#is completely out of reach when most of us are denied work

[felassan]

Story elements, Campaign Map, and Garrus character sheet from the Mass Effect The Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz Rulebook [source]

bonus: move names of Garrus' and Wrex' that just made me happy :)

Text version of first three images under cut -

Opening blurb:

"In the year 2186, the civilizations of the galaxy are at war with a relentless, artificial enemy called the Reapers. Commander Shepard’s warnings of their arrival were all ignored, and now the Reapers have invaded the galaxy in force, crushing all resistance. Earth has fallen. Palaven, the turian homeworld, is under siege, and their military might barely holds the enemy at bay. The Reapers are pressing into the galaxy on all fronts, and it is only a matter of time before the races of Citadel Space are crushed beneath their onslaught. But there is still hope. Commander Shepard has assembled a crew of trusted allies aboard the Systems Alliance stealth frigate, the Normandy. They have the schematics for the mysterious Prothean superweapon, the Crucible, but constructing it alone will not be enough. Shepard and the Normandy crew are racing to forge alliances, build a unified front capable of defeating the Reapers before they overtake the galaxy and complete their harvest of all biological life. All the while, the insidious terrorist organisation Cerberus advances their own agenda of human supremacy at any cost, led by the mysterious Illusive Man and his army of ruthless operatives."

Note from Admiral Hackett:

"“Commander Shepard, Since you took out the Cerberus lab on Sanctum, N7 Special Forces have hit every other lab we could find. Cerberus has caught on and moved their research efforts off-world. They’ve retrofitted one of their cruisers as a mobile research facility and now keep it on the move. I’ve received reports of more abductions, like the one you stopped on Benning, and several refugee ships have unexpectedly dropped off the grid. Cerberus could be holding those abductees on that cruiser as hostages, or worse, as test subjects. Their latest hiding place was the storm above Hagalaz. Taking a page out of the Shadow Broker’s book, I suppose. We only found them because the cruiser appears to have suffered a massive systems failure and crashed on the night side of the planet. Although these nights are a lot longer than Earth’s, unfortunately it’s almost morning and daybreak will bring the most powerful storm on the other side of the Attican Traverse. The Normandy is the only Alliance ship in range. I need you to see what Cerberus was up to. Interference from the storm is degrading comms, so there’s no way Cerberus can get their research off-planet except by portable data transfer. We have recovery assets on the way, but they won’t arrive until after the storm hits and tears that ship to pieces. Shepard, your orders are: Whatever you do, keep that research data out of Cerberus’ hands. When the storm is over, I don’t want them to recover their work from the wreckage. Denying them those assets will be a major blow. Retrieve the research if possible, or destroy it if there’s no other choice. Alternatively, find a way to fortify the ship until the fleet arrives. If you find prisoners along the way, get them out of there. The storm is coming, Shepard. Get it done.” – Admiral Hackett"

Note from EDI:

"“Shepard, analysis of the crashed cruiser has isolated three primary objectives. The reactor, the research data core, and the kinetic barrier generator. You only have time to reach one of those before the storm arrives. Accessing the data core will allow us to steal Cerberus’ research, but they could salvage the ship’s wreckage after the storm has passed. Overloading the reactors will destroy the ship – and all hope of any data recovery or salvage. I am also detecting signs of the captives Admiral Hackett mentioned. By diverting power from the research core, you can boost the ship’s kinetic barriers long enough to preserve it and protect the prisoners until the Alliance arrives. However, if you do this, the data banks will be lost. The storm is only a few hours away, Shepard. I recommend moving fast. Displaying potential routes to each objective. The mission is yours.” – EDI"

[razzek]

I waaaaant but even with a grant I'd still have to make about $2k appear out of nowhere. ;_;

[heritageposts]

From the Freedom Flotilla, April 27 2024:

On Thursday afternoon, the Freedom Flotilla Coalition was contacted by the Guinea Bissau International Ships Registry (GBISR), requesting an inspection of our lead ship – Akdenez. This was a highly unusual request as our ship had already passed all required inspections; nevertheless, we agreed. The inspector arrived on Thursday evening. On Friday afternoon, before the inspection was completed, the GBISR, in a blatantly political move, informed the Freedom Flotilla Coalition that it had withdrawn the Guinea Bissau flag from two of the Freedom Flotilla’s ships, one of which is our cargo ship, already loaded with over 5000 tons of life-saving aid for the Palestinians of Gaza. In its communication informing us of this cancelation, the GBISR made specific reference to our planned mission to Gaza. It also made several extraordinary requests for information, including confirmation of the ships’ destination, any potential additional port calls, and the discharge port for humanitarian aid and estimated arrival dates and times. It further demanded a formal letter explicitly approving the transportation of humanitarian aid and a complete manifest of the cargo. Again, this is a highly unusual move from a flagging authority. Normally, national flagging authorities concern themselves only with safety and related standards on vessels bearing their flag, and are not concerned with the destination, route, cargo manifests or the nature of a specific voyage. Just like when you register your car, the authorities don’t require you to detail to them every place you are going to go with the car. Sadly, Guinea-Bissau has allowed itself to become complicit in Israel’s deliberate starvation, illegal siege and genocide of Palestinians in Gaza. Israel is showing the world the extent to which it will go to deny Palestinians the aid they need to stay alive, in direct contravention of International Humanitarian Law, UN Security Council resolutions, and two orders of the International Court of Justice. [...] without a flag, we cannot sail. But, this is not the end. Israel cannot and will not crush our resolve to break its illegal siege and reach the people of Gaza. The people of Gaza and all of Palestine remain steadfast under the most horrific, unimaginable conditions. We take strength from their incredible, inexplicable ability to maintain their humanity, dignity and hope when the world has given them no reason to do so. It is our responsibility to keep that hope alive. WE WILL SAIL.

The Freedom Flotilla, which was set to depart from Turkey on the 27th of April with 5000 tons of life-saving aid, has now been delayed because Israel and the United States has pressured Guinea Bissau to withdraw its flag from the Flotilla's lead ship.

Seeing as how their tactics worked on Guinea Bissau, organizers now fear that Israel and the US will exert the same pressure on whichever country the Freedom Flotilla attempt to register their ship under next.

To help the Freedom Flotilla reach Gaza, please keep an eye out for further updates from the organizers. Right now, as of April 27th, they're asking people to help boost their visibility, and to donate to their member campaigns.

For more info, see their webpage.

[sceletaflores]

slippery when wet!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: “so who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank. a shocked laugh bursts from your lips. “what?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “me or art? don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than i do.”

—or: patrick puts you in your place three months later.

word count: 4.3k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, p in v, fighting as foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), rough sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (m!receiving), fingering...kinda (fem!receiving), very light spanking, choking, degradation, creampie, throat fucking, mean!reader my beloved, art donaldson is there in spirit, patrick is gay for art, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: no one can stop me from writing rough sex patrick fics. it's all i think about 24/7, and you guys are no help but like i love it so it's fine. i'm here to serve you and this is clearly what you want so who am i to deny you that? thank you to the beautiful anon who requested this, i hope you don't mind that i changed it from a locker room scene to a bathroom scene but that was just calling to me hehe. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.

psst! tftw series masterlist!

You’ve been on the court for at least an hour and a half, running drills and trying to sweat out all of your stress. You were the only one in the building, but it was always less busy during finals week. Most people were camped out in their dorms cramming for fifty question tests or four part lab practicals. 

Art politely declined your invite, too busy studying for his business final on Monday. So you rented a tennis machine and worked on your backhand that way. It was a nice distraction, emptying your head enough that all the anxiety of finals started to melt away as you slid into a steady rhythm with the machine.

The door bangs open with a loud creak behind you, bursting the little bubble of tranquility surrounding you. The back of your head burns with the unmistakable feeling of someone glaring at you.

You hear him before you see him, a loud call of your name followed by heavy footsteps quickly coming towards you. The sound of his voice immediately grates on your nerves, all angry and shouty. You choose to ignore it, focusing on hitting each new ball the machine spits out.

It may have been a couple months since you’ve seen Patrick, but you’d always recognize the familiar way his voice wraps around each syllable in your name.

Three months, to be exact. It’s been three months since your big fight over the phone with Patrick. You blocked his number right after you hung up, so you haven’t spoken to him in just as long. He never tried to reach out, never messaged you on AOL or Facebook. The petty fuck actually went out of his way to unfriend you on both, so you knew he wasn’t exactly torn up about your abrupt split. 

“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Patrick shouts over the loud humming, sounding closer to you than he was before. You pointedly keep ignoring him, eyes fixed stubbornly on the machine. “You deaf or something?” he mocks, stepping up so you can see him in your peripheral vision. You say nothing, swinging your racket harder with each hit.

Patrick scoffs, stomping over to the machine and slamming his hand over the stop button. It makes a loud beeping sound, before shutting off completely. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking baby.” you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance. When you finally turn to glare at him, you’re shocked at the state he’s in.

Patrick’s dressed in a tank and the almost too short shorts he’d usually wear to a match, and he’s dripping sweat. Curly black hair plastered to his forehead with it, his cheeks red and blotchy like he’d been in the sun. You raise your brow, looking at him with a confused expression on your face. “Where the hell did you even come from? How did you know I was here?” 

He walks back over to you, hands balled into fists by his side. “I was at a tournament in Mountain View,” he explains, jerking his head in the vague direction he came from, ”it was so close I thought it’d be wrong of me to not stop by and check up on you.”

You laugh, nodding your head lightly. “Okay, so you flunked out of another tournament and hunted me down like a creepy stalker to what? Yell at me some more? Call me a cunt again?” you step closer, lightly swishing your racket through the air dismissively. “I’m not fucking interested in whatever it is you have to say Patrick, we’re over.”

He smirks but you can see the way his jaw clenches, ticking in anger. “But you’re interested in what Art has to say?”

There it is. You really should have known it would all come back to this eventually.

You sigh, casting your eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “What’s your point?”

Patrick takes a step closer. “My point is that you’re not fucking stupid, and Art can’t lie to save his goddamn life. You knew exactly what he was doing.” His tone is accusatory, his brows pinched together hard enough to crease his skin. 

Your heart beat picks up in your chest, anger beginning to bubble up inside you. “I didn’t need Art’s help to realize that you’re an arrogant piece of shit and a gigantic waste of my time, you made it easy enough to pick up on all by yourself.”

Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “No, you just didn’t care.” he states darkly, shaking his head back and forth a few times. You can feel a few drops of sweat fling from his hair to land on the bare skin of your shoulders as he does. “You’re so easy that you’d spread your legs from him to stroke your own ego. You’re only playing into his whole kicked puppy charade to justify acting like a fucking whore, ‘Poor Art, he’s so sad and pathetic, I’ll let him fuck my slutty pussy to help his raise his self esteem!’.” He mocks, voice pitched up in an exaggerated impression of you.

Your grip tightens on the handle of your racket, knuckles turning white with it. You feel hot all over, anger simmering under your sweaty skin. “You’re seriously trying to lecture me about egos? This has nothing to do with Art! This is about you being a bratty little rich boy who’s never been told ‘no’ before so you can’t handle rejection. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

Patrick nostrils flare, brows pinching together in anger. “Art has nothing to do with this, really? You’re delusional if you actually think that he’s just this saint among men or some shit. He’s not, he’s a fucking snake.”

“Trust me, Art doesn’t have to be a saint to be better than you.” you sneer, voice sharp and unwavering. Your hands are shaking, blind rage racking through your body like thunder. “The only redeeming quality you’ll ever have is dangling between your legs so you better get used to this, because sooner or later everyone will leave you once they see past all your bullshit and realize that you’re nothing more than a worthless loser.”

Patrick’s jaw works furiously, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. You think something like hurt flashes through his eyes, but only for a second. It's gone just as fast, replaced by a mocking smirk that stretches over his lips slowly. He crosses his arms in front of him, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“So who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank.

A shocked laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. “What?” you ask, arms dropping to your sides limply. The completely one-eighty of his mood sends your head reeling. 

Patrick takes another step closer, invading your personal space. “Who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “Me or Art? Don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than I do.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, everything is always a dick measuring contest with you. It’s so pathetic like, seriously–”

“Answer the question.” Patrick demands, cutting you off sharply. He’s practically looming over you now, so close that you can smell him. That natural, manly, musky scent he always has after a game that drives you fucking crazy. 

It reminds you of when he’d come back to your dorm fresh off a match, still in the same clothes and not showered. Pumped full of adrenaline and so pent up, needing something to take his energy out on. You were always that something. He’d fuck your mouth like he’d fuck your pussy, like it was just another hole for him drain his balls into. You’d be face down in his crotch for what seemed like hours, right where his smell was the strongest. Forced to breathe it in so deeply you’d feel high off it, your brain turned to mush every time.

Heat swirls deep in your stomach, you haven’t been this close to Patrick in what seems like forever. You kind of forgot how much he affects you, especially like this. The sex was always better when you’d fight before.

“You’re a child.”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

You huff, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s a sort of crazed look on his face, his pupils blown out and dark. It makes you pause, it’s the look you’d get right before he’d pounce on you. You’ve seen it enough times to know that something is different about it. He looks needier, more hungry. 

It has some of your anger subsiding, twisted amusement swiftly taking its place. If Patrick wants to ambush you like this, after weeks of radio silence, you might as well use it as a chance to fuck with him.

You smirk, cocking your head to the side slightly. “Art,” you say slowly, taking a small step towards Patrick, “is a better fuck than you ever were.”

Patrick pouts like an honest to God child, sticking out his bottom lip in indignation. “I told you not to lie–”

“I’m not lying,” you say innocently, voice dropping down to a whisper as you lean in even closer. You can see the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, darker than usual thanks to all the sun he’s been getting. “Last night he ate me out for hours, made me squirt all over his fucking tongue.” 

For the first time since you’ve met him, Patrick Zweig is shocked into silence. His eyes darken, you can’t even see the green anymore, the solid black of his pupils swallowing it entirely. “Bullshit,” he says quietly, clipped and skeptical. His breath fans hotly over your lips, it makes your spine start to tingle.

You smile sweetly, giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “I’ll send you the video.”

Patrick physically reels back, blinking slowly with the realization of what you just said. His lips barely part in surprise, pink and enticing. You revel in it, smirking at him smugly. His eyes flit across your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying or not. You stare back at him unrelenting, all the proof you need is sitting in the video gallery of your pink motorola razr. 

Patrick swallows hard, you watch the way his adam’s apple bobs with it. He shifts his lower body subtly, but you’re too close to not notice it. Your eyes immediately dart down, and you’re almost giddy at what you find. 

He’s hard, the fabric of his shorts stretched over the length of his dick obscenely. You can see the faint outline of the tip pressing against the seam, a wet patch seeping through the gray material around it.

“Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this!” you laugh wickedly, eyes glued to the lewd tent of his dick. “You’re calling me a whore when you’re the one getting wet just thinking about your best friend's mouth on my pussy. That’s fucking pathetic even for you, Ricky.”

Patrick is silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stares you down so intensely you can almost feel the heavy weight of his eyes as they bore into you. 

It happens in less than a second, Patrick closing the distance between you and taking your arm in his strong hand so he can force you in the direction of the showers. His grip is tight on your bicep, fingers meanly digging into your skin and forcing you to walk with him. You put up a fight, kicking and scratching but he’s stronger than you. Not letting your slaps to his chest or nails sinking into his arm deter him from dragging you across the court. 

“Let me go asshole!” you snap, trying in vain to yank your arm out of his grip while you stumble over your own feet. “You’re such a fucking psycho!” Patrick ignores you, bursting into the men's showers and marching you into the first stall. He drags you inside, whirling you around to shove your back against the door of it roughly. It knocks the wind out of you for a second, the lock digs into your back hard enough to hurt.

“Art doesn’t have any fucking idea how to deal with a bitch like you.” he grates, fisting a handful of your harshly. “He’s too soft. Too busy letting you lead him around by his dick to try putting you in your fucking place.”

The sting of your scalp only adds to the warmth pulsing in your pussy, sticky arousal dripping wet in your panties. You meet his eyes, all the fire and want swirling in them mirror your own. “Art has a bigger dick than you bitch.” You spit, standing on your tiptoes to lessen the distance of him tugging on your hair. It’s a low blow, immature and basic but you don’t care.

Patrick just hum noncommittally, roughly hooking his fingers into your cheeks and dragging you forward until the tip of your nose is touching his. “Then your throat is still nice and stretched out for me.”

He drops his hands to your shoulders, forcing you onto your knees. You hit the ground with a heavy thud, a dull ache blooms in your knees at the force of it. “Fuck,” you hiss, pulling back instinctively but the hard plastic of the shower door pressing onto the back of your head keeps you pinned in place. Your hands fly up to his legs to try and push him away.

Patrick grips your hair tight, tipping your face up to look at him. You have a perfect view of him pushing his shorts down, letting his hard dick slip out as the fabric stretches taught across his thick thighs. “Open your mouth,” he demands, yanking your head to the side meanly.

“Fuck you,” you snarl, teeth bared in anger as you fight to stand up. Patrick’s strong hand on your shoulder keeps you down while the other starts to idly stroke his dick. He’s just as big as you remember, thick and hard only a few inches away from your face. The tip all red and weepy when he pulls his foreskin back on each tug, a thick vein running up the side that you want to trace with your tongue.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he coos softly, rubbing his leaking tip across your bottom lip a couple times, smearing his pre-come around your mouth like lip gloss. “We both know you love it.”

He’s so cocky, so sure of himself that you want to keep denying him. But he’s also right, you can feel your resolve slowly start to crack when he pushes the head between your parted lips. The familiar heady taste of him oozing onto your tongue has you sighing contently, jaw relaxing the tiniest bit almost like a reflex.

The second you give Patrick an inch and he’ll take a mile. 

“There we go,” he mutters sweetly, pulling back slightly and then thrusting forward until your nose is buried in the short curls at the base. 

Your whole body tenses, throat constricting over the length of his dick as your fist his shorts in your hands. As quickly as he thrust in, he pulls out, letting you sharply gasp for air before it’s back and pressing insistently on your tongue. You let him in, forcing your throat to relax as he slides forward to press his hips into your face.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he bites out, thrusting down your throat roughly. “Pussy’s so greedy it jumped on the next dick that perked up around it.”

You could only whine around Patrick’s dick, mouth too full to do anything but try and work your tongue over the throbbing length of him. Your throat burns, spit flowing down your chin messily along with his pre-come still steadily leaking from the hot tip of his dick. His big hands have an iron grip on either side of your head, his balls slap against your chin as he thrusts over and over and over. The back of your skull throbs, knocking into the stall with each pump of his hips.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead down to the stall with a small thunk. “You look so good like this,” he breathes, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes, “so fucking pretty with my dick down your throat to shut you up.” You glace up to meet his gaze, 

Your pussy aches, so empty that you want to shove your hand down your shorts and stuff yourself full of your own fingers to dull the need. Your thighs glide together slickly, the wetness of your arousal soaking through your clothes.

It gets harder to breathe. Your choked off, spluttering gags start loudly echoing off the tile walls. Your hand slaps Patrick’s thigh a few times, he thrusts hard once more before he finally pulls back, smearing spit all over your tongue and out of your mouth.

“God, that was good baby.” he praises, slapping his dick against your right cheek lewdly. “As much as I want to pump this load down your throat,” he says casually, stroking his spit slick dick lazily, ”I want it in your pussy more.”

“I fucking hate you,” you growl weakly, voice absolutley wrecked. The tears sitting in your waterline blur your vision, you blink them away to see Patrick’s smug smile beaming down at you. 

“Then tell me to stop,” he shrugs, tilting his head to the side condescendingly. You glare up at him, but you don’t say anything. He snorts, brow raising in amusement. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

He shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, stepping out of them and hauling you up to your feet. You’re still desperately trying to catch your breath, chest heaving as you cough and gasp. Patrick rips your shirt over your head, flinging it over the stall along with his own. He turns you by your shoulder, pushing you against the wall as he yanks the shower handle to start the stream.

Water rains down around you, shockingly cold for a few seconds before it finally starts to warm up. Patrick makes quick work of your shorts and panites, yanking them down your legs and off your feet, tossing them in the corner of the stall with a wet thwack. He kicks your feet further apart, one hand on your shoulder and the other lining his hard dick up with your tight hole, letting the leaking tip press into you with the smallest amount of pressure.

“I know you missed my dick slut,” he says, bringing his hand down on your ass quickly, kneading the stinging skin roughly. “Art could be the best fuck in the world, he still can’t give it to you like I can.” He pops the head in, groaning quietly before he bullies his thick dick the rest of the way into you.

Your hole shakes around him. Patick is right. Patrick is always right, but you’d never tell him that. You wanted this. You missed this. The burn of Patrick’s dick forcing you open, stretching you so wide your toes curl. Him not giving you even a second to react before he’s pulling back and pounding into you brutally.

You cry out, eyes screwing shut at the sharp sting. You can tell through the haze of you brain that this won’t take long at all, the both of you already so worked up from Patrick fucking your throat. His right hand drops from your shoulder to your hip while his left slides up your torso, sliding along your skin to wrap around the column of your throat firmly. You keen loudly, throwing your head back to give him more room.

“I taught him how to use that fucking dick,” he goads into your ear, grip tightening on your throat. “Did he tell you about that? Huh?” He takes your earlobe between your teeth, biting hard enough to make you squeal into the wall. The title digs into your cheek, roughly scraping against your skin every time Patrick fucks back into you. 

You’re hovering over the edge, pussy throbbing with the burning need to come. Your clit pulses, swollen and sensitive but you can’t find the strength to drop your down hand between your thighs. They’re too busy scrambling for any kind of purchase on the slippery wall of the shower, manicured nails scratching against the tile uselessly.

You gasp for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his hand, “I could tell,” you choke out, barely audible, “you both fuck like you have something to prove.”

“You think?” he sneers, thrusting harder, your ass stinging each time he slams his hips into you. “Maybe that’s because we do. Maybe that’s because we both like seeing you fucking fall apart like this, seeing you beg for it after you finally stop being a little pissy bitch.” 

Your breath hitches as his other hand drops from your hip, delving between your thighs to slide the calloused pads of his fingertips over your swollen clit. You moan, thighs clenching together as he rubs fast circles over you. “You like that, don’t you? Being used like a fucking toy.” His hand squeezes just a bit tighter. “Say it. Tell me you love being our little slut.”

The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, a mix of desperation and raw honesty, “I love it,” you cry out as loud as you can, “I love being your slut.”

“God, you sound just like him,” Patrick chuckles into your ear, low and sinister. His hold on your throat tightens, cutting off your air entirely. You sputter, hand coming up to clutch his wrist like a vice. Your pulse thunders, hard enough that he can probably feel it against his palm. “Who do you think made him come harder?”

The image alone of Patrick and Art like that sends you flying to the edge. “Ah— Patrick! ” you moan, voice hoarse and strained, “Pat, I’m gonna— fuck—“

“Do it,” he goads, sliding his hand from your clit down to where your pussy is spread open on him. He pushes his thick index finger right up next to his pulsing dick, hooking it inside or you and stretching you that much wider. “Come on my fucking dick like the greedy whore you are.”

You let out a sharp cry as your forehead hits the wall, thighs shaking violently as Patrick’s hips become relentless. Your whole body tensing up as you come so hard your vision blacks out. You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to hear anything over the white noise buzzing in your ears. Patrick’s hips don’t stop, fucking your abused pussy into overstimulation as he chases his own orgasm. His hand drops from your throat to dig into your hip to put more power behind his thrusts. You’re immediately gasping for air, taking in greedy lungfuls of it.

Patrick’s chest is plastered to your back, face buried in your neck as he rambles out more nonsensical obscenities. His dick pulses and twitches in your pussy, so close to filling you up.

An idea pierces through the fog of your brain, an idea so fucking filthy it has your pussy clenching weakly. You think back to the first night Art fucked you, how he almost came all over Patrick’s pants just because they were his, just because you said his name. How worked up and hard Patrick got when you started talking about Art. 

“When he fucked me for the first time, I was wearing your sweats, the green ones,” your voice is scratchy and quiet, barely audible over the shower’s spray, “he noticed.”

“Fuck– fuck you,” he grates out, hips faltering ever so slightly. “God, gonna come,” his hold on your hip tightens, strong enough that it’ll be sure to bruise.

You keep talking, spurred on by his reaction. “He almost came right there, he wasn’t even inside me yet, just rubbed his dick all over them like he could fucking feel you.”

Patrick gives one final slam of his hips, burying himself as deep as he can in your pussy. His low groans and curses fill the room as he unloads into you, pumping you so full of his come that you can feel each hot splash of it painting the walls of your pussy. 

He slumps down against you, hips twitching as he works through the aftershocks. You can feel his breath puff over the shell of your ear. 

You and Patrick say nothing for a long few minutes, running water the only thing to keep the room from being completely silent. Patrick is still pressed to your back, his chest heaves against your shoulders. You think you’d collapse if his hands weren’t still on your hips, practically holding you up.

You’re the one to break the silence, voice low and wrecked, “Art lasts so much longer than that…”

Patrick snorts against your back. “Fuck you.” he says, biting your shoulder hard and pulling his dick out of you in one swift move. You gasp sharply as his come floods from your puffy, wrecked hole. Thick streams of it dripping down your thighs until the water washes it away to swirl down the drain. 

You turn on unsteady legs, hair plastered to your face with water. Patrick is right there, knees knocking against yours as he shifts the two of you closer to the spray. He looks like a marble statue, water dripping down the tip of his nose and between the hard planes of his abs. He grins smugly down at you, “I’m staying at a hotel close to campus, unblock my number and I’ll send you my room number,” he wagers, hands sliding up and down the wet skin of your back. “I think you, Art, and I have something we need to work out.”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding your head with a small grin. “I think we do”

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[killuintense]

leon and his lazy touches !

it's usually quite common to be in that position with Leon when you're both in bed. after a long day of work, both on his part and yours, you both end up lazily lying in bed not wanting to do much, just with your social battery completely discharged looking for silent company with each other with your bodies glued together providing warmth to each other.

this was more common than it seemed: him on his cell phone scrolling through the latest news, or memes with really bad jokes that made him giggle, and you watching silly relaxing videos on your cell phone. every once in a while one of you would leave the silence and show the other the cell phone. "oh my god, look at this video..." you'd say, or he'd put the phone in front of your face while laughing like a fool at some meme he got from the most neglected social network on the internet (facebook, from a group of older wives, all complaining about their husbands) but apparently that was the epitome of comedy for your boyfriend. and you sometimes made fun of him, or laughed more because of that complicity he had with you to show you anything and bother you, hiding in your neck while you made fun of his poor taste for humor. sometimes he would pout falsely and you would let him, ending up letting go of your cell phone and placing it on your chest to gently cuddle his hair until he fell asleep.

sometimes he was too immersed reading news on his cell phone, any shit about the current politics of the country, or about news from all over the world about the rulings of justice and those things that he was already so used to but that, beyond that, was what he was dedicated to and interested in. that's why he didn't notice the little tricks he had when his mind was wandering in another dimension. like he inevitably sought to be the big spoon, at all costs. he would hog your whole body with his body sticking his chest to your back as you cowered and followed without paying much attention to him. sometimes his free hand is on your butt, he loves to squeeze something while he's focused on something else, and sometimes your butt became his favorite stim toy. when that stops being enough, he reaches for your boobs.

you giggle, it's quite tender because it's not a sexual touch, at least not at that moment, but he does need to fondle them, knead them, gently scratch the moldable skin of your breasts and that relaxes you, you're not going to lie. it even makes you let out soft giggles when he puts down his cell phone and starts his light chats of what you did in the day... and his hand is still there. almost like marking territory with gentle squeezes that you let be, you know that was something he loved and relaxed him, and in your eyes, he deserved every little thing from you, just as you did from him. you couldn't deny it, especially when he squeezed your chest again and again under your shirt making you laugh while he kept chattering about his job. only then did he realize it and apologize, but he blatantly kept his hand. "it's just that they're soft..." he excused himself, kissing your hair and sinking into it enthusiastically.

your whole body was his temple of rest, he couldn't simply rest in bed if he didn't have you by his side. it was no use if he couldn't touch you, feel you, kiss you every time he wanted to. there was no need for them to talk, each one would be in his own little world for a while, but that habit of having your body next to him he would love for the rest of his life. because thanks to you, he can rest.

[everyonewooeverywhere]

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ dom!yunho x f!reader

synopsis ✭ yunho loves you to the moon and back, but god if he doesn't love to make you cry.

content/genre ✭ smut 18+ MDNI

word count ✭ 1.5k

warnings ✭ smut, unprotected sex, choking, dacryphilia, slight degradation, yunho's a bit mean and condescending

notes ✭ i perhaps had way too much fun writing this, but i hope you enjoy it anyway.

thank you to my angels who read this ahead of time ( @beenbaanbuun, @ateez-main-yapper & @wooyoungmybelovedhusband ) and helped me edit it! sending you kisses 😚

✭✭✭✭

“You look so pretty like this, baby,” he breathed in your ear.

He had you exactly where he wanted you. Writhing in his lap, gripping his dress shirt for dear life as he pushed his fingers deeper inside of you. Your wet cunt left his hand an absolute mess as he curled his fingers where he knew you would feel it the most. 

“So so pretty,” he brushed the hair out of your face with his free hand and kissed your forehead. Your eyes fluttered at the feeling of his lips.

A soft whimper rose from your throat, “Yu…”

Oh, how he loved to see you like this. So fucked out on your own pleasure that he was giving you with only three of his fingers. He fucking loved knowing that the only thoughts in your pretty head were how much you needed him to keep going. Everything about you was so perfect. From the way you gasped every time he hit your sweet spot. To the way you could never keep quiet when he was giving you what you wanted. 

He couldn’t help but shut you up sometimes, though. “Open up,” he demanded, tapping your kiss-swollen lips with two fingers. You did as he said and let his fingers slip past your lips. He pushed them back far enough for a brief moment to hear you gag on them. He smiled, “Good girl.”

Yunho was so intuned with your body’s reactions to his touch that he could tell you were on the edge. Your legs shook as you reached your high. The bubble in your stomach threatened to burst. Your whole body ran hot as he worked you closer and closer

“Oh? Do you wanna cum?” he asked so condescendingly. His tone was so degrading that it made your heart flutter. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth.

You nodded frantically, pulling yourself closer into his chest, “Y-yes! Please! ‘m so close…” Your legs shook more violently, and you were right there on the edge when he pulled his fingers away.

Your head fell forward into the crook of his neck, “Please Yu, I’ve been so good.” You cried with your face pressed into his skin.

He tangled his hand in your hair and yanked your head back. The base of your scalp stung as he kept his grip strong.

Hot tears fell from your eyes. Yunho felt his cock twitch at the sight.

“Oh no,” he consoled in the most insincere manner that he could manage, “Why are you crying baby?”

He watched intently as your tears rolled down your cheeks and your neck. He couldn’t help himself when he leaned in to lick them off your cheek. His tongue was hot against your skin, and he felt your throat vibrate in a low moan at the feeling of it. 

“Were you close?” He whispered in your ear, his lips and tongue brushing the skin. You tried to nod, but his grip on your hair kept your head pulled back. “I’m sorry, angel. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that.” A lie.

You whimpered and rolled your hips, doing everything you could to give yourself some semblance of relief. Nothing could stop your tears from falling faster when you couldn’t get any. 

He let go of your hair and wiped a tear with his thumb. He pulled you into a kiss, a kiss so much softer than anything he had given you this whole time. “Don’t cry. I’m here.” He mumbled on your lips. He didn’t mean it, of course. He loved seeing you cry. Fuck, he needed to see you cry. He adored the way you couldn’t stop once you started. Whether it be from denying your orgasm over and over again or overstimulating you until you went completely numb, your tears were what got him off.

It used to be something he was ashamed of. Watching you cry over stress at work or seeing you sob about a character's death in a movie. All of it would turn him on so much. He wanted to comfort you and tell you it was gonna be ok. But he also craved your tears. You eventually caught on. Of course, you did. It was a little hard to miss how he popped a boner every time you were brought to tears.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it as much as he did. 

He lifted you off his lap and laid you on the bed, resting your head on his pillows. They smelt exactly like him, and you couldn’t help but inhale the scent. After discarding his clothes he crawled over you. 

The way you looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks made him groan. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he kissed the base of your neck. 

“You ready, love?” You nodded with ragged breaths.

Slowly, he pushed into you. You moaned, loud, at the feeling of him stretching you out. 

He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his own noises at bay, but he couldn’t help the involuntary groan that rose out of him when you tightened around him. 

It took no time at all for his fingers to find your neck. He softly brushed your skin as he thrust into you. Slowly. So painfully slow.

The hand on your neck tightened with each thrust. You felt lightheaded as leaned closer to your face. When you gripped his wrist, digging your nails into the skin, he smirked and pressed his forehead to yours. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” You let out a broken whimper. He chuckled, “Take a deep breath, maybe you’ll feel better.”

Your tears fell once again, and you could feel him twitch inside of you at the sight. “That’s it, baby. Cry for me.”

He lost control completely when your tears fell harder. His hips lost all sense of rhythm. He thrust into your dripping pussy with his only goal to fuck you into oblivion.

“God fucking dammit, angel,” he grunted, “I’m close.”

You were too, and he knew it. Your face grew hotter and hotter, and your grip on his wrist only tightened as he chase his own high.

“S-shit,” he was almost there, “Keep crying, baby. You can do that for me, yeah?” There was no need to ask. You had no control over the tears anyway as they fell in hot streams down your face. 

You were so fucking close. You could feel the pressure building as his thrusts lost even more control, “Yun-yunho,” his name came out in a broken moan as you came. Hard. Your legs shaking so uncontrollably that he had to brace one of them to his hip.

He followed close behind you. Finally releasing his grip on your throat when he came. You took a deep breath as he virtually collapsed next to you. 

Pulling you into his chest, he spoke softly, “You good, sweetheart?”

You nodded, closing your eyes and leaning fully into his chest, “Mhm.”

He held you in his arms for several minutes. Letting you ground yourself in the sound of his heartbeat. He ran his hands through your hair, detangling the strands with his fingers. It felt so good to have him care for you like that. Making sure that, even after he mocked and degraded you, you knew that he loved and cherished you.

“Yu…” you poked his chest.

“Yes, love?”

“I love you.”

He smiled and kissed your forehead, “I love you, too, baby. More than anything.”

The two of you lay in silence. Listening to each other's breathing. His chest rose and fell against your cheek. It was so calm. Your eyes fluttered from exhaustion, and you were on the brink of sleep until you heard Yunho’s stomach growl. Loud.

Your laugh turned into a snort as you slapped his chest, “Seriously?” 

“Sorry,” he smacked the back of your thigh in playful retaliation, “I’m hungry.” He grinned down at you. “Do you want me to make dinner?” 

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn’t help but laugh at him, “You’re gonna make dinner?”

“Hey! Have some faith in me.”

“Baby, I love you so so much, but I think we should just order food.”

He looked mildly offended, “You don’t like my cooking?”

“You’re cooking is fine, but I don’t wanna wait three hours for you to make something.”

Huffing, he sat up a little to grab his phone off the nightstand, “What are you feeling?”

You shrugged and pulled him back down onto the bed, crawling over him. Straddling his lap and laying on his chest, “You decide.”

He nodded and started playing with your hair once again, “Alright, but don’t complain if I get something you don’t like.”

“Choose carefully. I might cry if you pick something bad,” You teased.

He pinched your side and shook his head, “Don’t give me any ideas.”

[havensins]

Peter's bf having symbiote like abilities and using the tentacles to hold peter as you fuck him and using a tentacle to help dp hom

peter parker x symbiote!m!reader

cw. sub!peter, dom!reader, does this count as tentacle fucking?, masturbation, peter is extremely needy, double penetration.

note. i did notttt mean to turn this into a full fic 😭. not proofread!

peter finds it incredibly hot that you even have those abilities and as you show him just how much you could really do with your own symbiote, he found it hard to keep his thoughts neutral.

he’d find himself zoning out and thinking about of it would feel for you to hold him down with the extra appendages. he thought about how it would feel, maybe for one of your tendrils to slide down to his hole as you’re fucking him… maybe even push in alongside your cock..

peter believed he had never been so horny in his life. the pressure and buildup was beginning to become too much, and he pursued the only option he felt like he had.

he lay in bed, pants and underwear pushed sloppily to his thighs. his legs were perched up a little for easier access to his hole. he was quick and disorganized in his movements, popping the cap on a bottle of lube and drizzling the contents over his fingers.

he held his shirt up with his teeth as he reached down and pressed past his tight ring of muscle. his mouth parts as a whine escapes; his fingers were no where near as fulfilling as yours but he’d just have to make due.

he fists his cock with vigor, fingers pumping in and out and making a wet squelch sound around the room. he hadn’t a care in the world as he moaned out freely, whining and trembling.

“peter…” you tsked, and his eyes blinked open. making your way towards him, he only slows the movement of his hands. he doesn’t have the control to stop completely. “cant.. haah- cant cum,” he whines, hips twitching as the fingers in his rear attempt to find his prostate.

“what has you so worked up love? poor thing, you can’t even make yourself cum,” you murmured. he chews on his lip, head falling back so he wouldn’t have to look you in the eyes.

“wan’ you and- and your symbiote.” he mumbles after s beat of silence. “hold me down and make me take y-you.. both of you,” he admits and you fight to hide the surprise on your face.

he finally stops touching himself, making an unintelligible noise in discomfort. breathing heavily, he feels a tendril gather his wrists and hold them above his head.

“if that’s what you want, then who am i to deny my pretty spider a request?” you question, and he looks towards you with glossy eyes. settling between his thighs on the bed, you pull his pants and underwear all the way off, and do the same with your own clothing.

you were already hard within the confines of your pants, practically aching at the sight of peter. he’s begging under you, looking like the most sinful angel you’d ever seen; all exposed and in all of his glory.

you push into him, the copious amounts of lube he’d used made the slide easy. peter moans out in pure pleasure when you bottom out, thighs trembling at your sides.

you knew it wouldn’t take long for him to cum, with how long he’d been working on himself before you even found him all needy.

after a couple beats of allowing nothing but peter’s moans to fill your ears, he speaks up; voice raspy and broken. “pleasee, wan’ you both, i can- i can take it.” he wails. you grinned, breathing heavily and deciding to fill his last request.

another tendril comes, teasing his taut and tensed body before circling his cock and moving further down where your own cock was pressing in and out of him.

you slowed down, allowing the tendril to push in a little before coming back out. the movement repeated a few times before it was able to slide in alongside your cock with no issue.

“look at you, angel. stuffed fuckin’ full with all of me. you can barely even take it, can you?” and peter has no response.

his mouth opens wide; he’s never taken this much before. his body goes tense, and then immediately limp afterwards. he cums with a cry, practically sobbing at feeling so full.

you’re cumming nearly right after him. you’re pressing into him at the hilt and he keens at the feeling. letting your tendrils release him and flow back into you, peter is blissed out of his mind. you pull out, and he jolts a little and whines at the feeling of your cum dripping down the cleft of his ass.

“come on pretty, we gotta get you cleaned up,” you coo, maneuvering peter so that he was cradled to your chest. “stay for a minute.” he whispers lowly, voice and brittle cracked with use. you hum into his hair and plant a kiss on his for head. “just for a little then, angel.”

[arainbowofchaos]

Mentally Physically Weak

pair: Jungkook x reader

genre : smut with some plot

word count: 3,5k

summary: Jungkook is waiting for you outside your workplace, a cigarette in his mouth, and you can hardly believe your luck. Above all, you're acutely aware of how weak you are for him, and you want to savor this moment as if it were the last.

[A/N]: Yesterday brought a whirlwind of events, and I couldn't resist the urge to pour out my heart for Jungkook.

You've never felt like this before, you're sure of it. That gnawing feeling in your stomach, that palpable excitement coursing through your body, that occasional wave of nausea flooding you because you're experiencing so many emotions at once. And you can't deny that it's invigorating, even if sometimes it feels like you're losing control. Something is exciting about giving yourself completely to him.

You watch Jungkook casually leaning against the wall of the store across from where you work. This is your moment, something you can enjoy before he notices your presence. He smokes, enveloped in a cloud of smoke that he exhales into the night air after putting the cigarette between his lips. The sight makes your stomach turn, as it seems surreal. It's late and darkness covers the sky. You're not sure if you're shivering because the cold of October is setting in or because of the anticipation that this man is waiting for you.

At last, Jungkook sees you, and as you gaze into each other's eyes across the distance, his expression changes, and softens, and a broad smile spreads across his face. His eyes shine with excitement, and you can feel his joy at finding you again. He throws away his cigarette and extinguishes it, as if he had only used it to relieve boredom, before joining you.

A colleague who leaves after you wishes you a good evening, and you wave to him. You see his gaze fix on Jungkook for a moment, and you realize he's confused. It's amazing how readily people judge your personal life. He sees this tall, imposing, black-clad figure with the look of a bad boy waiting for you in the night and thinks, "What is she doing with a guy like that?" He doesn't see that behind the tattoos and piercings are the kindest heart in the world and the most comforting arms you've ever found.

You wait impatiently for the light to turn green, and when it finally does, Jungkook is the first to run across the crosswalk to reach you. He moves gracefully, his dark curls dancing in the wind. As he approaches you, he leans down slightly to meet you at eye level, his hand resting on your cheek, and just like that, he leans forward to place his cool lips on yours. Your body warms just from the contact of his palm with your face, his fingers run tenderly over your skin. The trembling intensifies, and you feel like you could burst into tears at any moment. Why does it feel so incredible to be in his presence, to have him so close?

"Hey baby, you okay? Tough day, huh?" His voice sounds concerned - it cuts through the air like a rocket, and you don't have time to answer his questions before he wraps you in a strong hug. You might as well pass out; you trust him to take care of your lifeless body. The day has been so long, you're exhausted, and you just want him to take care of you. You shake your head as your face is buried in his t-shirt. "My baby is tired, I can feel it. What if I take you home?" This time you nod, relieved that he understands without you having to express yourself.

You and Jungkook didn't speak the same language. You didn't have the same culture or the same kind of profession. He's younger than you are. You met him when you came to Busan for your job. He loves music, photography, and drawing. He's an artist who enjoys life by creating what he loves, and you admire him for it. You're a product of the corporate world you’ve worked in for the last six years, and although you love your job, you're often exhausted by the endless days and relentless pace. When you met Jungkook, you immediately fell in love with this boy for whom life was an adventure while you knew only constraints.

Jungkook takes your hand firmly in his, and your heart beats a little faster at the difference in size; yours is so much smaller that it gets lost in his. He's so much more than you - smarter, funnier, more attractive; he's everything you could dream of in a human being. And you're shocked at the depth of your feelings. It often happens that you imagine a world where he has left you - and you don't know what you'd do, how you could find joy in life after a man made you feel so alive.

Your parents don't appreciate him, even without having met him yet. They've seen photos of him on your social media, and they're disgusted to see you wasting your time with a punk. You reassure them by explaining that Jungkook is a good person and that his appearance is due to his creative side, but they view your relationship with disapproval. From their perspective, they're mainly concerned that you've found an anchor besides your work, which implies that you have no intention of returning to your homeland. They are selfish; they want to see their daughter come back.

As you walk hand in hand with Jungkook through the dimly lit streets of the approaching autumn, his thumb gently caresses your wrist simply because he can't resist, and you continue to melt under his touch. You observe Jungkook as he gazes up at the sky, smiling. You dream of being able to live in his imagination; you're certain it's a beautiful place where the two of you could be happy together without any obstacles getting in the way.

"You're very uh… quiet tonight, do you want to talk?" Jungkook's accent is something that melts your heart - the way he searches for his words for you, the efforts he puts in to get better to understand you even more. It's his way of showing you that he's there for you, that you can confide in him at any moment. He can’t give you grand speeches about anything; he just wants you to be able to relax in his presence. You feel like you should talk if only to reassure him.

"Sorry... I'm a bit overwhelmed right now," you manage to articulate, then add, with a big smile and starry eyes, as you do every time you look at him, "Thank you for coming to pick me up; I can't imagine a better way to end my day." Your voice is almost shy. You could laugh at yourself for it; you've never been the shy type, but this man has a hold on you.

"Aww, it's nothing. I just wanted to see you," he responds, singing it out, "The day isn't over yet, want to eat something?" he asks with a strong sense of enthusiasm.

"I'm really craving Indian food, what do you think?" you suggest, and he eagerly agrees before scooping you into his arms and shouting, "Yayy, cheese naan!!!" Passersby look at you with surprise; some are taken aback by the sudden burst of excitement, while others offer kind smiles. And you, you continue to melt, slowly, in his arms, losing yourself in his embrace and his intoxicating scent that leaves your head spinning… You can't help but be constantly charmed by his unwavering enthusiasm. He's up for any plan as long as it means you're together, and especially if he can fill his belly at the same time...

Half an hour later, you find yourself seated on the terrace of your favorite Indian restaurant. It's not overly upscale, and you've always had a mild uncertainty about its hygiene standards. However, the food is undeniably delicious, and you've never experienced any health issues, so that's what truly matters. As the meal arrives, Jungkook eagerly devours his dish, and you barely eat yours. Ever since you met him, you've struggled with eating as if your body no longer requires sustenance beyond his presence.

Jungkook playfully dips his naan into your palak paneer, and you feign outrage while he chuckles at his joke. His eyes light up so much that you can hardly see them, his dimples etched into his handsome face, and his smile is on full display. Your heart races when you witness his happiness, you can't help it. You lean in slightly from your chair to surprise him with a kiss, causing him to stop laughing. He reciprocates with a more serious, urgent kiss that leaves you slightly off balance. He gently bites your lip, signaling his intentions, and you can't help but release a soft moan in response.

"Let's finish up and head home, huh?" His mischievous look speaks volumes about his eagerness to return. You blush because you know exactly what he means, and you signal the waiter to request a takeout box for the remainder of your dish. You're no longer hungry for food, only for his touch. 

It turns out that when Jungkook talks about home, he could just as easily be referring to your apartment or his - as long as it's just the two of you, it's your home. Since the Indian restaurant is closer to your place, you naturally head there after your meal. Upon entering your building, Jungkook nestles against your back, his hands gently encircling your hips, and his face finds solace in the curve of your neck as he plants tender kisses. You shiver, feeling your heart race in your chest. Even though you've been dating for months, you're still not entirely accustomed to this sensation; every time feels like the first.

You swiftly ascend the stairs, and with fervor, you open the door to your apartment, a tangible passion building up for the man still standing close behind you, ready to engulf you with affection.

"I want a dessert," Jungkook whispers against your lips with a quivering voice as you both find yourselves out of sight in the privacy of your living room. It becomes clear just how much your presence affects him.

"Go ahead and treat yourself," you innocently reply, pretending not to catch on to his intentions.

"Ah, that's what I had in mind," he retorts with a mischievous grin. At his words you feel Jungkook's hands move down to your ass and grip it, you moan softly as you can feel your body going weak in his hands.

Every time, it's the same old story – you feel like a toy in his skilled hands. Your legs can barely carry you to your room, so he lifts you, and you cling to him like a koala. In a hushed tone, you whisper that you love him. You told him after just a week, so you no longer have any reason to be ashamed of anything. The moment you laid eyes on him, you knew you were done for. Jungkook has always responded positively to your declarations, and even now, he's quick to reassure you with an "I love you too." But deep down, you understand that he may never experience emotions as intense and all-consuming as yours. The truth is, he could ask you for anything, and you would do it without a second thought. You'll never admit it to anyone, but the way he looks at you keeps you alive. When you don't see him for a few days, you can feel how your enthusiasm for life is waning. The only way to lift your spirits is to think of him and his beautiful, goofy smile.

He gently places you on the bed and then lies on top of you, cradling your head in his hands. With intense sincerity, he whispers, "You're so beautiful," and you plead with eyes that are practically begging, "Jungkook, please kiss me." His face descends to yours, and his lips find yours effortlessly. He kisses you passionately as if it were the last time and your heart races. You desire him like you've never desired anyone before. Hearing his voice and feeling his touch never grows old. Between kisses, you continue to implore, tears glistening in your eyes in the dim light, "Please, don't ever leave me." 

You might come across as foolish, but that doesn't matter. When you become emotional, all you need is reassurance. It's your yearning for something absolute in a foreign land with a man who's not from your world. You want a forever happy ending, even though you know it's not possible, despite the promises of fidelity. In your case, you want him to be as free as he desires. It holds no value if he stays with you out of pity or because you ask him to. You'd like him to be just as consumed by his desire to be with you. And tonight, it seems to be the case, and that's enough for you.

“I’ll never leave you, baby,” he promises solemnly. You don’t want to think about the value of his promise as he undoes the buttons of your blouse to let your chest meet the cool air of the room and goosebumps appear on your skin. "You are cold." he observes “I’m going to make you hot.” and he smiles innocently, you think, he shouldn't have the right to be so angelic when he has just undone your bra with one hand behind your back without you even realizing it. Jungkook gets rid of your clothes that hinder his path to your breasts. He envelops your nipple in his mouth and does not neglect the other by enveloping it in his hand. Everything is hot and your head falls back on the bed as moans escape your lips. You feel the excitement spreading between your legs and you know that tonight again, it won't take you long to meet the stars. 

You feel his tongue move expertly and like every time you continue to beg him for more “Jungkook, please, I want to feel you.” your hands are lost in his soft, raven-black hair and he lifts his head, your breast still in his mouth as he smiles, the same mischievous smile from earlier “And my dessert?” he asks, laughing. He knows the effect he has on you since he stops playing with you for a moment to come back to your face and place a kiss on the tip of your nose. “I’ll have my dessert and then you can feel me, okay baby?”

You nod eagerly because you know what he means. He stands up and unzips your skirt to remove it completely, leaving you in just your panties, lying vulnerable under his gaze. "You are beautiful," he repeats to make sure you heard correctly. Jungkook kneels on the ground in front of you, and his arms grab behind your thighs to drag you to him. You let out a cry of surprise at the force of his gesture, and he laughs tenderly at your reaction. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he says as if it were normal while you can barely breathe at the idea that he was even thinking about you. “I see you’re wet,” he says and you know he's praising you “Can I taste you?” he asks for permission, and you respond by removing your underwear for him, leaving your complete nudity in view. Jungkook licks his lips, playing with his piercing in the process, looking into your eyes, then his gaze returning between your legs “Gosh, so pretty.” and he fucking smiles.

You close your eyes when his face disappears between your legs and you feel his tongue playing with your clit, getting straight to the point. You can’t stop the moans that escape your throat, and soon you can’t think at all. His hands caress your hips while his mouth devours your most intimate area and you can do nothing but feel all the good he does to you. You need him; feeling him so close to you is never enough. “Jungkook… more please.” you plead and he pauses, lifting his head to look you in the eyes, his lips and chin covered in your juices “I like it when you… uh… when you beg me? That's right?" and you can't believe this is the time he chose for an English lesson. You nod and rephrase “I’m begging you Jungkook, please give me more.” 

He laughs softly, proud to see you so needy for him and to improve his vocabulary in bed. His hand replaces where his face was a few seconds before, and his finger comes to caress your clit, before moving lower between your folds, a moment later and you feel two fingers inside you. You gasp, your breath hitching as he pushes his fingers inside you in a back-and-forth motion that makes you salivate. You've lost all logic and ability to think as you take what he gives you with incoherent moanings. 

“I want you,” he says suddenly, sensing that you are ready for him. You come out of your trance to open your eyes and see that he is looking at you with a much darker gaze than before. That's where he finally gives you the show you've been waiting for, getting up to take off his black t-shirt, and leaving his bulging muscles and sleeve of tattoos in view for you to admire. He also takes off his cargo pants, his massive erection not very well hidden under his underwear “Do you like the view?” he asks with a smirk and you blush, unable to respond to his comment. He gets rid of his boxer and your eyes roll behind your eyelids at the sight of his length standing proudly in front of you. You feel weak for him—mentally and physically. You're acutely aware of what lies ahead, and every fiber of your being quivers with eager anticipation. Jungkook enters you effortlessly, as you are always ready for him, no matter the moment. 

Often, nothing seems to make sense, but in moments like this, when he makes love to you and you can see the most profound adoration in his eyes, you feel genuinely ecstatic to be alive. You can hear his adorable grunt every time you clench around him, adding sensation, and it sends shivers down your spine. He exudes an irresistible charm effortlessly. You only feel complete in his presence, and you thank the universe for putting this luminous being on your path. Jungkook kisses you again, going back and forth, and you can barely respond to his kiss because of how full you feel. You moan nonsense and he speaks things that you can barely make out. Your tongues duel and it's dirty and messy and perfect. You tremble from head to toe, lost in his embrace.

He pulls out of you and orders you to turn around, which you do immediately. You lie down on your stomach and feel him position himself behind you, his cock at your entrance before coming back inside you deeply, a new angle allowing you to feel him even better. You scream, tears streaming down your cheeks as your head rests on the cool mattress. Jungkook continues to increase his pace, letting you chase your orgasm, the sweet melody of skin on skin echoes through the room before he seductively asks you, “Please cum for me, baby.” Tears of pleasure continue to stream as he taps against your sensitive and delicious spot, and you finally end up seeing the stars while shouting his name. “Jungkook” you exhale, delirious, as he continues a few more thrusts before cumming inside you as well.

When you come back to reality, he's lying on top of you - careful not to put his full weight on you either - he's reciting praises to you in Korean and your heart aches at the thought of him being comfortable enough to let go in his native language. He places kisses on your shoulder before pulling out. You feel him moving behind before he comes back to gently clean up the mess he made. After that, he lies down next to you, drawing you close into his embrace once more. The two of you remain there, locked in a tender hug, for a few precious minutes. And then, he utters those words that resonate deep within your heart, "I will never leave you." A warm, contented smile graces your face as you bury it into his sweaty, bare chest, finding solace and security in his unwavering promise.

What remains etched in your memory is the fact that you have this one more night with him, and in this fleeting moment, that's all that truly matters. The ability to revel in these stolen moments of intimacy with him fills you with profound gratitude. Wrapped in his loving embrace, the world beyond fades into insignificance – the desperate glances of your colleagues, the reproachful words of your parents – all become distant echoes.

Regardless of what anyone else thinks or what the uncertain future may hold, you banish those concerns from your mind. In this singular instant, you crave nothing more than to bask in the comforting cocoon of his embrace, to savor the warmth of his presence for one more night.

[redr0sewrites]

One thing I can't help but feel a Sub!Vox would unexpectedly enjoy is getting reminded/teased about the fact he has a safe word he can use.

Like, beyond just the safe, practical etiquette of double checking and making sure everything's still okay, in the scenario that he absolutely is still okay: You got him so worked up, overstimulated, repeatedly sobbing out "I can't"s, only to have you sweetly cut in with a sweet "Do you need to use the safe word~?" (Or any other possible non-verbal "STOP" sign that got agreed upon), and having that answer be "No."

Him getting faced with the fact that he can so, so, so easily have anything that's happening to him stop, should he so wish it, and yet, despite all his whining and begging and crying, he's actively choosing not to have it stop.

Him just getting so flustered by that paradox of him being reminded that he's in complete control over having no control~

YESSSSSS AUGHGHH I NEED TO PAMPER HIM‼️

🥀Cw: smut, sub!vox, safeword mentioned, overstim, not proofread bc i am both sick and tired im so sorry

🥀minors dni

once vox is in subspace, he really is a mess- drooling, moaning, whimpering, clawing at the sheets, and most obviously, crying

to most people this would give the impression that he wants to stop, but in reality, vox very very rarely uses the safeword but fuuuck it is SUCH a turn on for him that the opportunity is there

we all know he has a power kink, and he's so obviously in a submissive position during sex, but the fact that you're the one allowing him to stop if he needs to? it gets to his head

it also opens the door to his humiliation kink, bc nothing turns him on more than being humiliated. the fact that he could so, so easily quit, just walk out and be out of the embarrassing, submissive position he's in but instead he finds himself wanting to be wrecked- more than wrecked, downright ruined by you when he could so easily walk away. the entire situation is exhilarating and arousing to him

he also adores it when you use it mockingly, if you start cooing "aww, poor baby, do y'need to tap out already? gonna use the safeword sweetie?" he's already babbling, pleading with you to keep going, how he's being suuuuch a good boy! and then? well, he's rambling on and on about how he can't stop yet, how he needs to cum! how could you deny him?

vox takes punishments well, but will brat out the whole time, whimpering and whining about how he can't take it. however, the second you threaten to stop, or offer the safeword? he's putty in your hands, drooling and clawing at the sheets, practically begging you to keep going. its the quickest way to get him to completely submit to you without even another word!

vox isn't used to relinquishing control in general, so the power dynamics proposed by the safeword honestly make him trust you even more. even outside of the bedroom, it flusters him when you ask before touching him or when you ask about sex instead of just initiating.

when it comes to softer sex, vox also likes to be reminded of the safeword! sometimes he's just so stressed out that he just wants to be pampered, but he reaches a point where his mind gets so fuzzy he just can't stop :( he's mewling and whining as you ride him, tears streaming down his screen as you praise him, and he doesn't realize how far gone he is until you gently remind him he can tap out whenever he needs to. vox will nod, eyes watery and face flushed, and soon he becomes more aware of just how sleepy he is. he always makes sure you both cum one more time before tapping out, but i can also see him having a bit of a somnophilia kink, so he would probably consent to letting you fuck him in his sleep, with the promise of the safeword still being valid

i mentioned this before in the dry humping hcs, but sometimes, vox will get so needy and horny that he just can't stop, so the reminder of the safeword is often very useful when he's too far gone to communicate but is like 2 seconds away from passing out. but sometimes he likes to be pushed to the edge too, so he won't always use the safeword but gets off on the fact that the option is there

also tiny additional hc, i think he would like to use a meaningful word for a safeword. maybe something related to technology, like radio or something, or possibly electric. like if he started saying electric, it would mean he wanted to stop. or i think he would use a color system, you would ask him what color and he'd say red green or yellow depending on how into it he is or how he's feeling etc etc. either way he wants it to be meaningful and not just some random word- like he wants a sentimental reasoning behind whatever word you choose (feel free to comment safeword ideas so i can use them in future fics 👹)

vox lets out a wanton moan, glitching and panting as he humps your thigh like a dog in heat. he's writhing under your touch, unsure of where to put his hands when all he can focus on is the pressure against his painfully hard cock. its sinful the way he drags his hips, mewling deliriously as he creams in his pants for what feels like the hundreth time, and yet his pace doesn't falter as he ruts against you. he's a panting mess and barely coherent and he babbles, whimpering your name over and over. "fuc- zzz -k, 'm so- ple-zzz-" vox gasps, thighs shaking as you wrap your arms around his neck. his cock throbs when you make eye contact with him and his thighs squeeze around yours. a stain darkens the front of his pants, leftover from his previous release in his dazed rut. "vox," you coo, rubbing the ports on the back of his screen as he struggles to remain coherent enough to focus on your words. "vox, baby, do you need the safeword?" your voice is sickeningly sweet, laced with concern and lust.

vox paused at the thought, dread seeping into his body as he let out a pathetic whine. "nno, 'm fine," he slurred, rolling his hips against your thigh. "m not even tired," he mewls deliriously, and you nod, taking notice of his drooping eyelids and slowing movements. "okay sweetie, only one more round though, okay?" vox nods, tears streaming down his screen as his claws dig into the plush of your hips. you steady him, and you move your leg, assisting him in grinding against you as you shake your thigh. vox whimpers, static lacing his voice as he glitches out entirely. repeating your name like a prayer, his body tenses as he cums fast and hard, soaking his pants yet again. vox collapses against you, breathing ragged as he struggled to keep his eyelids from drooping. "you okay, baby?" you purr, and he nods, slumping deeper into your touch. "lets get you cleaned up, hm?"

UWRGJREHHEHEHEHE I AM ALWAYS IN THE MOOD FOR SUB VOX!!!!!!!!!! i love the idea of being soft w him sm- i genuinely have not written enough sfw stuff for vox so if anyone has anything fluffy to say ab him PLEASE come into my inbox. ALSO IF ANYONE HAS ANYTHING LUTE RELATED TO SAY ESPECIALLY/INCLUDING SMUT ALSO PLS COME INTO MY INVOX BC RUEGRHRGRHGR THEYRE BOTH MY FAVS RN

[sweetvirgin]

NEED TO KNOW — onyankopon.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ baby, i need to know. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 — reader is put between a rock & a hard place when onyankopon confesses something that threatens her emotional security. dormant (but never dead) feelings are revived. — wc. 2.6k~

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ touch of angst; friends to lovers. black fem reader. “reader” is replaced with the name “adularia.” characters are 21+. i proof read this about 15 times but i feel like there’s prolly gon errors anyway lmao. there’s cussing & the consumption of substances. enjoy !! (◡‿◡✿)

"getting sleepy, ony?"

a closed-eyed ony was sat between adularia’s legs with his head rested on her thigh as she finished the last of his cornrows. his eyelashes ticked the skin of her exposed leg, and his warm breath fanned on her skin. he had been quiet for most of the intimate act of her doing his hair, instead opting silently rub her skin while she worked and appreciate the faint, sweet smell lingering on her. but he had since then stopped and his breathing had slowed into a steady, uniform pace.

ony deeply inhaled at mention of his name, humming thoughtfully before responding in a clearly-tired voice. "naw, i'm high as fuck." adularia tittered at this while making work of weaving the three pieces under and through each other.

"that shit good, ainit?" she teased cheekily, proud of doing a good job with finding connie (their shared plug). she finished the braid she worked on and quickly grabbed the blue magic grease jar. "we almost done. just two more braids, the beads, and then we can finish this blunt." he hummed in response and resumed rubbing her calf.

his almond eyes hadn't opened during that exchange once, but if they did, she knew they were bloodshot from that zaza. plus, he was a little sleepy - even if he denied it. how could he not be? he had his head laid on a warm thigh while the gentlest hands were tangled in his hair.

she dipped her manicured finger into the blue magic grease then smoothed the gel over the part. he shuddered at the sensation. it was so chilly on his exposed scalp.

“oo, sorry ony,” adularia apologized hushedly. then she quickly began the braid. she knew he ain’t wanna sit like this for much longer, so she made work of his four-b hair. she went on twisting his ends over and through each other until she was finally finished with the braid. letting go of the freshly-completed plait, she reached over for the blue magic grease and once again, dipped her finger in the tub. adularia delivered the cool grease to his hair. not too much, though. just a little bit to help it lay. this was the last braid. adularia swiftly completed that one while he nodded off in her embrace. she gently readjusted his head.

"just the beads now, ony," she informed him, to which she got an appreciative sigh. she giggled at his dramatics and reached over for the plastic beads (colored black, white, and clear) as well as the applicator.

she could feel ony’s full lips stretch into a smile against her thigh. "i'm finna smoke the fuck outta that blunttt," he sang excitedly as much as his sleepy voice would allow him, and this brought her giggle to a guffaw.

"that's why i be telling yo ass to bring a overnight bag. ion know why you don't. 'cuz you know you be 'bout ready to pass out after you get your hair braided," she bossily lectured him, amusement still evident in her voice. he didn't mind it - after being friends for a decade, he got used to her know-it-allism. he actually quite liked it.

still he dismissed her while she pushed up against the applicator to put the beads at the end of the plait. his voice rumbled against her as he sank back into exhaustion. "i'ma be aight."

she only replied with a “mmmhm.” but the rest of the bead application was silent, save for the music and her eventual humming. even ony felt himself moved by her stereo. he wasn't much of a dancer, but his finger contagiously followed the rhythm with gentle taps. this only motivated her to finish these braids - she really wanted that blunt in her lips and to vibe with some badu.

soon enough, he had a head of cornrows complete with beads. she applied mousse to his braids then went to wash the grit from her hands, meticulously scrubbing her acrylics free of the left over residue. once her hands were washed, adularia thoroughly dried them and then came back to ony - red velvet durag in her hand.

ony was a little more alert, still seated exactly where she left him. his thick lips gently held a blunt while he flicked a lighter at the end. expertly, he absorbed the smoke into his lungs as easily as breathing regular ol' air.

she plopped back onto the sofa. "turn around so i can see yo parts."

ony replied with a curt nod and turned around per her orders. her hand reached out for his face but without touching it, as if asking for nonverbal permission to hold his chin. he didn't know why she always did this - she know he don't care. but he found it sweet she always confirmed it beforehand. as expected, he pulled the blunt from his mouth and muttered a "gone head", smoke spilling from his lips as he did so.

she gently held his soft face in her hand and tilted his face in different directions: taking in the parts, the neatness, and so on. during the process, ony intently held her in his gaze and drank her in. eyes still unmistakably sleepy, but still, he absorbed her. her obsidian irises flickered down to meet his, and woah. he looked so… yum. his line-up was slightly overgrown — but it was still neat. with two low-lidded, exhausted eyes, he observed all of the details of adularia’s face. a beauty mark here, a freckle there, a tiny scar here. he licked his lips.

suddenly aware of the proximity, adularia became timid and averted her gaze. she could smell the blue magic grease in his hair, the woodiness in his cologne… the two were very close. overwhelmed by her shyness, she decided the braids looked damn good. that's all she need to know.

"lemme put this durag on you," she sheepishly offered, just to break the silence.

ony wordlessly obliged and allowed her to lower the durag over his head. but his eyes remained on her. still observing her as if he were having a revelation. however, this time, adularia didn't look down at his face to confirm if he was looking at her. she just tied the durag then comfortingly set a hand on his shoulder.

"okay ony. we all done,” she announced — hands tired as ever, happy with finally being finished. “you look… real good,” she added shyly.

he had the lightest smirk on his lips. “do i? thank you,” his eyes sparkled, despite how sleepy he was.

“mhm,” she affirmed. “hair growing in nice.” then she scanned her nearby surroundings. "now where that blunt at..."

ony volunteered the lighter with an outstretched hand. he passed it. that motherfucker was a little more than a roach, but she didn't complain. ony was the one who bought the weed anyways. and she could barely roll — not at all with her acrylics — so she didn't mind. plus she ain't need as much to get sufficiently high.

she wrapped her glossy lips around it and pat the plastic-covered sofa in search of a lighter, to which ony offered his. she accepted it with a relieved "right on" and sparkled the blunt. inhale. exhale. the passed it back to him.

"naw, i'm straight. you can have the rest."

her eyebrows raised and she returned the blunt to her mouth. another inhale. another exhale.

in no time, she was highhh. the two had moved to her bedroom and settled into her wine red sheets. ony rolled another blunt because his high was letting up, but she definitely would have a very minimal part in smoking it. she had her fill, and she was starting to get sleepy. nonetheless, when ony outreached a tattooed arm to her, she plucked the blunt from his fingers and took one last hit.

while doing so, adularia noticed ony eying her with that same peculiar expression he had the entire time he been over her apartment. something like a mix between a realization, and acceptance. she immediately furrowed her eyebrows and lowered the blunt from her mouth, fighting a cough before asking him, "why you keep looking at me like that?" she cleared her throat, the smoke tickling her deep in her neck.

ony, expression unreadable, replied with a simple, "like what?"

"like that," she explained... albeit vaguely. she had a braveness to confront what she normally wouldn't - and this was thanks to the drug in her system releasing her inhibitions. she then sat the blunt in her pink ashtray and put the light out.

ony picked the blunt up with a shrug, still quiet and seemingly in thought. somewhat annoyed, she huffed and fell backwards onto the sheets, closing her tired eyes.

a few beats of silence passed between the two friends. ambient noise seeped through the walls of her apartment: a distant police siren, some dogs barking, and random people chattering about shit adularia’s ears couldn't discern. inside her bedroom she played music from her cd stereo. she could hear him striking the lighter a few times (as it was almost out of fluid), with sound of him inhaling and exhaling following. the air smelled like weed (of course), baby powder, and rosy incense. she rocked her head to the current song playing: chaka khan's powerful voice flowed through her home (at a reasonable volume of course, she wasn't tryna get evicted) and eventually, she forgot what she even asked ony.

then he spoke. “fuck it...” he muttered to himself, drawing her from her thoughts. some moments passed as he inspected his lighter, twirling it between her fingers. adularia listened intently, both of concern but also nosiness.

he sighed, and more audible, he settled on saying “i guess lately i just been thinking bout how i feel bout you."

she felt her heart spike a little bit. “and how is that?” she braced herself for the worst — that he didn’t want to be friends. that he hated her. that he felt he outgrew her. so cautiously, she waited for him to get done taking a hit.

he hummed then inhaled. “i know we friends but…” exhale, “i been feeling for you.”

her eyes fluttered open. oh my. what a thing to say. and nothing like she expected, so she braced just to still be taken aback.

it pulled the air from her lungs. she was breathless. the world became so quiet. and so small. and so still. anything beyond her bedroom was filtered out. even the music within dulled in comparison to his sudden statement. the room no longer smelled of roses and powder. instead, it smelled like him. still on her back, she twisted her head to catch his expression, but it was again unreadable. where was this coming from?

"huh?" she questioned.

he spoke with such a conviction, she knew he wasn't trying to yank her chain. "i’m starting to feel for you,” he candidly repeated, bringing the blunt back up to his lips.

she blinked, a little dumbfounded and slightly sobered by his statement. ony didn't react much, just continued puffing on the blunt. but she couldn't just brush past that.

"you... feel for me…? like… romantically?" she cautioned.

without bringing his eyes to hers, he simply replied with a “yup,” popping the P in the process.

her face grew warm. anyone who said black girls couldn't blush lied. she felt hot, and the walls of her bedroom seemed to close in on her. this information sobered her for sure, but she still wasn’t sober. she was still very much high. on weed, and that dizzy feeling she got from ony saying he wanted her.

"how long you felt this way?" adularia softly questioned. she took some of the blanket in between her fingers and fiddled with it.

he hummed. "some months now." he drew another breath from the blunt. “i didn’t want shit to be weird, so i ain’t say nothing.” the smoke poured from his lips with every word. “but every day i feel for you more and more. it’s getting hard to ignore.”

“it’s not weird,” she affirmed. she really wasn’t unnerved by his confession. if she were, she would be a hypocrite. “it’s just… something to take in. i was bracing myself for you saying you hate me, actually.” then she snorted a little.

now, she wouldn’t say she never looked at him that way. but those were fleeting considerations she would quickly dismiss as soon as they came. “he was a friend — girls and guys can be friends without there being anything romantic or sexual between them,” is what she would tell herself before ignoring what she thought to be a delusion. but it seems that, while it’s true guys and girls can befriend each other without desiring each other any other capacity… she desired him. and his confession brought those long-buried feelings back from dormancy. this was a point of no return, and she knew it.

softly, ony whispered, “i could never hate you.” he sounded pained at the suggestion, his face contorted in a wince. he loved her for years, even before he had romantic feelings. he’s always loved her. he flicked the blunt free of ash. “i wouldn’a let you braid my hair if i did.”

“yeah…kinda silly, now that i think about it.” she laughed a little. then she sighed.

“i’m glad you told me,” adularia started, feeling so shy. “i can’t say i never feel the same…” she admitted. ony felt his heart squeeze at the thought of her wanting him back. but there was no trace of it in his face. she continued. “i’m just a little scared.”

“why?”

she sat up, and ony’s eyes immediately snapped to her moving form. then she clutched her pajama pants nervously. “i’m happy to know but… it’s gon change our friendship. no doubt about it.”

he hummed and ashed the blunt. felt rude to be so intimate but high. “yes. it will. but i don’t regret saying it.”

she agreed quietly.

and that was that. the rest of the night was still as they both were absorbed in their thoughts, undoubtedly about each other and their friendship. it didn't feel awkward or wrong. but the vibe had definitely shifted between them.

shortly after, ony decided it was time to head on home. and so, their shared routine ensued: he rose to his feet. he stretched his limbs. he thanked adularia for braiding his hair and left the rest of the blunt with her. he offered to give her money for the service, she declined. she do it out of love for him. but he made her take the smooth $100 bill anyways. she obliged and thanked him. she walked him to the front, and he enjoyed being enveloped by her silage. they exchanged some last few words at the door as he pulled his shoes on. then he brought her in for a hug, letting her know he would call her. two soft goodbyes would be exchanged (as it was late, and she lived on the second floor). then her door would be gently pulled open and he would sidle out of the apartment. the same as always.

but she could feel the impending change on the horizon. whether it flourished into something life-long or ended in flames, she lacked the foresight. she just knew it would fundamentally change their relationship forever. it’ll never feel the same to braid his hair, for his head to lay on her thigh. to spend the night. to go out together. to hold his face in her hands. to compliment him. to tell him she loved him. when adularia closed the door behind his disappearing form, she knew that she forever lost the friend she had. and that was terrifying.

© 2024 sweetvirgin. all rights reserved. no copy + paste, no translate, no ai inputs plsss & thank u. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[lotties-ashwagandha]

POWER CURES

tashi donaldson x fem!reader, word count 4.2k. NSFW!

your career in sports journalism has made you one of the most successful women in your field — a career you built on your own after you broke up with tashi donaldson at stanford. yet rivalry still burns between you, and whenever given the opportunity you can't help but add fuel to the fire. requested by @elaci who also writes for challengers so go follow :)

“It’s a miracle he’s still playing,” you say. “Art showed so much passion today, I could feel it. Maybe next time he could focus on hitting the ball instead of smashing ants on the court with his racket – it just sends the wrong message I think, not very eco-friendly.” 

Tashi shakes her head, attempting to brush off your comment, but you can feel the silent fury you’ve stirred up in her. Her expression is partially hidden by her sunglasses as the two of you stand at the edge of the court, her only guard from your scrutiny. It’s been nine years since you’ve spoken to her, but the four years you dedicated to her before that taught you every one of her tells. She’s different now – she wears her hair short, her makeup darker, age and experience have made her seem solemn. But you can feel it, that under all of the change she is still the same. 

“At least he still plays,” she says sharply. “You’re the critic, the journalist, but you would get on the court and get yourself knocked the fuck out. Art works, he doesn’t lock himself in the basement to write pity-party bullshit for money.” 

“Neither do I,” you smile. “I don’t write anything for money, though I do enjoy the benefits.” 

“You’ve always been greedy,” Tashi accuses. “You enjoy taking what isn’t yours, and destroying what you can’t reach.” 

You shrug. You won’t attempt to deny it – greed is what got you into this profession, and greed is what has held you up to survive it. Greed is what got you a million dollar mansion and the audience that paid for it, and greed is what has you standing at the side of Tashi Donaldson as you watch her husband step off the tennis court after losing another match to add to his streak this year. 

“If you write anything about this match, I will end your career,” Tashi says casually, because power means nothing to her, and using it is easy. She takes off her sunglasses, puts them in her purse that costs more money than your car. When she meets your eyes, there’s stoic sureness in her gaze. 

“It’s sweet that you think I only came here for you.” 

She gives you a hard look, searching you for the truth if she couldn’t trust it to come from your words. Whatever conclusion she would come up with was none of your concern – it’s true that you hadn’t come here for her, not completely. You’re here for another set of competitors, the headliners of the women’s division. If there was one thing you could use to define your career, it wouldn’t be the Donaldsons, or the Duncans – it would be your influence on women’s tennis. Your journalism through the years has put women in the spotlight of the sport, and for as long as you could you would continue the mission of keeping them there. 

But when you had seen Tashi’s husband playing in the final match of the day, and when you had seen her watching him alone at the sidelines, you couldn’t help but take advantage of it. Your comments and motives were petty, but deserved. 

You see Art begin to approach the two of you with his gym bag. “That’s my cue, isn’t it?” you ask. You try to avoid Art at all cost even after all these years, it creates a situation more awkward for you than for him. “I don’t think he needs me to lecture him, not again.” 

You begin to depart from Tashi’s side, but then you pause and turn back to her. “I’ll be in New Rochelle for the Challengers tournament in a few weeks,” you tell her. “Maybe there’s someone there your husband could beat, for a change.” 

Tashi scoffs, and you take your chance to leave before you can be joined by Art or any of the reporters or journalists following in his wake. You’ve done your work for the day, your air-conditioned hotel room is calling to you and you’re all too prepared to run to it. 

When you stand at the exit to the tennis court, you spare a look back in the direction of the Donaldsons. Tashi is immersed in giving feedback to Art as he stands in childlike submission. Her hands are planted on his shoulders, she’s looking into his eyes, and when she spares a look at the court a sense of nostalgia washes over you as you remember how it felt to watch her play. How she used to win every game she signed to compete in, how effortless her victories were. 

In a way, you miss it. You miss her. The promise of her victories that would pull you through in college, that you could look forward to watching and writing about. The memory of it sparks a flare of anger within you – four years, erased, yet still so potent in your memory. 

You turn away from the court. You push through the crowd, in your pride you stand a little taller than the rest. Against you is the only match Tashi Duncan could never win. 

You pass by the doors of the locker rooms on your way out. You know Tashi must have waited with Art in his locker room before the match started – a private locker room, you would suspect, or one they bought out for the day in a grand show of money.

You frown. How many times had you waited with Tashi in locker rooms until tournaments began, how many times had you come in after her matches to listen to her talk through them while she got ready to leave? Enough times to know you weren’t alone in reminiscing, that Tashi could escape the memories with no more ease than you could. 

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO, STANFORD. 

You resist a smile – you can’t let her win, though you can see she’s trying inexplicably hard to. She never takes it seriously when you try to interview her for assignments for your classes at Stanford. 

“I can’t put that in my paper,” you tell Tashi. “I’d get us kicked out.” 

Tashi shrugs, stepping toward you as you stand in the locker room alone together after her match. “You asked what I was thinking about during the game. I was thinking about you.” 

You roll your eyes. You lean back against the lockers, and Tashi takes advantage of it, coming up in front of you to box you in. Her eyes meet yours – her intensity is unmatched, even after she’s won every game of tennis this season that’s been thrown at her by the university. Power means nothing to her, because using it is easy. 

“You don’t believe me?” Tashi asks. Nothing goes unnoticed by her, it was brave to roll your eyes. “You’re all I think about.” 

“Tennis is all you think about.” 

Instead of correcting you, she kisses you. Your hands find her waist, and wrap around her back when you pull her closer. She consumes your thoughts, your mind, and you’re happy to keep it that way with disregard to the price you might pay for it. 

Tashi’s hands slip under your shirt. One travels up your side, under your bra. You arch into her touch, senses clouded with her – until you hear voices outside the locker room, people leaving the building. 

You pull out of the kiss as the voices fade, and immediately she’s kissing your neck. “This is a terrible idea,” you murmur half-heartedly. You want her to prove you wrong. 

“No one’s coming in, I was the last match.” 

“But they could come in.” 

“They won’t.” 

You don’t seem convinced. Tashi moves to look at you, and tilts her head. 

“Tell me you don’t want this,” she demands. You see how she craves you, she’s willing to indulge herself after her latest victory. It wouldn’t be the first time you would find yourself here, against the lockers with every intention of letting her use you in the way she wishes. She sees through your words – she knows you want this just as much as she does. 

“No,” you say, because you do want this. You’ve wanted her all morning, since you saw her warming up for her match. And even if someone were to come in and find you with her, pressed up against the lockers and at her will, it would only prove a fact you dream of everyone knowing anyway: that in every way, Tashi Duncan is yours. Audiences may celebrate her, anyone might desire her, but at the end of every day it’s you she comes home to. It’s you she wants. 

“Good,” she mutters, and presses you harder against the locker, pressing space between your legs with her knee. She kisses down your neck, and one of her hands travels below the waistband of your shorts while the other is still at your chest. Her hands are cold against the warmth of your skin, sending a chill rippling down your back. 

“Be quiet,” Tashi orders, and you nod. An empty promise, but you’ll try your best. “Good girl.” 

Her praise has you biting back a moan as her knee moves away and her hand slides between your thighs. You can’t hold her gaze, the gravity it holds. 

Your hips chase her hand as she circles your clit – your hips buck back against the lockers, and the sound echoes through the room, and your moan would accompany the noise if not muffled by Tashi’s hand over your mouth. A quick reaction on her end, she knows your body better than you do. 

“Quiet,” Tashi whispers. She presses a kiss to the edge of your jaw, below your ear. You try for a deep breath, but it’s shaky. “I’m fucking you here, and you’re moaning? Anyone could hear you. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod again, her hand still over your mouth. Your eyes fall closed, her touch burns through you like fire. It’s not enough, it’s too much, it’s everything you need and more. 

Tashi feels the pleasure building in you – it inspires her to interrupt it, to pull both of her hands from you. 

You whine in protest, watching her in curious alarm. You need this, she knows you do. 

Tashi’s hands find your hips, and she watches you closely. A sadistic sort of smile pulls at her lips, one that has you squirming, reaching for her again. Your attempts are futile, your yearning feeds her desire to starve you, push you to your limits. “You have to be patient,” she says. 

And you will be, though everything in you aches for her. You will let her win, let her pick your cards and cheat the game to end in her favor. You’re content with it – a side that is not without reward to you as Tashi lowers to her knees in front of you, and when she looks up at you, she already knows she’s won. 

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER, NEW ROCHELLE.

The sun glares down at you through the windshield, but despite its best efforts, it cannot reach you. It’s cool in your car – it combats the sweltering heat of the morning in New Rochelle as you sit waiting for the final matches to start on the second day of the Challengers tournament. You don’t want to go sit down too early, there’s no point in submitting yourself to the discomfort of hot metal seats amongst the swarm of the audience until you have to. You’re content to sit here with your eyes closed for as long as you can, you finally have a moment to yourself after the chaos of traveling to New Rochelle. 

Tapping on your window makes you jump. Your eyes snap open, and when you see who waits on the other side of your car window, you wish you’d never traveled to the tournament at all. You knew he would be here, you saw him competing yesterday, but you had successfully avoided him and had left early after the first few matches.  

You roll your window down. Patrick Zweig stares at you with the most dumbass fucking smile you’ve witnessed in years. 

“Well, look who it is!” He exclaims. He leans an arm against the top of your car, but you shove him off of it through the window. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap. He frowns, and you sigh. It’s been nine years since you’ve seen him in person – since you broke up with Tashi – and not a day has passed in which you can decisively say you have missed him. 

“I’m competing,” he says. 

You furrow your eyebrows. “I know that. Why are you here, talking to me?” 

Patrick shrugs. “Can’t I take a second to reconnect with an old friend?” 

“An old friend?” you ask. “I don’t think we were ever friends.” 

“Maybe not, but I know you’ll be hoping I win instead of Art this afternoon.” 

You pause. “Art Donaldson? He’s here, competing?” 

“Yeah. You know, I was told you invited him and Tashi. It’s everywhere online. That’s why I came over here, to say thank you for setting up the match. Art and I are the only ones left in the division. I wanted to wish you luck, too, with whatever it is you plan to get out of having us all here.” 

You don’t respond for a moment. Vaguely you recall inviting Tashi to the Challengers tournament a few weeks ago after Art’s loss – Maybe there’s someone there your husband could beat for a change – but you had disregarded it. You had meant the entire thing as a joke, a jab at Art’s poor tennis performance. Never would you have expected the Donaldsons to remotely consider participating in a Challengers tournament. You regret leaving early yesterday, missing their arrival at a tournament so far beneath them. You would have enjoyed witnessing their shame. 

“I didn’t set anything up,” you tell Patrick, yet you doubt the validity of your own statement. “And I’m not planning on getting anything out of it.” 

“Whatever you say. I just know Tashi wouldn’t bother with something like this for the hell of it. Either Art’s tennis has gotten really fucking bad for them to stoop to a tournament this low, or she’s using him to be here with you. Or, of course, both can be true. I’m going with both.” 

You shake your head. “Tashi has no interest in me.” 

“It’s been nine years since she left you, and she still hates you. She would probably fucking stab you if given the chance. That’s not something to take lightly with her, it takes more than resentment to hold onto something that long. Even I’m not as lucky.” 

“I’m not interested in making amends with Tashi Donaldson.” 

Patrick shrugs. He gives you a look, I don’t believe you, that you want to punch him for. You have nothing to say to Tashi, no reason to wish to see her. You went up to talk to her those weeks ago at Art’s game because you wanted to taunt her with your presence. You wanted her to see that you were successful without her, you don’t need her. 

You wanted her to see you – you realize how it sounds, and that there’s no way you would win a dispute with Patrick if your only explanation for reconnecting with Tashi is I wanted her to see that I’m better than her husband. You look back to him with a facade of nonchalance. 

You don’t know what to say, so you shift the focus back to him. “You’re going to get killed in a match against Art.” 

“How would you know? You haven’t seen me play in years.”

“I don’t need to.” 

“Wow, thanks for having so much faith in me.” 

You roll your eyes. 

Patrick’s gaze shifts to something beyond your car, something his eyes trail for a few seconds before he turns back to you. “I need to go warm up,” he announces, and backs away from your car. “Write something heroic about me to publish when I win, will you?” 

You roll up your window. You watch him disappear from the parking lot. Peace still evades you once he’s gone – that Tashi would be coming to the tournament is enough to have you nearly in hysterics. The promise of her soon arrival has adrenaline coursing through you, though the emotion accompanying it is indecipherable. 

You loathe Tashi Donaldson. You hate her husband even more. But there’s something so addictive about being around her to prove it. To prove that it was a mistake to end things with you and pursue Art shortly after, that he could never live up to you. Your fame came from success in writing and journalism, Art’s fame came from Tashi and viral videos of Art flinging tennis rackets after his losses. It felt good for you to prove your worth in contrast to his. You finally have power over them, and you have every intention of using it. 

For better or worse, you still care about Tashi’s opinion of you. For better or worse, you still care for Tashi Duncan. 

A car pulls into the empty spot next to you. The glare of the sun against it burns your eyes, leaves you with the start of a headache. 

You turn to look at the owners of the vehicle. Immediately you understand what Patrick had been spying beyond your car, and why he had been so quick to flee. 

You missed them yesterday, but you wouldn’t miss them today. You turn your car off and get out. 

“Need help carrying that?” You ask Art as he picks up his gym bag out of the trunk of the car beside yours. “I don’t want you to break any rackets.” 

“That would look good for you,” he says dryly. He shuts the trunk. “To make it seem like you’re making amends.” 

“I have nothing to make amends for.” 

He’s silent. You have two thousand words to make amends for, actually, but you’ll never be caught apologizing. You wrote an article about Art’s tennis years ago that gave you much of your fame – an article that had suggested Art was one of the worst tennis players to come out of Stanford, and that it was a shame he was using Tashi’s injury to his advantage by convincing her to coach his mediocre games. You implied that he was using her, that he was a cheater in the very least as far as tennis was concerned. 

It was never your finest moment, but you would never regret it. He deserved it, and so did Tashi for the way the two of you left your relationship. 

A car door slams. You’re joined by Tashi. In a light blue dress she’s stunning, radiant beyond comparison with the man she comes to stand by. A man she knows she cannot defend, a man beneath her. 

She gives Art a tyrannical look. He’s going to go find the locker room, he says, as if he hadn’t played here yesterday, and with a final look between you and Tashi he takes his bag and begins his way across the parking lot. 

You’re left alone with Tashi. The two of you are silent – she’s waiting for you to say something, and you’re waiting to come up with something that sounds right. 

“I saw you talking to Patrick,” Tashi says at last. You nod. “Did he tell you he asked me to coach him?” 

A smile pulls at your lips. “No, he didn’t.” 

“Good. Now you have something to write about,” she says, taking a step towards you, “when he loses. You can write about how he tried so desperately to come out on top, and you can write about who he lost to.” 

It’s not about Art anymore. It’s not about Patrick, it’s not about this tournament. It’s about you. Tashi’s reversal, her revenge. She won when she left you ten years ago, you won with your article, and Tashi Donaldson has never been one to keep a tie. She’s been keeping score for nine years in preparation for an opportunity such as this, one to set the record in her favor. 

“I’m not interested in placing bets on failed prodigies.” 

“You’re not too good for it, though.” 

“You are. At least you should have been.” 

Tashi shakes her head. “What the fuck does that mean?” 

“You know what it means,” you say, and step closer. “It should be you on that court, not them. I should be writing about you.” 

You know you’ve struck a nerve. Tashi stills. Her expression was once unreadable, but now it reveals her resentment. At you maybe, but also at fate itself, because you’re right: it should be her competing. Winning for herself and not through others. She still bears the weight of power, but it’s no longer hers to use. 

“Your husband is going to lose,” you say, and you both know it’s a lie. But you will be there when Art wins, you will be there waiting for her to prove you wrong like she’s always craved. If it is winning that will let her make amends with herself, you will be the harbinger. You will let her cheat the game just so she can win. Maybe it’s all you’ve wanted this whole time, inviting her to the Challengers tournament. 

Maybe it’s your way of making amends. 

“Any final words before the game?” You ask, in the way you always used to ask her before her matches. Any final words. You used to laugh together about how apocalyptic it sounded, and Tashi used to watch you write about her after and use her quotes for assignments for your university classes. 

Tashi remembers the phrase, you see recognition sweep over her. She watches you closely, and behind her facade you see something too reminiscent to be hatred. “Fuck you,” she says, though her voice lacks animosity. 

“Is that on the record?” 

“Yes.” 

An uncanny way of making amends, but one you would welcome all the same. 

-

Her gaze sears into you as you sit in the stands watching the match. Tashi sits on the opposite side of the court, yet the two of you are positioned with a clear view of one another throughout the game. 

The score has fluctuated throughout the match. Patrick and Art have stayed consistent in score and loss – it’s closer than you thought it would be, enough that you see Tashi’s concern growing over the end result. Art is wearing, he’s becoming tired, and you know if he quits in his exhaustion he’ll leave with another loss. The Donaldsons will lose credibility, Tashi will disappear in the eyes of the media. 

You find yourself conflicted in all ways related to the match continuing before you. You want Art to lose every match he signs for – yet the thought of Tashi going down with him haunts you. Even after all she has done to you, all you have done to her, she deserves better than any path offered.  

You pause – the match has ended, the audience stands in applause. You stand to view the court, peering over shoulders, pushing your way out of the audience. 

Art Donaldson, standing in the middle of the court. He basks in the glory given by his victory, one long suspended in anticipation for you to be witness. He looks up to find Tashi in the stands, and you watch as something unsaid passes between them. An I told you so on Art’s end, and something unsatisfied from Tashi’s. 

You don’t need to watch the rest of it. You don’t need to see Art’s self-ordered victory lap, and you don’t need to hear the speech he’ll give the reporters waiting to flock to him. You don’t need to see Tashi by his side, so you leave the court. 

You make your way through the tennis complex. Fluorescent lights stare you down, their judgment shines brighter for you. You don’t give them anything to taunt you with, keeping your expression flat. It was obvious Art would win, and in his victory Tashi has been fulfilled. 

The click of heels trails you. You spare a glance over your shoulder as you walk, and you pause. Her eyes are on you alone in the empty hall. 

“Congratulations,” you say, dull. “Do you feel better now? I see Art does.” 

“Fuck Art,” she snaps. Tashi is empowered in her pride, which has not been placed in her husband, but in herself. This is not his victory, it belongs to her. She closes the distance between you, and if you moved back any further you’d be leaning against the wall. The door to the locker room is across the hall – your memories hardly feel like your own, hardly feel like they belong just the same to the woman in front of you, but they crash through you anyway. 

“This feels familiar,” you murmur, looking up at her. You look to see if the halls are empty, but Tashi wastes no such time – she pulls you against her, her lips on yours, hunger in her touch as the two of you realize how much time you have to make up for and so little opportunity for it. Her nails dig into the back of your neck until her hand weaves into your hair, and like you always have you melt into her every desire. 

“I win,” Tashi says once she pulls away. Her eyes bear into yours, dark and unforgiving, dominating. “I fucking win.” 

There’s nothing that could prove her wrong. Power cures, if you know how to use it. 

—

—

—

i wrote this fic so many different times honestly and i kept a few of the scenes I deleted from it bc it was getting too long so if anyone wants a part 2 lmk andddd i can put something together 😔

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | y’all accidentally adopt a kid (part 2)

♡ fandoms; House of Wax, Hannibal (TV)/Silence of the Lambs, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; parenthood, kidnapping, mentions of violence. basically don’t tell these guys you want a kid ig

♡notes; another sparse selection but i don’t think Billy Lenz is allowed within 100 yards of a school so it is what it is

also I hate how much I’m starting to love Bo oh my god

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Vincent Sinclair

> he’s a nurturing man- to his brothers and you

> hell he babies Jonesy too

> even so, he’s shocked when you mention offhandedly that he’d make a good father

> he denies it vehemently

> even as the golden child he grew up in hell

> no way he’d know how to do any of it right

> but you just gently laugh and shake your head, insisting but not pressing it

> it makes him think

> and think and think

> he didn’t know much about kids, but you’d be a great parent

> and you wouldn’t lie to him- maybe he’d be at least an okay father

> families don’t come through often

> and when they do, Lester leaves them be

> if they ever get to Ambrose on their own, the town stays off- none of the Sinclairs want anything to do with harming children

> but mistakes happen, and Bo is freaking out

> a little girl with dark hair and bright blue eyes was sleeping in the back of a car while he took care of her parents, and he didn’t realize until far to late

> she’s maybe 3, and awfully scared and quiet- but when they bring her in the house she walks right up to you and Vincent

> she hugs your leg and finally smiles when Vincent kneels down to show her that Jonesy is a nice dog

> Bo is in shock when you volunteer to adopt her, but Vincent is in quick agreement

> she’s nonverbal, but you look through her family’s things to find out her name - Lilly Henson, or something to that affect .

> Lilly Sinclair has a much better ring to it anyways, doesn’t it?

Bo Sinclair

> he’s the type that if you mention that you want a kid to this man, he asks what color

> he is endlessly devoted to you

> and while he never wanted a kid before, he’s always so insistent you make him a better man

> so some snot nosed brats would complete the picture perfectly

> he’s not super serious about it, not really

> you have plenty of time to plan for a family

> and he’s the type to want biological children if possible- he’s so used to white picket fence suburbia-type ideals

> when a car pulls up to the gas station, he stops when he sees the infant car seat in the back

> he’s about to tell the parents to move along- but then he sees the second matching one

> something - probably his overinflated self worth - tells him he’d be a much better father to twins that these chucklefucks

> and you want a kid anyways! would two be much better

> they’re not identical- he’s not not disappointed by the fact, but they’re still adorable

> a boy and a girl a bit over a year, with big brown eyes and infectious giggles

> he’s beyond proud when he strides in with them

> “daddy’s home!”

> he thinks you might actually kill him this time

> but then Charlotte - the girl based on what’s embroidered on her blankie, reaches for you and you melt

> you’re still scolding him as you happily take Theodore too

> but he knows you’re beyond thrilled

Hannibal Lecter

> he’s always wanted a successor

> quite frankly it never had to be his child - or a child at all

> he thought about taking younger serial killers in the making under his wing more than once

> to teach them the art of culinary cannibalism and the finer points of flaying people

> but it’s far too dangerous - especially with you around

> you’re the one thing that trumps his egomania

> so he lets it be for the time being

> but one day, he takes on a special case at work

> a young boy who recently lost his parents very violently

> he’s in kindergarten, and expresses most everything through his rather advanced drawings

> you don’t interact with his patients- even though he works from home you’re pretty skilled at dodging them

> but on the way out that afternoon the little boy- Peter, his name is, runs out before his social worker and smack dab into you

> she apologizes on his half profusely but you’re so sweet with the boy

> you pick up his dropped drawings and comfort him- he’s quite upset he may have hurt or angered you

> he gives you a huge hug and Hannibal can see the fond, parental look on your face

> after that it’s quite simple to draw up the paperwork

> he’s already in foster care, and it only takes a few false documents to make the courts think that Hannibal’s custody is the best place for little Peter

> you learned long ago that it’s best not to question how or why Hannibal does something when he gets like that

> and either way you’re content with your new little family

[angelinpiink]

ex boyfriend! eren headcannons ࿐ྂ。

❥ note: as a disclaimer, these headcanons are a bit toxic/dark, if that is something you find triggering i recommend you skip this one, you can find other works of eren that don't have this particular theme here just want to make it clear that i do not condone this sort of behavior and this doesn't represent my idea of what a healthy relationship should look like thank you and enjoy

Firstly, eren doesn't even consider you guys to be actually broken up, he’s convinced. you’re just screwing with him or playing hard to get. Even once he realizes you're not, the breakup is still completely one sided. He loves you far too much to even fathom that the relationship is over. He’s already planned your entire future together–he's been doing so since he first met you, from the house you'll live in together to the garter you'll be wearing on your wedding day.  In short, he’s delusional when it comes to you, head over heels or do he likes to call it and for this reason he still goes around telling everyone you're his. 

Everyone around him, including his friends is obviously taken aback by this and so they sort of just play along, listening to him rant   about you the moment he’s gotten enough alcohol in his system. This happens  at every get together they have had since the breakup.  “she’s just confused and going through a tough time right now. She doesn't know that she wants me,” he’ll say anytime he hears about you having moved on with anyone else.  If anyone even has the courage to challenge his statements he has the habit of angrily shutting them down. “Shut the hell up, you don't know anything about our relationship.” 

He spends the first few days blowing up your phone with texts about how much he loves you and that though your relationship has had its ups and downs – him being the one who’s mostly responsible for the downs, you guys will get through it as you always had if you just keep trying. When he received no response ,he changed his approach, no longer attempting to convince you to stay but now begging you to come back  home. “Come back to me please..” he’ll bombard your voicemail inbox with pleas and sob stories about how he hasn't slept because he misses holding you each night. 

 Weeks or even months  will pass since the break up itself, and every second of  his time he uses to  reach out to you, whether it's through phone calls or text. You better believe he's taking time to check up on you to see how you're doing–most  importantly, what you're doing and who you're with. He wants to make sure you're safe and not in the hands of any trouble or anyone he considers trouble. He has a habit of speaking with you as though you two are still together, ending many conversations with  “i love you.” and “hope to see you soon.” When he isn't reaching out to you he's thinking about you or talking to you about whatever poor soul is forced to listen. 

When he hears it from you that you’ve moved on to someone else, his heart shatters.  He had been able to deny and ignore the reality when he heard it from others but now that it was coming from you he had lost the energy to keep pretending to be okay with how things were, he feels as though you’re betraying him. In his eyes you were cheating by being with another.  Still, he doesn't make it known then and there, instead he responds with. “He can't love you the way I do.” and beyond that point he stops reaching out, and waits for you to come running back. 

 You'll learn the hard way that he was right  when you are riding back to his place drunk with tears running down your cheeks because you caught the very person you’d moved onto cheating on you with another girl. Once you two arrive, he carries you into the apartment where the two of you had  shared many memories together, because you are too drained from the events of the day to walk. He takes off your makeup using the makeup remover you’d ‘left behind’ when you moved out. Really, he stole it out of your things, along with other items because he was certain you’d come back to him under such circumstances. 

 He takes you into his arm, holding you so close and so tight to him because he’s afraid that you’ll leave him again as  you cry in his arms. “Don't know what i was thinking” his fingers stroke your hair.  “You weren't. but you should have known better.”  eren isn't too interested in giving you his sympathy because he feels he’s the one been betrayed the most here. If only you hadn't run off with someone else, none of this would be happening.

“I warned you,” he added. “I'm so sorry..” you sniffled, he swiped away your tears. his way of speaking to you had caused a wave of guilt to wash over you, you had left eren behind only to end up being made to look like a fool because you thought the grass was greener on the other side. Though he was upset with you,  Eren hated seeing  you cry.  especially over someone he didn't believe deserved your tears. “Make it up to me then.” a weight lifted off your shoulders at the offer of redemption. Little did you know, he plans to have you crying tears of another kind. 

❥ nsfw (things get sexual from here, if you are not comfortable with this kind of content pls turn back)

Before you know it, he’s ripped your dress off you, both your clothes and underwear are thrown about the hallway leading to the bedroom you used to share. He hasn't made a single change to anything since your absence and you find yourself feeling nostalgic, thinking back to a time where things werent easy but never this complicated. you're on the bed exposed and bear before him. He hovers between your legs. “Been so long since i've seen you like this, god i've missed it so much.” he’ll coo, his emerald gaze admiring your glistening folds that have spread with his fingers. the way your cunt throbbed under the lightest of touch, begging to be filled made him grow hard. “Missed you too.” you mutter, hazily bucking your hips against his touch.

“I know.  I know.” he reassures you, giving into your silent  demands, he continues toying with you, pushing his fingers past your folds,his finger strokes at your clit. “bet that boyfriend of yours didn't know how to take care of this needy little cunt, did he.” your juices now coating his fingers, he pounds you with them, earning a symphony of moans from your lips.  “not like i do..” he says, the satisfaction of you being so reactive to his touch bringing a smile to his face, your back arching as his movements become overwhelming for you. He soon pulls out his fingers and replaces them with his cock, that had been aching to be inside of you for far too long.

He pushes one of your legs outward, granting him more access to your sweet hole, He pushes deeper inside of you all self control leaving his body the moment he hears you cry out for him, tears welling in your eyes from pleasure as he fucks into you. “So pretty, gonna fill you up with my cum.” he groans,the moment he feels you clenching around his cock, your thighs trembling. He threw his head back as he rubs his thumb across your bottom lip, admiring you in such a state.

“Eren, you can't!” You shriek, his fingers gripping at your hips harshly. He continues fucking you hard and deep, his hips smashing against your own. “cant cum inside you?” he’ll question. he continues to pound you, this is his way of letting you know he has no intention of pulling out.

“but i thought you were sorry? I thought you were mine?”There is a heartbroken tone in his voice as he speaks to you, hoping for you to reassure him you meant the words you'd spoken earlier.  You were left feeling guilty for even thinking you should have denied him. after everything you’d already done to hurt him. You had said you would make it up to and part of that required doing as he wanted.  “I am!”

“shut up and take my cum then, you said you’re mine. gotta prove it. this pussy is mine too, right baby?” you nodded in agreement, tellinf him whatever he needed to hear to keep fucking you so good, muttering the best “mhm, i love you so so much!”  you could muster while being overtaken by your orgasm as eren came inside of you, the creamy liquid dripping out of you and down your thighs. “You're not going anywhere, not now, not ever, I won't let you.” 

 Eren, Who was responsible for it all, and had developed a plan for each failed talking stage you had. since leaving him and most importantly the breakup due to your boyfriend cheating– from his actions of  intimidating them into leaving you alone with threats of physical attacks or the videos he sent them of him devouring your cunt, while you cried out his name, your fingers tugging at his brunette strands of hair. A video which had been recorded so long ago when the two of you were still together, but the idiot, who you had made the mistake of calling a boyfriend,  hadn't even bothered to verify that your nails hadn't been any color you had been since you'd meeting him. perhaps, he simply didn't care enough. it was of no big importance to eren either way, in his eyes the fool wasn't deserving of you. Just as eren believed to be the case since the beginning, he was the only one who’d love you the way you deserved and for this reason he was never going anywhere.  

here’s my masterlist

[lilimaginebean]

jjk men in howgarts universe (fem!reader)

characters: geto, gojo, nanami, toji, sukuna, choso, itadori, megumi, yuta disclaimer: i know there exist a magic school in Japan but since we know shit about it, it's going to be based in Hogwarts

suguru geto, a half-blood wizard from Ravenclaw, is known for excelling academically, since he was the only student of his year to score all O's (outstanding) in O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. his closest friend is gojo satoru, whom he met on his dist day at Hogwarts.

at 15, he met you in Hogmeade while enjoying butterbeer with gojo. you were having it too with your friend group and he was drawn to your laughter. eavesdropping, he learned you were from Gryffindor and the same age as him

from that moment, geto started looking for you in Hogwarts and admired you from afar. he discovered you shared some classes, and decided to have small talks with you.

your interactions began only after both of you became professors at Hogwarts. as the youngest professors, you developed an academic rivalry, competing to be the students' favorite.

despite that rivalry, you spent every Friday together in Hogmeade, enjoying butterbeer and each other's company. one night he confessed that the first time he encountered you was there. you told him both of you met earlier, in the first broom flight class, where you hit him and made him fell to the ground.

due to your hangouts with suguru in Hogmeade, students suspected you were a couple. while you denied it out of embarrasment, geto confirmed those rumors. when you confronted him about it, he finally confessed his deelings. the conversation ended with a date planned for Friday, this time at his house.

you got married after three years of dating and are known as the cutest couple in Hogwarts, despite being professors. how couldn't they rank you in first place if suguru gave you flowers every morning at breakfast?

satoru gojo, a Slytherin and a descendant of the influential Gojo family, made history by winning the Triwizard Tournament twice, first at 14 and again at 19. although only students over 17 could enter, 13-year-old geto used a spell and convinced 13-year-old gojo to write his name in the Globet Fire. thanks to that achievement, he earned widespread recognition in the wizarding world.

he met you on his first day in Hogwarts, after being ssorted into Slytherin, sitting beside you at the welcoming banquet. as a year older, you freeted him with a sweet smile. he experienced love at first sight.

from that day on, he publicly confessed his feelings for you, giving you presents every time he could and using every Hogwarts event as an opportunity to ask you out. you always rejected him since you hardly knew him. at 14, frustrated by his persistence, you told him you'd date him if he completed ten nearly impossible tasks.

although gojo were initially attracted to your looks, spending time with you made him admired your personality too. on the other side, his determination and chivalrous actions to you won you over.

by the time he turned 16, gojo had only one task left: to collect a tear from a phoenix known for its elusiveness. unbeknownst to him, that phoenix was your pet, who only obeyed you. you instructed your phoenix to let gojo obtain one of her tears, so he could finally be your boyfriend.

the two of you became a couple when he was 17 and you were 18. after him winning again the Triwizard Tournament again at 19, he proposed to you. you gave him five more tasks to complete if he wanted to be your husband.

you both got engaged when he was 21 and you were 22. however, you wouldn't celebrate the wedding until both of you reach your own personal goals. four years later, you were happily married to gojo.

kento nanami, a half-blood wizard from ravenclaw, is a dedicated student who excels in every single task. recognizing his potential, geto took him under his wing, helping him becaome one of Hogwarts' most promising wizards. kento dreamed of working as an auror in the Ministry of Magic and leading a peaceful life.

struggling with herbology, you desperately sought help from your best friends, gojo and geto. gojo teased you, despite being in the same situatino, while geto suggested you ask his pupil, nanami, to tutor you.

the next day, geto introduced you to nanami, revealing he was a year younger and from Ravenclaw. he knew you were older and from Slytherin since he often saw you with gojo. you pleaded with him to be your tutor, he kindly agreed.

thanks to your study sessions with nanami, your herbology grades imrpoved, but you found yourself distracted by his good looks and demeanor. you wanted to keep your feelings a secret, knowing gojo and geto would tease you mercilessly if they found out. when they eventually did discover your new crush, gojo relentlessly called you a "craddle robber", to which you retorted by calling gim "grave robber"

geto upon learning, went to the top of the Ravenclaw Tower to encourage nanami, believing the blonde guy had a chance with you. in truth, nanami had developed a crush on you last year, after witnessing your talent in Charms, especially when you defeated Professor Flitwick in a duel. however, even if geto already told him his feelings were reciprocated, he was shy enough to even ask you out and found impossible someone like you would repair in him.

once you passed "herbology" with an E (exceeds expectations), you rushed to find Nanami to share the news. his joyful smile encouraged you to confess your feelings. he got embarrased, since he wanted to be the first one in confessing his feelings.

ten years later, you were married to Nanami, who turned into a curse-breaker. surprisingly, his classes were that good that you decided to turn into a Professor of herbology in Hogwarts

toji zenin, a Slytherin and descendant of the ingluential Zenin family, was known for his lack of academic motivation, earning only A (acceptable) grades. despite his poor reputation in academics, he excelled at Quidditch as a beater, attracting the attention of professional teams even before graduating from Hogwarts.

you met toji during a quidditch match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff, where you were supporting your Hogwart's house, Hufflepuff.

while Toji aimed to hit with a bludger, he was accidentally stuck by a teammate, causing the ball to veer toward you. he managed to save you just in time. after the match, you approached him to thank him, but he initially dismissed you, thinking you were just another fan. when he noticed you left without insisting on staying, his ego was bruised, why weren't you begging for more of his time?

out of boredom he decided you would be the new girl with who he would play with. however your naiveness and sweetness made him realize he wanted more than just a casual fling. he didn't want to play longer with you.

he confessed his initial intentions, seeking for forgiveness and a fresh start. of course, your heart shattered when you discovered he was playing with you, since you were really starting to fall for him. you appreciated his honesty and forgive him.

however, you told him you couldn't be in a relationship with someone whose intentions were that cruel. hence, you asked him to give you space and told him most closest thing you could be with him is just classmates (at least, until he matured and decided to change that traits). he accepted your rejection.

in the future, toji turned into a quidditch profesional player. you ran into him accidentally when he was returning to his house and you were closing your sweet shop. he apologized again for his actions when he was a teenager, you smiled and invited next day to a coffee.

ryomen sukuna a pureblood Slythering, was raised to believe that only purebloods were true wizards. rumors at hogwarts claimed he was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin and practiced dark arts, which led others to avoid him. as a result, he often spent time in the Forbidden Forest or the library.

you met him in the Forbidden Forest, where he was practicing dark arts while you were there on a dare from friends to stay for at least 15 minutes. to his surprise, instead of running away when you saw gim casting the Cruciatus Curse on an acromantula, you sat on a rock and watched him calmly.

he recognized you from the common room as a fellow Slytherin, albeit a half-blood, which he considered inferiors. while you saw him as the lonely dude who everyone was scared of. after some time, you stood up to leave but told him that his spells would be useless against a real wizard like you.

to prove it, you dared him to cast one on you, and without hesitation, he complied. you easily deflected it with the Salvio Hexia spell, leavinf a strong impression on him. the next evening you returned to sukuna's usual spot, where this time he was reading. sukuna didn't mind your presence.

as days went by, he grew accustomed to your presence, eventually asking why you chose to stay with him. you confessed that being by his side would help dispel rumors about your friendhsip and that it might stop the purebloods from picking on you for being half-blood.

following that confession, sukuna began to acompany you throughout the day, walking you to and from classes. how could anyone mock you, the only wizard to best him? if they laughed at you, they'd also be laughing at him for losing to a half-blood. at first, he excused his actions were aimed to protect his reputation. he deeply knew it was not for his reputation, but yours.

a year later, your relationship with him shocked everyone at Hogwarts; but neither of you even cared. it was just he and you, sukuna who was a master in Dark Arts and you who were the expert in Defence against Dark Arts.

choso, a half-blood from Hufflepuff, loves caring for his siblings, though it was challenging since some are in different Hogwarts houses. to spend equal time with each, he often visited their common rooms. while he is an avarage student overall, he excels in Transfiguration, earning a reputation as the best in the school.

you didn't expect to find a Hufflepuff boy lounging on the sofa in the Slytherin common room, engrossed in a book. when he noticed you, he introduced himself clumsly as Choso, a year older, who was waiting for his younger brother.

the next day, you learned that Choso was the only student able to access all four common rooms, a feat no one dared question due to his impressive spell mistery, which included turning several students into birds. intrigued, you decided to ask him about how he was able to access all common rooms. he explained that his siblings helped him access their common rooms to spend time with him. the conversation ended when his little brother arrived.

further investigation revealed that Choso had never had a girlfriend, which made you smile widely, you had a chance with him. from that day on, you flirted with him whenever you saw him, leaving Choso blushing and your heart racing. you worried he might feel uncomfortable, but he casually confessed one day how much he enhoyed your flirting.

when he finally admitted his feelings and confessed to you thanks to his brothers help, you decided to take a step foward and kissed him. he became the happiest student alive, and followed your kiss.

choso had always cherised having his siblings around, but now that he had a girlfriend, he found it harder to spend time alone without running into one of them, leading him to reconsider his earlier sentiments.

he proposed you marriage only three months after dating, you were so shocked about this action you needed to explain him you were not prepared for it yet, but that doesn't mean the end of the relationshiop. you asked him to ask you once again in 5 years, he took that literally and even had a countdown to don't forget it. that time you accepted it.

yuji itadori, a pureblood from Gryffindor, was the captain and seeker of the Quidditch team. yuji often was surrended by many students who wanted to hang out wit him, he as the sweetheart he was always accepted them. however, the only one who considered as friend was megumi.

you met yuji during your first school year on the train. nervous, he was thrilled when you sat next to him and offered a chocolate frog that your mother gave you before departing. both of you were elated when the sorting hat placed you in Gryffindor, and quicklu became inseperable friends

as time passed, you both drifted apart. yuji transfromed into a bright, outgoing student, always ready to help other with a noble personality; while you preferred the company of a close-knigt group and valued moments of solitude, mantaining a mysterious and introvert personality.

you reconnected when you both became prefects. yuji's heart skipped a beat upon realizing he would talk to you again after years apart. initial interactions felt awkwards, as you both had changed. however, both of you still wanted to revive your old friendship.

within a month, you had an important conversation where you expressed that in order to be friends again, you needed to let go of your childhood bond and start anew. yuji surprised you by confessing he didn't want just a friendship; he wanted to be something more than just friends or bestfriends.

on the day he professed his love to you, he did so with a chocolate frog. instead of findinf a famous wizard card inside the box, you discovered a note asking you to officially be his girlfriend.

you ended up getting married to him when you both turned 25, he being an auror and you being a wandmaker

megumi fushigiro, a purblood from Slytherin and the son of a famous Quidditch player. although he is skill in Quidditch playing the role of seeker, he didn't feel the blood rushing and enjoyement his father told him he felt. instead, megumi prefered to do strategies to Ravenclaw Quidditch team, being part of the technical team.

attending a quidditch match, megumi had devised strategies for his team, anticipating a tough game against gryffindor. he felt confident about countering yuji, but he soon learned you were the new seeker. megumi recognized you as yuji's younfer sister, whom he often saw yuji protect. the pink haired boy adored you and frequently boasted about you.

megumi was unaware of your talent for Quidditch, until he witnessed your skills firsthand. he was surprise by your tactical abilites too, ordering and controlling all the plays of Gryffindor while playing.

as you both began attending Quidditch matches together, discussing strategies and player performances, you both started to get close. even yuji noticed this closeness, leaving you two more time alone. he was already thinking how cool it would be to have megumi as his brother-in-law.

megumi regularly attended your practices, using the excuse of wanting to help you improve, claiming it wouldnt be fun to easily crush your team. you answered him telling him he didn't have the right of saying that since he still lose to your tactics.

relationship getting that serious he invited all your family to spend Christmas with his family in his house. you agreed, without knowing how it was even possible to get all your family in his house, until you arrived in his house. that wasn't a house, that was a mansion. if you were taken aback you almost got a heart attack when you realized megumi's father was the most famous beater. megumi confessed he didn't like to brag out his father, hence he got his mom's surname, to avoid attracting the wrong people

megumi asked for your hand the day after the Quidditch champion, which your team won. he decided to do it in your house, a private place. in that way, the news would be known when both of you were ready and to not overshadow your win

yuta okkutso, a Hufflepuff half-bloof, requested to be placed in that house during sorting, wanting to honor his mother's legacy. since the sorting hat was indecesive, and the Hatstall happened, the sorting hat decided to respect yuta's will.

one day, he wasn't ready to find an unknown cat in the prefect's toilet. how did a cat sneak there? yuta decided to follow the cat. he discovered a wand in one of the toilets, took it with a tissue and cleand it. once it was clean, he turned around expecting to see the cat. however, he saw you in your human form, with a mischievous smile. you thanked him for retrieving your wand and left wondering how it ended up there.

later that day, yuta spotted you again in your cat form, wandering the corridorss. he followed you to the girls' bathroom but, respecting your privacy, waited outside. when you didn't come aout and he had class soon, he left. for the rest of the week, yuta would always followed you to try to talk to you. however you were so much in your world, you didn't realize that.

after nine days, you finally appeared in your human form in front of him. you presented yourself, you were from ravenclaw and were an unregistered animagus. you also apologized him for not repairing he was looking for you. he got embarrased and told you it was nothing.

to his surprise, you asked him out for butterbeer, wanting to thank him for his help. he accepted and that Saturday you shared the unbelievable story of how your wand ended up there. ater the date, he asled you at to show his appreciation of you inviting him. this dynamic continued throughout the year, where you or yuta asked the other out by using any excuse, just to spend time together

eventually, you married him. you turned into a Diviner and he turned into an Auror

[mountainficss]

thoughts on making subby hao cry from edging ?

!! mentions of: sub!minghao, edging, dacryphilia, handjobs

i love the idea of a subby minghao :( it’s forever my favorite concept. just the thought of his pretty face scrunched up in pleasure ugh.

minghao is so well behaved, he’d genuinely try his absolute hardest to just let you use him as you please. he’d let you run your hands over his body teasingly, avoiding the places he wants you to touch the most. he’d let you kiss down the expanse of his neck, trying not to get too worked up when he feels your soft lips on his skin. he’d let you wrap your soft hands around his twitching cock, attempting not to cum from the mere sensation of it. it would be hard for him of course; any little touch from you would send jolts of excitement and arousal through his body. but it would be even harder for him when you continue to deny him of his orgasms, ripping his high away from him every time he gets close. you’d stroke him teasingly for a while, then unexpectedly pick up the pace, practically throwing him over the edge every time. you know his body too well though. so once you can tell he’s close, you’d completely remove your hand from his length. he’d take it well the first few times you edged him, although chasing your hand with his hips in a desperate attempt for more. but once you reach the fourth or fifth time, you’d see his eyes start to glisten. his pretty orbs would well with unshed tears, and he’d tug his bottom lip between his teeth. “what’s wrong, hao? close?” you’d question teasingly, tightening your grip around his erection just to see him squirm. he wouldn’t be able to hold the tears back after a while, and fat teardrops would involuntarily roll down his flushed cheeks. the wet streaks would stain his face, making him look oh-so sweet and fucked out. “y-yeah, but—‘s okay,” he’d lie, wanting you to use him to your heart’s content. “i can ta—ngh—i can take it.” you’d just grin at him, loosening your grip on him once again and receiving a whine in response. “i know,” you’d state simply.

he wouldn’t be able to take it though, after you had edged him for what seemed like the millionth time, he’d begin to beg and plead. “please! p-please let me c-cum,” he’d stutter, words slurring together between his desperate cries. the tears would refuse to cease, wetting minghao’s face as he bucks his hips up towards you. “can’t—can’t take it a-anymore…” the poor baby would be so desperate to cum anywhere, whether it be inside you, in your mouth, or just in your hands. he didn’t care where, as long as you let him finish. you would find it more fun to push him to his limit though, edging him until he physically can’t hold in his pleasure anymore <3

taglist: @jeonghanpill , @bangantokchy , @caratboy , @bewoyewo , @luvseungcheol , @wonvsmile , @haolovre , @aaniag , @writingbarnes , @dokyeomkyeom , @allieyaaa

[letsgetbigger]

My Roommate

Part One

Moving day arrived with the sun shining brightly over the city. I had decided to find a roommate to help pay the mortgage, since my salary at the clothing store wasn't enough. The idea of sharing my space with someone new made me feel both anxious and excited.

Erik arrived early, dressed in a large, comfortable tracksuit. He was a handsome 25-year-old, recently independent, working from home as a programmer. In contrast to my usual work suit and tie, his relaxed style caught my attention immediately.

"Hi, Frank," Erik said with a broad smile, extending his hand.

"Hi, Erik. Let me help you with the boxes," I replied, shaking his hand.

From our first meeting when he came to see the apartment, we got along well. As Erik unpacked his things and arranged them in his new room, I couldn't help but watch him. There was something about his presence that attracted me.

After a few hours of work, we finished settling everything. Erik collapsed onto the sofa, sweating slightly from the effort, and I noticed that his clothes, though large, didn't completely hide a slight roundness in certain areas of his figure. It was then that I understood why he had brought so much food. The fridge, which usually held my fruits and vegetables, was now packed with ready meals, cheese, whole milk, and various sauces. The cabinets were filled with pasta, rice, chips, cookies, and other snacks.

"Wow, you have quite an appetite," I commented, trying to sound casual as I observed his provisions.

Erik laughed. "Yeah, I like to eat."

I couldn't deny it puzzled me, but I decided not to dwell on it and simply accepted that my new roommate had a different lifestyle from mine.

One night, weeks later, I came home after a bad date. I was feeling disappointed and frustrated. To my surprise, I found Erik sitting on the couch with two empty pizza boxes beside him.

"Hey, Frank. How was the date?" he asked with a carefree smile.

"There was no spark," I said, shrugging.

Erik looked at me with interest. "Maybe he wasn't your type," he said, a sympathetic look on his handsome face. "Sometimes it's hard to find someone who we really click with."

I sank into the armchair across from him, feeling a bit better hearing his words. He always had a way of making me feel understood and less alone.

"Maybe you're right," I admitted, letting out a sigh.

As we talked, I noticed something different about Erik. His tracksuit no longer fit as loosely as when he moved in. In fact, his sweatshirt seemed to hide a growing belly. It was clear he was enjoying his food, and his body showed it. He got up and walked to the kitchen. His sweatpants clung to his rounder butt in a way I hadn't seen before. He opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a huge tub of protein powder, which surprised me.

"Have you been to the gym?" I asked, trying to understand why he needed a protein shake after two pizzas.

Erik laughed and shook his head. "No, I don't go to the gym," he said as if the idea amused him.

"Oh. Well, I think it's time for me to go to bed."

"Goodnight, Frank."

Maybe he was right. Maybe the slim guy I went out with wasn't simply my type. I'd always been more attracted to burly men, bears.

One hot night in late spring, I woke up thirsty. I got out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I reached the doorway, I stopped in my tracks. The scene before me left me paralyzed. Erik was standing there, illuminated by the light of the open fridge. He was wearing only a pair of briefs that dug into his skin, highlighting his curves and revealing the increasing roundness of his body. His belly slightly spilled over the elastic waistband, and his thighs looked thicker, but what stood out the most was his butt. That round, prominent ass completely filled the underwear, stretching the fabric to its limit. Erik had a box of donuts on the counter and was eating one after another with insatiable voracity using his left hand. His right hand was inside his briefs, moving rhythmically as he masturbated. The pleasure on his face was undeniable. I couldn't help but stand there, silently watching. The sight of Erik pleasuring himself like that, enjoying the food and his own body, was mesmerizing. I felt my erection grow quickly.

I backed away from the doorway carefully, trying not to make any noise, and returned to my room. The image of Erik lingered in my mind: his increasingly plump body, his hands occupied with the donuts and his cock, the expression on his face. I knew something had changed within me and that my attraction to Erik had grown in a way I couldn't ignore.

Part Two

With the arrival of summer, the heat in our apartment became unbearable. Erik started walking around in just his briefs, and every time I saw him, my heart pounded harder. His physique had changed noticeably. His belly had grown larger and stuck out proudly. His butt had become even bigger and rounder. The briefs barely contained his cheeks, and the integrity of the fabric was tested with every move. Erik seemed comfortable with his body. Seeing him so natural and carefree drove me wild.

One afternoon, as we sat on the couch watching TV, I couldn't contain my curiosity. I looked at him intently and asked:

"Erik, are you... gaining weight on purpose?"

Erik remained silent for a moment, then a mischievous smile spread across his face.

"Yes, Frank, I am doing it on purpose."

"Why?" I asked.

"I've always been excited by the idea of gaining weight, feeling my body grow, my belly expanding, and my butt getting bigger. I love seeing how my clothes get tighter," he explained.

My eyes widened. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and at the same time, I felt incredibly aroused. His confession had only intensified my desire.

The next morning, as I headed to the kitchen to have coffee, I noticed the bathroom door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I could see Erik in the shower. Water cascaded over his naked body, highlighting every curve, every fold of his skin. Watching his hands deliberately move over his fat belly, his chest, and then his enormous buttocks was fascinating. I clung to the door, my erection painfully hard. Unbeknownst to me, a damp spot formed in my briefs, a sign of my extreme arousal. Erik saw me. He didn't say anything, but his smile and the gleam in his eyes said it all. He pulled back the shower curtain and gestured for me to join him. Without thinking twice, I stepped into the bathroom. I quickly dropped my briefs to the floor and approached him. He turned, offering me his back. My eyes were fixed on his round, firm butt, a view I couldn't resist. I began to caress him, and Erik shuddered under my touch. I couldn't wait any longer; my throbbing cock sought its target. I aligned myself with him, and with a slow, deliberate motion, I entered him. The sensation was incredible. A moan escaped my lips. Erik arched back, bracing his hands against the shower wall as I started to move inside him. My hands gripped his love handles, and I increased the pace. The thrusts became stronger, more desperate, and Erik responded to each one with moans of pleasure. I felt his breathing quicken as we neared the climax. Finally, with a muffled cry, I came inside him. Erik shuddered and cried out too, his own orgasm following mine. We stayed like that, connected and panting, as the water continued to fall, washing away the sweat and passion we had shared.

That night, after a long day at work, I couldn't stop thinking about the morning's experience. When I got home, I found Erik relaxing on the sofa. I approached him and sat down beside him.

"Erik, there's something I need to tell you," I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "I love how fat you're getting. Especially your butt. It drives me crazy. And I want to see you get even fatter."

Erik smiled, his rounded face filled with satisfaction. "I like what I'm hearing, Frank."

I stood up and went to the kitchen, where I pulled a two-liter tub of ice cream from the freezer. Returning to the sofa, I placed it in front of Erik, who had already eaten two huge plates of pasta for dinner. His eyes lit up at the sight of the ice cream. I sat beside him and started feeding him. The ice cream melted in his mouth, and his lips moved with delight, swallowing each spoonful. My hand slid over his belly, feeling the fullness and warmth of his flesh under my fingers.

"That's it, Erik," I whispered in his ear, leaning in to kiss his neck. "I want you to eat it all. I want to see you grow."

After what seemed like hours, Erik finished the ice cream. He lay back on the sofa, his breathing heavy, his eyes locked on mine.

"Thank you, Frank," he murmured with gratitude and desire.

"This is just the beginning," I said.

I knelt before him, and ran my hands along his thick thighs. My fingers then played with his nipples while I kissed his belly. Erik panted as my mouth traveled down his body. I nibbled his cock through his briefs, feeling his hardness against my teeth. With a swift motion, I slid the garment down, and freed his erection. My tongue traced its length, savoring every inch before taking it into my mouth. My hands continued exploring, caressing his thighs and balls. Erik moaned and writhed. With a cry of pleasure, he came in my mouth. His hot cum filled my throat.

Part Three

A few months had passed, and Erik was incredibly fat. I woke up one morning to the sight of his enormous, round, jiggly butt resting on the bed next to me. I admired its size, along with the cellulite on his thighs and the stretch marks on his love handles. Still groggy, I moved closer and placed my hands on his buttocks, gently shaking them. The flesh wobbled, semthing that excited me like nothing else in the world. I lowered his new XXL briefs and kissed his cheeks with devotion.

"You've gained so much weight, Erik," I murmured against his skin. "And it turns me on so much seeing you like this."

Erik moaned in response, and my hands became bolder. I squeezed and kneaded his butt, feeling the fat beneath my palms as my tongue explored every inch too.

"I love you like this, so big, so sexy," I whispered.

Erik writhed in pleasure.

"Frank, bring me breakfast in bed," he requested. "I want to start the day well-fed."

I got up quickly, my erection throbbing with anticipation, and headed to the kitchen. I prepared a tray with everything I knew Erik loved: plenty of buttered toast, a cheese omelet, two enormous chocolate-filled croissants, and a giant protein shake made with equal parts of milk and cream.

When I returned to the bedroom, Erik was waiting for me, reclined on the bed with a satisfied smile on his face. I placed the tray in front of him and watched as his eyes lit up at the sight of the food.

"Perfect," Erik said.

I sat beside him. He began to eat with enthusiasm. The way he enjoyed each bite, the joy on his face as he ate, filled my heart with deep satisfaction. I thought about how incredible it was to see his body expand, full of fat, more beautiful each day. And I knew Erik loved it too, every bite, every touch, every look of desire.

When he finished breakfast, I stayed in bed watching him get up and walk to the bathroom. His body had changed so much over the past few months; it was an intoxicating spectacle.

"You're such a fat pig, Erik," I said, sliding my hand over my own body. "Look at all that meat moving. Damn, you're so obese."

Erik stopped and turned to me, his eyes shining with excitement. He loved it when I talked to him like that. I started to jerk off, watching every move of his body.

"You love being this fat, don't you?" I continued, my voice husky.

Erik moaned softly, his hands caressing his bloated belly, fingers tracing the stretch marks that adorned it.

"Yes, Frank. Tell me," he begged with desire. "Tell me how fat I am, how much more you're going to make me gain."

"You're insatiable," I whispered lustfully. "I'm going to keep feeding you. I want you to be the fattest man I've ever seen."

My hands moved more urgently, my eyes fixed on Erik's body.

"You look so sexy stuffed with food," I told him, feeling my own excitement reach its peak. "There's nothing I love more than watching you turn into a satisfied, obese pig."

Erik bit his lip, and I saw his own erection grow beneath his belly.

"Yes, Frank, make me fatter," he replied. "I can't wait to see how many more pounds I'll gain for you."

With those final words, I came, my semen shooting across the room.

Final Part

It was Saturday, and I decided we needed to go to a buffet. Erik was sitting on the couch in his now extremely small XXL briefs, his enormous belly resting on his thighs. I watched him for a moment before saying:

"Today we're going to a buffet, and I want you to wear something tight. I want everyone to see how big you've gotten."

Erik nodded, a spark of excitement in his eyes. He went to his room, and I followed, knowing he would choose the tightest clothes he had. He opted for a shirt that clung to his belly, highlighting every roll, and pants that squeezed his thighs and huge butt. I felt instantly aroused seeing him like that.

We arrived at the buffet, a paradise of greasy, abundant food, and we took our seats.

"I want you to eat non-stop. OK? Do not stop until I tell you to."

Erik nodded, stood up, and headed to the buffet tables. He returned with something for me and a plate full of pizza, fries, and fried chicken for himself. I watched him eat, savoring every bite he took. When he finished, I said:

"Go for more."

Erik got up and fetched another plate. This time he returned with burgers, onion rings, and more fries. The obvious pleasure on his face as he filled his body with more and more greasy food was thrilling.

"You're a fat pig," I whispered when he finished. "Eat more; I want to see you get even bigger."

Erik obeyed without question, rising again to get more food. I watched him walk, his huge, round butt bouncing with every step. He came back with a plate of mac and cheese and ribs. His belly was already peeking out from under his shirt.

"More, Erik. Don't stop," I ordered as he took the last bite.

Once again, he obeyed, getting up with difficulty, his tight clothes highlighting every inch of his fat. He returned with several pieces of cake.

We went home hours later. As soon as we got in, Erik collapsed heavily on the couch. I approached him, my excitement palpable.

"You're pure lard, Erik," I whispered, starting to undress him.

First, I removed his shirt, releasing his broad chest and enlarged nipples. My fingers caressed them, and Erik moaned.

"Look at you, with those huge tits and that round belly. You're such a glutton."

I struggled to remove his pants, the fabric clinging to his thick thighs and butt, which looked like two beach balls. He was left in his briefs, which I slowly pulled down, revealing his erect member, partially buried in his pubic fat.

"I love how huge you've gotten."

My hands roamed his body, groping his soft flesh. I caressed his swollen belly, feeling its warmth and smooth texture. Then I directed a hand to his cock and began to stroke it. Every movement made everything jiggle, especially his nipples, which bounced with each thrust.

"You're so sexy, so obese. Tomorrow we'll go back to the buffet," I murmured, increasing the pace of my movements.

Erik moaned louder and climaxed, his hot semen spurting into my hands. I fed it to him, then kissed him, feeling a deep satisfaction knowing I had helped him become the man he so desired to be.