#trying to conquer another nerd

[agathazinha2009]

In a Old human city Party house:

Ty*drink a few shots*: Rev, you're not 1/137, but you're the measures of my universe U3U

Revvit: haha, thank you... I really think you need stop drinking. your nerd side is showing up.

[eepwtf]

MY ATOMS HAVE ALWAYS LOVED YOURS.

jock!ben x nerd!reader

that’s what connection is, right? the swallowing of one soul into another. taking them in, letting their essence burrow into your flesh until you couldn’t tell where they ended, and you began. like a splinter, painful and irritating, but impossible to remove. that’s what you were to ben: a splinter digging beneath his skin, refusing to let go.

and maybe that was all ben wanted—to let you haunt him completely. to be tainted by you, stained in ways that could never be undone. to let the memory of you—the presence of you—sink into his skin, his blood, his bones, until he could no longer tell the difference between himself and the ghost you’d left behind.

tw; boarding school au, slight academic rivals, homophobia, toxic masculinity, might make this a continuation perhaps, ben being a big gay yearner, slight cannibalistic imagery used, shotgunning, weed hazy make out sesh… no actual smut like i said, i’ll probably make a continuation for that! wc; 12k...

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⎯⎯⎯  𖣂 ⎯⎯⎯

THE boarding school was a monolith of old money and grandeur, tucked away in the rolling countryside where the world felt muted and distant. the architecture itself seemed to loom over its occupants, cloaked in ivy and perpetually blanketed by a haze of mist. it was a place meant for the finest, the best, where boys were molded into men who would conquer whatever battlefield lay ahead, whether in the world of business or the trenches of war.

you didn’t belong here—not really. you were the outlier, the scholarship kid among pedigreed names that dripped from tongues with the weight of generations. yet, even in a world built to dismiss you, you excelled. your mind was a razor, carving through equations and essays, leaving the sons of wealth and privilege scrambling to keep up. you had a knack for reducing their inherited confidence to a quiet simmer of insecurity, your brilliance a sharp contrast to their entitled mediocrity.

then there was ben, the golden boy of said school.

ben had everything: the chiseled features of a carved from marble, the charm that made others forgive his outbursts, and a physicality that turned the sporting fields into his personal stage. he thrived in the chaos of competition, the thrill of victory lighting him from within. but you—oh, how you irritated him.

it was in the classroom where his temper simmered, where his smirk faltered just enough to reveal the cracks. he hated the way your hand shot up before anyone else’s, the way your answers came not with arrogance but an ease that suggested you didn’t even need to try. every time you walked past his desk with another perfect score, another commendation from the professors, ben felt the bitter taste of inadequacy curl on his tongue.

he wasn’t used to losing, least of all to someone like you—a quiet, unassuming boy who didn’t play by the rules of their unspoken hierarchy. he couldn’t pin you down, couldn’t challenge you to a fistfight on the quad and settle it like he did with everyone else. you lived in a world of ideas and intellect, a realm where his strength and bravado were meaningless.

and so, ben did what he did best: he turned his frustration into cruelty.

it started small. a snide remark as you passed him in the hall, his voice low but cutting, designed to stick in your mind. then came the more deliberate acts—your books knocked off your desk when he sauntered by, a "careless" shove in the crowded dining hall that sent your tray spilling to the floor. his friends laughed, their amusement a chorus that fueled his superiority. but it wasn’t enough to satisfy him.

he wanted to break you.

he couldn’t stand the way you remained steadfast, unshaken by his efforts to knock you off your pedestal. your defiance wasn’t loud or confrontational; it was in the way you picked up your books without a word, the way you returned to your seat and continued to outshine him. it was maddening, a mirror held up to his own shortcomings, reflecting a boy who was not the best, not even close, despite everything he’d been told his entire life.

the tension between you grew like a festering wound, unnoticed by the professors who were too enamored with ben’s charm and too indifferent to your quiet suffering. in the dormitories, where the shadows stretched long and the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and boyhood sweat, ben would corner you with his pointed glares and low mutters. you could feel his hatred radiating off him, a scorching heat that threatened to consume you both.

and yet, beneath the animosity, there was something else. something ben didn’t understand and refused to acknowledge. a fascination he couldn’t shake, an obsession born of the way you refused to yield to him. it gnawed at him, this unwanted fixation, turning his frustration inward even as he directed it at you.

for your part, you noticed the way his eyes lingered too long, the way his anger seemed almost personal, as though he despised not just your intelligence but something deeper, something he couldn’t name. you began to feel the weight of his gaze like a tangible thing, pressing against your skin, making your pulse quicken in ways you didn’t want to admit.

THE lacrosse field was a battlefield, churning with the restless energy of aggression. the boys moved like packs of wolves, bodies colliding in fierce pursuit of the ball, cleats tearing into the damp, overworked earth. you didn’t belong here. not really. the game wasn’t yours, not in spirit nor in skill. your talents lay elsewhere—in the orderly realm of equations and analysis, where every move was deliberate, not reactionary. but the school demanded bodies as much as minds, and so you played, driven not by passion but by necessity.

ben, on the other hand, owned the field. his movements were fluid, muscles taut beneath his jersey, every step bursting with the kind of confidence only bred from years of unearned praise. the coaches shouted his name from the sidelines, their booming voices dripping with approval. he thrived on it, fed off their praise like a starved beast. and yet, even in his glory, his focus was fractured, his gaze drawn to you like iron to a magnet.

it was infuriating.

you didn’t belong on his field, didn’t deserve to occupy even a sliver of his thoughts. but there you were, darting past him with that maddening air of quiet competence, your presence a thorn in his side. he loathed you, not just for your brilliance in the classroom but for the way you existed in his world without bending at his will. He couldn’t stand it.

you weren’t fast, and you weren’t strong, but your sharp, calculating mind had a way of slicing through the frenzy of the game. you saw patterns where others saw chaos, predicting movements before they happened, slipping through gaps in the defense like a shadow. it wasn’t enough to make you a star, but it was enough to unsettle ben. to remind him that even here, in the one place he should reign supreme, you found ways to upstage him.

he couldn’t stand it.

the game had reached a fever pitch, players shouting, the ball whipping between sticks like a bullet. the air was electric with sweat and tension, the faint tang of impending rain mingling with the iron bite of blood from scraped knees and bruised lips. you were darting forward, the ball cradled neatly in your stick as you made for an opening.

ben saw you, and something snapped.

it wasn’t enough to win. it wasn’t enough to be the best. he needed you to know you didn’t belong here.

he moved in, a predator stalking prey, his green eyes locked on you with singular intent. his shove was perfectly calculated—not enough to earn him a foul but more than enough to send you staggering. you stumbled, feet slipping in the mud, but you didn’t fall. you were steadying yourself when his stick came down, the blunt edge catching your face with brutal precision.

the sound was sickening, a wet crack that silenced the field as you crumpled to the ground. pain exploded across your face, sharp and immediate, a fire that spread from your nose to your temple. for a moment, the world narrowed to a single point of agony, the coppery tang of blood flooding your senses as you pressed a shaking hand to your face.

and then the laughter started.

it began with ben, his cruel bark of amusement breaking the tension. he leaned casually on his stick, grinning like a boy who’d just pulled off the perfect prank. his friends joined in, their laughter swelling into a chorus of mockery that filled the air like smoke.

“didn’t think lacrosse was a contact sport, huh?” one of them jeered, the others howling in response. ben chimed in, his voice dripping with venomous charm. “guess it’s not a game for delicate types. better stick to books, nerd.”

the words hit harder than the stick had.

you stayed on the ground for a moment, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the blood dripped steadily down your face, soaking into the white of your uniform. the grass beneath you felt cold and damp, grounding you in the midst of the humiliation crashing over you like a wave. but you didn’t cry.

when you finally pushed yourself to your feet, your knees shaking, your vision swam with the effort. your face was a mess of blood and bruises, the metallic taste thick on your tongue. the coaches had yet to intervene, their eyes blind to the golden boy’s cruelty.

ben’s laughter faltered for a split second when your gaze met his. there was something in your eyes—defiance, yes, but also a quiet strength that made his stomach churn. he could hear the blood pounding in his ears, drowning out the cheers and jeers of his friends. for the first time, he felt something other than triumph in your presence.

it was guilt, sharp and unwelcome, gnawing at the edges of his bravado.

ben forced himself to laugh again, louder this time, shoving the flicker of shame deep down where it couldn’t touch him. his grin widened, and he turned back to his friends, letting their approval wash over him like a balm. but as the game resumed, the image of your bloodied face lingered in his mind, a grotesque reminder that even in victory, something about you made him feel defeated.

he told himself he didn’t care. but the knot in his chest told another story.

YOU dreamt of ben’s teeth in your skin that night, or at least you think it was a dream. the memory lingers too vividly, too viscerally, as though your subconscious left it smoldering just beneath the surface of your waking mind. in your dream—or nightmare, perhaps—it wasn’t the boy you knew from the halls and the fields who loomed over you. it was something else. something primal, something that wore ben’s face but moved with a hunger that no human being could possess.

his green eyes burned bright at first, clear and sharp, their intensity the only thing anchoring you to what little humanity remained in him. but then the green began to darken, swallowed by black until his pupils eclipsed everything else. his grin followed, shifting from the boyish smirk you had come to associate with his cruelty to something far more animalistic. it wasn’t a smile anymore—it was a snarl, predatory and sharp, his teeth bared like a beast ready to strike.

you remember the feel of his hands on you, strong and unrelenting, pinning you down with an ease that made your breath catch in your throat. his fingers dug into your arms, their grip just shy of painful, but it wasn’t his hands that truly frightened you. it was his mouth.

his teeth found your flesh, and for a moment, the world became nothing but sensation. you felt the pressure first, the sharp edge of his canines pressing into your skin, threatening to pierce it. then came the pain—hot and electric, spreading through your body like wildfire. your breath hitched, caught somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, your senses overwhelmed by the strange, horrifying intimacy of it.

and yet, even as your dream-self writhed beneath him, a strange thought took root in your mind. it wasn’t just fear you felt. it was something darker, something that churned in your gut like a sickness. there was a perverse fascination in the way he consumed you, a twisted part of you that reveled in his domination, in the way he claimed you as his prey.

when you woke, your body was slick with sweat, the sheets tangled around your limbs like the remnants of a trap you had barely escaped. your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breathing, the phantom pain of his bite still throbbing beneath your skin. your heart raced, not just with the adrenaline of the nightmare but with something else—something you didn’t want to name.

you told yourself it was just a dream, a grotesque product of your mind’s restless wanderings. but as you lay there in the predawn darkness, your room quiet except for the faint rustle of wind against the window, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been more than that.

because when you thought of ben, when you recalled the way his gaze lingered on you during the day—those fleeting, almost imperceptible glances—you felt a similar unease, a similar pull. he thought you didn’t notice, but you did. you noticed the way his jaw clenched when you outpaced him in class, the way his hands gripped the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles turned white.

you noticed the frustration in his voice when he barked orders on the field, the way it always seemed sharper, louder, when directed at you. and, most unsettling of all, you noticed the way his anger gave way to something else entirely in those rare moments when your eyes met.

it wasn’t just hatred that burned in his gaze. there was something deeper, something raw and untamed, something that made your skin prickle with a strange mixture of fear and anticipation. it was as though he was waging a war with himself, his fury at you battling against some unspoken truth he refused to acknowledge.

maybe your dream had simply dredged up all the pieces of him you couldn’t reconcile—the cruelty, the rage, the intensity that bordered on obsession—and twisted them into something monstrous. or maybe, just maybe, your subconscious had glimpsed something real, something lurking beneath the surface of ben’s golden-boy façade.

you lay there for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling as the first pale rays of dawn crept through the window. the memory of his teeth haunted you, the phantom sensation of his bite refusing to fade. you told yourself it was absurd, that you were letting his presence in your life warp your thoughts.

but deep down, in the quietest corners of your mind, you couldn’t deny the truth. you had seen the way ben looked at you. and worse still, you had felt the way his presence made something inside you stir—a festering thing, raw and ugly, that refused to be ignored.

the morning air felt heavy, clinging to your skin with a dampness that did nothing to ease the lingering unease from the night. you shook yourself off, trying to dispel the fog that clung to your mind, your hands coming up to rub at your eyes in a futile attempt to erase the dream—or nightmare—that still burned at the edges of your memory. the pressure of phantom teeth seemed to linger on your flesh, a strange sensation you couldn’t quite shake.

your uniform hung stiff and scratchy against your skin as you pulled it on, the starched fabric doing little to comfort you. the ritual of dressing, buttoning and tucking with practiced efficiency, was almost enough to settle you. almost. but when you glanced at your reflection, bleary-eyed and pale, the faint shadows under your eyes told the truth you couldn’t ignore. you looked like someone who hadn’t slept, not properly, not peacefully.

the hallways were already stirring with life as you stepped into them, the low murmur of voices mixing with the squeak of shoes on polished wood. you kept your head down, hoping to avoid unnecessary interaction, your thoughts still churning with the vestiges of the dream. your skin crawled at the thought of ben—not the boy from the nightmare, but the one who existed here, in the real world. the one who seemed to take up far too much space in your mind, even when you weren’t asleep.

you were halfway down the corridor, lost in your thoughts, when a hand gripped your shoulder, pulling you to a sudden halt. the touch jolted you, your pulse spiking as you turned quickly, your body bracing instinctively for something worse than what it was.

“don’t you know it’s rude to creep around?” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could soften them. your voice was rough, gravelly from the lack of proper rest, but the irritation in it was genuine.

your friend raised an eyebrow, unbothered by your tone. “you look like shit,” they said bluntly, their arm swinging casually around your shoulders as if to soften the blow of their words.

you rolled your eyes, the corner of your mouth twitching in faint exasperation. “i was studying,” you replied, the lie slipping out easily, though the weight of it settled uncomfortably in your chest.

studying. sure. if “studying” meant spending the night caught in a cycle of half-sleep and vivid, unsettling dreams about ben—dreams that left you waking with your heart pounding and your skin clammy. dreams that made facing him now feel like a task monumental enough to deserve its own place in Dante’s Inferno.

your friend gave you a knowing look, their gaze sharp despite their casual demeanor. “studying,” they repeated, dragging out the word as if testing its weight. “rightt.”

you shrugged them off, stepping out from under their arm and continuing down the hall. “drop it,” you muttered, not looking back.

but as you walked, the knot of unease in your stomach only tightened. you didn’t want to see ben today, not after last night, not after the way his imagined teeth had sunk into your flesh with such terrible intimacy. but you knew you would see him—of course you would. he was everywhere, an unshakable presence in your life that clung to you like a shadow. and despite yourself, a small, treacherous part of you wondered what it would feel like if the dream wasn’t entirely a fabrication. if the pressure of his teeth wasn’t just some cruel trick of your subconscious.

you shook the thought away, your hands balling into fists at your sides as you forced your feet forward. it was a new day, you told yourself. you would face him, endure his glances, his comments, his presence, and you would survive. even if the memory of his grin haunted you all the while.

of course, your friend, blissfully unaware of the strange, festering thing coiling tighter in your chest, slung their arm around you again, jostling you with a kind of ease that only highlighted your growing sense of unease. their presence might have been grounding if it weren’t for the chaos swirling behind your eyes, the dream—or nightmare—still clinging to your thoughts like cobwebs you couldn’t brush away. each step down the corridor felt mechanical, your body moving on autopilot as the slick, oily remnants of the dream seeped deeper, threatening to consume your focus entirely.

christ, you thought bitterly, why couldn’t your mind just give you peace for once? the dream’s claws had sunk deep, its venom spreading even now, and the weight of your friend’s arm was a tether you couldn’t decide whether to cherish or resent. you couldn’t even focus on their words, the low hum of their voice turning into static, a meaningless buzz drowned out by the feverish imagery curling through your mind.

that is, until their voice cut sharply through your spiraling thoughts:

“she has, like, a nice fucking ass.”

the vulgarity slapped you out of your haze, and you blinked, frowning instinctively. the raw disbelief on your face was almost comical as you turned to your friend, your voice rough with irritation. “what the hell are you talking about?”

your friend snorted, their bark of laughter echoing through the otherwise quiet hall. they shoved lightly at your head, their hand ruffling your already unkempt hair with an irritating kind of fondness that only deepened your scowl. “jesus, man, how long did you study last night?” they teased, their tone dripping with faux concern as they rolled their eyes. “i’m talking about the new teacher. you know, the one half the guys are practically drooling over.”

you exhaled sharply through your nose, shaking your head as they continued to chatter, unbothered by your lack of engagement. their arm stayed slung across your shoulders, anchoring you to their easygoing rhythm, their words spilling out in a cascade of exaggerated admiration. descriptions of the teacher’s figure, her looks, and the collective hormonal obsession of the student body filled the air. it was almost laughable how much they cared about something so fleeting.

but their words served their purpose—they drowned out the dream, tamping down the ghost of green eyes and imagined teeth, pulling you further into the mundanity of the day. you grunted noncommittally, letting their words wash over you without actually processing them. you didn’t care about some teacher everyone was ogling like a piece of meat, but their chatter had pulled you far enough from your own thoughts to notice the weight pressing against your ribs had shifted. something darker, heavier, had begun to bloom there.

and then, like a blade of glass slicing through skin, you saw him.

ben stood further down the corridor, leaning against the wall with the kind of casual confidence only he could pull off. he was flanked by a few of his cronies, boys who lingered like shadows, echoing his movements and amplifying his presence. but it wasn’t his posture or his pack of admirers that stopped you dead in your tracks. it was his eyes.

they were locked onto you, glinting like shards of polished emeralds in the muted light of the hallway. you froze under the weight of his gaze, something sharp and disquieting curling in your stomach as he looked—not at you, but at the arm slung so comfortably over your shoulders. his jaw shifted slightly, tension flickering at the corners of his mouth, though his expression remained infuriatingly neutral.

your first thought was that it was hatred. of course it was. what else could it be? ben had spent months making your life a quiet misery, his snide remarks and calculated glances digging under your skin like splinters. the idea that his stare could mean anything other than disdain didn’t even cross your mind.

his lips curled upward, but it wasn’t a smile—not really. it was more like the barest hint of teeth, a silent warning that you couldn’t quite decipher. and yet, something in his eyes felt different, something darker and unfamiliar, like the faint glimmer of green fire.

your friend, blissfully unaware of the tension coiling in the air, kept talking, their voice a low hum in the background as you stood frozen, caught in the snare of ben’s gaze. the weight of their arm around you, once grounding, now felt suffocating, a heat rising in your chest that had nothing to do with your lack of sleep.

ben shifted slightly, his frame leaning off the wall as his gaze flickered back to your face. it lingered for just a moment too long before he turned away, his attention snapping back to his friends as though the moment had never happened.

you exhaled shakily, realizing you’d been holding your breath. the knot in your stomach twisted tighter, a strange mix of unease and... something else. whatever it was, it made you feel raw and exposed, your skin prickling with the faint sensation of being watched, even as you forced yourself to keep walking.

your friend gave you a nudge, oblivious to the storm raging inside you. “earth to you,” they said, their voice teasing. “you okay? look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

you forced a shrug, your movements stiff. “i’m fine,” you muttered, though the tremor in your voice betrayed the lie. fine. sure. if you ignored the way your heart still raced, the way ben’s stare had burned itself into the back of your mind. fine, if you ignored the strange, festering feeling that had been planted in your chest and was now threatening to bloom.

ben sat across from you, his body a picture of restless arrogance, sprawled as though he owned the desk and everything around it. his fingertips tapped a jagged, uneven rhythm against the varnished wood, a staccato counterpoint to the droning monotone of the professor’s voice. the lesson, whatever the hell it was about, was already a blur in his mind—some dull lecture he’d never bother to commit to memory. he let out an gratuitous sigh, sinking lower into his seat with an air of theatrical boredom, the edges of his lips curling in a smirk as a few nearby classmates glanced his way.

but the act was just that—an act. his attention wasn’t really on the class, nor the eyes that occasionally flicked toward him, drawn like moths to the flame of his ever-present bravado. no, his focus was on you.

it always came back to you.

his green eyes found the back of your head as they so often did during these torturous classes. you sat two rows ahead, perfectly aligned to torment him with your quiet diligence. he watched the way you leaned slightly forward, the slight tension in your shoulders betraying the focus you poured into every word spilling from the professor’s lips. your hand moved quickly, a blur of determination as you scrawled across the page in front of you. he couldn’t see exactly what you were writing, but he knew it was notes.

of course, it was notes.

you always took notes, didn’t you? like some kind of academic machine, recording every detail, every thread of information the professor dared to offer. and for reasons ben couldn’t quite articulate, it infuriated him. or maybe “infuriated” wasn’t the right word. maybe it was more complicated than that—more warped.

his fingers stopped their tapping as his gaze narrowed, following the precise movements of your pen. he imagined the lines and curves you etched into the paper, the careful way you transcribed thoughts into words, words into meaning. the idea of it made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t entirely understand.

ben wanted to see it.

no—he needed to see it.

he needed to know what went on inside that overactive mind of yours, what ideas and thoughts swirled in your brain like storms. what made you so goddamn meticulous, so disgustingly perfect in your execution of everything you did? his teeth clenched, his jaw tight as he stared harder, as though sheer will alone could penetrate the barriers between his mind and yours.

he didn’t just want a glimpse into your thoughts—he wanted to crack you open.

the intrusive image came to him unbidden, vivid and visceral: his hands on either side of your skull, his thumbs pressing into the delicate curve of your temples. in his mind, the bone would give way beneath his strength, splitting like an overripe fruit. he’d tear through the lining, past the fragile casing of your brain, his fingers sinking deep into the valleys and folds of sulci and gyri. he’d feel the sticky heat of your thoughts, the pulse of your consciousness against his fingertips.

and maybe then—maybe then—he could understand.

understand how you worked, what made you tick, why you were always so goddamn far ahead of him. why, no matter how hard he tried to best you, to shake you, to drag you down to the level where he felt safe, you always managed to stay just out of reach. it was maddening. it was humiliating.

and it was intoxicating.

ben’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his fixation on you tightening its grip around his ribcage. he wanted to hate you—god, he wanted to hate you. it would have been easier if he could. but there was something else, something darker, slithering in the spaces where hatred should have lived.

infatuation wasn’t the right word for it, but it was close.

you were perfect in a way that was almost grotesque to him, a reminder of everything he lacked, everything he could never be. and yet, he couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop wanting to pull you apart piece by piece until he understood the atoms, and cells inside you.

the professor’s voice droned on, a dull hum against the roar of his thoughts. his eyes didn’t leave you, not for a second. to anyone else, ben looked like a bored boy enduring another tedious class. but inside him, something wild and restless clawed at the walls of his chest, something primal and impossible to name.

SOMETHING about you clung to ben like a splinter buried deep under his skin. no matter how much he tried to scrape it out, it remained lodged there, a constant irritant—and yet, perversely, he didn’t really want it gone. it was the kind of ache that grew familiar, even welcome, as though having a piece of you stuck inside him, digging in, was better than losing the connection altogether.

he told himself it was nothing, just a weird, passing fixation. but mondays tested that lie in ways that made his jaw clench and his heart pound harder than any game ever did. mondays meant your ritual: the library. the coffee beside you, still steaming faintly as you leaned into the table, your head bowed over a fortress of books that seemed to grow taller with each passing hour.

he wasn’t sure what you read—probably something mind-numbingly boring, some dense intellectual nonsense he wouldn’t bother to crack open even if someone paid him. but you, with that maddening concentration etched into your brow and your soft, barely-there frown tugging at your lips, made it look like the most important thing in the world.

and when you read, oh god, when you read—you spoke. not loudly, no. just the faintest whispers, as if the words spilled from your mouth by accident, a soft, private litany that no one else was meant to hear. but ben heard. he always heard.

it wasn’t fair, the way your voice wrapped itself around the silence of the library, low and melodic and unbearably intimate. it felt deliberate somehow, like a knife turned just for him. it was as though you knew he was watching, knew he lingered there in the shadows of the shelves, pretending to look for some book he’d never even crack open.

if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost think you were reading for him.

he should be at practice. that thought nagged at him like a coach’s whistle in the back of his mind, sharp and insistent. practice, where his teammates would already be warming up, their easy camaraderie and loud laughter filling the field. that’s where he belonged, where he thrived. that was his kingdom. but mondays had become something else entirely.

mondays were for you.

ben found himself lingering near the library door, his shoulders slouched just enough to blend into the background. his bag hung limply off one arm, forgotten, as his green eyes tracked every movement you made. the way your fingers flicked over the pages, precise and unhurried, as though you had all the time in the world. the slight tilt of your head when you paused to scribble something in the notebook you always brought with you. the way your lips, soft and just barely parted, formed each word you whispered like a prayer.

you were calm and focused, untouched by the chaotic energy that always seemed to coil beneath his skin. you looked... at peace. it made him burn.

ben clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. he hated this feeling, this raw, inexplicable pull toward you that felt less like attraction and more like possession. you weren’t doing anything to him—just sitting there, existing, being you. and yet, it was as if you’d reached inside him and turned something vital upside down, leaving him unsteady on his feet.

he didn’t want to care about your stupid coffee cup, the way the steam curled up and caught the faint light spilling through the high library windows. he didn’t want to notice the way your glasses slipped slightly off the bridge of your nose, how you’d brush them back with an absent-minded grace that seemed so effortless it made his chest ache.

and yet, there he was, still standing there.

still watching.

still pretending to give a fuck about some random book he wouldn’t even bother to carry out the door.

ben shifted on his feet, the weight of his indecision heavy in his chest. he should leave. he should walk out, get to practice, and stop wasting his time on you. but the thought of leaving, of stepping away from this quiet moment where he could just... see you without consequence, felt like tearing that splinter from his skin. he’d lose the ache, yes, but he’d also lose the maddening comfort of its presence.

so, instead, he lingered.

and when you whispered another word, your lips brushing the silence like a kiss meant for no one in particular, ben’s grip tightened on the strap of his bag. because deep down, in the part of himself he refused to acknowledge, he wanted to believe it was for him.

it was stupid, reckless even, the way ben’s feet moved without permission, as if something unseen was yanking at invisible strings tied to his ankles. he wasn’t sure why he let it happen, why he allowed this force—this festering pull inside him—to steer him closer and closer to where you sat. he could have stopped himself, forced his body to obey logic, but something in him resisted the idea of turning back.

the quiet sanctity of the library enveloped him, all hushed whispers and the soft rustle of turning pages. the faint, bitter aroma of coffee mingled with the musty scent of old books, filling his lungs as he neared your table. it was overwhelming, suffocating, and yet strangely intoxicating. the closer he got, the more he felt like the world narrowed to just this: you, the fortress of books around you, the steam curling from your cup like it held some secret.

it was too much. too close.

ben swallowed hard, his tongue suddenly dry as he hovered behind you. from this distance, he could see the tiny grooves in the back of your chair, the faint scuff marks on the floor where your restless foot tapped. his pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the low hum of the library’s fluorescent lights.

what the hell was he even doing?

he didn’t have a plan. of course, he didn’t. ben didn’t do plans; he acted. he relied on brute force, sheer confidence, and the kind of charm that usually bulldozed any obstacle in his way. but here, now, standing behind you, those weapons felt dull and useless.

you shifted slightly, leaning forward to jot something into your notebook, and ben’s eyes tracked the movement like a predator watching its prey. his stomach tightened, not with hunger, but with something worse—something sharper, more desperate.

and then, like some unthinking beast lurching forward, he moved.

the table loomed in front of him, the edge digging into his thigh as he planted himself there, far closer than he should have been. his shadow fell across your books, an expanse of muted light eclipsed by his frame. the breath hitched in his throat, and for a fleeting, wild moment, he considered bolting. running back to the lacrosse field, to the safety of shouting and fists and controlled chaos.

but the thought passed as quickly as it came, crushed beneath the unbearable weight of his need to say something—anything.

he opened his mouth, and what escaped was not a clever remark, not the smooth confidence he wielded on the field or in front of his friends, but a sound. a low, guttural grunt that made him cringe internally the second it left his lips.

you turned at the noise, your brow furrowing as your eyes flicked up to meet his. your expression was a mix of curiosity and mild irritation, as though you were trying to decide whether this interruption was worth your attention.

ben’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his palms damp and cold despite the heat radiating from his body. the words he’d been grasping for, the half-formed excuse to explain why he’d crossed the boundary of your space, caught in his throat.

what the hell was he supposed to say? that he couldn’t stay away? that your stupid books and coffee and concentrated pout had been haunting him for weeks?

no, he needed something else—something neutral, something that wouldn’t make him look like an idiot.

“i, uh…” his voice came out rough, rasping like sandpaper against the quiet of the library. he cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “i need tutoring. in, uh… math.”

the words hung in the air like a poorly thrown pass, wobbling and uncertain. it was a flimsy excuse, half-true at best. sure, he wasn’t exactly excelling in math, but he could’ve asked any of his teammates for help. hell, he could’ve charmed one of the teachers if he’d wanted to. but none of them were you.

you blinked, your lips parting slightly as if you weren’t sure whether to laugh or take him seriously. ben felt a flush crawl up the back of his neck, his pride warring with the strange, gnawing feeling that he might just implode if you said no.

“i’m… not great with numbers,” he added quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. his hand came up to rub the back of his neck, his posture stiff despite the casual tone he was struggling to maintain. “figured you could help. since, y’know, you’re always… doing all this.” he gestured vaguely to the books and notes sprawled across the table, his movements broad and almost clumsy.

there. it wasn’t perfect, but it was something. a lifeline, thin and fragile, tossed out into the silence between you.

the air is dense, clinging to the library like an unwanted second skin, thick with the sour tang of aged paper, spilled coffee, and the faint decay of something almost alive. it’s the kind of air that wraps itself around your throat and sinks into your lungs, suffocating and intimate, a silent predator. ben breathes it in deeply, like he needs the burn to keep himself tethered to this moment, to you. but there’s something else here, too, something sharper, something that cuts through the miasma and lodges itself inside him.

it’s you.

it shouldn’t be so distinct, yet it is. a clean, woody undertone, with a hint of leather that somehow feels ancient and personal, like it carries stories older than either of you. it threads its way through the stagnant library air like an interloper, lacing itself into ben’s senses until it becomes the only thing he can taste. it doesn’t belong here. it doesn’t belong in this quiet, suffocating place of rot and whispers. but it belongs to you. and that’s enough.

he swallows hard, his throat tightening as though the scent has wrapped itself around his neck like a noose. it fills the hollows of his chest, seeps into the marrow of his bones, and carves itself into the darkest corners of his mind. It’s a scent that shouldn’t linger, but it does, a ghost that haunts him in the silence. you’ve branded him, burned yourself into him without even trying, and he can’t tell if he resents it or if he craves it more than his next breath.

“didn’t think you’d need a tutor,” you had said, a faint smirk on your lips, sharp enough to cut. but you didn’t say no.

and that’s how he found himself here.

the silence between you is a strange kind of beast. ben isn’t used to silence—his life is noise, chaos, endless sound that fills every corner of his world until there’s no room for anything else. his father’s voice, sharp and grating, tearing through the walls. the roar of the crowd on the field, his teammates’ shouts blending into a cacophony that drowns out the sound of his own thoughts.

but this silence isn’t like that.

this silence is alive.

it breathes. it stretches. it crawls into the space between you and grows, not oppressive but thick and full, like it’s waiting for something to happen. it hums with potential, a quiet pulse that syncs with the rhythm of his own heartbeat, and ben finds himself leaning into it, letting it wrap around him.

this silence isn’t empty. it’s full of you.

you sit beside him, close enough that he can feel the faint warmth of your body bleeding through the small gap between you. the edge of your sleeve brushes his forearm when you move, and it’s enough to send a spark of something sharp and electric jolting through him. he shouldn’t be able to feel you this acutely, shouldn’t be so hyperaware of every tiny shift in your posture, every soft inhale you take.

but he is.

the scent of you still lingers, curling around him like smoke from a burning altar, like something ancient and sacrificial. it feels alive, like it’s slithering into his veins, infecting him with the ghost of your presence. he breathes it in and lets it take root, lets it crawl through him and fill the hollow spaces he didn’t even know were there.

and the silence stretches on.

it’s not the kind of silence that demands to be broken. it’s a language all its own, a secret shared between you, full of things unsaid and unspoken truths. ben doesn’t need words to fill it. he doesn’t need to speak to know that you’re here, beside him, so close he can feel the heat radiating from you.

but the quiet is also dangerous. it lets him think. let’s his thoughts spiral into darker, hungrier places.

ben’s gaze flickers to you, catching on the curve of your jaw, the faint furrow of concentration in your brow as you scan the open book in front of you. he lets himself linger there, drinking you in like a starving man given his first taste of water. there’s something almost holy about the way you look right now, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light, your fingers brushing absently over the edge of the page as though the words have bewitched you.

but ben doesn’t feel holy.

the hunger inside him is sharp and unrelenting, a gnawing thing that writhes beneath his skin. it twists through him, dark and consuming, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what it would be like to pull you apart, to see what makes you tick. it’s not obsession. not really. obsession implies something fragile, something rooted in longing or insecurity. this is something deeper, more primal.

ben doesn’t need you. not in the way that people talk about need. but he wants you. he wants to unravel you, to pry you open and dig his fingers into the soft, vulnerable parts of you. he wants to understand what makes you sit here every monday with your coffee and your books, what makes you whisper to yourself like you’re reading something meant only for him to hear.

it’s curiosity, he tells himself. nothing more. just curiosity, burning hot and insatiable, spreading through him like wildfire.

but curiosity doesn’t feel like this.

curiosity doesn’t feel like his chest tightening every time you glance his way. it doesn’t feel like his hands itching to touch, to hold, to possess.

THATS how it went. mondays transformed into something entirely different, a new ritual that ben couldn’t explain and wouldn’t dare question. practice? a memory. the familiar rhythm of drills, the roar of his teammates, the barked orders of the coach—it all faded into insignificance the moment you came into focus. he told the coaches he was studying, his voice steady, unwavering, despite the lie rolling off his tongue like poison disguised as honey. they believed him, of course. why wouldn’t they?

ben didn’t bother telling himself he cared about the material. the textbooks, the equations, the neatly drawn graphs—they were background noise, static that faded into nothing the second you started speaking. he told himself he was there because it was convenient, because it was an excuse to escape, but deep down, in some festering corner of his mind, he knew that wasn’t true.

it was you.

you, with your quiet focus, the way your lips would move ever so slightly as you read aloud to yourself without realizing it. you, with your unwavering concentration, the crease that formed between your brows as you worked through a particularly complicated problem. you, who seemed completely oblivious to the way your presence had carved itself into ben’s very bones, anchoring you there like some unwanted parasite he couldn’t bring himself to kill.

ben would sit there, his body rigid and his mind anything but, trying to focus on the numbers sprawled across the page but failing every single time. he wasn’t looking at the work. he was looking at you. watching the way your fingers skimmed the edge of the paper, how your pen would tap against the table in rhythmic little bursts as you thought. every tiny movement, every subtle shift in your posture, dug deeper into him, threading itself into the marrow of his being until it felt like you had become a part of him.

when you spoke, your voice soft and even as you explained some mathematical concept that should have been straightforward but felt like greek to him, ben didn’t hear the words. he wasn’t listening to the numbers or the logic. he was too busy taking in the way you looked. the curve of your mouth as you formed each syllable. the way your eyes would light up, ever so slightly, when you solved something particularly tricky.

fuck, it wasn’t fair.

it wasn’t fair how easily you filled the empty spaces inside him, how effortlessly you seemed to occupy the corners of his mind he didn’t even know existed. you didn’t just exist in the same room as him; you invaded it. you seeped into him, into the cracks and fractures he thought he’d hidden so well, spreading like rot until you were everywhere.

and he let you.

even as he told himself he didn’t care, that it didn’t matter, that this was just about studying—just a convenient excuse to avoid practice—he knew the truth. he cared too much. he cared in a way that scared him, a way that felt too big, too heavy, too impossible to contain. he cared about the way your voice would drop into a lower register when you were focused, the way your laughter—soft and fleeting—would bubble out when you realized you’d made a mistake and corrected it.

he cared about how you made him feel.

like he was tethered. like he was drowning. like he was alive in a way he hadn’t been in years.

and maybe, just maybe, a part of you already knew. maybe you sensed the way he hung onto every word, every glance, every accidental brush of your hand against his when you passed him a paper or a pen. maybe you could feel the weight of him sitting across from you, silent and heavy, his presence wrapping itself around you like an unspoken confession.

or maybe you didn’t notice at all.

maybe it was all in ben’s head, this strange, suffocating thing that had planted itself inside him and grown wild and unruly, its roots digging deeper with every passing monday.

but it didn’t matter.

because mondays weren’t about practice anymore. mondays weren’t about drills or games or any of the things that used to define him.

mondays were you.

this monday was different. this monday, you were in his dorm. the space felt alien with you in it, as though your presence had shifted the walls closer, warped the air, and made the small room hum with something electric and volatile. you sat on his bed, legs crossed, one deft hand tapping against the spine of a book you hadn’t opened yet. ben’s eyes were drawn to your fingers, tracing the slow rhythm of your movements, catching on the faint smudges of ink and the tiny doodles that crawled over the back of your hand. they looked like they were singing to him, little glyphs alive with secrets, symbols carved straight from your soul and offered up to him like a taunt.

he couldn’t stop staring.

the thought came unbidden, crashing through him like a breaking wave: if i could, i’d swallow you whole.

not in some grotesque, animalistic way—at least, he didn’t think so. no teeth or sinew or blood. it was something deeper, stranger, something even more horrifying. he didn’t want to eat you; he wanted to absorb you. to make you a part of him. he wanted to pull you inside him, past skin and muscle, past the fragile shield of his ribs, until you were tucked deep into the raw, pulsing places no one else could see. he wanted you to haunt him, to bury yourself in the cracks and crevices of his very being, until you became inseparable from the rest of him.

that’s what connection is, right? the swallowing of one soul into another. taking them in, letting their essence burrow into your flesh until you couldn’t tell where they ended, and you began. like a splinter, painful and irritating, but impossible to remove. that’s what you were to ben: a splinter digging beneath his skin, refusing to let go.

he wondered, if he did it—if he somehow consumed you, if he allowed the essence of you to dissolve into him like sugar in water—would a part of your soul become his? would it taint him, change him, twist him into something unrecognizable? and, more importantly, would it leave anything of you behind?

would he be carrying the ghost of you forever, absorbed into his marrow, etched into the fabric of his being? would you haunt him in every heartbeat, every breath, every restless night spent lying awake, staring at the ceiling and tracing the memory of you through the air?

ben’s gaze drifted back to your hands, to the tiny movements of your fingers, the way they danced against the book like they were keeping a secret. his own fingers twitched, aching to reach out, to press his palm against the back of your hand and feel the warmth of you seeping through his skin. would it burn? would it leave a mark?

his chest tightened, and he swallowed hard, the sound loud and awkward in the thick, oppressive silence of the room. you didn’t look up. you were so focused on whatever small thought was flitting through your head, your brows furrowed, your lips pressed into a soft line. you had no idea, did you? no idea that you were unmaking him with every passing second, tearing him apart piece by piece, leaving him raw and exposed in a way he’d never been before.

maybe this was what ghosts were, he thought. absorbed parts. fragments of someone else clinging to the living, refusing to let go. maybe you were already haunting him, slipping between the cracks in his thoughts, curling around the jagged edges of his mind.

and maybe that was all ben wanted—to let you haunt him completely. to be tainted by you, stained in ways that could never be undone. to let the memory of you—the presence of you—sink into his skin, his blood, his bones, until he could no longer tell the difference between himself and the ghost you’d left behind.

maybe he was already swallowing you. piece by piece. moment by moment.

and maybe you didn’t even notice.

ben turned toward his bedside locker, moving with a calmness that betrayed the storm inside him. his hands, rough and deliberate, fumbled just slightly as he tugged the drawer open and reached beneath a clutter of barely concealed items. a tin rattled faintly as he pulled it free, his movements revealing a quick flash of glossy porno mags and a half-used tube of KY jelly. he didn’t flinch at the sight; shame wasn’t something he had much room for these days. instead, his fingers found the prize he was looking for—a small plastic bag filled with neatly rolled joints, their pale paper taut and waiting.

the tin hit the desk with a soft thud, and ben’s lips curved into something between a smirk and a grimace as he turned back to you. the dim dorm light caught the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, but his voice came out smooth, easy, coaxing. “you should relax,” he said, rolling a joint between his fingers as though it were the most casual thing in the world. his green eyes flicked over you, your expression caught somewhere between curious and wary. “we’ve been at this all week.”

it sounded reasonable enough, like he cared about the tension in your shoulders, the furrow of your brow, the way you kept pushing yourself harder and harder. but it wasn’t reason that fueled him—it was desperation. he wanted to see you like this, to be the one who unraveled you. the idea of you finding comfort, your edges softening under the haze of weed, made his pulse quicken in a way that felt dangerous, electric.

he thought about it as he pulled a lighter from his pocket, the small metallic click breaking the thick silence between you. the flame danced for a moment before he brought it to the end of the joint, inhaling deeply, the embers flaring bright red. he let the smoke roll out slow, curling upward in tendrils that hung heavy in the air between you.

ben could almost feel it already—the way the weed would soften your movements, blur your sharp edges, make you pliant and lightheaded. the image lodged itself in his brain, searing there like a brand. he didn’t just want you to relax; he wanted you to sink into his orbit, to feel like the world outside his dorm didn’t exist anymore. he wanted you in the palm of his hand, trusting him with that quiet, unspoken vulnerability.

he held the joint out toward you, fingers brushing yours as you took it, and he didn’t miss the way the slight contact sent something sparking through his veins. you hesitated for a moment, your lips parting like you were about to protest, but instead, you leaned in, bringing the joint to your mouth.

ben watched, captivated, as your lips curled around the paper, as you inhaled slow, tentative. he wondered if you could feel him watching you, if you knew the way your every move seemed to carve into him, marking him deeper and deeper.

he leaned back against the edge of the bed, feigning nonchalance, though his body felt taut as a bowstring. smoke curled lazily around you, and ben’s voice cut through it, low and coaxing. “better, right?” he said, the words deliberate, his green eyes glinting like embers in the low light. he wanted to keep you here, tethered to him, letting him smooth out your edges until there was nothing left but the two of you and the thick haze of smoke.

and maybe—just maybe—you’d feel it too. that pull, that invisible thread that kept bringing him closer to you, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

ben’s breath hitched as he watched you, utterly transfixed by the way your eyelids fluttered shut while the smoke swirled slow and steady from your lips. you looked at ease in a way he’d never seen before, and the sight carved into him, leaving grooves he didn’t want to smooth over. when you handed the joint back to him, the faint dampness of the paper and filter from your saliva caught his attention like a beacon. it wasn’t just a joint anymore—it was touched by you, part of you lingering there. that tiny, fleeting connection left his pulse skittering wildly beneath his skin, though he’d never admit it.

“would you believe me if i said this was my first time?” you asked, your voice light, tinged with nervousness but carrying that easy charm that made ben feel like you’d handed him a piece of yourself. he took the joint from your fingers with a nonchalant shrug, though his heart thundered like a war drum beneath the surface.

“yeah,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he brought the joint to his mouth. the ember flared red as he inhaled, using the moment to steady himself. “i don’t doubt that for a second.” he exhaled slow, the smoke curling between you, a fragile wall of haze that couldn’t stop the pull he felt toward you. as the words left his mouth, ben forced a smile, throwing it your way in what he hoped passed as charming. but his smile faltered slightly when he caught the way your cheeks flushed, a soft bloom of red spreading over your skin.

god, red looked so good on you.

it wasn’t just the color—it was the way it transformed you, made you seem more tangible, more real. the heat rising in your cheeks told him he’d affected you, that his words, his smile, had reached you in some small, undeniable way. it was addictive, watching your reaction, seeing how you twisted under the weight of his gaze without even realizing it.

ben’s grip tightened on the joint, his thumb running over the paper as he took another hit, letting the sharp burn fill his lungs. he needed the edge of it, the distraction, because the truth was threatening to claw its way out of him. the truth that he wanted more than this. more than just mondays, more than stolen moments of proximity. He wanted to press closer, to watch the way that blush deepened when he was too near, to feel your breath against his skin as you stumbled through words you didn’t yet know how to say.

“you’re a natural, though,” he said, his voice a little rougher now, smoke coiling in his throat. “could’ve fooled me.”

it was a lie, of course, but he said it anyway, watching as your lips twitched into a small, bashful smile. and he wondered—did you know what you were doing to him? did you know that with every glance, every word, every touch of your fingers against his when you passed the joint back, you were branding him, marking him as yours?

"yeah, whatever, man," you mutter, the words slipping out on a breath of smoke, your tone carrying that threadbare edge of disinterest. disbelieving. coy. ben’s ears latch onto the inflection like a predator catching the faintest rustle of prey in the underbrush. coy he can work with. coy feeds his craving in a way that��s both maddening and exhilarating, like the sharp burn of whiskey sliding down a raw throat.

coy is fragile. it’s the flickering light of a candle before the flame gutters out. it’s a wounded fawn—big, trembling eyes and wobbling legs—abandoned in an open meadow where every shadow hides teeth. vulnerability wrapped in a thin veneer of bravado. It invites, dares, the predator to inch closer, closer, until there’s nothing but a gasp between them. you, he realizes, are his own personal Bambi. and he, the beast in the long grass, stalking, waiting, savoring the taste of the moment before the pounce.

“no, really,” ben murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, taking on a warmth that shouldn’t be there, a softness that belies the feral pull beneath his skin. he watches you carefully, the way your lips curve slightly around the filter of the joint, how your lashes cast soft shadows against your cheekbones in the dim light of the dorm.

something inside him sparks, an idea crawling up from the depths of that writhing, unnamed thing he keeps locked in his chest. before he can think twice, he’s moving. “here, let me.”

the joint burns between his fingers as ben takes a deliberate, slow drag, holding the smoke deep in his lungs until it stings. and then, before you can react, his hand comes up, warm and sure, and it cradles your jaw like he’s done it a hundred times before. his thumb brushes over your cheekbone, just barely, but it leaves a trail of heat that lingers, sets your pulse stuttering in your throat.

you blink, caught off guard but not pulling away, and that’s all the invitation he needs. ben leans in, the space between you vanishing in an instant, his breath warm against your lips as he exhales the smoke directly into your mouth. it’s intimate in a way that feels invasive, his lips hovering a whisper away from yours. the smoke curls between you, sliding over your tongue, into your lungs, leaving its bitter trail in its wake.

your eyes widen, and ben feels the way your breath catches, just barely, but enough. enough to tell him you’re unsteady, uncertain, caught in the moment like a fly in a spider’s web. your vulnerability is intoxicating, your wide-eyed stare a silent surrender.

his lips barely graze yours, not enough to call it a kiss, but enough to blur the line between audacity and desire. his grip on your chin tightens ever so slightly, grounding you, tethering you to him in this suspended moment.

the seconds stretch thin before he finally pulls back, his eyes dark, hooded, like he’s barely holding himself together. “see?” ben’s voice is rough now, a low rasp that scrapes at the edges of silence. “easy.”

ben doesn’t get the chance to say anything—doesn’t even get the time to process the swirl of thoughts clawing at his mind—because your lips crash against his. the force of it sends him sprawling back into the pillows, his head hitting the worn fabric with a muffled thud.

oh.

oh, this is something he can work with. this is something he’s dreamed of, imagined in fragments during sleepless nights when the thought of you wouldn’t leave him alone. but this—this is better.

this is you. raw. over him. devouring him like he’s something worth breaking.

ben’s always been a master manipulator, a professional at weaponizing sexuality, at using it to tilt the odds in his favor. it’s a game to him—one he always wins. and now? now he has you, ravenous and unrestrained, a perfect storm pressing him into the mattress. he knows how this should go: make you pliable, make you vulnerable, use your hunger to turn the tides in his favor. but the second your lips meet his, it’s like the script is ripped out of his hands, and all he can do is follow where you lead.

and god, are you leading.

you don’t taste like he expected. ben thought you’d taste bitter, sharp, like the sting of smoke lingering on the back of his tongue. but instead, there’s something sweeter, softer beneath the haze of weed—something that feels like a reward he hasn’t earned. the thought sends a shiver through him, his hands gripping at you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the world.

you’re relentless, teeth dragging across his bottom lip, tugging with a force that’s just shy of painful. a sharp gasp escapes him, swallowed by the heat of your mouth. you’re moving now, climbing on top of him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips. your weight settles over him, and he’s distantly aware of how you’ve slotted yourself perfectly between his legs, forcing them open, pinning him in place with nothing but your body.

the desperation in your movements is a mirror of his own—hands tangling in the fabric of his shirt, dragging him closer, deeper, harder. until he wonders if you mean to tear him open and climb inside. it’s messy and frantic, all teeth and tongues and muffled moans, the kind of kiss that’s more a battle than an embrace. but ben loves it. He loves the way your hands roam across him like you’re mapping him out, pressing against his thigh, his waist, his chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

your fingers find his throat, wrapping around it with a precision that makes his breath catch. it’s not enough to choke him, not enough to hurt, but enough to hold him still, to remind him who’s in control. and that—oh, that sends a spark of something electric racing through him, pooling low in his stomach. his neck has always been a weak spot, something he’s never fully admitted, and the way your grip steadies him, grounds him—it’s almost too much. it feels like you’ve reached inside his chest and curled your fingers around his ribs, cracking them apart to get at the soft, beating thing underneath.

a small, breathy whimper escapes him before he can stop it, barely audible but undeniably there. it’s embarrassing, humiliating, but he can’t bring himself to care when your mouth is on his again, swallowing the sound like it’s the most natural thing in the world. his hands find your back, sliding under the fabric of your shirt to press against the bare skin beneath, feeling the way your muscles shift and tense under his touch.

ben’s lips part, his tongue sliding against yours in a move that’s both practiced and desperate. you both moan at the contact, the sound muffled but unmistakable, a shared release of tension that only feeds the frenzy between you. his heart thrums in his ears, loud and insistent, and he can’t help but think of prey animals in their final moments, blood pounding as the predator’s jaws close in.

“if i’d known you’d like shotgunning this much,” ben pants against your lips, his voice rough and uneven, “i would’ve done it sooner.”

the words are punctuated by a low groan as you press into him harder, your hands fisting in his shirt to pull him impossibly closer. the scent of you—smoke and sweat and something uniquely yours—fills his senses, drowning out everything else. it’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and ben can feel himself unraveling beneath you, his carefully constructed facade slipping away piece by piece.

your lips travel from ben’s mouth to his jaw, teeth sinking into the flesh like you mean to strip it away, gnaw it clean from the bone. it’s violent, carnal, the sound of your bite wet and obscene, and ben feels the sharp pressure like a knife slipping under his skin. he’s powerless to stop the groan that escapes him, low and guttural, as your hand clamps down on his jaw, your fingers digging into the hinge with a precision that feels surgical, deliberate, inhuman. he’s the mangy dog under your heel, and the dull ache of your grip feels like worship.

his green eyes squeeze shut, his breath hitching as the pain shifts to something addictive, something alive. every nerve in his body sparks to life beneath your touch, the sensation of your nails scraping against his flesh leaving a trail of fire in their wake. his blood sings for you, a desperate hymn to the beast in you that has claimed him for its feast.

“and i think you don’t hate me as much as you pretend,” you growl against his throat, the words coming out like gravel churned in a rusted, grinding machine.

ben laughs, the sound ragged, hollow. “i think you’re full of shit,” he manages, but the way his head tilts to bare his neck betrays him. your hands are satin-soft as they explore him, but the sharpness of your intent is anything but. ben’s hands, by contrast, are rough, leather-worn, and scarred—hands made for tearing, clawing, and surviving. yet here, under you, they’re useless, twitching at his sides as if unsure where to land, as if afraid to touch the thing consuming him.

your hips grind against him, deliberate and cruel, and he feels every drag like it’s carving him open, splitting him down the middle. the pressure is maddening, a firestorm radiating from every point of contact. “oh, fuck,” he breathes, the words barely more than a rasp. his head falls back, exposing more of his throat to your hungry mouth, his body betraying him further with every grind of your hips.

you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands grab at his shirt, tugging with a force that feels like you’d tear it clean off him if it wouldn’t come loose fast enough. “take this fucking thing off.”

ben’s too far gone to resist, his laugh airy and broken as his fingers fumble to obey. “mm, yes, sir,” he teases, the words forced through a grin that barely holds together. he doesn’t miss the flash of something dangerous behind your irises—a flicker of control you’re savoring like a wolf tasting the first blood on its tongue.

ben’s known guys like you. guys who’ve been crushed, splintered into jagged pieces by the weight of the world. broken little boys fumbling to piece themselves back together but too desperate, too fucking hungry for control to do anything but burn. and ben? ben’s always been the kindling, the spark, the gasoline-soaked rag ready to go up in flames for someone like you.

your hands work with fervor, helping him strip the shirt off his body. it’s discarded to the ground like the wrappings of a fruit too ripe to resist, and your fingers trace the lines of his chest. your fingernails rake across his chest, leaving pale, raw lines in the tan expanse of his skin. they sting, those scratches, like ghost wounds from some darker thing, as though you’ve marked him for death. ben doesn’t care. he wants to wear your marks, wants to let them fester, to let a part of you be with him.

your mouth crashes against his again, desperate and sloppy, all teeth and tongues. he can taste the bitterness of smoke still clinging to you, mingling with the salt of his own blood where your teeth have nicked his lip. the metallic tang hits his tongue like a blade, and he moans into your mouth, a sound thick with surrender.

as one hand pops the button of his pants and slips beneath the waistband, the other wraps around his neck, digging into his flesh like it’s meat you intend to rip apart. your lips travel down his throat, sucking, biting, leaving bruises that bloom like rot beneath his skin. you pull back long enough to mutter against his neck, “i’m guessing you’ve done this before.”

ben can barely suppresses an eye roll. don’t get respectful on me now. he doesn’t need your reverence, your curiosity. he needs you to keep consuming him. he nods, the motion jerky and strained. “obviously.”

he reaches for your belt, his fingers trembling as they tug the leather free from its loops. he’s rushing now, frantic to get it off, his hands moving like they belong to someone else. “condoms. lube. drawer,” he rasps, the words cracking as they leave his throat. his hands are shaking, distracted by the way your teeth drag over his collarbone, the way you bite down hard enough that he thinks he can feel the crack of bone beneath the surface.

your hand fumbles blindly through the chaos of his locker, searching for the stash he swore was there—a condom, lube, anything to keep the fire between you burning. your fingers brush over cold metal, loose papers, the faint grit of something unidentifiable, but the haze in your brain and the heat building in your gut make the task feel impossible.

behind you, ben curses under his breath, the sound more growl than word as he wriggles out of his jeans. the fabric catches on his knees, and he fights with it, hips lifting off the mattress as he struggles to free himself. there’s something almost pitiful about the way he moves, so desperate and clumsy in his rush to shed the last barriers between him and you.

you’re so focused on your task—so consumed by the feverish need to keep this moment alive—that you don’t hear the door at first. the creak of the hinges barely registers, a ghost of a sound swallowed by the pounding in your ears. but then:

“ben?!”

the voice slams into the room like a thunderclap, shattering the fragile intimacy you’d built. it’s loud, sharp, cutting through the thick fog of arousal like a jagged blade.

your hand freezes mid-rummage. ben freezes too, mid-push, his jeans tangled around his thighs in a way that makes him look utterly ridiculous. ben groans—a guttural, agonized sound that’s halfway between a growl and a plea for mercy. “oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, his head falling back against the pillow. his voice is muffled, but the irritation in it is clear, as palpable as the sweat clinging to his chest.

the voice called again, louder this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of the doorknob jiggling. “ben, you in there?”

ben’s brain scrambled for a plan, any plan, but his thoughts were a tangled mess, caught between the ache of his body and the dread clawing its way up his spine. of course it had to be now. of course his teammates couldn’t pick a better time to come barging into his dorm, not when he was like this—half-naked, flushed, with you practically draped over him like some pagan offering.

he looked down at himself—his jeans bunched awkwardly around his knees, his shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, his boxers doing a piss-poor job of hiding just how far this had gone. the situation was bad. no, worse than bad—it was catastrophic.

“shit,” ben whispered, his voice barely more than a rasp as he reached for his jeans, yanking them up in a hurried, graceless motion. the denim stuck to his skin, damp with sweat and urgency, and he cursed under his breath as he fumbled with the zipper.

you didn’t move at first, still hovering over him like a statue caught mid-motion, your eyes wide and dark with something that wasn’t fear—but something close to it. “do we answer?” you whispered, your voice low and hoarse, and ben almost laughed at the absurdity of the question.

“yeah, sure,” he muttered sarcastically, his hands fumbling at his belt. “let’s just invite them in, have a nice little chat while i’ve got a fucking hard-on.”

the knock came again, sharper this time, more insistent. “ben, come on, man! open up!”

they wouldn’t leave. ben knew they wouldn’t. his teammates were persistent, nosy bastards who treated each other’s business like communal property. if they thought something was up, they’d dig until they unearthed it, and ben couldn’t let them. because if they saw you here—if they saw him like this, disheveled and flushed and exposed—it wouldn’t just be teasing. it would be annihilation. they’d tear him apart, not in private, but where it hurt most: the locker room, the field, the hallways. his every movement would be shadowed by whispers and pointed laughter. they’d know.

they’d know he wasn’t like them, wasn’t the ben they thought they knew—the one who made dirty jokes and leered at teachers and bragged about conquests that never existed. they’d know he was a fraud.

ben shoved at you lightly, a signal to get off him, to move, to do something, but the moment his hands touched your sides, you didn’t budge. if anything, you leaned in closer, your lips quirking into that infuriating small smile.

“oh, this is funny to you?” he spat, his voice a harsh whisper, trembling with frustration and fear.

your lips twitched, the corner of your mouth curling into a grin you couldn’t quite suppress. “it’s a little funny,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

ben rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair in exasperation as he stumbled off the bed. his jeans still weren’t properly fastened, and he could feel the waistband slipping down with every step. he grabbed a discarded hoodie from the floor and threw it over his head, the fabric clinging to his sweat-slick skin as he stalked toward the door. he needed to look normal. casual. like he wasn’t all over you, like you weren’t tearing him apart.

before opening the door, he turned to you, his eyes flashing with a mix of desperation and warning. “not a word,” he hissed, the words as sharp as a blade pressed to your throat.

ben took a deep breath, his face schooled into a mask of nonchalance, as he yanked the door open. his teammates stood there, grinning like idiots, and ben felt a fresh wave of dread wash over him.

“what the hell took you so long?” one of them asked, stepping forward as if he had any right to barge in.

“busy,” ben grunted, leaning against the doorframe to block their view of the room. he prayed they couldn’t see you through the narrow crack, prayed they wouldn’t notice the flush on his cheeks or the faint bruises forming on his neck.

“busy with what?”

“homework,” ben said, deadpan, and the lie was so ridiculous that even he almost believed it.

[frmina]

sweet 16 (katsuki x reader)

Genre: yandere katsuki, soulmate identifying marks, possessive, left on a cliffhanger guys sorry, they aren’t in UA

The first time you met Bakugou Katsuki, you were five years old, and he had already decided he was better than everyone else.

It was a warm afternoon in early spring, the kind where the sun painted golden streaks across the pavement, and the air smelled like freshly cut grass. The small park near your house was bustling with kids, their laughter ringing through the air as they ran across the playground. You had been sitting in the sandbox, humming softly to yourself as you patted together a tiny castle, when a loud boom echoed through the park.

You flinched, eyes snapping up just in time to see a shockwave of dust ripple across the ground. A few feet away, a boy stood with his palms still smoking, his wild blonde hair sticking out in every direction. He had a wide, toothy grin on his face, red eyes gleaming with excitement as the other kids around him let out a chorus of “Whoa!” and “That was awesome!”

You, however, weren’t looking at the explosion.

You were looking at him.

His presence was magnetic—something about the confidence in his stance, the way he laughed like he had just conquered the world, made it impossible to look away.

Without thinking, you scrambled to your feet, brushing the sand off your clothes as you approached him. “That was cool!”

The boy turned sharply, eyes narrowing as if assessing you. Then, his grin widened. “Damn right it was! My Quirk’s the best!”

You tilted your head, stepping even closer despite the lingering scent of smoke. “How do you do that?”

He puffed out his chest, looking ridiculously proud. “I make explosions with my sweat,” he declared. “Nobody else can do it like me.”

Your eyes sparkled with interest. “Can I try?”

For a second, he just stared. Then, he laughed.

It wasn’t a normal giggle or a quiet chuckle—it was loud, wild, the kind of laughter that came from deep in his stomach. The kind that made it seem like you had just said the funniest thing in the world.

“You’re kinda dumb, huh?” he snickered, shaking his head.

You pouted. “Hey!”

He smirked, but instead of walking away like most kids would, he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked you up and down like you were some kind of puzzle. “You’re weird.”

“You’re loud,” you shot back.

He blinked, then let out another sharp laugh. “Hah! You got guts.” He jabbed a finger at you, his smirk turning almost… approving. “Fine. You can hang around me. Just don’t slow me down.”

And just like that, Bakugou Katsuki decided you belonged to him.

You didn’t realize it then, but that moment was the first thread in a bond you’d never be able to escape.

Growing up with Katsuki was like standing too close to a bonfire—thrilling, bright, and dangerous if you weren’t careful.

From that day forward, he was everywhere. If you were at the park, he was there, challenging you to races and daring you to climb the jungle gym faster than him. If you were at school, he was sitting next to you, declaring that since you weren’t as dumb as the other kids, you could copy off his work (not that you ever did). Even outside of class, he found excuses to drag you along, insisting that he needed a “worthy opponent” whenever he trained his Quirk.

You didn’t mind.

Not really.

Katsuki was loud, brash, and sometimes downright mean, but he was never boring. And when you stood beside him, it felt like you were running with a wildfire, unstoppable and free.

The only time things ever got tense was when Izuku was involved.

You had been friends with Izuku for as long as you could remember—he was sweet, thoughtful, and always eager to share his knowledge about heroes. But Katsuki hated him. It wasn’t normal playground teasing, either. Katsuki despised the way Izuku looked at him, like they were equals when they clearly weren’t.

“Why do you even talk to that nerd?” Katsuki would grumble whenever he caught you hanging around Izuku. “He’s useless.”

You always rolled your eyes at that. “He’s my friend, Katsuki.”

“I’m your friend.” His voice always turned sharp when he said it, like he didn’t like the idea of anyone else being close to you.

And sometimes, if you really paid attention, you’d catch a flicker of something strange in his expression when you walked away. Something possessive. Something that made the air feel a little too thick around you.

But Katsuki had always been intense, so you never thought much of it.

Not until your 16th birthday.

The soulmate mark appeared without warning.

It wasn’t like in the stories, where a faint, slow burn signaled the arrival of the mark, gradually growing until it was visible to the world. No, for you, it was sudden—a sharp, searing sensation that radiated from your wrist, making you gasp in shock. You bit your lip, eyes snapping to the skin as an unmistakable heat surged through your veins.

The mark, when it appeared, was like a jagged line of ink—unmistakably chaotic, much like the violent bursts that always surrounded Bakugou. The lines curved, split, and wove together like a flame, sharp and intense, unmistakably an explosion. You could feel the burn, but the mark was there, etched into your skin, permanent.

“W-what?” You stared at it in disbelief, fingers trembling slightly as they traced the edges. Your breath was shallow, heart pounding in your chest. This is real… this is happening.

You had heard the stories about the marks—about soulmates finding each other when they were thirteen, about how the mark would reflect some symbol or word to identify the bond—but seeing it in person was… different. It was overwhelming.

But as you tried to process it, something deeper inside you stirred. A sense of recognition. The same feeling you’d always had when Katsuki was around, that strange tension in the air that never quite went away.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, but you barely heard it. You grabbed your bag, stuffing your things in hurriedly as the hallways around you filled with students. The whispers around you were muffled, distant. You were too lost in the strange, hot rush of emotion coursing through you. You needed to see him—Katsuki.

The weight in your chest grew heavier, like an instinct you couldn’t ignore, pulling you toward him. Your heart raced faster the closer you got to the lockers. The air felt thick, charged with an electricity you couldn’t explain.

And then, as you rounded the corner, you saw him.

Standing by the lockers, arms crossed, his usual scowl fixed firmly on his face. But when his gaze snapped to yours, his expression immediately shifted. His red eyes narrowed, locking onto you with an intensity you had never seen before. The world around you seemed to blur out of focus, and all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart, impossibly loud in your ears.

“Oi,” he called out, his voice colder than usual, the sharp edge cutting through the haze of your thoughts.

You froze, breath catching in your throat as you stood there, caught between the need to explain yourself and the overwhelming need to just run and hide. The mark—the mark on your wrist—felt like it was burning now, a reminder that the bond was real, that there was no going back.

Katsuki stepped forward, his red eyes flicking from your face to your wrist, where the mark was still fresh. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to.

“What’s that?” His voice was barely a whisper, but it held a dangerous undertone that made your stomach twist. His gaze never left the mark, his body radiating a palpable intensity as he closed the distance between you.

You opened your mouth, but words failed you. The shock still hadn’t worn off, and the reality of the situation hadn’t quite settled. Slowly, with trembling hands, you lifted your wrist, showing him the mark.

Katsuki didn’t even flinch. Instead, his lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t the usual grin you were used to. It wasn’t playful or mocking. This was something darker, something predatory, like he was seeing something that only he could understand.

His smile grew wider, but it wasn’t joyful—it was triumphant.

“I knew it,” he muttered, almost to himself, before he took another step closer. The air around you seemed to crackle as if charged with static, the heat from his body pressing in on you, suffocating you. His fingers brushed lightly over your wrist, just lightly enough for you to feel the burn of his touch through the mark.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what this means,” he growled, his voice low, dangerous, vibrating with an emotion you couldn’t name. His red eyes were fixed on the mark now, focused, unwavering. “You’re mine.”

A chill ran down your spine, but it wasn’t fear—not exactly. It was something else. Something deeper, like an unspoken truth you’d never fully realized. You couldn’t pull your gaze away from him, and the way he looked at you made your breath catch. The confidence in his stance, the certainty in his voice… it was all consuming.

You swallowed, words finally tumbling out of your mouth in a barely audible whisper. “Katsuki… I don’t—”

He interrupted you, stepping closer, until his body was so close you could feel his heat, feel his presence, overwhelming you. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a force that made your heart skip a beat. You instinctively tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, his fingers pressing into the mark as though trying to imprint it deeper into your skin.

“I said,” he growled, “you’re mine.” His voice was laced with something that made your stomach twist. It was possessive, dark. “Don’t you dare try to pull that bullshit. I don’t care who else you’ve been hanging around with. This mark? This is the proof. I knew you were mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Your pulse thudded in your ears as his words sank in. Always been mine. The weight of it crushed you, and yet, in some twisted way, it didn’t feel wrong.

His fingers were still pressed into the mark, and you felt the burn of it, the way it marked you—marked you for him. A knot formed in your chest as the gravity of his words hit you. This was real. The connection, the bond—he was right. It was undeniable. But it terrified you in a way you couldn’t explain.

“What… what does this mean for us?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, a mix of confusion and fear threading through your words. You had to know.

His gaze flicked to your eyes for a moment, then back to the mark. “It means you’re mine now. And nothing’s gonna change that.”

His lips twitched upward, that dangerous smile returning, but there was no warmth in it. “I’ve waited for this. Now that I’ve got you, I’m not letting go. Ever.”

The room seemed to close in around you, suffocating and thick with the weight of his words. And yet, despite the fear prickling down your spine, a strange sense of certainty wrapped itself around you. You couldn’t explain it, but the connection, the bond that was now etched in your skin… it was undeniable.

Katsuki’s fingers tightened around your wrist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together, his breath hot against your ear. His voice was barely a whisper as he spoke again, words laced with something primal, something uncontrollable.

“I’m not letting anyone else have you. You’re mine. Got it?”

And for the first time, you realized just how far his obsession would go—and how trapped you were in this web he had spun around you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

Not yet.

[wettvagina]

UNI FUCKBOYS!

description: like we all know geto & gojo are just the infamous duo that everybody and they mama wannna fuck , what happens when you get stuck with the both of them after a stupid dare at a college party?

warnings: threesome , p in v , blowjob ,

You took another sip of tequila as you had lost the second time that night to whatever stupid drinking game your friends were playing at this lame ass party, "Okay, maybe we should stop, I really do not wanna black out." you sighed, crossing your legs as you sat back, "This is so boring, I thought college parties were supposed to be fun." Shoko groaned, "Let's go home." Nanami grunted, his low deep voice barely audiable.

"What? We can't go home now, it's only 10!" you stand up, coming closer to both Shoko and Nanami who were leaning on a nearby counter, "And?" Nanami questioned, "We'll look super lame!" you said, "Well this party is lame anyways." Nanami scoffed, "Listen, this is our first college party, you should be grateful I even scored an invite." you protested, "Let's look around and get the hang of things." you offered.

You and your pair of friends were freshmen in Jujustu College, trying to break out of the boring nerd characters you three had caged yourself in, you presented the idea of a party. The week had just ended, and this whimsical Friday you wore your sexiest dress, and painted on your boldest eyeshadow. Geared up to conquer your first college party.

"Hey! You three down for spin the bottle?" a tall man with piercing blue eyes and white hair asked, "Uhm-" Nanami looked with a face of disgust, "Sure!" you cheered, "Perfect! Follow me." the white haired man's hand found your shoulder as he ushered you to a room.

Upon entering, you noticed that this was someone's bedroom, the music was relatively louder in this room, you assumed it was due to the speaker being in this room. The room was lit by a pair of LED strips parallel to eachother, there were about ten people in this room, two of the ten were gulping down a bottle of beer to use as the bottle in, 'spin the bottle'.

"Shoko?" you whispered, the white haired, pale man barely paying attention to you, walked ahead as you looked back, seeing Shoko and Nanami give you a look. You lightly smiled at them before sitting down, "Alright, finally. Let's start." a blue haired woman begun. "Now, this isn't normal spin the bottle, who ever the bottle lands on has to do a dare, you sure you still up for this?" the white haired man asked, you nodded excessively as you observed the white haired man looking at you up and down.

"Well, I'll let you spin first. And your friend can give you a dare." the white haired man explained, taking a seat next to a larger man with long black hair, and a pair of black circular earrings, you felt yourself blush when the man looked at you, whispering something into the white haired man's ear before giggling.

You wiped your sweaty hand onto your dress before spinning the bottle, sounds of people talking paired with the booming music in the room bombarded your hearing as the bottle spinned, it felt like forever as the neck of the bottle spun in circles, eventually landing between the white haired man and the black haired man.

"Looks like you got both of us." the black haired man snickered, "How lucky, Suguru." the white haired man spoke, three pairs of eyes darted towards Shoko, as she composed a dare in her head. "Uhhh." her brain looked like it had went blank, "Uh, I dunno' go to the bathroom for five minutes.'' she said with a shrug, your eyes widened and your face scrunched, 'oh shit' you cursed to yourself, maybe you really should've just went home when Nanami said to, this is going to be the most awkward five minutes of your life. Thanks so much Shoko!

You bit your lip before standing, "Satoru." you heared the black haired man say as he grabbed something from his pocket and discretely passed it to the white haired man, which you guessed was named Satoru. A puzzled look was displayed on your face, but it was quickly wiped off when the entire room begun talking, you could barely make out the conversation since everyone's voices were layered but by the looks of Shoko's and Nanami's face you knew it wasn't something good.

You watched as Nanami quickly arose, before a door was shut in your face, you didn't even notice that you had already entered the bathroom along with two georgous looking men, the room smelled like vanilla, the room was simple, a toilet there, a sink here and a shower in the corner. You nodded to yourself before facing the two men infront of you.

"Uhm, nice house." you muster up some sort of courage to say, "Oh." the dark haired man said as he looked at Satoru, "This isn't our house." he mentioned, "I'm Geto Suguru." he said with a generous hand out to shake, you quickly took his hand, his warm skin felt somewhat comforting as his eyes raked your body.

"And I'm his way better looking ,best friend, Gojo Satoru." Gojo said with his eblow resting on Geto's shoulder, you giggled as the white haired man introduced himself, "But I suppose you already know who we are." Gojo said with a wide grin, "Uhm, no actually, I'm a freshman here." you inform them, "Ah- makes sense." Gojo mentioned, "If you weren't I would've noticed you way earlier. Your face is just..." Gojo explained, "Eye catching." he continued.

"Oh, thank you." you smiled, blush heating your face. "You're quite the looker as well." you began, "You both are." you say, and now both of them looked at you smiling before looking at one another. "This your first party?" Suguru asks, leaning on the sink, "Yeah, well my first college party." you announce with a soft smile, "Oh, I see." Geto nods to himself while Gojo looks a bit hyper as he leans on the door behind you.

"Say, you wanna try something?" Gojo asks while his hands ghost over your waist, "Huh?" your eyes widen and your heartbeat fastens.

And there you were, getting your pussy pounded from the back, and taking dick down your throat. You decided five minutes ago that this topped every single highschool party and every future party to come.

Gojo stood behind you, hips rutting into you at a brisk pace, as he held onto your waist, Satoru stood infront of you, hand grabbing at your hair as he fucked your throat, your moans clogged with his cock, "Suguru, I want to hear her scream my name." Gojo groans as his cock slides in and out of your welcoming pussy, Geto's cock slides out of your throat, and you watch as he palms himself in front of you.

You pant before you began moaning in pleasure, you batted Geto's hand away from his own cock as you stroked it yourself, groaning and whining as Gojo slapped your ass, "Shit!" Gojo grunted as his hands dug deeper into the flesh of your hips, you felt Geto's hand hover over your head, before grabbing onto it, shoving his cock down your mouth.

Tears began forming in your eyes, you felt like if you were seeing stars by the stomach folding strokes Gojo was thrusting into you, you almost had asked him to take off the condom so you could feel his dick raw. "Feel good?" you hear Gojo say from behind you, you could only murmur onto Geto's cock as it occupied your mouth, Gojo pulled out his cock from your pussy, then re-entered with one hard thrust, causing you to jolt forward, slipping Geto's cock deeper into your throat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" you heard Geto groan, Gojo continued to ram his cock into your weeping pussy at an astonishing pace, Geto pulled his cock out, leaving the tip resting on your lips, your hand circled Geto's length as you pumped his cock, "Gonna' come all over your fuckin' face." he groaned and you begun stroking his cock faster.

"Oh- fuck! Right there." you whined out when Gojo bullied his cock into your g-spot, hitting all the right places, earning sweet noises from your mouth, to shut yourself up, you took Geto's cock back into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip as you looked up at him.

Gojo pressed down onto your back, causing you to arch as his cock moved in and out your pussy, "Gonna- come! Fuck!" Geto says and you feel his cock tensed as thick, white ropes of his come sprays onto your tongue, you look up at him with his eyebrows scrunched as his mouth made an 'o' shape, he panted heavily as you continued to stroke him while he was coming.

You moaned as you felt Gojo's dick tensed inside of you, Gojo buried his cock deep into your pussy with one final thrust as he came, groaning and grunting and the hold he hand on your hips intensified. "Shit." he panted, drawing his dick out of your pussy, removing the condom and discarding it in a nearby bin.

"You've been a good girl, you'll get to come." Geto coos as he gets on his knees, pinning you against the counter before swiping his tongue on your pussy, licking your puffy clit while his fingers prod at your tired hole. "Oh shit- I'm close." you whine, you hear Geto moan into your pussy as his tongue circles your clit, his lips press onto your sensitive nub and once you feel that you swore you saw stars, coming all over his face as you reached your climax, "Fuck, oh shit!" you cursed as you grabbed onto his hair, "Mhm, good job, princess." he praises as he watches your juices drip down your thigh.

[tyriq-edits]

My favourite non-Disney Fairytale Movies

I will say right away that there is NOTHING wrong with loving Disney Fairytale movies. Heck some of my absolute favourite movies and fairy tale adaptations of all time are Disney movies like Sleeping Beauty and Tangled. But I feel like many other beautiful Fairytale movies often get overshadowed by Disney. Especially fairytale movies from Countries outside of the United States. So don't feel attacked by this list and rather let's view it as a shout out to non-American movies.

Three Wishes for Cinderella (1973) [here]. A Czechoslovak-East German movie. This one is a classic christmas movie in czechia, Germany, Sweden and many other regions of europe and it has been my absolute favourite version of Cinderella since I was a child. I could gush about it for HOURS but I will only say this to convince you to watch it: Cinderella knows how to use a crossbow in this.

2. Hungarian Folktales (Magyar népmesék) [here]: This is actually a TV series and not a movie but oh well. Each episode tells a fairytale or folktale from Hungary. The music and artstyle are also based on traditional hungarian folk music and folk art. They actually heavily lean into the flatness of 2D animation in a similar fashion to the Irish Movie the Book of Kells or the way Disney’s Sleeping Beauty did it.

3. Rübezahls Schatz (Rübezahl's Treasure) [here]: If anyone recalls, in a previous post I had mentioned that one of my favourite fairytales is the stories surrounding the Mountain Spirit Rübezahl. So obv I’d LOVE a movie about him. This movie is part of the so called “Märchenperlen”, a german movie series. Each movie in the series adapts a classical fairytale. In this movie Rübezahl is a Guardian Spirit of the Mountains and a bit of a trickster God. But one day he falls in love with a mortal girl named Rosa and he begins to neglect his duties as a guardian. All the while the local Marquise is starting to destroy the forests of the mountains and trying to steal Rübezahl’s legendary gold treasure. So now Rübezahl has to choose between his mortal love or his guardian duties.

4. Schneewittchen und der Zauber der Zwerger (Snow White and the Magic of the Dwarfs): More Märchenperlen movies! This is as the title suggests an adaptation of Snow White but as so many Märchenperlen movies it once again takes creative liberties with its plot. For example in this version, Snow White is a bit of a Tomboy who actually knows how weapons like swords etc are forged as she would often sneak out of the castle to help the local smith with his work. It’s also her weapon-related autism that made the dwarfs trust her and take her in later on. In this version her and the prince also know each other already pretty well before the infamous kiss. And as the title suggests, the dwarfs themselves possess magic. Overall the movie in my eyes does a better job at what Disney attempted to do with their live action version of Snow White. The movie is not without flaws, but it is a comfort watch to me. If you do not speak German, don’t worry! You can simply use Google Chrome + translator to add automatic subtitles to the movie. Here is a guide on how to do it.

5. Der Süße Brei (Sweet Porridge) [here]: Another part of the Märchenperlen series. This one is based on the fairytale of the “pot that makes sweet porridge". Now the actual fairytale is VERY short. So the movie takes a lot of liberties. It takes place in a kingdom that is currently facing a giant famine. As Jola, a young peasant girl, goes out into the forest to forage for food. Instead she finds the shard of a pot and she is lead to believe that this might be a shard of the legendary "Sweet Porridge Pot". A magical artefact that can create food on its own without any ingredients. She is soon joined by the local earl's half brother to look for the other two shards. And so the adventure begins.

6. 哪吒闹海 (Nezha conquers the Dragon King) [here]. As a Lego Monkie Kid Fan and Folklore Nerd I am one of those white people who can claim they loved Nezha and knew about him before the new Nezha movie blew up/j. In all seriousness though if you enjoyed the Nezha movie that came out this year I HIGHLY recommend you watch the 1979 movie. It is animated BEAUTIFULLY and sticks quite a bit closer to the actual tale of Nezha to say the least. An absolute gorgeous experience.

7. Ка́рлик Нос (Little Longnose) [here]: I have talked about this movie before in length in my Post for a Blurrbee AU based on it. So I will not spend too much time on a summary for it. All I am gonna say about this movie that its quality is very close to a Disney movie from the 2000s. It is genuinely that good. Greta is to this day also among my favourite non disney princesses and her and Jacob’s love story means the WORLD to me. So please if you have the time PLEASE give this movie a watch. But if you do please go with the OG russian dub or the german dub. The english dub ain’t it chief.

8. Василиса Прекрасная (Vasilisa Mikulishna) [here]: After her husband gets imprisoned by the Prince of Kiev, Vasilisa Mikulishna cuts off her long hair and disguises herself as a man to rescue her lover. This movie is barely 18 minutes long but animated beautifully and definitely worth a watch.

9. Peau d'Ane (Donkey Skin) I am gonna be honest this movie only made the list because of its ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS cinematography. The colours, the costume designs, the lightning, everything! The movie is aesthetically VERY pleasing. But the movie also includes some very icky (but for french fairytales unfortunately not uncommon) plot points that feature themes of incest. So give this movie a watch if you think you cab handle that.

10. Иван Царевич и Серый волк (Prince Ivan and the grey Wolf) [here]: This russian movie is a bit absurd in its humour but in a charming way. It is VERY VERY VERY losely based on my favourite fairytale of all time by the same name. In this movie Prince Ivan must find a way to conquer the heart of a certain princess. And he is assisted in his endavours by none other but a grey wolf.

[themoonweaversden]

Messeges that were found so far: LIES (spoilers)

This is just to collect all the codes that you can type in in thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com and their effects only (please click images for better quality)

Masterpost with all messeges / codes

Transcript:

"In ancient times, “Truth” was whatever most recently came out of a king or priest’s mouth, and if you disagreed, your neck had a date with the guillotine. (DID U KNOW? Your head stays conscious 3 seconds after decapitation. FUN GAME: Try to lick the basket!)

Then a new type of person was invented: The Nerd, and they invented a new kind of method: Scientific.

As annoying as the nerds were, their methods got results. Flame throwers, roller coasters, space travel and saturated fat were all created by the overdeveloped frontal lobes of these socially challenged dweebs. For a while, it seemed like the nerds of Earth had won the right to decide what truth was.

But that didn’t last too long. Non-nerds started getting sick of hearing unflattering truths. They longed for a way to shove truth back in the locker and take its lunch money. And they figured out a way to do it! The solution? The free market!

Turns out, human beings dont really care what’s true or not, they care about what makes them feel good, and they’ll take a lollypop over a depressing essay about global warming any day!

Now truth is just another part of the supply/demand market. Whatever truth you want, you can find someone who will sell it to you. Neither kings nor nerds can tell you what reality is- you can climb inside your own reality and die in there with a smile on your face, like a rat happily drowning in high fructose corn syrup! Everyone thought I was a “psychopath” for trapping Mabel in a reality bubble, but you geniuses have created reality bubbles for yourselves. Which is frankly great, because your inability to share any kind of consensus on reality makes you easier to conquer and only brings the downfall of your entire civilization closer!

Since truth is up-for-grabs, the world belongs to whoever can master the art of “reality-bending,” also known as LYING.

TAKE IT FROM SOMEONE WHO’S BEEN AROUND THE BLOCK, KID!

LIE UNTIL WHAT YOU WANT TO BE TRUE BECOMES TRUE.

LIE UNTIL YOU CANT REMEMBER WHATS A LIE AND WHAT ISNT.

LIE UNTIL YOU ARENT LYING ANYMORE"

[ftmforestfae]

Would you rather 18👀

18. Would you rather be on display in the living room for a party or open to eat on the dining table for a d&d campaign?

This one is hard bc

On one hand I love me a good nerd and good nerds tend to have the freakiest sex now 5 to 10 nerds. My pleasure during a D&D campaign would be both a luck of the draw and strategic. Also no telling when it stops.

I could totally see a D&D campaign rolling dice to decide what to do with me. I would believe fantasy monster toys as accessories matching their characters. Or depending on how much of a masterminded the game master is making the campaign use those toys on me to conquer their monster. Maybe the game master is the one who put me on display hiding clues for the game along my body for their friends to find later. The campaign could last hours depending on the roll of the dice I could be begging to cum or completely overestimated.

The game master might have to fuck me during intermission just to keep me satisfied while they play, maybe stuffed full of toy as they walked away to discuss strategy stuck at difficult road block the game master made for them, or I could be tears trying to squirm away as the campaign all runs their hands on me during break trying to make me cum for the upteenth time. But I would also be cared for after.

On the other a party would have more people in a shorter period of time and the living room would have the most traffic.

I would 100% be toy of the evening to a lot of strangers. And eventually a lot of drunk strangers. My body would never get a break. Most people either to come to drink and socialize or for someone to go with for a good fuck.

Everyone that came for a good fuck would probably stop their hunt for an open toy tied on display across the couch. I could see the host putting me in a puppy mask blindfolded so I can't see who's touching me or who I'm taking and so the guests have no idea who they are playing with either.

Most guys aren't going to touch my body they are going to see an open hole to cum into. A few of them might take interest in my tdick never having seen one that big on a cunt before. Maybe they play with it for a while maybe they play with my chest but most will drive their cock straight into one my holes and fuck their load into me like they came there to do. Most girls and other queers people aren't going to join a gaggle of men fucking and fighting over a toy.

Maybe a nice girl will come clean me up after they all have left. Maybe she will make me cum properly as a thank for for keeping the creeps away all night. Maybe another girl is angry becuase she came for a good time too so she takes it out me. Maybe another queer or trans person recognizes I'm transmasc by my Tdick and acts accordingly.

Sooo

I gotta choose the D&D campaign personally I think it'd be too much fun to turn down and I would get a second to breathe

[thisisnotawebsitedotcom-com]

Computer Code: LIES

Displays a photo of a boardgame and some text.

The text says:

In ancient times, “Truth” was whatever most recently came out of a king or priest’s mouth, and if you disagreed, your neck had a date with the guillotine. (DID U KNOW? Your head stays conscious 3 seconds after decapitation. FUN GAME: Try to lick the basket!)

Then a new type of person was invented: The Nerd, and they invented a new kind of method: Scientific.

As annoying as the nerds were, their methods got results. Flame throwers, roller coasters, space travel and saturated fat were all created by the overdeveloped frontal lobes of these socially challenged dweebs. For a while, it seemed like the nerds of Earth had won the right to decide what truth was.

But that didn’t last too long. Non-nerds started getting sick of hearing unflattering truths. They longed for a way to shove truth back in the locker and take its lunch money. And they figured out a way to do it! The solution? The free market!

Turns out, human beings dont really care what’s true or not, they care about what makes them feel good, and they’ll take a lollypop over a depressing essay about global warming any day!

Now truth is just another part of the supply/demand market. Whatever truth you want, you can find someone who will sell it to you. Neither kings nor nerds can tell you what reality is- you can climb inside your own reality and die in there with a smile on your face, like a rat happily drowning in high fructose corn syrup! Everyone thought I was a “psychopath” for trapping Mabel in a reality bubble, but you geniuses have created reality bubbles for yourselves. Which is frankly great, because your inability to share any kind of consensus on reality makes you easier to conquer and only brings the downfall of your entire civilization closer!

Since truth is up-for-grabs, the world belongs to whoever can master the art of “reality-bending,” also known as LYING.

TAKE IT FROM SOMEONE WHO’S BEEN AROUND THE BLOCK, KID!

LIE UNTIL WHAT YOU WANT TO BE TRUE BECOMES TRUE.

LIE UNTIL YOU CANT REMEMBER WHATS A LIE AND WHAT ISNT

LIE UNTIL YOU AREN'T LYING ANYMORE

[cicerenella]

Omg please give us more info of HRE and Italy 😙 what is their story?

(Of course dear anon! But first, I have to warn y'all: HRE's canon characterization is...a big mess. As a history nerd, I tried to find a more "accurate" way to depict him, so if it distances a bit from canon I am sorry! Also chibitalia makes no sense along with chibiromano, so we scrap them here. Long post ahead.)

Italy-HRE relationship: my take on it!🇮🇹

Before actually starting to look at their relationship, I think I have to make it clear that I envision HRE as Germania's son rather than grandson. That is because it is a general conception that both Prussia and Germany are Germania's sons, and so to make HRE his grandson (mind you, HRE is older than germany!) makes...no sense. Also, if you think HRE is Germany, this depiction might help. Moreover, this headcanon is more of an help to keep the plot linear rather than an historical fact.

Another point is his age. I really do not like chibitalia, and think that the whole thing of making Feli dress like a girl is...creepy? So again, I scrap this whole bullshit, since HRE and Italy are already several centuries old when they start having a relationship. HRE officially was created in 800 with Charlemagne, but similar to the Italy Brothers case, I depict HRE being "born" a bit before that, since he is Germania's son and was most likely alive before his dad died (poor guy). That makes him a bit younger than Feli.

So we come to the year 800! A 11 year old looking Feli is brought in the new and shining Holy Roman Empire and he...is not enthusiast about it.

HRE says in canon that he started loving Italy ever since the 900s, and I actually really like this touch. The first century is most likely feli getting used to live in such a different context, and their relationship was not good at the start. So HRE actually having a middle school kinda crush for one of his territories is actually so cute. Mind you that here they were still fairly young looking, so it was mostly puppy (for now unrequited) love between a young empire and his conquered land.

Fast forward to roughly 4 centuries! Both HRE and Feli grew up to their late teens/early adulthood, and the latter in particular started to gain more and more autonomy from his "young emperor". Venice was starting to affirm in Europe as a powerful Republic, the duchy of Tuscany flourishing with arts, Genoa becoming a maritime power... y'know, he was getting bitches around Europe.

And HRE? The crush for Italy just never left, and it only got stronger as they grew. Feli was now his sorta-equal, and he admired him so much at this point. And so I hc that roughly around the second half of the XIV century, they started "dating". (Oh and to make it clear, I don't make the whole "HRE thinks italy is a girl blah blah" because gay rights♡♡) whereas it was their first serious relationship with another nation.

I like to hc that HRE gave Feli his "Veneziano" nickname, since he used to call him "his beautiful veneziano" everytime they met. because they both struggled a lot during that time, with Feli trying to manage the rivalries between Tuscan cities and HRE managing whatever the hell was his empire (LMAOO).

now, regarding the death of HRE, the official date of dissolution of the empire was around 1806. in hetalia however, it is implied that HRE died in the Thirty Years War, and so that bring us almost two centuries before in 1648. I honestly want to keep this as the period that he died, mostly because it adds more...tragicness? to it. although I have to bang my head against a wall trying to understand who the hell replaced this guy after his death. (Prussia?? Austria??)

anyways, this guy goes to war and he NEVER returns. nation death is not common, and especially not something that happens everyday, so across Europe it was a big shock to hear when across the battlefield the corpse of the once Holy Roman Empire was retrieved. And you can also imagine the utter shock that feli upon learning about his lover's death.

It scarred him, a lot. HRE was his "first love" and he was the one that gave him the utmost respect. even months after his funeral, feli still waited for a letter from him hell, one singular word even! but of course, this was just a product of his grief stricken head. this is also why I headcanon him as being very frivolous in his sentimental life, since the only time he had love, it had been ripped away from him in the cruellest way possible.

[aviatrix-ash]

Had another idea for a lil tfa au scenario x3

Skyfire's been hesitant about sharing his works with most of the Autobot scientists. Not just cause he's unsure if the Autobots would even accept his work with him having been one of the Decepticons top scientists for millions of stellar cycles, even if he's claimed neutrality for even longer. he also highly doubts they'd even have any interest in his research on interplanetary lifeforms and energon usage/production. (He's trying to develop Pretender technology in this au)

Powerglide insists many Autobots will overlook that fact if they see his detailed work and lifetime of dedicated passion to him wanting to protect and understand lifeforms across the galaxy.

One day Powerglide gets wind that he'll have to ferry fly a group of the Autobots top scientists to a scientific convention in Crystal City. He wants to surprise Skyfire and invites him to ride with aboard the ship and insists Skyfire allows him to help polish him up real well.

Skyfire is delighted to come along, he's thinking Powerglide's bringing out to a really fancy Energon place in Crystal City. He's delighted to finally once again see the Cybertronian city historically infamous for it's scientific advancements. Of course, that was before the war completely destroyed it. He's curious to see how it's been rebuilt by Autobot and neutral servos.

~~

On the ride there Powerglide starts acting over dramatically eepy and says he wants to get an Energon snack from the ship's galley. He asks Skyfire to keep the spaceship on track. "You think I'm even qualified by Autobot standards to fly this thing? The navigation system is off by 2.5 degrees by the way" He jokes.

"Far more qualified than Dogfight over there"-who's asleep in his seat with a datapad covering his face.

While he's preoccupied, on his way back from the galley with some snackies, Powerglide slips one of Skyfire's datapads onto Perceptor's table "Read it, nerd."

"It's written in Destronian?"

"Is that an issue?"

"Not at all. But it does have my curiosity"

--

Later near their approach to Crystal City Preceptor made his way into the cockpit, datapad in hand. He leans against the pilot's seat facing Skyfire's jumpseat. "So, I see there's the galaxy's leading expert biologist in this cabin and I suspect it's not our snoozing copilot there."

"Your research is absolutely astounding. I've heard of you, Skyfire, during the war when your research benefited Megatron's efforts to conquer worlds. We almost lost C Minor, Nebulos, and Talaka to Shockwave and Starscream using this, your data to create a planet Energon harvester and weapon of immense destruction"

Skyfire’s face went from astonished and ecstatic to dull and expressionless as his spark sunk with every word. Powerglide completely froze, his face saying "oh no. I just massively screwed up..."

"I tried to stop them in time. I was too late for C Minor and the Nebulan and Talakan lives lost that sol. I can never forgive myself for that and turning a blind optic to the Decepticons schemes all those stellar cycles. That's why I've spent the last 3 million stellar cycles helping the lifeforms of those 2 remaining worlds recover and rebuild. Its why my current research is on producing sustainable Energon without the Allspark, especially with the Allspark gone.. It's the least I could do"

"I know. We've all done things we're not proud of." Perceptor handed the datapad to Skyfire. "I would like to join you on your research to save Cybertron. I'm certain my partners Wheeljack and Mainframe would share the same sentiment. You know as well as any Cybertronian, without the Allspark, Cybertron will starve."

"Planet's really starting to run low, huh?" Powerglide asked rhetorically as he focused on the ship's instruments in front of him, flipped a few switches and gave the other passengers of the ship the landing intercom debrief.

"Skyfire, if you would like, you're welcome to join the convention and contribute in any way if you feel comfortable," Perceptor said as he left the cockpit, door closing behind.

Skyfire and Powerglide looked at eachother in silence, both with a mix of bewilderment. Skyfire broke the silence by squealing like a fangirl, waking up Dogfight from his nap as he lifted Powerglide from his seat in a Skyfire sized hug.

Dogfight panics as he sees they're in a descent to the spaceport below and the captain off his seat getting showered in shuttle kisses. "Skyfire I gotta land us!! Later I promise!!" protests Powerglide in between laughs. He's eventually let back down and Skyfire stays quiet to let him fly the ship. But not without the occasional brief excited turbine spool up.

[domnorian]

How does isekaied Luthor get along with his companions?

Oh boy, it's gonna be a long one. I'm gonna make a list in order of appearance.

First, let me tell you that for ALL the companions, Lex WILL adapt his personality to be sure they will stay by his side. Because he's a manipulative bitch. But I guess everyone knew that already.

Lae'zel : She's an alien. And an alien from a species that tries to conquer the galaxy. So of course Lex first reaction to her and her people was not particularly friendly. But the fact she get things done, she's strong and efficient, made him quickly change his mind. He realized she was a very helpful asset. He also started asking questions about her people, to learn more about them because he's a giant nerd. Lae'zel quickly showed an interest in him: Lex is strong, charismatic (16 in charisma helps), smart and pragmatic, so of course she fell hard for him. And since it was just about sex and no feelings attached, Lex went with it. Lex still would betray Lae'zel if she wasn't enough of an asset for him anymore though. Lucky for her, she is pretty useful. He made sure to make her see what her Queen really was. And I think Lae'zel would now follow him until the end of times.

Shadowheart : Yes, Lex saved her on the mindflayer ship. For the same reason that he agreed to take all the others with him: he is aware he needs all the help he can get. So he opened her pod, hoping she could prove useful or throw her on a mindflayer to be able to escape. Fortunately, she was useful. The main issue is that Shadowheart tends to trust the wrong kind of persons, as you must know. And Lex is no exception. He did try many times to steal the artifact from her but failed. The fact she was avoiding telling the truth, though, that annoyed Lex pretty badly. When she finally revealed who she was, he at first was sceptical about her religion, but eventually showed great interest in Shar (you know, the whole "hope is pointless" was the moment he decided her religion wasn't so bad). Since Shadowheart was used to people hating on her cult, she was pleasantly surprised and well... let's just say she likes Lex. She approves his decisions most of the time and regrets hiding the truth from him since he's so trustworthy and comprehensive (lol). I think deep down she knows who he really is... but in the full meaning of it. She sees a broken man who will fight until the end to get what he wants. I think she pities him in some way.

Astarion : I was actually not that surprised when I realized Astarion and Lex wouldn't get along really well. Sure, Astarion approves Lex's decisions most of the time. But he still disapproves when Lex asks him to fuck off. Which is pretty often. For Lex, Astarion is annoying and clearly tries way too hard to get his nose into Lex's business. Also, the fact he hid he was a vampire. I wouldn't say Lex hates him, though. They have a relationship that looks more like siblings bickering. Astarion likes to mess with Lex and Lex likes to remind Astarion who's boss and who's the man who gave his blood so Astarion could finally be useful. I think maybe Astarion doesn't trust Lex because he reminds him too much of Cazador.

Gale : Ha. Gale. Poor darling. He really was right when he told Lex that he made him worse. Lex has a very bad influence on Gale. And Gale knows it. But he also knows he has no choice but to follow Lex to survive. He really is the one companion I'm truly sad about. He knew from the beginning that Lex was bad news but he went with it anyway. They both try to be civil with one another. Lex is a very good student to Gale and always listen to him when he talks about magic. Because for Lex, magic is science unexplained. And he's dying to find an explanation.

Wyll : Lex tried his best to manipulate Wyll. Only to fail again and again. Wyll isn't dumb, he sees clearly that Lex isn't a hero but is a selfish bastard with too much ambition. Lex thinks Wyll is an annoying goody two-shoes. When Wyll left after they attacked the emerald grove, Lex was relieved.

Karlach : Lex and Karlach didn't interact much. Lex did try to manipulate her as well but she too left camp after they attacked the emerald grove.

Minthara : She and Lex are adorable. In a creepy kinda way. That's all I'm gonna say for now because I will post screenshots of them later I think.

Halsin : Believe it or not, Halsin is still alive. He reminded Lex too much of Clark to be able to kill him from the get go. So Lex made sure the goblins already left the place when he rescued Halsin. Of course, Lex lied and didn't tell him he was with the goblins at the time. Halsin left, trying to reach the grove in time. Lex told him: "good luck". Maybe he did have luck because Lex didn't find Halsin on the battleground. He's hoping Halsin left and is still alive somewhere.

That's it for now. It may evolve as I progress into the game.

[gentlem4ngh0sty69]

~RANDOM TOPIC ALERT #2~

Another topic about animeee yayyyy!!

So if you're not from the Philippines, you would never know how big of a chokehold Dragonball Z had on Filipino kids every Sunday morning on one of the country's main channels, GMA. Kids were always ecstatic to wake up in the morning, begging their parents to switch the television on to watch the latest episode of the legendary anime created by the legend, Akira Toriyama. I remember the time Goku activated Super Saiyan for the very first time, and many kids agreed that it was definitely worth waking up for. Seeing the series' main protagonist get one of the most iconic power-ups in fiction is really something nerds like me, especially old ones, would wish to experience again for the first time. Ever since that moment in the series, many kids have idolized Goku. Not just because he is cool and a skilled fighter, but because as the main protagonist, he is driven by his love for humanity and his constant need to protect Earth from the threats of the galaxy. In the series, Son Goku is not human, rather, a Saiyan. Goku descends from a race of world conquering aliens that will stop at nothing to get what they want. When Goku was just an infant Saiyan, he was sent to Earth to conquer it. But in the end, Goku was raised by humans and was taught the virtues of what it actually means to be human. As he grew up, he grew stronger both physically and spiritually. This in turn resulted in him being surrounded by everyone he cares most in his life, and will go beyond just to protect them from anyone he dares to hurt them. Now why does he inspire people so much in terms of his character? For an anime main protagonist to be effective to the audience, they must possess qualities that the audience can relate to. In Goku's case, he has quite the cheerful personality since Toriyama wrote the character to possess the purest heart imaginable. Goku is a character that harbours no negative emotions to the world. And above all else, Goku is like any other guy in the world. He is simple-minded and all he ever wants to do is to eat as much as he can and fight to his heart's content in martial arts tournaments. What I'm trying to tell here is that an anime character has the power to make their presence known to their audience and can always go beyond that. It is their actions that make the audience have a deep connection with them. They may be fictional characters, but just like in the real world, they have the power to inspire people through what they do. Whether it'd be taking down an army of aliens to save an entire city, or fighting a strong entity with the power to end humanity, these characters have their own ways as being seen as the heroes of their own stories and as heroes to many people. Goku is a character that has inspired millions around the world because of how strong he is, not just as a fighter, but as a character people can attach to.

Phew. This one is by far my longest one yet. Haha.

[cherrysweather]

Hello! How are you? So, I have a request. Can you write about a scenario where Trucy gets bullied badly, LIKE EXTREMELY BADLY. But then, her S/O saves her from the bullies. Any format is allowed! And yes, thank you for reading!!!

Hello hello uwu

I'm fine? I think?

I hope you're doing well though ^^

Thank you for requesting and, let me give you a hug ;v;

It was so sad writing this because thinking about Trucy getting bullied hurts me TvT This is short and I'm sorry for it, but I really didn't know what to write and this work caused me to lose imagination more than once to write in general, I'm so very sorry

So, I hope I've written all the emotion well; I hope you'll enjoy! <3 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Trucy Wright is saved from bullies by her S/O:

It was always like this.

It didn't matter if it was during breaks between school lessons, on her way home, during her shows rehearsals or her live ones, Trucy was never alone - in the worst way possible.

Spoiled, fraud, naïve, delusional - she was called like this and more so many times a day that her mind sometimes forgot her name.

It started when some of her classmates asked her to show them some magic tricks, complimenting her hard work in everything she was doing.

Of course, some people didn't like that -call them jealous, ignorant, stupid or just disrespectful- and started to bother Trucy, mocking every achievement she conquered.

What she thought and hoped would last for some time, took a regular seat in her life instead; if she answered correctly to an answer she was a nerd, then a loser if she failed a test, an attention-seeker if she talked to someone from another class, anti-social if she didn't.

Wrong or right, everything she did was scolded, they always highlighted the worst aspect of it.

Trucy learned when she was a child how to handle the kinds of emotions that these events made her feel, how to bottle them up and keep a smile for everyone around her and to try and convince herself that she was strong, she could do it on her own.

That's why no one ever noticed.

Phoenix was the only one who immediately noticed how her daughter would isolate herself even when Apollo and Athena were with them at the office, but when he tried to talk to her about it, she just smiled and told him she was fine apart from some school stress.

He didn't want to play the part of the invasive father, the one who asked and asked until the answers he wanted reached his ears, so he asked someone he knew Trucy trusted as much as she trusted him.

Of course, they noticed too. How she slowly stopped to tell them how her day went on their way home, how she stopped bringing her favorite deck of cards to show them some new tricks and many other small things that made Trucy the bubbly girl she was.

They talked to her, making her realize that she had to react and show those bullies that whatever they said or did didn't touch her. She didn't have to become like them, envious, mischievous or evil; ignore them, ask her friends for support and always opt for a smile. They remained close to her while she tried to do that, waiting for her after school if they finished earlier their own lessons and always checked on her mood and health.

And, it worked, actually.

They stopped talking badly about her, thanks also to the other classmates who started to call them out, they stopped ripping her books after a teacher yelled at them and a very menacing blue lawyer glared at their group with death in his eyes each time he came to pick up his daughter.

"You think you're strong?" "You always need someone else to cover your back" "It's easy to say you hold shows in theaters when others do all the work for you"

Her blurred vision didn't help at all while she searched for her safety contact to ask for help; she was walking back home with unrequired company- like always.

This time, she understood quickly that a smile wouldn't help that much after a kick hit her legs. When they grabbed her backpack, arms or clothes, she pushed them away, not being able to hit them in any kind of way. That was until she felt her scalp burn and almost fell backward, wiggling from the grip she hit someone's leg; that triggered, however, a pull to her hair that made her back meet with a wall.

The only thing she felt after a while was air being pulled out from her lungs as someone pulled her scarf tightly around her slim neck. She closed her eyes and continued to push them away, free herself and avoid visible bruises. How would she explain that to Phoenix afterward.

They waited for Trucy outside her school; she told them that Phoenix invited them for lunch with Maya, Apollo and Athena, so they hurried up once classes finished and waited. They realized Trucy probably forgot when just the staff remained inside the building, so they started walking towards Phoenix's house.

That's when their blood started to boil; it took a few meters ahead to spot Trucy's cape and the same individuals she talked about these last weeks, and what helped recognize them was the rather unfriendly way they were treating her.

Trucy regained the courage to open her eyes again when she heard that familiar voice screaming against her bullies, pushing them away and finally freeing her neck from the grip of her scarf. No one there knew how they resisted beating them on the spot, calling them every possible way to make them feel as bad as they made Trucy feel, if not worse; to remind them of what they really were, how insignificant and vile.

They didn't even wait for them to go away, pulling Trucy away, somewhere safer to try and soothe her, speak to her; but that wasn't the ideal moment. Trucy slowly calmed down from the shock, but did not utter a word.

Once home, she just closed her in the bathroom, processing what just happened in the silence. Useless to say that once Phoenix learned everything, he knocked on the door softly, trying to get his daughter out of there and talk, doing his best to suppress his anger.

For once, hearing someone cry his lungs out was a positive sign; Trucy finally found the courage to let herself go, let off all the steam inside her while torturing her father's shirt and almost attempting to merge with his chest.

They waited, already thinking of ways to pay back those bullies as they deserved. When Trucy finished explaining the full situation, she gave herself a break, washing her face and dragging them to her room; lunch could wait.

She occupied her bed and used them as her pillow; her sobs could still be heard from time to time, her grip on the pillow was more than strong, so it was their hug on her. Only when her breath stabilized and she fell asleep they could relax, too. The gentle strokes on her hair didn't stop and they patiently waited for her times of recover to then find all together a solution.

Even though, Phoenix was already filling in the documents for a legal complaint for every one of those being.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

WIP Fics (2) Masterlist

part one

24 Floors (ao3) - raine_go_away luke/ashton, michael/calum M, 9k (WIP)

Summary: or the soulmate timer au that nobody asked for with luke working at a daycare later on where he eventually meets ashton

Across the Hall (ao3) - boomercal michael/luke, calum/ashton, luke/calum/ashton M, 4k

Summary: Michael and Luke have lived across the hall from each other for… three? four? A long time, anyway. In that time Luke has dated jocks, nerds, spiritualists, a video game programmer, a zookeeper, a set of non-identical twins (not at the same time) and just about everyone else in Sydney. Michael thinks it’s funny, cute even, and teases Luke relentlessly. But the couple Luke’s trying to date now is actually really nice, and that’s fine; Luke deserves the best, right? Then why does Michael wish they’d dump Luke?

All Gone (No Escape) (ao3) - mtvluke luke/ashton, michael/luke T, 3k

Summary: And when the nights are bitterly cold all you can do is be thankful that you've survived one more day, hoping that you'll still be alive to see the colors of a sunrise bleed together just like a watercolor painting.

Caught in Seattle (ao3) - thegiftboxxx, thesaltyspice calum/ashton, other(s) E, 82k

Summary: or, the one where Calum is supposed to be sober but, somehow, he finds himself a new addiction in the form of a cowboy hat-wearing groupie

Gone (ao3) - coolbabyblue luke/ashton E, 13k

Summary: "Why would you do this?"He asked looking up at Ashton as he swallowed his cries. He would not give him more satisfaction by crying, it was enough how happy the man was when Luke showed fear. He hated him with every inch of his body and as much as Ashton claimed he "loved" him, he refused to believe that.

"I want to go home... Please."He cried out, while Ashton just kept staring at him, still smiling and not saying anything. It was creepy... Almost inhumane.

"But I told you already..."The man spoke up finally, as he reached down to pet Luke's head,"... you are home."

How many omegas can you fit into 5 seconds? (ao3) - Little_Marquise michael/luke, calum/ashton, luke/calum M, 583k (WIP)

Summary: Luke has, as the only beta in a band, always felt a bit left out. While Michael and Ashton are fighting over who will win Calums heart, Luke feels like a piece of him is missing. The delayed piece of him finally catches up with his hectic lifestyle, when he presents as an omega during their Youngblood tour and everything goes absolutely crazy. Muke and Cashton.

Loser (ao3) - felixandtae calum/ashton N/R, 19k

Summary: "Watch where you're going, loser."

"Nice insult, neanderthal."

The typical lovestory of a Nerd and a Jock, but with a small twist when they're forced by their friends - Michael and Luke- to try dating for a month and see if they're really hate each other or hate how much they love one another.

Only You Can Give Me That Feeling (ao3) - Cashton4506 calum/ashton, michael/luke N/R, 4k

Summary: Ashton is the shy kid who sits quietly at the back of the classroom. He has a crush on popular football player Calum Hood. Almost everyone does.

Phobias (ao3) - iCheeseYou (EHkook) luke/ashton, michael/calum M, 59k

Summary: "Nobody takes my phobia seriously. They all think it's something that'll just go away on its own and a lot of people use my own phobia against me. No one knows how terrified I become when my fear starts kicking in, and even if they did, they don't care at all. It causes a lot of distress on my part, and I hate that. Sometimes I wish I could somehow conquer my fear, but that's easier said than done."

"I understand exactly what you mean, and let me tell you: You're not alone on that."

The one where Ashton Irwin has pediophobia, the fear of dolls, and Luke Hemmings has monophobia, the fear of being alone.

-

"Stay as far away from me as possible, and don't you even dare come near me."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't want to get close to you anyway."

The one where Michael Clifford has haphephobia, the fear of touch, and Calum Hood has philophobia, the fear of falling in love.

Say You Want Me (Back in Your Life) (ao3) - Siren_Grey ot4 T, 23k

Summary: When you turn 18, at 12am on your birthday, the name of your soulmate appears on your skin in delicate black ink. But the Universe doesn't always play fair.

-

Ashton never thought he'd leave his soulmate, just like his father left his mother and him. But the name on his soulmate's skin wasn't his own. Little did he know the Universe had something much bigger planned...

Ot4 5sos Soulmate!AU

Tell Me I'm Pretty (ao3) - felixandtae luke/ashton, michael/calum E, 84k

Summary: "Wearing skirts and putting make up on doesn't make me a girl. I have a dick and I can very well show you it. Just tell me I'm pretty, Luke."

Ashton likes to wear make up and Luke likes when Ashton wears make up. But, Luke doesn't like Ashton and Ashton doesn't like Luke. So how did they end up fucking in the auditorium every Friday night?

Tendency For Trouble (ao3) - lxcifxrhemmo michael/luke, calum/ashton T, 4k

Summary: “I don’t have a thing for Hemmings, he’s a fucking little junior nerd with a teacher for a mum. That tells you everything.”

“That just tells me it puts him top of your list to fuck next, thrilling dangerous sexy fling with the new boy at Uni? Yeah sounds like an opportunity you wouldn’t wanna miss, not to mention he’s got brains and beauty.”

Or the one where Luke is the new pretty boy and son of the headteacher at frat boy Michaels University and Michael’s really tired of all these little new kids thinking they’re big enough to be like the Seniors. That is until he see’s the new boy for himself and suddenly it makes sense…but he’s totally not gonna fuck him.Is he?

thinking about fucking each other (before we fall asleep) (ao3) - orphan_account luke/calum T, 23k

Summary: Calum’s in love with Luke, Luke has his head up his ass, Ashton’s an amazing friend, Jack’s a horrible advisee and Michael loves big cars.

Wiped Out (ao3) - mtvluke ot4 N/R, 1k

Summary: The first sign of the virus happened in early autumn where the leaves just began to fall and the air began to cool down after the hot summer Sydney had just experienced. Of course Luke had heard about it from his friends and all the rumors of how it was turning people, crazy, would be an appropriate word. But now seeing this on the news. It was becoming far too real for Luke to brush off the uneasy feeling rising in his throat at the mention of it.

You only live forever in the lights you make (ao3) - Unholy michael/luke, calum/ashton, + more T, 17k

Summary: Or Luke has to flee to Camp Half-Blood with his (apparently demigod) best friend Louis, but what they’re running from turns out to be bigger and closer than they ever imagined. And the gorgeous boy named Michael with the cocky smile and the pretty eyes that everyone warns him about isn’t of any help at all.

[yoinkschief]

Hey what if we gave Mattsworld Tom or Red Leader a Venom Symbiote?

That sounds

Genuinely terrifying

If I remember correctly, been a while since I've fucked with Venom and whatnot, the symbiote feeds off of strong emotions, and Tord and Tom's strongest emotions, especially when RL or BL, is mostly rage and anger

Red Leader specifically I feel like would have a field day with this (especially because I have a little head canon he's a bit of a marvel nerd, his fave being iron man for what I think are obvious reasons) and he would immediately start testing to make the symbiote bend to his will which I'm not sure how well that would work, Tord is stubborn but I'm pretty sure the moment that symbiote finds another strong host that's more willing to not try and control it's every move it'll would IMMEDIATELY leave Tord lmao

That could be interesting though, the fight inside of Tord of him trying to gain control of the symbiote as it's trying to do the same as a rebuttal against him, it would be like toxic yaoi inside of him

But I mean of course rage isn't the only emotion Tord feels strongly but I feel like it would be weird to talk about the implications of Tord being hypersexual and a symbiote that feeds off strong emotions

But then again Eddie Brock in the Venom movies is really gay so I have no idea where the line is anymore LMAO

As for Blue Leader specifically,,, well,, that's a very dangerous predicament

I feel like Tom, having a rage demon living inside him, already coexisting with a second soul inside him, would probably be really nonchalant about another parasite LOL he'd definitely be able to have a better symbiotic relationship with Venom where they both benefit from it especially when he's BL, as in my version of BL (WHICH I'M WORKING ON AND WILL POST AT SOME POINT I SWEAR) has more monster genetics showing through in his later years in life because he's able to work with the rage demon better now and it's not a constant fight anymore but that's kinda cause he sacrificed a bit of his humanity for power but that's a rant for when I actually post the design lol

And I don't think Venom would want to leave BL's body ANY TIME SOON, Tom is already just a freak of nature on his own with the whole eye thing but a rage demon on TOP OF THAT ? What more could Venom ask for in a powerful host that would probably never die ?

Either way, if it was with RL or BL, the world would NOT be safe, their goals of conquering it would be sped up significantly

[traderoftrouble]

I'm so tired of pretending that humans are the most intelligent things on earth. Motherfucker the earth is the most intelligent thing here.

I'm a huge space nerd and so seeing shitheads try and talk about 'conquering space' as a resource business endeavour makes me murderous as if we have learnt fucking nothing from bees and termites and bacteria and fungi.

Over and over again we are shown by every single organism that has come before us that symbiosis IS the answer. Kindness and art and magic IS the answer.

We forget we are but one organelle in the smallest cell of earths entire body.

The earth does not need us. Life does not need us. Our very definition of intelligence is so fundamentally flawed because we think that we are any better than bacteria.

Animals as an entire kingdom are deeply unimportant in terms of earths history, billions and billions of years passed before animals showed up.

Humanity is just another gut bacteria in the intestinal tract, and you better fucking believe that as soon as we go malignant the lymphocytes are going to plunder our corpses to fuel the next chapter of earth.