golf cart sweetheart.”

If anyone had caught you taking the golf cart into the woods for a quickie with Auston surely you’d be fired on the spot. But you’d gladly risk your job over and over again if it meant sex like that.

Returning your cart to the parking spot you hadn’t noticed her watching the two of you pull up together as she’d wrapped up her tennis lessons early. Having discovered Mitch was not at the club today and he hadn’t booked any round of golf for the boys.

“Auston Taylour Matthews!”

Looking up to her you quickly pulled the bucket hat from your head as you handed it back to Auston, awkwardly fixing your fly away hairs as she approached the two of you.

“Fuck me…”

Auston groaned as he adjusted the hat on his head with a roll of his eyes before he flashed her a fake smile.

“What is this? You had a round of golf with Mitch?”

You looked from her to Auston, his silence saying everything she needed to know. Though she wouldn’t let either of you be until she’d heard something. But you wouldn’t be the one to say anything, simply pulling your lip gloss from your pocket as you awkwardly applied it.

“What is that?”

You noticed her eyes glued to your lip gloss, not thinking anything of it as you flashed the tube for her to see

“Relax, it's just lip gloss?”

“Just lip gloss…”

Without warning she snatched the tube from your hand, making you flinch as she inspected the label. Her eyes went wide as she looked at Auston, the wheels turning in her brain as she’d finally seemed to put the pieces together.

“it’s, watermelon.”

[gurugirl]

The Warning | bfd!harry

best friend's dad!harry x reader | forbidden relationship

Summary: You and Harry are trying to heal after coming clean to everyone and Mrs. Styles comes to you with a warning.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warning: 18+ only, smut, angst, mentions of cheating and divorce, age gap, an uncomfortable confrontation

Best Friend's Dad!Harry Masterlist

You missed the occasional texts from Fae. Goofy memes or links to TikTok videos she knew you’d like. Recipes for you two to try. Screenshots from conversations with guys on Tinder.

There was nothing but silence from her for weeks at that point. And being blocked by her on every social media site you two were both on was glaring. It hurt. But what could you do? You’d categorically fucked up. There was no coming back from what you’d done to her family.

Most of your mutual friends were on Fae’s side and had also blocked you. Which you deserved and expected to be honest.

Harry slowly moved his things in. It took a couple of weeks. Every time he went home he tried to go at a time he thought his wife, well, he was calling her his ex now, wasn’t going to be there.

But, that afternoon, when he came home after you’d just had the worst shift you’d ever had in your life he was clearly upset. On edge.

And even though you’d had a terrible day you wanted to make sure he was okay, “Hey, are you all right?” You hugged one of his arms to your body after he sat a box full of his things down.

He smiled at you and brushed his fingers up the back of your neck, “She was there. It was awful. She’s just so full of rage toward me. And I get it, but it took a lot out of me. Better now, though,” he dropped his face to yours to kiss your mouth.

His kisses and his touches always made you feel better too. It was like everything outside of your little apartment was crashing down around you both, but as long as you stayed inside together you’d be okay.

He told you how his day at work was and then you both sat down on the couch and cuddled together, “How was your day at work, baby? I haven’t asked how your day was yet.”

You placed your chin on the top part of his arm as you looked up at him, “Horrible. Caressa is really mean. I think she’s trying to make me quit.”

Harry’s brows pulled together as he wrapped his arms around you, “Really? What has she been doing?”

“Well, last night she put me at the back. I had too many tables and no one to help because the bussers and floaters don’t go into the back when the restaurant is busy. They usually have two people waiting at the back to cover things but I was by myself so it was really stressful and the people I served were getting impatient with me so my tips were awful. And today I only had 2 tables my entire shift so I barely made any tips at all. I asked her if she could give me at least one more when a group came in but she just stared at me and laughed like I was crazy for asking,” You frowned. “Oh, and she updated the schedule without telling me. She’s got me off for five days in a row where I was supposed to be working all those days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this last night?” He rubbed his hand up and down your back.

“I just didn’t feel like rehashing it last night. Didn’t want to think about work at all.”

Harry pulled you into his body until you were sitting in his lap with your legs on one side. You rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes. Everything was better when you were with Harry.

“Quit your job. You don’t deserve to be treated like that. And if she’s trying to sabotage you then it’s not going to be worth it to fight for it when you’re not making tips anyway.”

You sighed. It already looked like that’s where it was heading. Caressa had been cold to you since she learned it was in fact Harry that she’d seen that day. Of course, she sided with her friend and started treating you like the tramp you were.

You and Harry made dinner together and then cleaned up the kitchen after eating, “Have you heard anything from Fae?” You asked.

Harry shook his head, “Not yet.”

You frowned, “I hope she comes around.”

“I think she will. Eventually.”

You hoped he was right.

When you’d both finally climbed into bed together you snuggled into Harry like you always did. And even with the stress of everything going on outside you two always found a way to unwind together and being intimate (which usually included sex) seemed to help you both calm down and sleep well through the night.

Harry’s hand dragged up and down your back, as you nosed at his shoulder with your thigh hitched over his hip, “I love you, baby. Can I make you feel better?”

You smiled in the dark, “I think we both need to feel better.”

Harry’s chuckle vibrated from his chest as he dropped his hand to your bottom and pushed at the fabric of your panties until they were down around your thighs.

He kissed you gently and ran his hand over your breasts and then downward to your labia.

You pushed at Harry’s underwear and slid your hand under the band and smoothed your palm over his cock.

With mouths connected you both gently got one another worked up. Harry’s fingers soon became messy with your slick arousal, and Harry’s cock hardened with the stimulation from your hand rubbing over his shaft.

“You want to be fucked, little girl,” Harry teased as he spoke against your lips.

“Yes, I do, Mr. Styles. Please.”

Harry groaned. He enjoyed it when you called him Mr. Styles or Sir. Lately, it had just been Harry as things seemed so serious with everything going on.

“Mmm… love that,” he smiled into the kiss as he pushed you down to your back and quickly rid himself of his underwear as you kicked yours the rest of the way down your legs.

He ran his tip through your pussy lips and inhaled deeply as he pushed into you. You felt yourself stretch around him and moaned in relief.

“It’s so good with you, sir. I need you,” you cooed.

Harry’s languid strokes long and deep always had you weak. You felt his fingers wrap around the back of your neck as he brought his mouth against yours with a whimper.

It might have been the quietest sex you’d ever had together. Harry kept his unhurried pace, deep and searing while he kissed you. Your body was on fire. You’d come soon.

But then his next words against your lips changed the mood and had your head spinning and your heart pounding, “Wanna be my wife? Have my babies, Y/n? Want to show everyone you’re mine?”

His harsh rut into you had you inhaling a sharp breath as your eyes popped open and you arched your back into him., “Yes, Harry…”

“Yeah? Wanna be my Mrs. Styles? Have your pussy fucked and filled every day?”

“God… fuck yes, Harry…” you groaned loudly and somehow you felt yourself grow wetter at his words.

“M’gonna give you a big ring and keep you properly fucked, baby. Okay? Show everyone this is real.”

His words were thick and deep and with his lips against yours, you could almost taste them. It made your mouth water. That you’d be his wife and get his cock every night. Prove everyone wrong. Give him a few babies. It was just a fantasy at that point but it sounded exactly like what you wanted.

“Oh my god…” you gasped. Harry was fucking into you harder and your bed began to rock and your quiet sex turned wet and loud. He still had his hand at the back of your neck, almost cradling your head as he gently squeezed and kissed you, his cock spreading you apart as he thrust deeply hips pasted to yours. “This is real. You and me,” you moaned.

You felt Harry begin to quiver over your body as he gasped, “Want all of you, baby. Want every inch of you to be mine.”

You nodded as the tip of your orgasm started to wind its way through your system, “Every inch of me is yours. From the first time you fucked me, Harry.”

He lifted himself slightly and pulled himself out to his tip before driving back into you, repeatedly fucking himself into you in punishing strokes.

You grunted at each plunge and clung to his love handles as you unraveled loudly.

“There you go,” he groaned, “Sweetest girl. Gonna give this to you every day, baby,” he began to thrust erratically, his hips swaying and grinding into you.

Your ears rang as your orgasm wiped you out. You heard Harry loudly moan in time with his thrusts just as began to come inside of you. You felt the sharp punches of his cock against your cervix as he unloaded himself within your pulsing walls. Just like you loved. The final moment of your orgasm with his long dick reaching into your cervix making you ache and swell as he throbbed and pumped into you.

You’d happily be his wife and give him babies and rub it in everyone’s face with how wrong they all were about you and Harry. This man was the love of your life.

.           .           .

“I can’t believe you’re hooking up with Fae’s dad,” Paloma whispered to you as you sat at the little table in your favorite café. A café you and Fae often met up at.

“Well, we’re not just hooking up. But yeah. I feel really bad about everything but...” you trailed off as you shrugged and took a bite of your pastry.

She nodded at you excitedly. Paloma was a mutual friend of yours and Fae’s. She was always closer to you, though. But when she found out about your affair (thanks to Fae) she called you to get the tea directly from the source.

“I always thought her dad was so hot. It’s crazy that this is real. That he left his wife for you? You know that’s not typical, right? Usually, affairs don’t wind up with the man leaving his wife for his side piece.”

 You cringed. You hated that was the perception. But you let it slide. You figured she wouldn’t exactly understand everything but it felt good to talk to someone about it who wasn’t your mother.

“I know. That’s why when we started everything it was just going to be like… not serious you know. We’d end things before it got to be too much. Before anyone found out or got hurt. But we both fell in love. I don’t know how we could have stopped it.”

“Fae despises you and her dad. When she called me I was confused because she never reaches out to me but then I realized she wanted to make sure as many people knew as possible,” Paloma laughed, “I mean… I was shocked but I’m still your friend. I can’t judge you for what you’ve done.”

“So you don’t think I’m a bad person?”

She chuckled, “Well, I don’t agree with what you did but I could never think you’re a bad person. You can’t help who you fall in love with.”

You drank your hot tea and tried to enjoy yourself with your friend but the longer you and Paloma chatted, the more you missed Fae. No one could replace Fae. She was your other half in so many ways.

“Can I ask you a really personal question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

You shrugged, “Okay. Sure.” You had an idea of what she was going to ask based on the fact that you’d gotten onto the topic of birth control.

“Is he good? Now that I’m thinking about him like that I can imagine he is.”

You breathed out laughed through your nose and smiled as you looked down into your tea, “He’s good. Yes.” You weren’t sure how deep into it you wanted to get but you’d entertain her for a bit.

“And I bet he’s got a big… dick.” She whispered the word dick quietly.

That’s where you drew the line. You sipped your warm tea and turned your gaze to the corner of the room where someone was just taking their seat.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she spoke, drawing your attention back to her.

“It’s okay. I’m not sure I want to talk about that anymore, though. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

It turned out that Paloma didn’t have much to say about herself. She gave you the tiniest bit of information, where she was working, that she’d dated someone a couple of months back and that it didn’t work out, and how she was planning a vacation to Cancun. But that’s it.

It felt strange to divulge such personal things to someone who gave you so little in return. And you should have known that’s what was going to happen. She wanted the dirty details about you and Harry. She wasn’t there to be a friend. Not really. She wasn’t rude but you saw that her motivation was to sate her curiosity.

Maybe you were better off just confiding in your mother. Though, she never asked you things about how sex was with Harry. She always only wanted you to be happy and doing your best.

And it would have been fun to discuss in detail how good you were getting it with Harry. And if Fae weren’t his daughter you’d do that with her. Tell her all about how insane his body is, how strong he is, how big his cock is, and how he eats you out almost every day. You’d totally brag about him with her if things were different. But instead, you were stuck with Paloma who you didn’t want to give too many details to. And besides, you and Harry were still healing. To talk about how he was in bed didn’t seem right. Especially when you didn’t know who she was going to tell.

You stopped at the grocery store on your way home to get some things you needed and you picked up one of those cheap grocery store flower bouquets. Harry had stopped having them sent when shit hit the fan and he moved in. You didn’t know if it was because they were so expensive or just because he hadn’t thought about it what with everything going on, but you figured a small bouquet might feel nice to have in the apartment.

But when you pulled into your building’s parking lot you saw, what looked like Mrs. Styles’ car parked at the front. Of course, perhaps it was someone else’s, you were a bit paranoid lately. You always had your eyes roaming around just in case you accidentally ran into her or Fae.

With one arm occupied by your grocery bag and your other hand holding the small bouquet, you slowly walked up the steps toward your door and thought, maybe it wasn’t Mrs. Styles. Perhaps it was actually just someone with a car like hers. Plus how silly for her to confront you. What good would that do anyone?

“Y/n. I’ve been waiting for you.”

You heard her voice before you saw her and then felt her pull your bag from your arm, “Let me help you. Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

You felt your vision blur and shade in with red as your heart pummeled in your chest, “Oh. Thank you, Mrs. Styles.” It was difficult to hide the shock you felt. You were sure she saw it.

You put your key into your door to unlock it and did some quick math in your mind for when Harry would be coming home. You didn’t want to be with Mrs. Styles alone. In your apartment.

“Cute. Kind of small,” she commented as she walked into your home behind you. She’d never visited before. “I’ll set this in the kitchen here, then?” She pointed to what was very obviously your kitchen.

“Yes. Sure. Thank you.”

She sat the bag on the countertop and you laid the bouquet on your little round kitchen table. You didn’t know what she wanted. What her intentions were. You weren’t sure you wanted to know.

She leaned her hip to the counter and crossed her arms over her chest as she looked at you, taking in your outfit. You felt like you should have dressed nicer. Maybe you would have put more thought into your outfit if you knew you’d be seeing Mrs. Styles. You were wearing jeans with holes in the knees and a hoodie.

You kept thinking of things to say to fill in the very uncomfortable silence. One was that Harry would be home soon, but that felt wrong to say to the woman who was still married to him. Another was to ask her how she’d been doing. Also, not a good question to ask.

“Uh, would you like some water?” You walked toward the cupboard to pull out a couple of glasses. Even if she didn’t want one you needed it.

“No, thank you.”

You nodded to yourself as you poured a glass with water and took a gulp to soothe your dry throat.

“Would you like to sit?” You carried your glass to the kitchen table and gestured at it as you looked back toward her.

Her eyes pierced through you coolly, “No, thank you.”

You leaned your bottom into the table and looked down at your linoleum floor. You hated this. You had no idea how to do this with her. Whatever this was.

“Did you,” you looked up at her eyes, “Want to talk? Or…?”

“I don’t know that you and I have much to discuss that won’t end with hurt feelings. I just came here to see you again and say my peace. It was hard for me to remember what you looked like in my mind. I always imagine you as a high school girl even though I know you’re an adult and I’ve seen you as an adult. Kind of like how I see Fae still. My little girl,” she smiled. “And so with you, you were still a high school girl in my mind’s eye. Quiet. Polite. Fae’s closest and dearest friend. A warm and bright girl that I loved like my own daughter,” her words were razor blades.

“But I couldn’t imagine what you looked like anymore now that you’ve done something so unlike the girl I used to know. I needed to see you for what you are now. The person who’s sleeping with my husband. Who threw away a relationship with my daughter, who is the most beautiful and loving young woman anyone could ever know. And now I see it. I never saw it before but it was always there wasn’t it?”

You shook your head, “I never wanted to hurt–“

“No one ever does, Y/n. No one with any amount of good in their heart ever wants to hurt anyone much less themselves. But you’ve done it haven’t you? You’ve hurt Fae. You’ve hurt me. You’ve hurt Harry. And worst of all is that you’ve hurt yourself.”

She wasn’t wrong about anything she said. You had caused a lot of pain. You hurt people that meant a lot to you. Mrs. Styles, at one time, had meant a lot to you. But now it felt like she was a stranger in your apartment. Someone you didn’t want there.

“I get it, now, though. Looking at you. I was so confused at first. I thought why would Harry even look at you in that way? So I just came here to see if I could make sense of that and you as you are now. And… yeah I see it. You’re lovely. Definitely his type. And you’re sweet too. God that makes it so hard to hate you. I really wanted to hate you too but instead, I just hate Harry now. Because this is really his fault in the end. I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she laughed incredulously, “I don’t like you one bit anymore. But I can’t hate you.”

You couldn’t keep eye contact with her. It felt like you were being incinerated.

“Harry’s had a lot of women after him in the past. Even after we were married women would flirt and try to get close to me just so they could get closer to him. It was funny because I noticed all of that. I was aware of what they were doing. Even had to cut a good friend out after she drunkenly admitted she wanted to sleep with him. He’s such an attractive man. Believe me, I know. I always knew other women found him sexy. But with you? Never had a clue. Wouldn’t have ever imagined it.”

You felt numb. You had no idea how to respond or even if you should.

“Anyway,” she pushed herself away from the counter and clapped her hands together with a faux smile, “That’s all I wanted to say. I hope you’re prepared for him to break your heart. Because this won’t last, Y/n. I don’t want him anymore but I’m just giving you a warning. If he can throw away a 24-year marriage for a 24-year-old girl whom he has nothing in common with, then just expect him to do something that catches you off guard.”

She walked past you to your front door and you listened as she opened and closed it behind her. You couldn’t move from your spot. You tried to breathe to calm yourself and not overthink the words she said.

You knew that she was angry and some of what she said was an attempt to get under your skin. To make you feel bad. Which you already did feel bad, of course. But now it felt suffocating. Felt like there were cracks starting to gape and widen between you and Harry but you needed to not allow that, as hard as it was. Hard not to take heed of her advice and note how other women wanted him and how he strayed from his wife whom he was married to for 24 years.

When Harry finally came home you didn’t know how long you’d been standing there at your kitchen table. You hadn’t moved a muscle. Your groceries hadn’t been put away. The flowers were still lying on your table. You were caught in your mind and battling not to allow your doubts about Harry to overcome you. Because you knew he loved you, you reminded yourself.

“Baby,” He wrapped his arms around your front as he stood behind you and kissed your temple, “Got groceries and flowers?”

You nodded shallowly.

He kissed you again and then you felt his face next to yours, could see from your peripheral that he was looking at you. He pulled his arms away and stepped to face you, pulling your hands into his, “Honey, what’s wrong?”

You slowly brought your gaze to his and immediately you felt better. His eyes. His concern. His warmth. And you could see the way he loved you. He loved you. You stepped toward him and put your arms around his middle and smushed your ear into his chest as you finally let your tears pour.

Harry drew his arms tight around you, “Baby, what happened? Tell me what’s wrong?”

You choked out a sob and squeezed him even more.

Harry sat down in a chair, and kept you with him, pulling you into his lap as he cupped your face and tried to look at you, “Sweetheart, you’re worrying me. Did something happen?”

You nodded and pushed your face back into his chest. You wished you could stop your tears and just tell him but you could barely sputter a word out.

He rubbed your back and gently rocked you as you cried in his arms and wetted his nice button-shirt with your tears.

When you felt better and felt like you could speak, your first words came out sounding so tiny and pathetic, “I’m sorry.”

“Shh, shh, shhh…” he softly hushed you, “Don’t be sorry, baby. Can you tell me what happened?”

You sniffed and looked up at him, “She… your wife. She came here.”

Harry’s face dropped, “What happened? What did she say?”

“She just wanted to see me and tell me what she thought about everything. I couldn’t even speak I was so nervous. She wasn’t here long.”

He nodded and used his thumbs to wipe your tears, “I will have a talk with her. She should not have come here. She has no business to do such a thing.”

You leaned into his touch as he wiped your tears.

“What did she say to make you so upset? Talk to me.”

“Just that you’ll hurt me eventually and you and I have nothing in common. She wasn’t mean, though. Everything she said was true about me. How I hurt everyone. And she said that other women want you too and…” you swallowed. You could hardly put your thoughts together coherently.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/n. And you know it’s not true that we have nothing in common. You and I get along perfectly. She’s just upset. You know that right?”

You nodded.

“And I don’t care how many women find me attractive, or even how many men find you attractive. None of that matters. You know that.”

“I know. She was just upset. It just scared me that I had to confront her alone. And I hate how she looks at me now. I’m the woman who took her husband.”

When your tears had finally dried, Harry helped you put the groceries away and put the flowers in a pretty vase to display.

“I need to have flowers delivered again. These are pretty but I like the ones Florero delivers.”

You wrapped your arms around Harry’s middle and looked up at him, “You’re so sweet but you don’t have to. I know those were expensive. I just thought any flowers would look nice so I picked them up on a whim.”

“You deserve flowers from Florero, baby,” he kissed your forehead. “I just forgot about it since everything that happened and moving here with you. But you still deserve nice things.”

You really didn’t feel like you needed nice things. Harry had never done all that much in the way of spending money on you. It was flowers, some jewelry, food, a toy. Things like that. But you were happy to just have him. You were happy that he was yours. And as awful as it was to feel the way you did, you were glad he chose you because you were always going to choose him.

Harry smushed you against his chest, “You know how much I love you, Y/n. I would choose you over and over again. No matter how hard it gets. Never let anyone’s words convince you otherwise.”

And there wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t believe him.

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[extrajigs]

Was thinking about the dynamics of big ass eyeballs for the Abattoir Worms seeing as they're basically human eyes scaled up. Thinking that instead of just fluid keeping the shape of the eye that the eyes are stuffed full of collagen ropes! Think like the mega eye floaters. They keep a small gap in the center of the eye though so that their normal vision is comparable to that of a average person but they can manually pull them aside to increase the viewing surface. Also the blind spot issue has been patched out.

Want to get more into the construction of the wormies, they are fun!

[madwomansapologist]

a helping hand | nami

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Nami | AO3

synopsis: Luffy should've know better than being so close to the edge of the ship. Of course he would fall, it was just a matter of time. After you saved him, getting soaked and shivering from the salty water, Nami was so kind to help you get into a hot bath. You just didn't expect her to keep you company. Or to insist on washing your skin for you. [2.4K]

warnings: smut. dubcon. voyeurism. groping. masturbation. fingering. manipulation. dumbification. nudity. body massage. tw: use of 'good girl'. soft dom!nami. yandere!nami? female!reader.

Humming an old song, you walked around the Going Merry deck gathering your scattered materials. You asked Zoro a zillion times to not touch your things but don't matter how much he tries to be blasé: Zoro has a weak point for shining things.

You dropped all the metal pieces on your construction table, and separated everything into piles that looked disorganized but made perfect sense to you.

Still humming, you grabbed your screwdriver and went back to work on your recent project. Explosives are easy to make, but your crew isn't exactly in a position to waste a lot of gunpowder. Just unscrew the right parts, gather the remaining gunpowder from the stray bullets on the deck, connect the right wires and that's it! Usopp will get so happy!

"I need opinions", Sanji entered your room without knocking on the door. He put a dish in front of you, something that smelled so good you didn't even thought about complaining.

You took the silver spoon from him, and you felt how soft the cake was when you cut it. You couldn't help but to close your eyes, enjoying the moment. "You said you needed compliments?"

Sanji almost held your new creation, but the thought of getting his hands dirty convinced him of doing otherwise. "You always know what to say, sweetheart."

"And you al-"

The sound of something heavy falling shut you up. You looked around, fearing that one of the bombs had fallen off your desk, but there was nothing wrong. Then you heard the excruciating scream.

"Luffy", you both said in sintony.

When you both made to the deck, nothing was there. You ran to the other side, but it was just as desolate. "Is everything fine?"

You came back to Sanji, you saw him starring at the ocean. You did the same thing, supporting your body on a rope, and saw. The straw hat was floating.

"Luffy!" Sanji yeled, but received no answers. "Luffy!"

"Why all that noise?" Zoro get out of his room, his wristband resting on top of his three katanas.

"I'm sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep but Luffy fell in the fucking ocean", Sanji started to prepare a floater, working on a strong knot.

Zoro walked towards the boat's ropes, and you kept on looking at the ocean. If you know Luffy well — and you do —, then his hat fell and he didn't thought twice before jumping. You stared at the floating hat, waiting to see a sign of him.

When his hand appeared, a loud gasp stretched your throat. You looked around. Both men were doing the best they could but it wasn't fast enough. So you did the only thing you knew would stop Luffy from drowning.

You dived.

The water was so cold you almost screamed, but you had a better goal in mind. Luffy, even not being able of entering the salty water, would've done the same for you or any of the crew. He wouldn't hesitate. And you can't be weak when your captain is in danger.

You went up to breathe and check where the hat was. Sanji and Zoro shouted, but you were in no condition to hear them. You dived again, this time towards the straw hat.

Luffy struggled, trying to swim upwards, but his body was so heavy. He saw his hands, the sun shining beyond the sea barrier, his hat in the distance. It became difficult to keep his eyes open. His breath had run out so long ago. Desperate, Luffy tried to stretch again.

Something grabbed him, and Luffy tried to fought. He was so lucky for not having the strenght to fight a dove at the moment, because when the thing pulled him to the surface Luffy could finally breath again.

He coughed until all the water inside his lungs were back in the sea. Luffy held onto you. That was the first time you saw him so vulnerable. So in need of help.

"I am here", you tried to calm him down. You put his hat on his head. "I am here, captain."

Your body ached, but you held him and made sure his head wasn't near the sea. Every muscle burned inside of you. They dropped the floater, you put it around Luffy's body. Zoro hoisted him up, you could hear Usopp helping.

When it came down again, you held onto it and let them help you. All your members were shaking, everything was so cold.

Zoro held you and helped you stand on the Going Merry. He was so strong, and yet so gentle. Zoro can try to hide it, but you know his heart is his best quality. Your legs betrayed you when he let you go, but Usopp grabbed you before you could hit the ground.

He helped you sat on the deck, right beside where Luffy layed down. You mirrorred him, facing the sky. You let the breeze invade your lungs, the sky hurt your eyelids, seagulls sang in the distance. Freedom. Absolute freedom. Just like Luffy promissed you.

You breath in, letting the air relax your muscles. A shadow covered you, probably a cloud floating in the atmosphere, the sun couldn't aim you anymore. "You're fine?"

"Are you some kind of hero?" Even with your eyes closed you were still able to see Luffy's smile. "An angel?"

You laughed. It hurted, but it was the kind of pain that don't really matter. "You were drowning."

"I'm talking about my straw hat. You saved it", you heard Luffy sitting. His spirit was back already. Good. Really good. "And she even called me captain!"

"Don't get used to it", you heard Nami. You blinked, trying to expel the salty water from your eyes. Just then you realized that it was her shadow that protect you from the sun. Kneeling by your side, Nami's concern was almost palpable. "You both could've died."

You gave her a beaming smile. "I'm not that easy to kill."

"Me neither!" Luffy jumped from the floor and get on his feet. "Still brand new."

"Annoyingly resilient", Sanji murmured to himself. He approached, another shade preventing the sun from bothering you, and extended his hand. "What a crew!"

Nami pushed his hand away, and extended hers. "Do you think you can walk, brave girl?" Sanji rolled his eyes and followed Luffy, probably to offer him food.

You grabbed her hand, and without effort Nami managed to lift you up. For a moment you felt like you were going to fall, gravity playing tricks on your perception, but Nami held you by the shoulders. You melt between her hands.

"Are you fine?" Nami asked. Her fingers carressed you soggy skin. She squeezed your arm, her warm hands contrasting your icy body. "Do you think you can take a bath?"

"I can't get back to work stinking of fish, can I? Don't worry, I can take care of myself."

"I know. You just don't need to."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Leaning against the wall, you watched Nami preparing your bath. She boiled water, filled the bathtub, and now balanced the temperature with cold water. The way she was so exact, careful, made you smile.

She put her hand on the water. "Perfect", Nami murmured to herself. She turned to you, drying her hand on a towel. "Come here."

You were shivering, the clothes weighing you down. The closer you get, the more you felt how hot the water really was. You dipped your hand into the bathtub, an involuntary moan escaped your mouth. "Perfect. Thank you, Nami."

Nami walked away from the bathtub, taking the buckets with her. She placed them at the back of the bath area, and walked to the door. "Take off your clothes," Nami said. You heard the door being locked. "That way the water will cool down."

"Why are you still here?"

"I've told you. I will take care of you", Nami crossed her arms, walking slowly towards you. "Do you need help with you clothes?"

"No, I..." You held your wet clothes, the temperature of your body suddenly increasing. "I would rather not do this in front of you."

"Oh, I get it now", Nami smiled to you as if it was just a normal conversation. "We are girls. There's no need to be shy. Here, let me help you."

Nami touched the hem of your blouse. You tried to pull away, but she pulled you closer. Your chest collided with hers. "It's okay," she began to pull the soaked fabric up. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course", it was true. You trusted your life to her before, and you would do it again. You would've died for Luffy early if it was needed, and you would do the same for her. "You know that."

"Then let me help you, huh?" Nami purred against your ear. "Can you do that for me?"

You stopped fighting back. Nami gave your cheek a delicate kiss. "Good girl."

Nami pulled your shirt up, the sticky wet fabric giving you goosebumps as she slid it across your skin. She threw it on the floor, and admired you. You tried to cover your breasts, but Nami held your wrists. "No need to be embarrassed. You're beautiful."

Without being able to answer her, you just watched her kneel in front of you. She undid the buttons on your shorts and pulled them down. You leaned on her shoulders to take them off, Nami smiled at your gesture. She discarded it like the blouse, and rested her hands on your thigh.

"Don't you feel better now?" Her fingers played with the seam of your panties. You closed your legs. "Without all that wet, heavy clothing. Don't you think I did the right thing?"

“I guess so”, you swallowed. When you felt her fingers pulling your panties, the movement so slow it bordered on torture, you closed your eyes tightly. "Nami, I..."

"Open your eyes."

You did as she said. Now naked, you just wanted to hide yourself. Nami smiled at you, her eyes shining. "Enter the water."

You turned to get into the bath, and you did it so quickly it was almost inhuman. Up to your chin in the water, you heard her approaching. She sat on the tube, and grabbed you by your chin. "Feeling good?"

You looked up at her and nodded. "Great", she said. Nami wet the soap and rubbed it on her hand. "Now I'm going to make you feel even better."

She started with your hands. Nami massaged them with so much devotion, so much care, that you almost forgot your shame. The affection rose to your arms. You felt the soap penetrating your skin, taking away the smell of salt. Her hands smooth out the knots in your muscles. When she focused on your shoulders it was impossible not to close your eyes. "Feels so good."

When her hands caressed your breasts, a part of you didn't want to complain or pull away. A part of you asked you to stay there, quiet, and let Nami do whatever she wanted. She always knew what was best for you. And that was the voice you heard.

She squeezed them lightly, slid her fingers through them, pinched your nipples. Nami soaped them, massaged them, worshiped them.

As she dropped her hands, you couldn't help but complain. "Patience, brave girl," Nami scratched your thighs. "Open your legs for me."

And you did as she asked you.

Her fingers ran down your thighs, squeezed your waist, played with your skin. Then they approached the hottest point on your body. The point that seemed to vibrate, boil under the water. You shivered when her finger touched your lips.

Nami's other hand went up your body, her nails scratching your skin, and ended up grabbing your hair. Your head fell back, exposing your neck, and Nami slid her nose against your damp skin. "My girl is so sensitive", she licked the junction of your neck and shoulder.

With her tongue working on your neck, playing with your sensitive skin, her fingers circled your lips. Your nerves screamed under her fingers, your mouth wouldn't stay closed. Nami could turn you over, smear you, twist you: you wouldn't complain.

Her thumb pressed against your clit, the bone slamming into your stiff nerve at an excruciating pace. Nami let go of your hair and moved her hand down to your breasts, playing with your sensitive nipples. You moaned, blurrs glowing in your closed eyelids, and you rolled your hips against her fingers.

Without needing to hear you ask, without even warning you, Nami penetrated you with two fingers. The sounds you made became louder, more needy, and with each movement of your fingers inside you, your body became hotter. You smiled, so immersed in the pleasure that you didn't even notice the lewd way Nami was looking at you.

She curled her fingers. The pressure massaging your walls became too much, and you grabbed her fist. "N-Nami, I..."

"Do it again", Nami bit your neck. She increased the speed of her fingers. As she thrust her fingers into you, her palm bumped against your clit. A shameful sound escaped your pussy. It was so good. So, so good. "Moan my name."

"Nami", you did as she demanded. It was impossible to say anything other than her name. Your moans were so loud, so shameful, you wouldn't think it was impossible for everyone on deck to hear you. But you didn't care. You didn't care about anything. "Don't stop."

Then Nami opened her fingers. She became even more brutal, her hand went back to your hair. She grabbed it tightly, almost really hurting you.

It started as a numbing wave. It passed through your pussy, up your belly, reached your breasts. All your limbs became useless, your mouth hung open, your eyes closed. And when the wave reached your head, you were already unable to breathe. You could only tremble against her fingers.

You squirmed, and it was Nami who kept you sitting down. She continued to fuck you, to torture your clit, to hurt your head. And when you became an empty doll, your mind blank and your body tired, Nami stopped. She didn't take her fingers out of you, feeling the way you still squeezed her. Tender kisses reached your cheeks.

You were the one who initiated the kiss. It was sloppy, you were too weak to do it any other way. You held her by the neck, trembling hands clinging to her soft skin. "Join me."

Nami smiled against your mouth. She stood up, still bent over to continue the kiss. "It will overflow."

"Do you care?"

She didn't.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[nuhahani]

I Found...

I Found - Amber Run

Megumi x Fem Reader fluff, light angst.

1.k words.

Summary: How do you comfort your best friend after he loses his dog and new friend ? You open your domain and bring back everything he's lost.

“Domain Expansion; Cosmic Graveyard.” Fields of dark lifeless rainbows transformed the body of space around you. Grassy headstones that were mildly unkempt moved the earth to create space in the domain. Megumi reached up to touch what he mistook for a dust particle. “Be careful, I’m not sure who that is.” His empty expression turned to you, dead eyes that didn’t have the energy to spark curiosity or even ask. With cupped hands you caught one of the thousands of small wandering particle that passed gently through the air around them in a way that reminded the dark-haired boy of cherry blossoms in the spring. Except these particles shimmered and glowed like fireflies. “These little dust-like floaters are spirits. Any spirit or curse that I have encountered I can use in here after it passes. I call these little floaters spirit dust, kind of like star dust since that’s really what the top of my domain looks like.” Thoughtfully you covered your hands and released the spirit dust onto the ground as if you were gently placing glass down. “Curse technique; Soul Resurrection.” 

The dust swirled into a little white ball of fur that twisted and stretched into a fully grown dog. Megumi let his cold icy expression be replaced with shock and amazement. Standing in front of him, tail wagging and mouth panting, was his white Devine dog. The tips of your fingers grazed the top of the dogs’ head as it observed Megumi drop to his knees. “Come here! Come!” There was no hesitation from the shikigami when it came to following your best friends’ orders. You could honestly say that it was the first time that your domain had ever experienced smiles and breathless laughter, the first time your gift was seen in a positive lens. It was all because of him. Megumi, the cold stoic boy who hid his emotions and would rather tell world to fuck off than ever admit he was hurting was the first person to truly make you see the good in your ability. The higher ups viewed your curse technique as something that needed to be put to an end. You weren’t a curse user, and you certainly weren’t able to fall into the group of shadow/shikigami users.

Your spirits and curses weren’t familiars, and the higher ups were on guard about sorcerers like you since Geto’s defection and even more so after Yuji swallowed Sukuna’s finger. If it hadn’t been for Gojo finding you and convincing them how useful you could be on their side, you would’ve faced your execution years ago. After all being able to summon and bring back beings from the dead was not your everyday ability, watching a seven-year-old summon her dead to play with was not an easy pill to swallow. To say your technique wasn’t for the faint of heart was not an overstatement, you did have the tendency to walk around with undead animals daily. Your subconscious was constantly at work the way Gojo’s infinity was always on. Gojo had taken you under his wing and you were raised side by side with Megumi. So, when that sugar crazed man came to you asking if you could help Megumi after what happened with Yuji and his Devine Dog, how could you possibly say no? Gojo had kept you separated from the other first years, you were already a special grade and there was no need to keep you on easy missions. That’s what he said but you felt there was something much more sinister about the meaning behind ensuring that Sukuna’s vessel never encountered you.

Megumi seemed to be able to read your mind, the words basically written in the air for him to reads. 

“Can I see Yuji?” 

The four words that ripped you to shreds, it had become clear to you why Gojo didn’t want you to ever encounter Yuji Itadori, the sweet boy that was supposed to be executed just as you were. Your mentor didn’t want to give Sukuna the chance to see you and your curse technique. Megumi already knew the answer. The weight and reality of wishful thinking crashing down on him. You couldn’t bring him back. You had never even gotten a glimpse at the other first year; you only knew what you had been told and that wasn’t enough to resurrect a soul. 

“I’m sorry... ‘m so sorry Megumi,” Your best friends' expression broke you. How could you keep it together when he was on the verge of crumbling, the one who you also thought was untouchable. “I’m not allowed to meet him so I can’t show him to you.” The three of you fell into comfortable silence as he finally allowed himself to feel the weight of all his loss. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, but you had no choice but to tell him now. “Gojo is sending me back across seas tomorrow. I’ll be in China this time.” Laid between you in the grass was a small headstone engraved with foreign writing. The grass in your domain was always softest around the graves, white fur almost completely separating the two of you. “Apparently, he’s found a sorcerer with a similar technique to mine. He doesn’t want me back until the end of October.” 

“You’re leaving again… That idiots kept you out of the country as long as Yuta.” 

“The perks of being a special grade I guess.” You chuckled but could the burn of his gaze on you. Megumi would miss you, he would never say it, but you knew each time. You did your best to bring back gifts for him depending on where you went. Recently you brought him back a black and white beadwork bracelet from her time in Africa with Miguel and Yuta. The time before you brought him back incense and perfume from her time in Egypt where Gojo had sent you off to learn more about the ancient curse techniques related to your own. You knew his favorite gifts were ones that were mildly cursed however Yaga had banned you from bringing more cursed items back after the canned tuna incident. Everywhere you went no matter how large or small, for your own education or mission; you always brought him something back. “I’ll bring you something back of course.” His dark eyes never left you; he was unsure if could look away and you didn’t want him to. 

A/N I think I’ll write more for this piece, oh well. I’ve decided to write more fluff because I like fluff and if you don’t then be like Kevin Heart and MIND YOUR DAMN MOTHERFUCKING BUSINESS.

[tacitoru]

pleaser (2) - gojo satoru ; geto suguru

pairing: gojo satoru/reader/geto suguru

summary: You wish someone would have told you how lonely college would be. Classmates and other students outside the newspaper staff keep you at arm's length. People tend to give you a wide berth. It's no big deal - for a journalist, you are laughably not a people person. Small talk makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Relationships are tedious. People are finicky and prone to lying. Unreliable. Getting close to the star players on the university's basketball team was only supposed to be a means to an end. And then it's a little more than that.

rating: explicit (eventual smut)

tw: basketball!au, enemies to lovers, journalism

wc: 4k

ch: 2/5

read on ao3

Then

“Your eyes will get stuck like that.” 

Your editor-in-chief is not at all surprised to find you sulking. Shoulders slumped, arms crossed as you glare petulantly across the foyer of the student union. You don’t play aloof very well.

She stands shoulder to shoulder with you and follows your gaze. 

In the distance, two basketball players donning signature sky blue jerseys draw a crowd near the student government office. They stand out among the sea of milling students like skyscrapers. The swath of unnaturally white - surely he wasn’t born like that? - hair on the tallest one is even less helpful in helping him blend in. A few passerby stutter in their steps trying to catch a glimpse of their faces. The young men have their backs to where the pair of you observe, in the middle of addressing the small audience. A mix of student government and faculty, the source of your ire stands amongst them. Kento Nanami stands at the head of the crowd with his smartphone in one hand and a tape recorder in the other held just slightly above the sea of heads. His blond hair and crisp blue button-up make him easy to pick out from the gang of suits. 

When snark doesn’t draw your full attention, Utahime calls your name instead. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

Furrowing your lips, your frown deepens. “Who the fuck even carries around a real tape recorder anymore? Does he not have the app on his phone?”

Your pseudo-boss shoulder checks you. Never one to miss an opportunity to play morality police. “Don’t be obnoxious,” she admonishes in what you think she thinks is her gentlest tone. “Not everybody has a smartphone.”

“He’s holding one, Utahime,” you snark back. 

The animosity catches you both off guard. You’re not typically one to be confrontational. In all of your years on the university’s newspaper staff, you’d suppose you’re akin to a fly on the wall. A floater, you’ve moved from section to section at the dismissal of the lead editors each year. It wasn’t that you were an incompetent writer so much as it was that no topic seemed to really stick with you. Student leadership wouldn’t let you go if they could help it - it was easier to keep and train staff members than to recruit. But they would never promote you - there was always somebody who fit the bill just a little bit better, who wrote with a little more flare. You were nearing the end of your senior year anyway. It was too late to even consider.

You’ve never really minded - never minded anything at all, really. The fact that almost all of the leadership was a year younger than you. Or the fact that you were consistently assigned fluff writing. That you had been skipped time and time again for any chance at covering anything more important than the carpets in the library being updated from green to gray, or minor changes to a dining hall’s dietary restrictions.

A perfect passive participant on staff, you follow all the rules. Do every story they assign you. More often than not, it’s the ones nobody else wants to bother with. They offer you some sort of loose camaraderie in return; a pat on the shoulder, a lukewarm invite to be a plus one to a holiday party. All of the necessary tools for social survival in college.  The news, cultures, and opinion columns shuffled you around semester by semester like a cumbersome stage prop. Comfortably standing in the shadow of your peers. You never ask for anything.

So you decide to be a little nicer to Utahime, to whom all this attitude must be coming out of left field.  

Never taking your eyes off the crowd, you ask with a little less bite, “Did they tell you when the press conference is yet?”

They , as in the athletics department, had been keeping zip tight on the details of the university basketball team’s newest arrivals since they had touched down in the States over the weekend. The pair of you watch as the shorter one, a young man (albeit still a full head taller than most of his audience) with black gauges and his hair pulled into a bun, delivers a short comment that causes a laugh to ripple through their onlookers. You think you see even Nanami, of all people, crack a smile. It’s hard to tell for sure from this distance.

It wasn’t unusual for the staff on the student newspaper to share tips and ideas or track events on campus together, but it’s irregular for you to be among them. There was no need to ask for help when your stories were practically written out for you. Today however, you had kept a keen eye out for your fellow writers on campus, ear to the ground all morning as you sought out some kind of - any kind of - hook that could solidify your claim to what was sure to be one of the most memorable feature story of the year: the athletics department's annual exchange student program.

“Do they allow players to wear gauges on the court?”

“You’re asking me a lot of questions for somebody that’s not assigned to this beat.” Utahime sighs. The awkward moment rolls off her shoulders with an ease you’re becoming familiar with. “I’m not giving you a press pass.”

“I - okay?” You wilt a little, shoulders slumped as Utahime takes the next question right out of your mouth. “I didn’t even say anything. That’s not even what I asked.”

“You didn’t have to. I can see it all over your face-,” You duck the graze of her knuckle as she moves to brush a faux tear, but the unimpressed look on her face remains. “But no. I haven’t heard anything from the coaches yet.”

You try and fail to hide your disappointment. You refuse to pout in front of your boss. Utahime had a softer spot for you than most of your fellow staff members - as a writer who had been on staff for so long with little to no promotion or department to call home in all four years of your college career, whispers of questions around the validity of keeping you on staff started to circulate well into the winter semester.

“Why were you so interested in doing this feature anyway? I got the feeling you didn’t like writing for this kind of stuff.” You never ask for favors; she tells you as much. “I’m just surprised, is all.” 

From your peripheral, Utahime looks at you curiously, a hand on her chin. Maybe it was because she was a year younger than you, and pitied the disposition she found you in after being elected into the chief position. But even that softness only went so far.

You shake your head, still watching the crowd from across the lobby. The taller basketball player, the white-haired guy, sticks out among the crowd like a dandelion, bending and swaying to an invisible breeze while he crowds into the space of his teammate. You crinkle your nose - his posture is surprisingly terrible.

“Kind of stuff?”

“Y’know, just - sports? Your strong suits have been more like…like, what kinds of water bottles have been popular on campus! Oh, or that listicle you did of all of the best fall-themed soundtracks-,”

“-that we published in the spring -,” 

Utahime waves you off. “That’s not the point.” 

She launches into a reassuring ramble, throwing a hand up when you don’t start to look any more appeased. The motion seems to catch Nanami’s attention from across the foyer’s open floor. He doesn’t crack a smile, but waves at the pair of you with his phone-holding hand, polite as ever. You wave back. When he turns away, your pout melts into a grimace. Tuning Utahime out, your eyes wander back to the head of the crowd, only to choke on your gasp. You’ve also inadvertently caught the attention of one of the exchange students - and he looks pissed . 

From where he stands, the white-haired wonder boy has twisted the whole top half of his body to bless you with the ugliest look of contempt you’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing in your short life. He only rights himself when his dark-haired teammate corrals his focus back to the congregation ahead of them with a gentle hand on his shoulder. It’s enough of an interruption to make you turn your whole back on the entire debacle in embarrassment.

Utahima continues to do her best impression of placating you, hands folded above her chest as she pleads. “- And, you know, it would just be a lot easier for everybody, really, to give this to somebody who already knows if players are allowed to wear gauges on the court, and other frivolous shit like that instead of wasting time asking me.”

You make a noise like a laugh through your nose, thinking of what she considers your strong suits. “Okay.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the objects of your interest begin to make their way out of the front of the building, enticing their crowd of university staff and students along with them. An underclassman tries to give the white-haired man a high-five in passing. He dismisses him with a shrug. Your resolve wavers. You follow all the rules. You never ask for anything.

“Look,” Utahime begins in a tone that makes you think uh oh. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re a capable writer. I hated turning you down so publicly at the staff meeting, and there’s no doubt that your contributions to the paper have been -,” she searches for a word “- impactful to our student body. But I need somebody who’s going to do this feature, um, quietly. I mean look how much attention those two are drawing and it’s not even time for lunch yet.” 

Two girls run straight into each other, phones clattering to the ground, their eyes glued to the spectacle making its way out of the building. You can’t help but snicker, a little less forlorn. Requesting to cover the feature story for the exchange students had been the first time you had stuck your neck out for yourself, only to be succinctly rejected in front of your peers. Utahime hadn’t even the decency to pretend to hesitate. At least you’re not the only one making a fool of yourself today.

Utahime fixes you with a look that makes you straighten up a little, all business.

“I want to get this right the first time, and it’s already going to be hard between the fangirls, the fanboys , and the limited press access during the season. Can you promise me that you won’t try to butt in?”

In lieu of answering Utahime’s question, you ask, “You’ll let me know when they do, right? When you hear back from them.”

Somehow, she manages to glare harder.

You suck your teeth, sigh, and relent, “I promise.”

The editor-in-chief doesn't look entirely convinced, but the severe expression on her face relaxes nonetheless. “There’s no need to worry,” Utahime’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she turns on her heels as she checks the notification, effectively closing the conversation. “Nanami will do this piece justice.”

The two exchange students stride towards the exit, seemingly now caught up in their own little world as they chuckle amongst themselves, hardly minding the entourage that follows. The afternoon sun floods the glass double doors with a bright light, and you watch after them as they push through. 

“But that’s what I’m worried about,” you mumble, resign, and follow her into the office.

You wish someone would have told you how lonely college would be. 

Classmates and people outside of the newspaper staff tended to keep you at arm's length once they learned of your extracurriculars, mostly for fear of one day seeing themselves among the crisp pages of the biweekly print. It was all in vain; in your four years being juggled between columns, you had never aired out anyone’s dirty laundry. You were diligent in your moral code, however gray. People tended to give you a wide berth nonetheless.

It was no sweat off your back - for a journalist you are laughably not a people person. Small talk made you want to crawl out of your skin. Relationships were tedious. People were finicky and prone to lying. Unreliable. Their stories, however - actually, maybe just as much so, but that was an entirely different thrill. And yet as graduation crept closer, your lackluster portfolio mocked you far worse than your meager contacts list. Submitting job applications felt like shooting blanks at a target while blindfolded. You needed a miracle - and fast. 

It’s just your luck that the evening you are the last to lock up the student newspaper office, two miraculous things happen at once: the lead sports editor forgets his press pass at his desk just as two of Japan’s highest-ranking athletes in men’s college basketball officially announce their transfer to your institution as part of some long-running good-will exchange program.

The first anomaly is sports editor Kento Nanami’s sudden bout of forgetfulness. In his rush to make it to the press conference early, he had left the badge on his desk. You’re nice enough to promise to drop by the auditorium where it’s being held, telling him as much over text. Your peer responds with the same level of dryness you’ve come to associate with him.

Thanks. Read 6:46 PM.

The whole thing already felt like a bad omen.

Enter anomaly number two, the two Japanese exchange students joining your school’s record-holding Division One basketball team for the year. The news had spread like wildfire across the campus of your large liberal arts college before it had even reached the newspaper. It was never a matter of why the exchange program was happening.

The university boasted an extremely impressive men’s basketball team that dominated the American college league in every sense of the word. Armed with a history of individuals who went on to become some of the highest-paid athletes in the NBA and a team of coaches with a tremendous wealth of experience, your sleepy liberal arts school has made a name for itself in the world of college-level athletics. It was inevitable that other institutions would want a piece of the pie, and Tokyo University had long established their in.

It was never a matter of why, but who.

They’re gorgeous. Inarguably so. A pair of athletes in a league of their own amongst their peers both in the States and on their home turf, both parties of which you’ve witnessed trip over themselves in a clumsy dichotomy of disdainful and overbearing eagerness already in the short time you’ve spent observing the team. Youthful, dripping raw athleticism, handsome beyond words, and worst of all, they know it - the smarmy one with shocking white hair tells you as much when you meet for the first time in the elevator.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Satoru Gojo had every right to be brash and vainglorious. More popularly referred to by his last name, the famed shooting guard from Kyoto boasts an impressive track record under his belt, stats that put even the shiniest American college basketball players to shame. His inhuman height and athleticism make him a living nightmare to oppose. The strongest , the tabloids and play-by-play sports podcasts had labeled him. Even Nanami, of all people, had described him as a monster on the court. The lead sports editor is not the type to give compliments lightly - if that could even be considered one. But if Satoru Gojo is scary on paper, he’s fucking terrifying in person.

Heat crawls up your neck, and spills onto your cheeks, your gaze quickly returns to the floor. “Sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed. Without even having introduced yourself, you’ve somehow managed to tick him off twice in the span of a few days. 

It seems as though the universe has a sense of humor tonight. You had rushed across campus to the auditorium, press pass held in your iron-fisted grip in an attempt to beat the clock. Only to end up in the elevator crammed between the very two people you’d been hoping to catch a glimpse of on your way out. While you had been hoping for some sort of miracle to be tossed your way, this..this was…

Caught off guard and underprepared, you feel brittle like a leaf in the wind under the shared weight of their gaze. Later, when you playback the recording on your phone in your pocket, you pretend not to notice when you hear your voice shake.

Suguru Getou, the other exchange student and equally formidable athlete, admonishes his teammate softly. The one who, now that you’re standing close enough to confirm, does indeed wear black gauges. His hair is loose from its bun today, inky locks tossed carelessly over one shoulder.  They both don the university’s signature jerseys once again, the cleanest they’ll probably be all season. “Satoru, please.” 

Satoru . You make note of the use of his given name, spoken gently and laced with amusement, like a parent scolding a wayward child.

You might almost believe Suguru to be sympathetic if he also didn’t look one slick comment away from laughing at your discomfort. 

“What?” His teammate flat-out whines, having complete disregard for politeness - and personal space, apparently. He reaches over and flicks the piece of plastic clutched in your hand suddenly enough that it makes you flinch.

“Ain’t this a press pass? I’m just sayin’. They’ve got, like, a whole hour to do this shit.” Gojo gripes, scratching his head. In perfect English, they talk around you. Over you, like you’re just some physical inconvenience in the middle of a conversation they were already having. You probably are. Recognizing this doesn’t make your heart race any slower.

Out of the corner of your eye, the elevator ticks closer to the mezzanine floor, where you know Kento is waiting for you. This is your chance, this is your chance!

Like an idiot, you stumble over your words, trying for something between a convincing protest and solid introduction, quickly shoving the pass into the pocket that’s empty. “No, not all! Um, actually, I did have a few-,”

The elevator dings, announcing your arrival. Internally, you swear. Twice your build and stature, Gojo shoulders you on the way out without a second glance, nearly rocking you off of your feet.  Over his shoulder, he wags his finger at you. “Ah, ah, no head starts.”

Suguru is at least polite enough to offer a smile, albeit one you can’t determine if it's sympathetic or pitiful. He gives you a once over, so quickly you might have imagined it. “Good luck out there.”

Stepping out into the hall, you watch half-stunned as the two teammates swagger in the opposite direction of your destination, off to where you assume their coach and athletic staff await. 

Could you have possibly fumbled the ball any harder? You fiddle with your phone on the way to where Kento said he was last sitting, pausing your recording.  Fumble? No, that’s football. What’s the basketball equivalent..?

Your colleague paces anxiously in the top row of the mezzanine, waiting for you to pass off his badge. If you had been paying close enough attention, you might even say he was nervous for once. Any other day, that’d be something you’d revel in. But tonight, caught up in your train of thought, you miss the look that crosses his face when you hand him the press pass without so much as a greeting. 

“Are you okay?” He asks warily, more so out of obligation than kindness. You remember with stark clarity where he had been sitting at the staff meeting when Utahime rejected your request to cover the story - his stoic, unflinching expression when she announced it had been assigned to him. You had hardly been able to look him in the eye since. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“What do you call a fumble in basketball?”

Kento goes from overly cautious to puzzled. “...A fumble?”

“Ah.”

From where the pair of you stand at the height of the auditorium, the press gathered on the lower level look like a hungry, writhing mob. You observe them as they prepare for your esteemed guests, each armed with microphones and totting cameras with flash attachments the size of your fist. They face a backdrop littered with sponsorship logos, two seats, and an unimpressive table decorated in your school’s colors and laden with more microphones.

Kento moves to head to the elevator, only to hesitate at your contemplative look.

“Does this…” he sighs and starts over, fiddling with the pass slung around his neck. “I can’t bring you with me down there.”

“I know.”

“Or to any of the games.”

“I know.”

“Or interviews.”

You glance up, facing him full-on for the first time in days. Scanning his features for any sign of mockery. “...Okay.”

“But between this and the rest of the sports for this season, I’ve got my hands full.” On stage, the head coach appears to greet the slew of reporters, thanking them for coming out tonight. He begins to say a few words about the exchange students and the history of the exchange program. Kento’s eye twitches - you can feel him getting antsy. “I’m fine taking notes, but I could use some help with the drafting.”

A feeling wells up inside your chest. Amid all of the dejection, the disappointment, the worry - a glimmer of hope had appeared. Somebody was finally giving you a chance.

He offers his hand but you’re slow to take it. Eyes narrowed, you tell him rather than ask, “And I get credit.”

“Partial,” he acquiesces. “And we’ll be on the front page.”

The clamor beneath you begins to grow louder, and your colleague lurches back like he’ll jump over the balcony if that's what it will take to make it down there on time. Steel-eyed, you snatch Kento’s hand in yours before he can take anything back. 

“Deal.”

The crowd below you erupts into a thunderous roar of cheers. 

<< prev.

[hyper-pixels]

Analog Horror List

Analog horror is uniquely known for its low quality and low visual styles. Or VHS style. They can widely range to a found footage or a visual guide style formatting.

Here are some noted ones:

These videos can contain disturbing content, as well as content that can induce a epileptic seizure if you choose to watch any of them.

2h32: A series of videos that are all two minutes and thirty-two seconds long.

Backrooms - The Otherside: A found footage of the back rooms.

Basswood County: Humanoid creatures that kill humans.

Cave Crawler: A video game (no commentary) about a special remote controlled bot meant to look for missing people (or bodies) in caves.

Chezzkids Archives: An archive of games from a website called Chezzkids. The developer went missing and her photos are showing up in the game. May need to have an episode explain it (this one by Minaxa did it well) as there are clues outside of the videos as well.

Cloud Observation: A short observation video on a cloud that seems to be growing limbs.

Escape the Backrooms: A combination of found footages and commercials, it details the backroom and people trying to escape from it.

Eventide - Anomaly Infestation: A news report of anomalies.

Fear Virus: A quick guide on how to protect yourself from a new, highly infectious virus that causes mutations in humans to become something they fear.

Floaters: A video and short guide. It details how humans are suddenly floating into the air.

Gemini Home Entertainment: A series of VHS styled video tapes. Neptune has mutated and is now infecting Earth with strange things called "woodcrawlers" and other mysterious happenings.

Green Mountain Broadcast Center: A archival for tapes. Only one on this channel labled "Live Traffic" which documents a strange storm.

Greylock: One of my favorites so far. About the government experimenting with tulpa and possibly uncovering an ancient god.

Happy Meat Farms: Animal testing that causes severe deformities.

Hi I'm Mary Mary: A woman wakes up in a house with no exits. She then has to face her greatest fears.

Identity Test: A test on whether or not you can tell the difference between normal faces, and distorted ones.

Itch File: A diver touches a random creature that ejects a pus like substance on him with a virus. Severe trypophobia warning.

Koala Superdeep Borehole Incident: The deepest man-made hole has a bit of an unnerving find.

Local 58 Season One: A news station trying to report on the news, when a broadcast alert stating to not look at the moon is reported. Season two

Harmony and Horror: A VHS style of film. as you watch, you discover the oddities and mysteries of the toys tore.

Marble Hornets: You know what this is.

Mister Manticore: Asks you to memorize a picture before asking you to find the differences. Has quick fleshing images.

Midwest Angelica: A piece of an alien breaks away and onto Earth as it passes the exosphere. It quickly folds into horror beyond comprehension.

Monument Mythos Season One: In an alternate world, where the statues seem to be more than just simple monuments. Season Two Season Three

Omega Mart Ad Compilation: Adds that are attempting to be targeted towards humans. More silly and deranged than scary.

Raining Fire (EAS Snario): A EAS scenario of a mentor shower suddenly hailing Earth on Christmas Eve. Leading to event after event.

Surreal Broadcast: A news station with things happening in the background that are related to a cult. Season Two Season Three

Searching for the Five: Five men suddenly disappeared, only leaving behind a few clues.

Sinkhole: A very hungry sinkhole.

Stone Cold Series: Strange eyes have suddenly started to show up in the night.

The Anglers Trap: A guide on what to do when you encounter a tree called the anglers trap. Which lures in humans like an angler fish.

The Backrooms: Where it all started, I believe. The Backrooms are limital spaces.

The Children Under the House: A therapist tries to find out why a young girl has suddenly stopped talking. Her imaginary friends of course, know why.

The Mandela Catalogue: Hostile creatures called alternates (alters for short) that mimic humans, but don't do it quite right. It mixed Christianity and horror together.

The Oldest View: A man finds a random stairwell in a tree that leads miles down. It turns out it's an old mall. Made by the same man who created the Backrooms.

The Scrimblo Catalogue: A joke analog horror based off of a twitter meme. Part Two

The Smile Tapes: A new fungai releases spores that infect humans that causes the muscle in the faces to distort into a smile and causes hysteria.

The Swarm: Aggressive, hungry mosquitos created by a science project gone wrong.

The Quentin Sanders Tapes: A man named Quentin sanders goes to Foxwood university only to discover a eldritch monster.

The Walten Files: Possessed animatronics, one of the founder's family goes missing while the other conspired against them. And not to forget the possessed animatronics.

They Lie Above: Follows the story of a son of a missing farmer who was abducted by aliens, and Neil Armstrong. Who's memories were erased after encountering a alien space craft.

VibingLeaf: Three videos that have a early youtube "lost videos" esque style.

Vita Carnis: A guide on strange fauna and flora seemingly made entirely, out of meat.

White Door Opened: Set in Poland, monsters and strange red mist begins to spread. Of course it starts with humans messing with things they shouldn't mess with.

Winter of 83: Snowmen come to life, and they aren't happy.

-Did I miss any? Let me know! I'll try to keep this updated as I deeper and deeper, but I can't catch everything.

[idesofrevolution]

My Best Friend, the Ghost

It was the best feeling in the world. Picture this: a simple spread of the legs in the summer heat, sweat dripping from your forehead. You feel a cool, slick touch slide down your inner thigh. It feels almost slimy, though it leaves no residue as it inches toward your taint and ever closer to your rear. You gasp as it circles the tight hole, as if an expert were rimming you with their cold, wet tongue. Then, quickly, a gentle thrust. You feel it enter you, slithering slowly, intentionally. It begins to fill you, that frosty ooze spreading all throughout your body. Your breath is laboured, as you begin to contort and expand as it is overtaken, washed and inundated with this foreign substance bubbling beneath your skin. It pushes up your throat, choking you, taking the last of your breath away before it presses at the top palate of your mouth. It would feel almost like drowning, though your sensations only fire endorphin after endorphin of euphoria. Pressure builds as it presses harder and harder, until... pop. The hard palate gives way as it rushes and balloons into your head. Thoughts and stresses fade away, and you're left in a state of total ecstasy as your body begins to move on its own.

Fuckin' amazing, am I right? Well, guess what? I get that incomprehensible experience whenever the hell I want. Perks of living in a haunted apartment! Confused? Let me explain.

I moved to New Orleans a year ago, give or take a couple of months. I graduated college, and after testing out a couple of places that didn't really pan out for me, I landed in the cement swamp in the height of the summer. I'd just left Salt Lake City, so coming from the tepid air of Utah to the brick wall humidity of Louisiana was a lot. Yet, I was determined to make the best of this one. I'd secured a low-level office gig at a non-profit, and rented out a cheap two bedroom just outside the French Quarter. The house was one of those old shotgun-style places. It wasn't well maintained, frankly incomprehensibly so to be up to purpose for a tenant, though I was still paying an arm and a leg.

The first few nights, I didn't sleep super well. It was hot, I was sleeping on a hard air mattress, and the tall ceilings and old wooden floors made every little creak and groan of the house sound like some demonic entity moaning in the darkness just out of sight. At the time, I was resolved to believe such a rational theory. After all, ghosts aren't real. That recent college graduate sensibility: anything can be rationalized. Looking back, I scoff at what I thought I knew compared to what I know now. But that skeptic within me was what I relied on. It got me through my courses, it got me my job, it is what guided me through the insanity of life. So, as more peculiar occurrences began to happen, that is precisely the lens with which I saw the world.

When things started to go missing: my trusty running shoes, a pair of underwear, my gold chain, my laptop, even my keys, it was just me being forgetful. I took my Adderall and just ordered new things. I hunkered down and just focused on my work. When I heard scratching in the walls at night, footsteps down my hallway, quiet breaths echoing in the shadows... I was just sleep deprived, I took my Xanax and zonked myself out. Those dark shadows that crept around the corners just on the edge of my peripherals? Eye floaters, nothing more. Though, after about two weeks of just a miserable living experience, I finally experienced something I couldn't rationalize.

It was after a soul sucking day at the office, having spent all day sifting through piles of meaningless paperwork to the grating click clack of my coworkers silently typing on their keyboards like mindless drones. I'd gone into overtime that day, and after five or six cups of coffee, I can't say I was even remotely physically tired that evening. My mind, of course, was entirely devoid of functionality. Walking through my front door, tossing my keys in the little dish by the door, I collapsed onto my couch and just scrolled through Netflix, looking for nothing in particular. That's when I saw it. I'd turned to grab my vape pen from the side table, and my glance had grazed past the mirror which hung above my mantle. Floating behind me, clear as day in the mirror, was a figure. It was larger than I, big broad shoulders and pecs, tapering down to a narrow waist, flanked on either side by two muscled arms. It's face was chiseled and sharp, brows furrowed, golden eyes narrowed and full lips twisted in a mischievous smirk. It had no legs; rather, its body was condensed into a long whippy tail. Most notably, I would argue, was the... well... rather sizeable phallus which stood erect above it's navel, with two grapefruit sized balls hanging beneath it.

I sat frozen, unable to look away from it sizing me up in the mirror's reflection. All the other things I could make sense of in my head were obliterated at the sight of what was merely inches behind me, and inches above the floor. I finally found the strength to merely exhale, letting a soft billowing cloud of breath out of my mouth. It was the middle of June, and perhaps 91 Fahrenheit outside. It was impossible. Everything about what my eyes were seeing was impossible. As it began to creep toward me, I fully expected to spin around and like every haunted house movie of all time, there would be nothing there. Though as I whipped my head to look behind, no such luck. I was face to face with it. It was grinning as we were nose to nose. Bringing it's cool, ghostly hand to my cheek, it caressed it with the back of its fingers and winked at me.

"Hey there." It's voice boomed like a timpani, yet it's timbre was gravelly and suave. I couldn't help myself. In a primal state of panic, I shrieked a terrified scream. It didn't last long. The spirit seized the opportunity I was entirely unaware I had given it- quickly shoving it's head into my open mouth. The force by which it had taken me was overwhelming, though I suppose with it's sheer size, in retrospect it makes perfect sense. I was flung down into the cushions of the couch, as it pushed itself into me. I grasped at my throat, which was bulging from the thing which was now flooding down my gaping maw. I could hear it laugh from within me as it squeezed itself in, it's massive upper body condensing in on itself and slowly pushing deep into my gut. My stomach ballooned out, stretching as if it were rubber while it's tail whipped aimlessly against my face before it slipped between my lips.

This was the first time I felt the sensation. The euphoria. The cascading waterfall of endorphins as my body was contorting and stretching as the ghost slipped me on like a suit. I could feel it thrusting it's hands into my arms which expanded and stretched to accommodate the spirit's size. I could feel my chest burst through my shirt, with two jiggling pecs now engorged with it's essence. I could feel my thighs and calves swell with thick muscle, and my feet lengthen and explode through my socks. It was as if someone had taken a water hose and filled me like a balloon, and as I felt it's head rising up my throat one last time and slither into my head, I can't say I wasn't in the throws of intense and indescribable bliss. My eyes opened, I was no longer in the driver's seat.

"Ahhh fuck." It's voice boomed out of my mouth as I found my body moving of it's own accord. No, rather moving of his accord. I stood up, feeling my jiggling muscles slowly firm up and tighten as I walked to the mirror. The thing which wore me as a suit was checking itself out! It had my skin, my face, but otherwise I was unrecognizable. I was indeed approaching 6' 4", my jawline was square and chiseled, my arms as large as my head, my feet probably a size 16, and my... appendage? Let's just say he was now an anaconda snaking down my thigh, his hood restored and flanked on either side by an impressive bulbous sac. "Shit, that feels nice." My voice was soft like velvet, but frayed with a coarseness which tickled the mind like sandpaper. It stretched my muscles and cracked my neck and knuckles before finally bothering to introduce itself. "Name's Antoine, nice to meet ya." My hand slinked down to my member giving it a playful tug. "Actually, tonight, your name is Antoine too, baby." He smiled with my pearly white teeth, and it would be an outright lie to deny I was not eager to see what this Antoine would be using me to do that night. We sauntered over to my bedroom, tossing shirts and pants out of my drawers before he found some shorts and a tank top that fit my new musculature whatsoever. I had but only one pair of sandals that he could force my massive feet into, but neither he nor I could care less. As walked to the front door, and stepped out into the humid New Orleans air, he took a deep breath with my borrowed lungs, sighing in satisfaction. "Aight, my man. Let's see what kind of trouble we can get in tonight."

Thus began our mutual understanding. Our partnership. Frankly, our friendship. That night was one filled with club hopping across town, hitting dancefloors right and left, drinking outrageous amounts of liquor, grinding on sexy men with our tongue down their throats... None of which I would have ever experienced on my own. It was an entire world I knew nothing about, nothing I could have ever imagined myself doing, but with Antoine it seemed like second nature. After a night of debauchery and a tryst in some leather daddy's hotel room, he returned near the crack of dawn, collapsing onto my bed in a sweaty, swampy heap. He closed my eyes and almost immediately afterward I reopened them. The sun had risen, and peering at my phone, it was then 9 AM.

For a moment, I sat there and stared at the ceiling. I waited for my body to move on his command, though when it didn't, I whipped my sheets off to see that I had returned mostly to my former stature. I did note that I had grown ever so slightly. Perhaps his presence within me had left some residual effects on my body, a pleasant fact of which I did not mind whatsoever. I sat up, stretching my arms above my head, a wet warm musk wafting from my sweaty pits and steamy feet from the night before. For the first time, I found myself rather enjoying the scent... Where it once used to make me grimace with disgust, it now made me nearly salivate at the slightest tickle on my nose. I peered to the corner of the room, where now even in broad daylight I could see Antoine's spectral self floating above the floorboards, his arms crossed and his bright smile greeting me in the morning light.

We stared at eachother for a mere moment, before I smiled back at him. It didn't take words for us to understand what was to soon come to pass. Frankly, from then on, it was an unspoken pact. An inseparable bond, bound by an awakened hedonism and carnal desire. Starting that morning, our boys night out became a regular occurrence. I'd get home from work, exhausted and tired from a thankless day of grinding in the soulless office, and we would come up with a plan for the evening. He'd take his time slipping into me, knowing full well just how much I enjoyed each breathtaking second of it. In fact, we took a Saturday to go shopping for "night clothes" which would actually fit us when he was inside me.

Antoine was a bit of a casanova, able to make any person he met swoon with a single glance. The parade of men strutting the walk of shame out of my home every morning did not go unnoticed by my neighbors, not that they particularly seemed to care. It was the spirit of New Orleans, live every day like it's your last. That sentiment was instilled in me, along with a new attitude. I began to care less and less about this dead end job which had only gotten more and more unbearable as our relationship grew. My boss began to notice this as well. He noticed that my productivity had slipped, that I'd begun to come into work with more and more tattoos (which were admittedly against company policy), that my musky scent was becoming stronger and more apparent, that I'd become more casual and laid back, that I was trying to force myself into work clothes that were increasingly more and more revealing as my body grew toned and large. This, to him at least, was unacceptable. I don't entirely recall what it was that finally set him off, though I think it may have had something to do with me having my feet up on my desk as I took calls and the delicious pheromones to which my coworkers had taken a liking to. Something to do with my cubicle mate Daniel lapping up the pungent sweat from my socks beneath my desk as I worked. Couldn't say. Either way, it was the last straw for me.

It wasn't much of a loss, as my frequent appearances at the clubs, or rather my appearance altogether, which the bar owners had taken notice of. I had a line of bartending and gogo boy offers to take up in it's stead. Though, it wouldn't be enough to cover the rent on my own. Thus, we hatched a plan. A solution to both our issues: my financial one, and a more permanent solution for Antoine.

It was an average night in the French Quarter, we were behind the bar, and there before us appeared our solution sitting on a stool near the drink well. He was a tourist, a particularly needy and rude one at that. No friends, failing every attempt to snag the attention of our regular hustlers with his more than lacklustre personality. He was perfect. It wasn't difficult to play into his inflated ego, all it took was playing into his cringeworthy advances and unwelcomed touches before he was licking our pits and nipples, ready to head to our place. A lack of a tip was the final nail in the coffin, we were ready. The 'three' of us stumbled back to our apartment, and it took merely five minutes of making out before the drunken asshole had passed out in our bed.

Walking back into the living room, Antoine regurgitated himself out of me. Feeling him exit was always a bittersweet experience, euphoric in sensation but longing in sentiment. He floated in front of me, winking as he compressed himself under the door of our bedroom, slipping in with a quiet pop. Wiping the sweat from my brow, and taking a deep whiff of my dank sneaker like degenerate scent pig I'd become, I popped open a bottle of our nicer tequila to celebrate. As the yellow liquor began to pour into the glass, I heard the delightful sounds of possession begin to loudly bellow out from behind the closed door. A shriek, followed by squeaks and rubbery creaks atop elated moaning and gasping. Taking the two glasses, I meandered over to the couch, kicking my wafting, wet feet up onto the coffee table and grabbing the bong to pack a nice bowl.

The sounds of inflation and gargling, stretching skin and growing muscle were like candy to my ears, as I wondered what Antoine would look like. The guy was less than ideal before, though as a host, the sky was the limit to how gorgeous he was going to be. I lit the bowl, taking a deep drag before blowing an adequate cloud. Antoine's moans got louder and louder, his voice all the more recognizable as it progressed. One more puff from the bong and the sound of that final pop soared through the air. The house was silent apart from the heavy panting quietly emanating from the bedroom.

I sat there for a solid moment. He always was the master of the tease, knowing full well that I awaited his reveal. I could hear his chuckling before I heard the click of the lock on the door. Slowly, I stood up and walked to the bedroom door, pressing my ear against the wood. Nothing. I grabbed ahold of the doorknob with bated breath, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. The lights were on in the bedroom, and there in front of the mirror taking a selfie with his host's phone was my Antoine.

He was better than I ever could have imagined. That lanky, sad excuse for a man was long gone and in his stead stood the dreamiest hunk I'd ever set my eyes on. Our bodies were nearly identical in stature, as over the past several months he'd completely stretched me out to his own measurements. Though, his delicious golden eyes on that gorgeous, masculine face sent me over the edge. He was stacked, he was tall, he was caramel, he was packing down there, and he wafted that buttery, salty musk that made me drool. All he needed to do was to turn to me and wink in his new body and I felt myself harden.

"What's up, baby boy?" He flexed his massive arms, seductively licking his sweaty bicep for me. Let's just say that tequila and that bowl were still there the next day. We were rather preoccupied throughout the dawn, the morning, the afternoon, the evening... Endless hours of carnal pleasures and sensual overload. Simply washing the bedsheets of our intertwined cum imbued into the very threads of the fabric took longer than expected. I imagine you get the picture, so needless to say, such days were and continue to be frequent.

I suppose that brings us to today. As I sit here and write out how we got to this very moment, waiting for an Uber to take us to our honeymoon, I'll go ahead and mention that my former boss just walked by us, feigning pleasantries as if we were old buddies. Asking if now that I had a partner, I was finally ready to knuckle down and come back to work in a 'real job.' I turned to Antoine, he turned to me, and as we found our hands sliding toward eachother's growing bulges, basking in eachother's beguiling musk while my frump of an old boss indignantly watched, I flipped him the bird.

He stomped off, I doubt I'll ever see him again. Why should I need to? I have my man, I have our future, we have all the delicious men of this raunchy city to enjoy... What else can a guy ask for?