#genuinely concerned for that specific situation

[xclowniex]

What for you specifically makes Bibi a war criminal? Genuine question because people never want to explain this and act like you're fundamentally stupid for asking. I hate Bibi but like what specifically makes him a war criminal?

So I'll first start with the ICC claim per their website

“The Chamber considered that there are reasonable grounds to believe that both individuals intentionally and knowingly deprived the civilian population in Gaza of objects indispensable to their survival, including food, water, and medicine and medical supplies, as well as fuel and electricity, from at least 8 October 2023 to 20 May 2024”

So to sum it up, it isn't necessarily Israel's actions which constitute a war crime as war is always horrific and damages infrastructure, it's their inaction to put any measures in place to maintain water, electricity, food and aid.

About 90 percent of Gaza’s water supply comes from the Coastal Aquifer Basin, which runs along the eastern Mediterranean coast from Egypt through Gaza and into Israel. And most of that is not safe drinking water and has to be cleaned by water treatment plants in Gaza which a lot have been damaged in the war.

The treatment plants were not fixed as Israel was worried the materials would be hijacked by Hamas to use for weapons instead. Which is a valid concern, however no alternative water access through bottled water or any other way was put in place. Hence the war crime.

Gaza relies heavily on Israel for basic things like water and electricity because instead of spending money on building a good solid infrastructure, where they don't need to rely on Israel, they invested in tunnels.

In terms of food and other aid, Bibi could have done more to let aid in. Yes hamas steals food and aid, which is partly why Deif was also issued a warrant (although the main reason for his was Oct 7th). However Israel is still responsible for how many aid trucks they let in. Because the Israeli government knew of Hamas stealing aid, they could have let more in, but they didn't. Yes it's not their responsibility to rectify the terrible things Hamas does to Palestinians, but also they knew not enough aid was getting to Palestinian civilians and didn't do anything, and the situation causing the need for aid was Israel's actions in Gaza. Both bibi and hamas are at fault for the lack of food, none are 100% to blame.

Since I mentioned Deif, I want to touch on his warrant. Israel said he was dead, hamas hasn't confirmed it when they have confirmed deaths of other people Israel has killed. Hence the ICC issued a warrant for him as by ICC standards, it is not confirmed Deif is dead.

[idk-i-want-mcl-content]

i feel like if jason wants to stop devenementiel team building he should convince everyone to play uno against thomas.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

maybe its just me but i cant stand when people are like "it just doesn't sit right with me how teruhashi thought about aiura 🥺" like yes... its not supposed to ??? because her thinking badly of other girls and prioritizing male validation over everything is one of her main flaws ??? can we talk about that WITHOUT making it seem like shes not allowed to have a single actual flaw without suddenly becoming an awful person? nobody can handle complex female characters at all and its so fucking annoying

[obstinaterixatrix]

oh I really liked this one but I can’t really pin down what made it stand out to me. more drama/tragedy… it feels more self-aware in a way? I like how dulled some of the emotions are portrayed.

[theambitiouswoman]

Green Flags in Communication 💚💬

"I want to know when I hurt your feelings."

This shows they are willing to understand and acknowledge the impact of their actions.

"I don't want you to feel alone in this."

This shows empathy and indicates that the person is supportive and does not want the person to deal with issues alone.

"I've been struggling with ___”

This demonstrates vulnerability and trust, as the person is open about their struggles.

"How have you been feeling about ___? I know it's been on your mind a lot."

This shows concern for the other person's issues or worries, showing that they are listening and care about what's important to the other person.

"I feel __ when you __; are you open to trying __ next time?"

This is an example of constructive communication.

"What do you need from me when this happens with your family?"

This shows awareness and sensitivity to the persons family dynamics and a willingness to provide support.

"I appreciate when you ___.”

Expressing appreciation is vital for positive reinforcement and acknowledging the efforts and qualities of the other person.

"I didn't handle that well."

This is a sign of self-awareness and accountability, recognizing one's own mistakes and being open to learning and growth.

"I'm sorry, I was wrong to say that. I'll try to be more mindful in the future."

Shows you are able to apologize genuinely and a commitment to improving behavior.

"Tell me more about that; I'm really interested in hearing your perspective."

Indicates a genuine interest in the other person's thoughts and feelings.

"I noticed you seemed a bit off today. Is everything okay?"

It shows you are attentive to the other person's emotional state and a readiness to provide support.

"I'm here for you, no matter what you need."

Offers unconditional support, creating a sense of security in the relationship.

"I love how passionate you are about your hobbies. It's inspiring to see."

Expresses admiration for the other person's interests.

"Let's work on a solution together. What do you think would be fair?"

Focusing on collaboration rather than conflict.

"I trust your judgment on this."

Trust and respect for the other person's decision-making abilities.

"Your happiness is important to me. Let's make sure you're taking time for yourself."

Prioritizes the other person's happiness and emphasizes the importance of self care.

"It's okay to feel that way. Do you want to talk about it more?"

Validates the other person's feelings.

"I appreciate how you handled that situation. You're really good at ___."

Praises specific strengths or skills, boosting the other person's self-esteem.

"I know we disagree, but I respect your point of view."

Acknowledges differences in opinion while still maintaining respect and understanding.

[pyrettawychwiggin]

Nanami Kento Relationship Headcanons

(Nanami through the phases)

Warnings: none. This post is SFW, and is mostly full of fluff.

Acquaintance (I'm just another face in the crowd)

• This isn't a love-at-first-sight type of situation. Romance is so far from his mind in general, and as far as he's concerned, it's off the table, no matter who it is.

• If you're another sorcerer, you're just another colleague - his only concern is whether or not you're competent. If you're a non-sorcerer, you're just another stranger in the world trying to make your way however you can. Nothing more.

• He treats you no different than any other person, with painful indifference and total professionalism. Short responses - no longer than is required to get a point across.

• Any time you'd try to have some form of friendly chat or banter with him, you're met with little more than a 'hm' or an ' I see' before he would return to what he was doing.

• His responses would only be a little longer if it pertained to work or if it were absolutely necessary.

Friend (If you slip and fall off-track - I'll carry you on my back)

• It took a long while to get to even this point with him, but he's less guarded around you - only a little. It's not that he doesn't trust you; it's just how he is with people. The difference is that when he asks about your day, he genuinely wants to know - it's no longer an obligatory means of the bare-minimum 'polite conversation between strangers/colleagues' type of situation.

• You're one of the few people he'll ask out for drinks after work. He's a good drinking partner, and he always tends to buy the first round. This is around the time you realize just how well he can hold his liquor. The man can drink like a fish, and it takes him an insane amount before he seems to show any subtle signs of inebriation. That being said, he's a pretty quiet drunk; he'll sway a bit more when he stands, and his ears/cheeks will turn a little redder, but he tends to stop before he even gets to that point.

• He has genuine respect for you (even if you're also a Jujutsu Sorcerer).

• You get to see him crack a small smile on occasion. Even though he's not typically one for jokes, you're one of the few people who make him chuckle.

• He knows how you take your coffee and/or tea (or what you prefer if you don't drink coffee or tea). If you're a colleague, he'll sometimes bring you something from the coffee shop if he'd happened to stop by to pick up a coffee for himself.

• (If you're a sorcerer) He trusts you to be able to handle yourself, and doesn't feel the need to babysit you on missions. He knows your style pretty well, and is able to adapt his own to better compliment yours if needed. Still, he's always looking out for you in his typical 'Nanami' way.

• (If you're not a sorcerer) He keeps an eye out for you when he happens to be around; making sure you're not stuck dealing with some unknown minor curse. If you do happen to catch the attention of a curse, he'll go out of his way to deal with it for you - though you'd never know it; he doesn't want to bring you into his messy world by telling you things you don't need to know.

• All in all, Nanami is a fiercely loyal friend. He has your back through anything and everything, even if that means giving you a scolding for doing something foolish.

Crush (I've got my eye on you)

• Once you catch his eye, he almost seems to become a little less talkative around you than he was before. At first, you're worried that you did something wrong.

• If anything, he's kind of in shock. These feelings just came out of nowhere for him, and he's not really sure how to handle it.

• He specifically did NOT want to be romantically involved with anyone while he's in this field of work. In fact, he's fully intending to keep his feelings to himself and just hoping that they go away over time, even if you're also in the same business of fighting curses.

• Any signs of affection are extremely subtle - almost imperceptible - but they are there.

• When he brings you your coffee/tea/etc. he now always pairs it with some sort of sticky note message. Nothing cutesy - just a simple 'have a good day' or 'stay safe.'

• When you're around each other, he seems to stand a little closer than usual - especially if it's crowded, he takes the opportunity to stick almost shoulder-to-shoulder with you (but he always says a quick 'apologies' when he does).

• You have your own ringtone and vibration pattern, now - though he hasn't brought it to anyone's attention; not even yours. Your ringtone changes from his usual default to something different so he can hear if it's specifically you contacting him. Your vibration tone is a subtle 'bzt-bzt' that he noticed sounded like a heartbeat. Whenever he hears that tone or that vibration, he tends to stop what he's doing to check his inbox.

• You've never noticed, but if someone seems to be eyeing you, be it a creep or just some would-be troublemaker, he's able to subtly put on that scary-dog aire which never fails to deter them from coming anywhere near you. In fact, one time, he happened to notice some creep was following you home after work while he was driving by, so he pulled over to the curb beside you and got out of his car to greet you. 'It's not safe to be out alone in this area this late. Let me drive you home.'

Before you can say anything, he's gently leading you to the passenger's side door, opening it for you to let you in before carefully closing it behind you. As he's moving around the car to get into the driver's seat, he's sure to flash a death glare to the stalker (and no one - and I mean NO ONE - can death glare like Nanami).

Once he's arrived at your place, he suggests carpooling with him after work. Even if you decline, he requests that you text him when you get home. Either way, this starts a trend of you two either carpooling home or texting each other most nights.

• You have noticed that his usual habit of buying the first round of drinks has turned into him picking up the entire tab basically every time.

• You are the only person that has ever seen this stoic man flustered. The first time you saw him remove his glasses, you complimented the amber colour of his eyes. He cleared his throat and scratched the bridge if his nose, flushing with a 'thank you.' You heard from Gojo later that day that Nanami seemed to be in a better mood than usual for the rest of the day.

• He actually compliments you, now - and not just for work-related things. He keeps it simple, but one day he notices you'd changed something small - maybe the way you parted your hair, the way you did your makeup, maybe you shaved, or he noticed the perfume/cologne you were wearing, maybe a new accessory you bought - and he makes a point to say something (ie; 'Ah, you changed your hair part. It looks good.')

Dating (What would happen if we kissed? Would your tongue slip past my lips?)

• This was not what Nanami was intending to happen. You either had to make the first move, or once you noticed the hints he was unintentionally dropping, you practically had to pull it out of him. He was convinced, without the shadow of a doubt, that his feelings were completely one-sided.

• If by some chance he were the one to make the first move, however, he had originally decided to confess to you in hopes that his feelings would pass once you'd inevitably turned him down. You could imagine his surprise when you returned his feelings. He decided it would be best to take you out for lunch at a coffee shop you both liked to frequent. After you'd taken your seats, you noticed that he seemed nervous. That's when he tells you.

• Either way, once you both decide to start a relationship, he turns out to be a textbook-perfect boyfriend. He holds doors open, buys you gifts, plans great dates, gives great massages, and he's a shockingly good kisser. He's also unsurprisingly great at communication; he likes to talk things out, and is very solutions-oriented, so the two of you may disagree on occasion, but you rarely 'fight.'

• His only real failing as a boyfriend (at least early on in the relationship) has everything to do with his habit of being a workaholic. It can be hard to make time to spend time together outside of work, and when you do, he's often rather tired, though he tries not to show it.

• You two didn't share an official 'first kiss' until the end of the third date. You'd hugged, held hands, cuddled, and you'd both even come close to kissing a couple times, but neither of you wanted to make the other feel rushed or uncomfortable. He'd kissed your hand, fingers and forehead before, but at the end of your third date, as he was dropping you off at your place, he asked you to wait a moment before getting out of his car. He started to lean forward and gently slipped a hand on your jawline, holding intense eye contact for a moment before asking if it would be alright for him to kiss you. You basically just managed to get a 'yes' out and his lips were on yours in the blink of an eye - as if he'd been unable to think of anything else for his entire life. All too soon, he pulled away an inch, letting out a deep sigh of relief. He drifted his thumb gently over your bottom lip and smiled. 'You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that.'

• He seems to exhibit many forms of the love languages, but his most prominent are acts of service, gift giving, and physical touch.

Long-Term (Come with me, my love, to the sea - the sea of love)

• Nanami always enjoys his dates with you, regardless of what you're doing, but he specifically loves dates where the two of you get to learn something together. Taking classes, be they painting, cooking, dancing, learning a language, etc. he finds them to be the most interesting.

• Nanami asked you to move in with him about a year into your relationship. The first day you came 'home' after work, he'd made a point of being there first so he could set up a 'welcome home' banner and prepare a nice in-home date night for the two of you.

• Coming home to you is easily the highlight of most of his days. His favourite post-work ritual is to slide off his tie, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, and to fall into you to cuddle on the couch together.

• He loves when you read books out loud while he's curled up with you, feeling your fingers running through his hair. It never fails to put him at ease.

• After having taken many cooking classes together, the two of you can flawlessly work around each other in the kitchen - something many couples seem to struggle with.

• It was about 3 years into your relationship when you realized he has a shockingly nice singing voice that he rarely uses. One evening, the two of you were slow-dancing in the living room when he started humming a song in a low, smooth tone that took you by surprise.

• Nanami's always had pretty good fashion sense, but he enjoys coordinating his outfits with yours, and low-key revels in getting to show you off a little when you're out together.

• He never forgets anniversaries - ever. He remembers that during your first anniversary, you bought him a midnight blue silk tie with a simple wave pattern that he adores, and makes sure to wear every anniversary without fail.

Married (After all this time, I'm still into you)

• The two of you take at least a one week long vacation together every year; but for your 5th anniversary, he pulled out all the stops. We're talking a first-class flight to a private villa by the sea with a balcony and an ocean view that boasted some of the most incredible sunsets imaginable. After spending the week getting absolutely pampered with amazing meals, couples massages, and anything under the sun that the two of you wanted to do, he presented you with an envelope.

You opened it to see that he had purchased the ocean villa so the two of you could come back any time you wanted; but that's not all.

He had signed it under both his name, and under a 'Mrs. Nanami Kento.' You looked at him in shock as he rose to his feet and dropped down on one knee beside you to offer you a ring with your favourite stone.

• The wedding was, in a word, perfect. He had a blast planning it with you, and the entire event went off without a single hitch. It was small, beautiful, elegant, intimate, and perfect for both of you. You like to joke that the two of you had a future in event planning if Jujutsu Sorcery stopped being an option.

• It's not long before he (and you, if you were also a sorcerer) decide to retire from Jujutsu Sorcery to open your own business together - be it event planning, a restaurant, a bakery, etc. which goes on to be incredibly successful.

• This man never stops trying to win your heart. Even decades into your marriage, he's always trying to find new ways to charm you and sweep you off your feet.

[starseungs]

the subtle art of cliche confessions. ksm.

kim seungmin x gn!reader — as aware as you were that life wasn’t like the fictional stories of romance that you enjoyed, a part of you still relished the thought of experiencing it for yourself.

GENRE/S — fluff, humor kinda, maybe fluffy angst but not really, battle of the bands au, lead singer!seungmin, college au, kinda semi-established relationship • 2.5k words

WARNING/S — profanity for humor, some self-deprecation as a result of nervousness but its not that bad, romance is complicated! in the same universe as "i'd weave words with every chord you strum. hjs"

( ✒️ ) a gift for @starlostseungmin for successfully completing her big exam 🙇‍♀️🤍 congratulations lovie, you deserve a fluffy seungmin fic !! the ending may be trash im sorry its 1am and i have class in a few hrs

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

“Jisung, I think I’m about to pass out.”

The person mentioned comically froze on the spot, his right hand halting from its previous task of double-checking his electric guitar’s condition. Jisung lifted his head up menacingly to look at the offender—who currently looked like he was seconds away from losing all strength in his legs. Despite the concerning comment, life backstage did not stop for anyone. Crew members were still seen running around like headless chickens, desperately trying to keep the show running smoothly even though they, themselves, were already functioning on greater levels of adrenaline than the performers. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Jisung warns lowly. “Kim Seungmin, you are not about to leave us without a lead singer right now!”

Unfortunately, Seungmin was not kidding. At all.

The loud cheers of the crowd from beyond the stage were deafening. It tells him that the band currently performing before them is doing a great job of keeping the audience entertained. Normally, that would’ve set him on fire to do better; bits of his competitive nature steeling his resolve to outdo the competition. And yet, something seemed to be different in today’s specific battle. 

He couldn’t care less about the crowd—no, his mind was only revolving around one thought. Or one person, to be specific. 

This makes him blanch once again. “I genuinely feel like throwing up.”

Chan snickers from his position near the dividers set up to create a makeshift waiting room for the performers. “Are you that nervous?” He asked lightheartedly. “Don’t stress about it too much, Min. We all know Y/N is going to say yes.”

Seungmin wanted to believe him. He really did. If anyone were to be asked about his natural demeanor, he was one hundred percent positive that the word ‘rational’ would come up at least once. He knew that the chances of the drummer’s words were the most probable—after all, he did his best efforts to capture your heart over the past year. And yes, Seungmin did also know that you had romantic feelings for him. That was why he was in this situation in the first place.

“If I were them, I would!” Hyunjin chirps, happily tapping on his bass guitar. “Imagine getting asked out by the lead singer of a band in the middle of their set? Anyone would be over the moon.” Seungmin merely scoffs in response.

“Of course you would, Mr. Hopeless Romantic.”

The bassist chokes out an offended noise. “Says the one doing a public confession,” he huffs. “Glad to know you learned a thing or two from those romance movies I pitch in on movie nights.”

“Yeah, well this isn’t fiction.” Seungmin deflates on his seat. Any more, and his band would’ve witnessed a person merging with a plastic chair. Wouldn’t that be a great memory to live with? “This is so cliche. What if they think it’s cringy?”

Jeongin, the keyboardist, shoots him a look full of judgment. “Why are you only second guessing this now?”

“To be fair, you both are already cringy.” Jisung stands up from his seat to stretch, only to receive a glare from the band’s lead singer. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying. It’s a miracle how long you two went on without an actual label. Everyone knows you two have been practically dating since months ago.”

And to that, Seungmin has no retort. What Jisung said had its truths—even he, himself, didn’t know why it took him so long to ask you to be officially his. It definitely wasn’t a commitment issue; he hasn’t even entertained anyone else intimately ever since he met you. There were even nights where he mentally beat himself up for being a coward about this whole thing, only for him to end the torment by convincing himself it was him going through the courting stage with you.

Not that he even asked, but that was what he was doing. Right?

It’s not his fault you always rendered him speechless. Not too much, of course. He wasn’t that starstruck that he’d make an absolute fool of himself. It was just that you made him really nervous and awfully conscious of himself. The way you talked was like music to his ears, and he swears he could listen to you all day. He finds himself wondering if his own voice ruins this fantasy of his.

You had to have noticed his advances as well. There was just no way that you didn't, with how smart you were. He just didn’t know whether to be grateful or frustrated with the fact that you never said a word about it. What if you were actually uncomfortable with the whole thing and were just too nice to tell him. Oh, he should’ve asked. This is terrible. A massive mistake on his part. An angel like you shouldn’t be forced to be with someone like him.

“What if I’m getting ahead of myself and they don’t actually like me like that?”

Jeongin’s jaw drops. “You have got to be kidding me.” He was going to tease Seungmin further, but something about the look on his friend’s face screamed anxiety, so Jeongin was quick to force his mouth closed. “Y/N does. Have you seen the way they act when they’re with you? Heart eyes, I swear.”

Okay, there’s that too. Seungmin wasn’t blind, nor was he dense. If he didn’t think you were interested in him like this, then he wouldn’t have actively pursued you time and time again. He was confident, not someone who didn’t know their boundaries. And fortunately, you seemed to have wordlessly affirmed that he could get close to you over the months you’ve been talking. He was sure that if you had even expressed the slightest bit of disapproval of his advances, he would have pulled away immediately. As well as reassess the situation right afterwards.

Seungmin sighs. “I just want to do this right.”

“And you will,” Chan says. The drummer gives him a firm pat on the back. “Trust in yourself. We’ll also have your back. Go out there and perform like you always do, just that you have your little plan before the bridge comes in.”

All Seungmin got from that was how you were in the crowd. Right, you were in that crowd. The very same crowd he didn’t give a single fuck about at this moment. You were the only audience he needed, and it both comforted and terrified him to remember that he left you to sit in the very front row earlier before the program started. Just where did all his courage go? The bastard who planned a public confession on their campus festival’s Battle of the Bands competition should be the one present to go through all this.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been this nervous to perform ever.”

Hyunjin hums. “Then that means you really like Y/N!”

“Exactly. We didn’t agree to make a whole new original song for this competition just for nothing,” Jisung adds. “Well, I guess it’s also good publicity for when we actually do this band thing for real. Show the public our sound, you know?”

Seungmin finally begins to breathe easily again. He briefly stares at Chan fiddling with his drumsticks, twirling them around with his fingers to soothe his own nerves about their upcoming performance. After all, this wasn’t just a performance that Seungmin was doing alone. The competition also meant a lot to his other members in their own different ways, yet they still gave their full support to him when he told them about his plan.

He had great friends.

“Stray Kids?” A slightly hoarse voice called out. Seungmin knew the figure as Changbin, someone from the student government. The guy was normally a lot more energetic than this, but he guesses the fatigue must be getting to him from being one of the organizers for this particular event. “You guys are up in a few seconds.”

Well, this is it. Seungmin stands up to get ready, clearing his throat to calm himself. There’s nowhere to run now.

The crowd’s enthusiastic roars never seemed to stop after the previous band’s set ended, and it was beginning to tick you off. Granted, you should have been happy that Seungmin’s band was going to be greeted by a happy crowd, but that also meant that they were subject to pleasing an audience whose hearts were clearly already captured by the performers right before them. And you would be nothing if you weren’t competitive. Biased or not, you would die on the hill believing that Seungmin’s band is better than the others.

They had a national treasure of a voice for their lead vocals, so how could they not be the best?

An amused snort came from your left side. You didn’t have to think too hard to figure out that it came from your friend, Felix. He was probably finding humor in the way your face didn’t spare a single effort to even plaster an indifferent expression. What can you say? You were loyal.

“Alright! I see that all of you enjoyed that wonderful performance from Xdinary Heroes!” The program’s host, Lee Minho, came back out to hype the crowd. It was then that your attention snapped back up to the big stage, your eyes watching like a hawk as Seungmin and his friends settled into the equipment. A bubbling giggle found its way out of your mouth at how Seungmin looked so focused on adjusting the height of his mic stand. “A very unique band name, if I do say so myself. But it does look like the new trend, as all of you here might also find interest in our next band’s name.”

“Seriously,” Felix starts, his tone teasing. “You are so down bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Be quiet. It’s starting.”

“Yeah, sure.” Felix laughs at your reaction. “We wouldn’t want to interrupt your longtime dream of being confessed to by a singer in the middle of a set now, would we?” Your face burned warmly at the accusation.

It was such a cliche thing to happen. As aware as you were that life wasn’t like the fictional stories of romance that you enjoyed, a part of you still relished the thought of experiencing it for yourself. There was a reason why these kinds of events were heavily romanticized in the media—they held their own charm. It just so happened that you agreed to the notion that getting a proclamation of love from a singer on stage was one of the more appealing choices.

Too bad those don’t go too well in real life.

“But it’s—”

“It’s cliche. Yes, you’ve already told me countless times that it’s not as good in real life. But we all have our fantasies, Y/N. No judgement.” Felix shrugs. “Good for you, though. You are one determined person to bag an actual singer. In a band, no less.”

“You are so—”

“—over. Give it up for Stray Kids!” Lee Minho’s booming voice cut you off again, letting you know that the performance was about to begin.

It started off like normal, with Chan using his drumsticks as a countdown before the instrumental started. Except this time, the song was surprisingly unfamiliar to you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. This wasn’t the piece they practiced when you came over to watch a week ago. You didn’t recognize the song in its entirety either, though it was already proving to be a song that fit right with your tastes. Seungmin’s voice echoing through the space was also adding so much to the experience. 

You let the pride you felt at how well he was doing bloom in your chest. It was great to see him shine after going through the rough process of preparation with him. You watched him passionately go through the song smoothly without any mistakes. From the day you first met him until this moment, you’ve witnessed how determined he was to achieve his goals in life. It was then that you knew you’d always be proud of Seungmin, no matter what. You were already the happiest you’ve ever been just by being by his side.

“Did they change their set?” You asked no one in particular. 

Felix bops his head to the beat, clearly pleased with the song. “Don’t know the song, but it’s great!”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t agree with him. Though the sudden change in song choice admittedly peaked your curiosity more than it should have. Your eyes found their way back on stage, as if telling you to simply enjoy the performance now and ask later. But it looks like fate had other plans for you, as your eyes immediately locked with a certain lead singer’s.

He left no argument as to who he was looking at. It was clearly you, and you couldn’t help the way your breath hitched at the way his gaze alone held the answer to the question that lingered in your head. There were sparks of electricity being mimicked throughout your body, sending you into a mild shock. Like a scene from a movie, everything else in the world just seemed to go on mute.

All except his voice.

“Before we proceed to the bridge, I’d like to share something about this song. Would that be alright?” Seungmin spoke to the crowd, despite his attention still obviously on you. You could vaguely hear them answering back to him in interest, positively telling him to go on. It was difficult to miss the way his smile grew at this. Seungmin looked so stunning when he smiled. You always felt like falling in love all over again whenever he did.

The band continued with the instrumental, albeit toning it down as their lead singer continued on. “So this song is actually an original from us.” Oh, that makes so much more sense. “And it was written as my confession to the person I like.” 

Wait.

In the fuzz of your brain, you could barely make out Felix jumping up and down in excitement while looking at the scene unfolding before his eyes.

“I’ve been contemplating this for a while, wondering when I’d ever deem it the perfect moment for me to ask the important question,” Seungmin adds. “But I’ve realized that I was just dragging things out too much for my liking. So, to the one who my heart yearns for even through the nerves I’m feeling right now—” You felt overwhelmed at the moment, but you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off the way Seungmin looked at you with such fondness and admiration.

“—Y/N, will you give me the honor to be yours?”

And when your voice sings out the answer, the instrumental starts picking up again as Seungmin finishes the song with newfound fervor. You chuckle your happy tears away, with your friend playfully punching your arm.

“Now, what did I say?”

Maybe cliches weren’t so bad in real life after all.

MASTERTAG ━ STATUS: OPEN — ASK OR COMMENT 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @wnbnny @xocandyy @minluvly @moon0fthenight @estellaluna @hanjsquokka @starlostastronaut @minsueng @l3visbby

[mockerycrow]

Talk About Sensitivity In The COD Fandom **Important.**

THIS IS NOT A DEBATE POST. DO NOT BOTHER.

Hey, everyone. After the reveal of Makarov in the trailer (as well as general concern), I think a chat about sensitivity is important. Since the trailer’s release, I have seen a major increase in simping for Makarov posts as well as genuine romanticization of Russia and/or Russian Soldiers. First, I want to talk about the romanticization of Russia and/or Russian soldiers because it’s seriously getting out of hand. I need you guys to realize that Russia is an ultranationalist country and yes, maybe not everyone who lives there believes what their government does, but it’s important to know a big portion of their population does. I have seen multiple posts and edits of this man right here (pictures below).

THIS GUY IS NOT SOMEONE YOU SHOULD LIKE, AND PEOPLE NEED TO UNDERSTAND THAT HE DOES NOT LIKE YOU. This is one of the most popular Russian Soldiers amongst the internet due to the way he wears a mask, gear, has an accent, and is buff. He makes videos teaching soldiers how to kill people—innocent people in Ukraine who are just trying to survive. I have seen people straight up ignore when someone tells them what this man has done, so let me put it this way—he does not like you. He wants you dead. He is racist, a homophobe, transphobe, antisemitic, etc. He absolutely hates The West, and he does not like you unless you are a cis, straight, white 100% Russian. Even if you’re a woman, he DOES NOT LIKE YOU. If you American, HE DOES NOT WANT YOU ALIVE.

[This part is not targeted; just a general statement.] Second; there is a serious problem with how you guys address Makarov as a character. There is absolutely no problem enjoying him as a villain because I do too, but you guys have to realize that Makarov is an ultranationalist—which is exactly what Russia is right now, an ultranationalist terrorist state. “But he’s fictional, it doesn’t matter! it’s not that deep!” It actually is that deep. I keep seeing content for Makarov and I can’t force anyone to stop making “fluffy fics”, but I need y’all to have some fucking decency towards victims and people affected by the war. I know people who are affected by the war who feel ill seeing posts painting Makarov in a good light. If you are going to write Makarov, do NOT romanticize him as a character—do NOT paint him a decent or good light, because you can’t. Write him like the bastard he is. And no, this isn’t a “let people write what they wanna write” situation. You can do that, but please be expected to be judged and blocked by me and many others. Makarov is quite literally the characterization of everything that is wrong with Russia, and what HAS been wrong with Russia. Makarov is not a bad boy, a rebel, etc, he’s a fucking terrorist. Please be for real. “But the military in general is bad, so why does it matter specifically around Makarov?” Please see above my previous reasons. Thanks.

The overall message of this point is to be fucking respectful. There are actual people dying and slaughtered for no reason other than ruined pride and a lot of Ukrainian folk seek comfort and distractions in the internet and their fandoms. This ruins it for them and quite frankly, sometimes how Makarov is being written? It’s completely insensitive. Anyway, below are a few links where you can directly support the efforts and the people of Ukraine. Peace and love, and please write with critical thinking.

[senseofnewness]

SILENT DEVOTION : twisted allegiance

♦ sequel to SILENT DEVOTION ♦

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

rating : explicit

word count : 23.3k

contains : smut 18+, obsession, delusion, stalking, jealousy, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, manipulation, cheating, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, rimming, masturbation, eating disorder

summary : Patrick Zweig had finally noticed you, but not in the way you had always dreamed of. After rekindling his relationship with Tashi only to break up soon after, he turned his attention to you, seeking revenge on both his girlfriend and his distant best friend. There started a secret relationship fueled by twisted desires and mutual manipulation.

Patrick Zweig wrote on your wall. Hey, need to talk to you. Add me on aim (zweigpat).

Your fingers trembled as you clicked on the aim icon and began typing Patrick's username. You had no idea about the matter he wanted to discuss, but specifics were irrelevant in that moment. Patrick Zweig wanted to talk to YOU and no one else. Homework could wait, and grades suddenly felt insignificant. This was far more important. As you typed the first word into the chat box, everything around you faded away, the world growing still and silent.

You: Hey Patrick: Hello! You: So what's up?

The message on your Facebook wall had vanished. Was he trying to hide the fact that he was talking to you? You didn't mind being his dirty little secret. If anything, it made the situation even more thrilling.

Patrick: Nothing much, I was just wondering how are you all doing? You: Sounds like bullshit, what are you scheming Zweig? Patrick: Alright, I want to get back with Tashi… And I don’t know if she would be open to the idea. I know you guys are friends and I thought maybe you could help me with that.

Friends? Hardly. The thought of helping him get back with Tashi made your stomach turn. Patrick was yours, and you knew you could never compete with Tashi. Yet, the temptation was undeniable. You longed to see him back on campus, to have him close, to watch him play tennis with Art, to see him devour lunch. You even missed overhearing him and Tashi through the door.

You: Have you talked to her? She's been quite down since you left..

You couldn't reveal that Patrick was actually the least of her concerns. Her recovery had been long and difficult. As the weeks passed, her prospects of regaining her status as a tennis prodigy grew more and more uncertain.

Patrick: Did she mention me?

She hadn't, but to keep the conversation going, you had to lie.

You: Sure.. Patrick: What did she say? You: Can’t tell you, she’d kill me! Patrick: Come on! You: I can only tell you that she feels lonely.

Considering how much time she was spending with your boyfriend, she was anything but lonely.

Patrick: Noted, thanks <3. How's Art, by the way? He's not really responding to my texts.

The sight of the heart icon on the screen stole your breath away. Butterflies swarmed within you until there was little of you left. Was it genuine? Or was it out of habit? Was this the kind of message he was used to sending to Tashi?

You: We haven’t been talking that much either… Patrick: Did you guys break up? You: Not that I know of, he’s just very busy. Patrick: Busy with what?

You were hesitant to tell him the truth.

You: Guess… Patrick Zweg is typing. Patrick: Oh, so they played us both? B-) You: Don’t worry he will be back when he’s horny. Patrick: Don’t say that. Art’s not that type of guy. He’s a good one.

Patrick held Art in high regard. And Art played that role perfectly. He was charming, endearing, the kind of man destined for marriage and fatherhood, fully devoted to his family. But you didn't desire that with him, and he didn't desire it with you.

After offering reassurances about your relationship with Art, Patrick signed off for tennis practice, leaving you staring at the screen. Finally, you had a means to contact him at any time, day or night.

●

It didn’t take long for Patrick to be back on campus. It appeared that Tashi lacked as much self-restraint as you did when it came to him.

Spotting him in the main quad under one of the colossal arches, despite being fifty feet away, you immediately recognized him by his unique aura. The man-of-your-dreams-you-want-to-ride-to-ruins aura. He leaned against a wall, cigarette in hand, observing some students playing footbag, a grin on his face.

He now sported a short, tousled beard with hints of red highlights. One of your high school girlfriends had once told you that her older boyfriend’s beard had been bleached by her pussy’s juices. You wondered if the same applied to Patrick. If so, who were the lucky girls and how many of them were there? It hadn’t been long since he had returned, yet you found yourself consumed with jealousy. Making yourself sick over a mere speculation, not even a fact. 

You also wondered if his cock shared the same fiery hue? In your recollection, dark curls adorned his lower abdomen, though it had been quite some time since you last saw him bare-chested. 

As soon as he caught sight of you, he dashed over and enveloped you in a hug, his cigarette dangling from his lips. He appeared before you in a simple ensemble of a sweatshirt and jeans, the fabric obscuring the contours of his arms and thighs that you once found fascination in observing. “Hey you!” Unsure how to respond, you shakingly wrapped your arms around him, returning the embrace. Inhaling deeply, you took in his scent, feeling a closeness you had never experienced before, yet paradoxically distant due to the barrier of his thick clothing. The blend of his cologne and sweat stirred a sense of homesickness within you, as if Patrick had always been where you belonged, your home.

He pulled away from the hug, a huge beam on his face. You were confused by his action. He had never so much as touched you before, so hugging you was a whole new level. Was the sudden intimacy due to the fact that it was only the both of you? Free from the presence of Tashi and Art?

“What brings you here?” You inquired politely. "Tashi." He replied, a sly grin forming on his lips. Your eyebrows arched in surprise. "Oh? Congrats!" You mustered a semblance of happiness, though it was a challenge. What a fucking cunt. You were glad she had brought him back here, but you couldn’t shake the thought of Patrick being all over her later tonight and fucking her like never before. "I should get back. She’s waiting for me. Didn’t want me to smoke inside." He said, extinguishing his cigarette with a stomp. How could she? Watching Patrick smoke was the most enticing thing ever.

“I guess I will see you tomorrow for lunch?” You asked, hopeful. Tashi couldn’t monopolize your man like this. She should at least let you have him for lunch and dinner. Watching Patrick eat was one of your small joys. He was a messy eater and devoured his food as if his strict athlete's diet didn't exist. He often ended up with food all over himself and stains on his shirt, but you found it endearing. Every time, you had to resist the urge to lean over the table and lick his face clean. “Sure, see you.”

●

The day had been dragging on slowly. Classes were boring, and being back at your dorm wasn’t any better. You laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the hours to pass. A knock pulled you out of your reverie. When you opened the door, you found Art standing there with a huge grin on his face. Of course, he was here now that Tashi was busy. “Hey babe.” He enveloped you in a hug and planted a kiss on your jaw. Babe? You had never been the type to use pet names before. "I missed you so much." He mumbled, his mouth all over your neck, covering it with kisses. You knew he was lying, you hadn't crossed his mind a single second before Patrick's return.

You tilted your head, allowing more of his attention, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. "It’s been so long, I thought I was single." You teased, a playful edge to your voice. Art whined softly at your comment, his pout making him look even more guilty. "You know phones exist, right?" He avoided the question with a nuzzle against your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "You think I’m just going to take you back because you’re acting all cute and affectionate?" He nodded eagerly, his eyes wide and hopeful. "You will have to work for it." Your hand moved to the waistband of his shorts, pulling it back just enough to peek at his growing arousal. "Work very hard." You added, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. Truth was, you didn't really want him back in your life, but horniness was making you take unwise decisions. The logical part of your brain screamed caution, but the way he looked at you, the sight of his beautiful cock, and the familiar scent of him clouded your judgment. Plus, at this exact moment, Patrick was likely balls deep into Tashi and you couldn’t do anything about it.

He flashed a triumphant smile at you, clearly pleased with your response. Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath. Taking your hand, he guided you towards the bed, his touch gentle but insistent. Art’s intentions were clear. He was ready to show just how hard he was willing to work to win you back. The night was young.

●

You: Guess who came back sucking on my tits the second you came back. Patrick As expected? You do have really nice tits.

Had Patrick been paying attention to your body? His words kept replaying in your mind, each repetition making your core grow hotter. You had never considered your breasts as an asset until now. Sure, you knew you had decent-looking boobs, Art had been crazy about them, but realizing that Patrick looked at them with such appreciation changed everything. At that moment, you decided that bras were now out of your life.

You: Did you take a look at Tashi’s tits between two sessions of eyeing mine? How are things going between you two? Patrick: We talked. Kinda. Fucked too.

The news, although very predictable, hit like a sucker punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. You wanted to cry.

You: So that’s why I have Art back. He can’t do anymore ass kissing with Tashi if your tongue’s already there. Patrick: Why are you so mean to him? You: Don’t you think it was unkind to leave me alone for weeks?

Patrick did not respond to the message, leaving your question hanging in the air. Patrick was capable of doing anything except accept the fact that Art was a flawed human being.

●

Lunch in the cafeteria did little to alleviate the tension among all of you. While things seemed fine between you and Art, your relationship with Tashi remained strained. As for Patrick, you didn’t know. One second he was complimenting you and the other giving you the cold shoulder, so it felt. Aside from a few insignificant remarks, everyone was mainly silent. “Let’s go practice.” Art said, nodding toward Tashi. Tashi gave Patrick a gentle kiss on the cheek. You half-expected Art to do the same out of courtesy, but your cheek remained untouched. You didn’t exist when Tashi was around. They gathered their trays and headed to the counter, leaving you and Patrick alone.

“Art is pissed at me, I don’t get it. It’s not like I tripped Tashi.” Patrick blurted out. “Even Tashi forgave me!” He sighed, leaning back in his seat before switching to another. “To be honest with you I never understood why they were mad at you to begin with.” You shrugged. It had all happened so suddenly that you had no time to analyze the situation. Art’s unkindness was still a mystery. “Oh thank god, I thought I was going crazy.” He said, sitting down next to you and grabbing a slice of bread from your tray, taking a bite. There was something oddly captivating about his chewing and the crumbs scattered across his lips. You found yourself wanting to lick them off. “I can try to find out what’s bothering him, if you want.” You offered, your gaze still fixed on his lips. “You’re a saint.” He said, puckering his lips and blowing a kiss at you. 

Was this how Patrick Zweig behaved when he saw you as a friend? His overly flirtatious manner was making it difficult for you to think clearly. “Oh, far from it.” You replied absentmindedly, your mind filled with unholy thoughts of laying him on the table, straddling him and tearing his clothes off. “You’re right, I’ve heard things.” He said with a playful grin. You rolled your eyes and stole the slice back from him, taking a bite. “If you want my best guess, he’s just being an ass. That’s his thing lately.”

●

The routine was back on : Art would clandestinely enter your room at night whenever the urge struck him. Without so much as a word or invitation, he'd launch into a monologue about his day. After a few minutes of venting, he'd typically undress you and fuck you until dawn. While the encounters were generally pleasant, not always culminating in climax. Art knew well enough how your body worked to make it worthwhile. 

Art was sitting on your bed while you occupied the desk chair, both of you facing each other. "Patrick seems to be worried you're mad at him." You mentioned, uncertain of what response to anticipate. You were already convinced that Art was pissed off at his friend and deep down, you knew why. Would Art lie to you or be brave enough to assume his conflicting feelings toward his friend. As Art unbuttoned his pants, he glanced up at you, his expression almost incredulous. Was the idea of you conversing with Patrick really so unbelievable? "How do you know that? Do you two talk?" He questioned, a nib of jealousy detectable in his voice. "Sometimes. He used to ask a lot about Tashi and you while he was on tour. He wanted to ensure both of you were doing well. He missed you guys tremendously." Art snorted loudly, his tone tinged with amusement at your sudden interest in Patrick. "Typical of him. Chatting with everyone except the ones who matter." He remarked, pulling off his shirt. "He just wanted assurance that you'd be open to hearing from him. Can’t you understand that and be nice?" He tossed the shirt in your direction. "Are you joining the Patrick Zweig fanclub now? Should I call him up so you can give him a warm welcome?" He mimicked a fellatio, his fist thrusting towards his face as his tongue pressed against his cheek. Yes, please, do it. The idea was enticing, you couldn't deny. “You’re insane.” You sighed, standing up and throwing back the shirt with force. "I hate how effortlessly everything falls into place for him. He believes he can simply return, and everything will be back to how it was." You rolled your eyes as you sat beside him and gave his thigh a comforting pat. "He's your closest friend. He came back for you, and yet, you're treating him like shit. At the very least, you should have a conversation with him." You urged, pressing your lips against his in an attempt to soothe him. "He came back for Tashi." He corrected with a hint of frustration. Tashi again. You liked the girl, most of the time, especially when she would get Art out of your hair, but she was beginning to hit on your nerves. "And what if he did? You're always with Tashi too. Would you blame him?"

With a playful shove, you pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, firmly pinning his hands above his head. "Now, be a good boy and make up with your best friend before I really call him and give him a warm welcome." You teased. He laughed, swiftly rolling you over so that he was now on top, his hands gripping your thighs. You appreciated these rare moments when he would take control. "Give me a warm welcome instead." He murmured, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You had to admit, it felt surprisingly good having Art back in your life. He was scratching an itch you couldn’t quite reach on your own. But you weren't naive, you understood why he was there. It irked you that he was playing the same manipulative game you were. If you didn't outwit him quickly, you would end up being the punchline of this twisted joke. You knew it was time to have a serious talk with Tashi.

●

After your passionate moment with Art, he decided to take your advice and talk to Patrick over a game of tennis. With the boys out, you found yourself standing in front of Tashi's door. When she opened it, her surprised expression spoke volumes. "Can I talk to you?" you asked softly. She hesitated only for a moment before widening the door to let you in. The room was filled with Patrick's belongings, his distinctive scent lingering in the air. You sat on her bed and patted the spot next to you, inviting her to join.

"I need to have this conversation with you because I consider you my friend and I trust you." The words felt hollow, a facade masking your true intentions. Initially, your approach was far from genuine, but over time, you'd grown to appreciate and even admire her. Yet her recent distance had revealed how little she valued your friendship and you simply stopped giving a fuck about her. "Even if I felt abandoned by you." You continued, a hint of vulnerability seeping into your voice. She nibbled on her lips, anxiety evident, and nodded. "I know, and I'm sorry about that." She murmured. "I know your injury isn't easy to handle, and I could have been there to help you through it. But you chose Art over me." Here came the guilt-tripping. If you wanted to regain the upper hand, they needed to see how poorly they had treated you. Perhaps realizing how much time they'd spent together lately would open their eyes and finally bring them together, leaving you to be Patrick's shoulder to cry on. "I didn't..." She began to explain, but her words faltered, lacking conviction. "I didn't see either of you for weeks. But then suddenly, yesterday, Art remembered I existed. And I know why. Because last night, you chose Patrick over him." You revealed, trying to play the part of the wronged woman. Lowering your head, you pretended to struggle with voicing your concerns. "You're being ridiculous, we're just friends. I swear." She protested. Whether she truly believed it or was simply an incredible actor, she sounded convincingly sincere.

“I don’t know what is going on between you two…” You played with your nails in an attempt to act hesitant. “Nothing!” She assured you once more. “But please, stop playing with us, it’s unfair. I don’t want to be the girl he uses to jerk off in when you’re not giving attention to him. And I’m sure Patrick doesn't want to be just a dick to you.” The words were crude but necessary.

“Things like this happen all the time. I can understand, I won’t make a scene. But please, stop lying to yourselves. And if I’m wrong and there’s nothing, please make things clear with Art so he finally stops hoping you will notice him.” If she didn't grasp your point now, Tashi Duncan truly was the dumbest girl you knew. "Alright. I will get going. Goodnight, Tashi. I hope I will see you around." She nodded and muttered a small ‘goodnight’ to you.

You closed the door behind you, unable to suppress the smile forming on your lips. Tashi was feeling like shit. Good. You hoped she would question everything in her life. You knew your plan would work better on Tashi than on Art. More than being called a cheater, Tashi dreaded being called a manipulator and a bad friend.

●

You sat on the floor of your room, a magazine in your hands, tensely flipping through the pages but the words and images couldn't hold your attention. You were anxiously waiting for Art to arrive. You were supposed to go out tonight, and part of you wondered if he was trying to make amends for the distance he had put between you over the past few weeks. But he wasn't there. He was more than an hour late, and you had no message from him. Where the hell was he? More than the date itself, you were impatient to find out if Tashi had mentioned your little encounter to him.

Finally, a knock sounded on your door. "Come in!" You called out eagerly. When Patrick entered your room, your voice wavered. How unexpected. “Tashi just broke up with me.” He revealed, prompting you to roll your eyes in response. Your scheming had paid off. Tashi had made her choice, likely explaining Art's absence. A surge of triumph swept over you. However, Patrick appeared devastated so you held it in. Fortunately for him, you would be there to cheer him up.

"Grab a beer from the fridge.” You gestured, hoping to ease him into opening up to you. Gaining his trust was crucial, it could lead to anything. "What was the reason?" You inquired casually, masking your enthusiasm. "She said she realized what we had was going nowhere." He replied, bending over to retrieve a bottle from the fridge. Your gaze lingered on the curve of his backside. What a firm tasty looking ass.

"So I guess that's why Art's not answering." You questioned, though you already knew the answer. Flipping a page, you pretended to be deeply engrossed in your reading. "We were supposed to see each other, but I guess I'm nothing next to Tashi Duncan." You muttered, reflecting on how your perception of her had changed in just just a few minutes. You used to think Tashi Duncan was the shit, the girl who had everything you wanted. She had Patrick, a promising future, passion, and beauty. Now, she was just a single girl with a shattered future and a useless passion. 

"What's his deal?" Patrick asked as he uncapped the bottle and settled down in front of you, his long, muscular legs crossed. Even the simplest gestures from Patrick ignited a fire within you, leaving your body warm and your mouth dry. You found yourself mesmerized by the curl pattern of his leg hairs and how his shorts barely grazed his thighs, revealing faint tan lines. "I'm not sure he's into me." You confessed, feeling vulnerable in Patrick's presence for the first time. Everything before had been calculated to sneak yourself into his life, but now you spoke the truth. No matter how much you had manipulated Art, it seemed he was playing you back. "Who wouldn't be into you?" Patrick's words echoed in your mind. Who indeed? Then why, Patrick, aren't you? You knew he was merely being kind, yet his comment caused your heart to skip a beat. You lifted your gaze to meet his, offering a grateful smile.

"I think his heart is elsewhere." You stated, locking eyes with him. "I'm sure there isn't anything between him and Tashi." He attempted to reassure you, though you sensed his own growing doubts. "I don't mean just Tashi." You interjected, raising your eyebrows, silently urging him to catch on. It took him a minute. "Oh. I don't think Art swings that way." He chuckled nervously, taking a sip of his beer to deflect the tension. "Do you?" You asked, curious to discover more about the man you had loved for so many years.

He gazed into the void, quiet for a few moments before sighing and shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe?” His eyes absentmindedly fixed on your magazine. So it seemed boys were in fact also in the competition for Patrick’s heart. You fought the urge to sigh in frustration, not wanting to appear judgmental about his sexuality. “I actually had a crush on Art back when we were teenagers. Did he tell you about the jerking off?” His eagerness to share the story was palpable. “He did. We had a pretty wild night after that.” You replied, recalling the intense masturbation competition you both had after the story.

"You're welcome." He chuckled, flattered by the revelation. You had never truly noticed the timbre of his laughter before, finding it almost heavenly. If you weren't already deeply in love with him, you might have fallen again right then. In that fleeting moment, you found yourself fixating on his teeth, marveling at their straightness and whiteness despite his smoking habit. When he grinned, it was like he had more teeth than seemed humanly possible, each one perfect in their own way. The desire to feel them sink into you surged through you, an urgent need that couldn't be ignored. You needed him. Tonight, you decided, would be the night you fucked Patrick Zweig. But for that, you had to make a move. "You know, my first time humping a pillow sort of involved you too.” You confessed, finally revealing one of your deepest secrets to someone else.

"Me?" You nodded, then continued with the story. "I was a young, impressionable girl, and what's more impressive than sweaty, shirtless tennis players? You just happened to be there." You lied. He was the sole focus of those fantasies. There was no one else present, just Patrick and his ridiculously tight shorts. Like tonight, just you and him and those damn shorts. "You're welcome, once more." He teased, bowing as if he were an actor on the stage of your imagination. "You should have approached me back then. I would have gladly helped you make those fantasies more vivid, maybe by showing you a ball or something." He remarked with a playful smile, to which you managed to respond, though inwardly you felt like crumbling. Years spent trying to capture his attention had led to nothing. And now, he was casually admitting to being open to anyone back then? Did that mean you weren't good enough to be even just ‘anyone’? "Do you ever remember seeing me back then?" You asked him, needing to hear the truth, no matter how painful. He pondered it for a moment, long enough for you to realize he didn't recall. "I wish I could.” He replied. Why did he wish that? Did he see your presence in his life as something valuable? You remained silent, your gaze fixed on the magazine, trying to absorb the words on the page to keep tears at bay.

"What about you, by the way? Have you ever experimented with a girl?" His question broke the silence, and you silently appreciated him for that, despite the randomness of the inquiry. You could feel yourself sink into sadness before that. “Maybe?” You answered briefly. “That’s all? Tell me more!” He took a sip of his beer and leaned closer, eager to hear your story. “It was brief and innocent so don’t get excited.” You sighed, pointing your index finger at him. “Too late!” He joked, smirking at you. “Your girlfriend, well ex.” You continued, noting the sudden change in his expression. His face had dropped instantly. “Just a kiss.” You reassured him. “I’m not sure how I would label myself but that night if she had wanted to experiment more, I think I would have gone along with it.” It was true, you would have fucked Tashi, regardless of whether Patrick had been involved or not. “Believe me, Tashi has experience with girls.” He remarked, leaving you momentarily stunned. It made perfect sense, though you felt a pang of disappointment. “Oh so it was just me not being her type?” You feigned heartbreak, clutching your chest as he nonchalantly shrugged in response. In reality, that revelation really stung, another missed chance to explore what Patrick had experienced. “That’s ok, I’m still young. I have time to fulfill my fantasies.” You said with a pretended tear-wiping gesture, masking your true feelings.

"What kind?" His question felt intrusively intimate. His body so close to yours as he was delving into your kinks. This scene reminded you of the scenarios you often imagined late at night while teasing your clit. “I don’t know. There are many things I haven’t experienced. Like eating a girl out, pegging, cuckolding, choking, stuff like that.” Why did admitting your kinks in front of Patrick make you feel embarrassed? You wanted him to see you as someone open to anything, a woman comfortable with her sexuality, and the epitome of a cool girl.

"Choking? Art doesn't even do that?" He asked, confusion written all over his face. Art had probably recounted the one disastrous attempt you both had made. "Not really." You admitted with a sigh. "We tried, but he's too scared he will hurt me so he was more or so… hugging my neck, like a scarf." You grabbed the beer from his hand, took a sip, and then placed it back in front of him. "I should give him a class.” He joked, smirking at you. "Oh, so you're an expert?" You teased, feeling the conversation shift into flirtation. You had to analyze your game and play your cards right. You watched him gulp down the rest of the beer, a proud smile spreading across his face. He nodded.

"The trick is…" He began. "...to place your hand near the collarbone, not up here." He pointed to the area beneath his chin. "It's not about applying too much pressure, unless that’s what you’re into, of course. It's about holding firmly. And it's better to squeeze the sides of the neck rather than the front."

"Like this?" You placed your hand around your neck, attempting to follow his advice.

"No, wait. Stand up." He instructed. Both of you stood, and he placed his calloused used-up hand around your thin neck, gripping it firmly. In that moment, you felt like his racket between his hands. You let out a slight gasp, licking your lips as your eyes locked with his. The moment his hand closed around your neck, you realized it wasn't the sensation of being choked that enticed you. It was the feeling of surrendering control, of putting your life in someone else's hands, that made your legs tremble. Without thinking, you reached for his crotch, grabbing his dick through his shorts. He was semi-hard. He looked at you, confusion flickering across his face as he immediately released his grip on your neck. "Don't do that, or I won't be able to control myself." He warned. You had crossed the line, there was no way back now.

You surely didn’t want him to control himself. You craved for him to take you right there, right then. Continuing to stroke his length, the fabric was the only thing separating you from the object of your fantasies. He buried his face against your shoulder, a mixture of neediness and hesitation evident in his actions. You slipped your hand into his underwear and pulled out his dick. After hearing Tashi talk about it so much, you had imagined plenty of things, but the reality was beyond your expectations. While its length was a bit above average, it was the girth that was truly remarkable. You couldn’t ignore the sight of his uncircumcised head. You had only seen those in porn before, and you weren’t sure how to proceed. "Wow…” You stepped back until you reached your desk, sensing his inner conflict about whether to retreat as well. Perching on the edge of the desk, you seized the elastic of his pants and pulled him closer. You licked your palm, ensuring it was slick with saliva, then wrapped your hand around his length. Slowly, you pulled back his foreskin to reveal his head. Your eyes remained fixed on the captivating beauty of Patrick's member. Patrick’s hands, which had been resting still on your knees, slowly made their way up your legs. His touch burnt your skin. If he touched your thighs just right, you knew you could come on the spot. His hands were now under your dress, exploring the fabric of your panties. You were thankful that Patrick had found you on a date night. You were clean, shaven, and wearing your sexiest underwear. You gasped when you felt one of his hands slip inside your panties, his fingers brushing against your folds. Oh my god, Patrick Zweig was touching your pussy, and you were touching Patrick Zweig’s dick. You bit your lower lip, anticipating as he rubbed your cunt. You continued to jerk him off, reveling in the sounds you were eliciting from him.

In a swif movement, he slid the straps of your dress down, exposing your bare tits. With one hand, he fondled your breast, while his index finger delved inside you. Leaning in closer, he circled your nipple with the tip of his tongue. "Patrick..." It was the first time you had moaned his name directly to him, a name usually reserved for your private moments alone. You parted your legs, inviting him closer, still stroking him energetically with your hand. A second finger quickly joined his buried index but you wanted more, you wanted him. "Fuck me..." You pleaded, gazing at him with desperate eyes. He met your gaze and withdrew his hand from your panties, stirring a whimper from you at the loss of contact. You could sense the conflict in his expression. He knew it was wrong, but the desire was overwhelming. You knew it was for you. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling heavily, then shifted the crotch of your underwear aside. You felt the tip of him rubbing against your entrance before he swiftly entered you. If he wrestled with his conscience, it was a fleeting battle. You wrapped one leg around his hip and gripped his buttcheeks, pulling him closer to you, seeking the intimacy and connection you had desired with him for years. 

There was nothing tender or affectionate about your actions, you both moved with an animalistic urgency. Patrick was fucking you in a way that no one had before. The noises escaping your lips were uncontrollable, matched by Patrick's own passionate moans. Determined to give him an unforgettable experience, you poured all your energy into matching his thrusts with your own, both of you lost in ecstasy. While Patrick lavished attention on your nipples, your lips yearned for his touch, craving attention amidst the raw intensity of your pounding.

Both of you were so absorbed in outperforming each other, striving to make the other come the quickest, that neither of you noticed the sound coming from the door. There were insistent knocks. “It’s me, I’m sorry I’m so late.” Hours late, Art's voice finally came through the door. Patrick placed his hand over your mouth to silence you. The presence of Art outside seemed to drive him to fuck you even harder. You sank your teeth into his hand and tugged at his hair, determined to elicit delicious sounds from him. You were silenced but he wasn’t. You were willing to risk being caught just from the thrill of it. Just for the sensation it would bring you in that exact moment.

“I talked to Tashi… I understand if you’re mad…” Oh, you were the opposite of mad right now. “Text me if you’re awake.” And with that he left. Had Art been more persistent and attempted to turn the doorknob, he would have stumbled upon you, legs entwined around his closest friend, who was avidly thrusting into you with his shorts pooled around his ankles.

Patrick's hand left your mouth and returned around your neck, the other firmly gripping your ass. The lack of air made you desperate to moan his name, but all that escaped were gasps as you tightened your legs around him, drawing him nearer. Despite feeling dizzy, you continued to bounce against him eagerly.

You longed for him to meet your gaze and kiss you, but Patrick kept his head resting on your shoulder, eyes closed. The only sounds were the manifestations of his pleasure through his moans and cries. You sensed his body shudder against yours as he gripped the base of his dick, preparing to withdraw.

“No! Fill me up, please.” You begged, voice barely audible. You reached between you, grasping for his balls and squeezing one firmly. They were full, brimming just for you, and you couldn't bear to waste a drop of that precious seed. “I’m on the pill.” You assured him. Patrick only needed little persuasion to remain deep inside you. As a final effort, you tightened around him, intent on luring every last drop from him. He grunted your name as he climaxed inside you. His gaze locked on you as you welcomed his release, each slow thrust pushing you closer to the edge. It was watching Patrick reach his peak and call your name that finally pushed you over, making you explode in a breathy moan.

Patrick Zweig had come inside you. You had made Patrick Zweig come. You! Patrick Zweig! The reality of it was almost surreal, but the warm sensation inside you served as a proof.

He finally released your neck, and you let out a loud gasp, panting to catch your breath. As he slowly pulled out, you whined at the loss of contact, quickly closing your legs to keep his load inside you for as long as possible. The silence that followed made you anxious. He had not said a word yet, just looked at you, biting his lower lip nervously. Was he regretting it already? Then he started laughing. What the hell was so funny? He wrapped his arms around you, resting his head against your breast. You let yourself melt into his embrace, stroking his hair. "I wanted to do that for a while.” He confessed. Did he? Really? "Me too." You replied quickly, relief and joy flooding through you.

●

Afterwards, you had continued to fool around in your bed for hours. Mouths and fingers exploring every body part. Now it was daylight and you laid sprawled across him, your limbs entangled in an intimate embrace. Your head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat like a comforting melody. As your fingers twirled the soft curls of his chest hair, Patrick held you close, his fingertips gently caressing your hip in a soothing motion. You wanted him to fuck you once more, but something seemed to be holding him back.

You could hardly believe it had happened. The only evidence was the state of your sheets: wet and stained with various body fluids. And the ache in your cervix. Tashi had been right about that too. Patrick loved sliding himself fully inside, regardless of the pain it caused.

The delicate way he touched you felt far more intimate than when he was inside you earlier. You still craved his kiss, which he refused to give. Every single time you had tried to move closer to his face, you were met with his cheek. Weren’t you good enough for him?

“I’m going to break up with him. As soon as I regain the use of my legs.” Patrick chuckled, playfully hitting your thigh. “No, don't do that.” No? Why not? You just had sex with your boyfriend’s best friend. Wasn’t this the beginning of your life with Patrick? “If he’s going to mess around with my girlfriend, I might as well borrow you from him.” Your heart sank. Was this all it was? Revenge? You wanted forever with Patrick, not just a quickie to get back at his ex and his friend. Yet, if this was the only way to have him, you were willing to be part of his scheme. “You know I messed around with your girlfriend too.” You reminded him, hoping he would see how ridiculous his plan sounded. “Should I fuck Art to get back at you then?” He proposed. Okay, so he thought all of this was a joke. “Only if you let me watch.” You said, a smirk on your face. You were going to play his game until he would realize that you are the only one for him. You could do that. Fuck Art. Literally and figuratively. In response, he pinched one of your nipples. You whined, sinking your teeth into his in return. “Do you have any place to stay tonight?” You asked, covering his chest with gentle pecks. You were curious to know if he would accept Art’s invitation to sleep on the floor of his dorm when you had a perfectly good bed for him. All he had to do was fuck you.. "I guess Art’s room.” So you weren’t even good to sleep next to. “Art invited me to the Kappa Sigma party." Patrick mentioned casually. Ah yes, the party. You had received an invitation as well. The captain of the tennis club, a frat boy, had extended invitations to the entire club. It appeared both you and Patrick were Art's plus ones.

You weren't particularly looking forward to the event. Tennis players were so… psychotic. Except Patrick, of course.

“I’m invited too. Won’t it be awkward to be in the same room as Art?” You traced kisses up his neck, following the curve to his jaw. Gradually, you moved towards his lips, but just as you approached, he turned his head, and your lips brushed against his cheek. He still refused to kiss you. You had fantasies of becoming his little whore for years, and now those desires were becoming a reality. You were only good enough for his cock. “Why would it be? You’re his girlfriend, I’m his best friend.” 

●

After a second and third round, Patrick finally left your room. Despite the hurtful words he sometimes spoke, having sex with him felt instinctive. Whether your legs were draped over his shoulders, wrapped around his waist, or spread beneath him, he always knew how to make you come.

Time had come to prepare for the party.

The most challenging part of your routine came first : taking a shower and erasing every trace of him. Unsure of whether you would be able to experience feeling Patrick so deeply inside again. The fleeting thought of stopping your pill and keeping your legs crossed for a couple days to try and baby-trap him had crossed your mind. Yet, you quickly had dismissed it. If you weren't good enough to be kissed, surely you weren't the ideal candidate to be the mother of his children. Yet. You had to convince yourself that it was only because he didn’t know you well enough yet, to prevent bursting into tears in the shower.

Once you finished cleaning yourself, you turned on the radio, filling the bathroom with music as you applied makeup in front of the mirror. You had gotten better at this. With effort, you could clean up nicely. Gray eyeshadow was a reliable choice as well that complemented any outfit, ensuring you couldn't go wrong. Adding a touch more blush than necessary, you finished with pink lipstick. Releasing your hair from its tie, you slipped into a short red dress with spaghetti straps. You paused to scrutinize your reflection in the mirror. Your stomach had flattened noticeably, yet it still lacked the tone you desired. You also noticed the creases your thong was creating against your hips. You discarded the problematic underwear and replaced it with simple black lacy panties. It wasn’t the most appealing choice when naked, but it looked much better under your dress. You doubted you would end up with Patrick tonight anyway. At best, you might lure a drunken Art into your bed, and that man didn’t care about anything other than your bare cunt.

Art and Patrick knocked on your door around 8 PM. When you opened it, they stood side by side, the tension between them seemingly dissolved. Was mutual betrayal the secret to a long lasting friendship? They looked striking together, almost like a destined pair drawn to each other despite their differences. Art, the polished one, sported blue jeans paired with a buttoned-up blue shirt, his hair styled just the way he knew you liked. Patrick, the more casual counterpart, wore a black T-shirt, that you knew was borrowed from Art, and washed denim jeans. His hair, ruffled and wild, seemed to have escaped a brush since you had viciously tugged on it earlier. Art was a sight, you knew it by the heads turning every time he walked into a room. But Patrick was the one who cut your breath away.

"Hey babe." Art greeted, planting a soft kiss on your lips. "Looking good.” He added, his eyes sweeping over you from head to toe. "You look like a slut." Patrick mouthed. You beamed at him. From that man? That was the best compliment you could get. "Thank you." You answered Art, though your gratitude was directed at Patrick. “Hello Patrick.” You greeted him. He only responded with a nod.

The frat house lay just a short ten-minute walk from your dorm, yet at that moment, you regretted choosing high heels over flats. Why did girls always have to dress sexy, enduring the cold just to catch the eye of their crush? Shivering slightly, you felt Art's arm wrap around your waist, drawing you close as you walked together. Patrick trailed behind, silent.

Arriving there, the frat house lived up to your expectations : it was smelly and not particularly clean. You stayed close to Art and Patrick as a group of boys and girls engaged in a lively discussion about the next tennis match. Their enthusiasm for the sport amused you. In that moment, you couldn't help but think of tennis players as the nerds among jocks. As the conversation shifted to the US Open, you noticed Patrick had drifted away. Probably dreading the moment they would finally ask him how his career was doing. Spotting him leaning against a wall with a beer in hand, you couldn't suppress your grin, feeling like a lovesick schoolgirl showing all her teeth. He returned your smile. A simple gesture that filled you with warmth knowing you were the reason behind that blinding smirk.

Your moment was interrupted by Art’s hand on your back, inattentively stroking it. His fingertips ventured under the stram of your dress, lightly tickling your skin beneath the fabric. While you and Art weren’t the most affectionate couple in public, reserving touch for intimate moments, his gesture on your back was one of the few he dared to display openly. You sensed Patrick's gaze burning into your back, his stare affecting you more than Art’s touch. You watched him drink his beer, his eyes fixed on your back. When he finally looked up and met your gaze, he tilted his head, silently commanding you to follow as he left the room. Without hesitation, you stood and followed him, though you quickly lost sight of him. Suddenly, a hand grabbed you, pulling you into the bathroom. It was Patrick, leading you into a cubicle. Once inside, he locked the door behind you both.

The small cubicle barely had enough room for both of you, and the smell made you want to gag. But those details were insignificant, your heart was pounding faster than ever. Patrick had requested you. He set his empty beer on top of the toilet and stood before you. "Blow me." He commanded in a whisper, his gaze fixed intently on you.

He didn't need to ask twice. You dropped to your knees before him. There was something deeply degrading about kneeling on the piss-stained floor of a frat house bathroom, but you were more than willing to endure it for Patrick. You unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them, then pulled his pants and underwear down his legs. 

This was all you had ever wanted : to worship him like the god he was. Kneeling before him, you showed your devotion, rubbing your face against his full sack, nuzzling him like an animal in heat. You never knew a smell could make you so wet until now, the mix of sweat, soap and musk drove you wild. You tried to wrap your lips around one of his balls, eager to suck on it, wanting them in your mouth. Looking up, you saw him watching you with curiosity. Maybe you should save your freaky side for later.

Grasping the base of his cock, you trailed your tongue along his shaft, coating him with saliva. You looked up, striving to maintain eye contact with him. You wanted him to see how well you were taking him, to realize that you were made for him, that your mouth was meant to receive him. You pulled his foreskin back, licking around the crown and flicking your tongue over his slit. He whimpered, running his hands through your hair before grabbing handfuls and tugging on it. Wrapping your lips around his length, you started giving his cock big sloppy sucks, cheeks hollowed. "Look at you..." He whispered, before pushing himself deeper into your mouth. You moaned at his action, sending vibrations to the head of his cock nestled at the back of your throat. While you loved having him inside your pussy, nothing compared to the sensation of him filling your mouth. Cupping his sack, you started palming it, applying just the right amount of pressure. You bobbed your head, taking more of him with each movement. As his pubes began to tickle your nose, you knew you were close to taking him fully. Yet, you pulled away, wanting him to beg you to swallow his nut. “No, don’t stop, please…” That was fast.

In an effort to make this as pleasurable as possible, you teasingly licked your index finger, sucking on it long enough to give him the chance to stop you if he wasn’t comfortable. When he didn't, you placed the wet tip against his asshole, pushing past the barrier of flesh slowly, quarter inch by quarter inch. You weren’t sure if Patrick had ever experienced anything there before, but he didn’t seem to mind your finger seeking out his sweet spot. Your curiosity had led you to spend hours researching prostates online, so you knew exactly how to find it. You curled your finger, applying pressure to his prostate, causing him to whine. He loved it. 

Your lips returned to their place, wrapped around his length and Patrick wasn’t static anymore. He was now fucking your throat like you were just a hole for him to use. Each thrust drove his tip against the back of your throat. Drool dripped uncontrollably from your mouth. You gagged once but quickly refocused, determined to keep your throat open. It felt as if your future with Patrick hinged on the quality of this blowjob. Tonight, no sore jaw or nausea would stand in the way of your goal. Your finger movements matched the rhythm of his thrusts, intensifying the sensation. After a few minutes of intense sucking, he pulled back slightly, keeping just the head of his cock in your mouth. He was throbbing. He came, mouth agape and eyes shut in ecstasy. God, he looked stunning.

You swallowed his semen and stuck your tongue out, showing him what a good girl you were. You had swallowed a lot of Art’s cum in the past, but this had been an entirely different experience. A revelation. You had tasted Patrick, and now you wanted to consume him whole, to suck him dry every hour until his balls ached and he begged you to stop. You craved only his DNA inside you, nobody else, not even yours. You wanted to disappear and become an extension of him. 

Patrick rubbed the tip of his dick against your tongue, making sure he was clean. He then wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb, fixing your smeared makeup. Your makeup was now ornamenting the base of his dick. You withdrew your finger from inside him. He started dressing up next, hiding his still semi-hard cock in his underwear, adjusting it. You helped him pull up and zip his pants before rising to your feet. It was time to leave. This was usually when he would begin to act distant, as if you somehow repulsed him in a post-nut clarity. Smiling awkwardly, unsure how to behave, you exited the cubicle.

Although a part of you had wanted to lick your finger clean and get another taste of him, you had opted to scrub your hands with soap instead, not wanting him to think of you as even more of a freak. You were bent over the sink when he placed his hand on your butt, massaging it firmly. You weren’t disgusting to him anymore? You could feel one of his fingers pressing against your asshole through your underwear trying to return the favor. “You have the most fuckable ass on earth.” He whispered into your ear, his warm breath tickling you. Was he out of his mind? You had starved and pushed yourself to your limits to get a butt like Tashi's, and you were still far from achieving it and yet he wanted to fuck yours. You looked at him, confused, in the mirror's reflection, almost in awe that the man of your dreams was drawn to you. "It sounds so tempting, but you know we can't stay here forever…" If the thrill of being caught was a motivation for him to act interested in you, you could play along. Patrick's fingers were now caressing you through the fabric, from your clit to your ass. He could feel how wet you were. You let out a gasp and quickly slapped his hand away. "Behave, and maybe I'll accidentally leave my room unlocked tonight." You left the bathroom first, trying to appear inconspicuous. No one was around to see Patrick following you out of the cramped restroom.

When you joined him, Art was engrossed in conversation with his classmates about a demanding coach and difficult training, topics that went over your head. Had he paid any attention to you, he would have seen the smeared makeup and disheveled hair, but he didn’t. You found their discussion boring and wished they would talk about something more general. Boys could be so boring. Except Patrick, there was nothing dull about Patrick. Where was he now by the way?

You scanned the room, expecting to find him alone in a corner or engaged in conversation with some guys. But that fucker had chosen to piss you off. Your attention was drawn to two girls deep in conversation with Patrick. Both were attractive, one a tall redhead and the other a petite brunette. Though they were only chatting, you sensed their interest in him. It seemed everyone wanted to fuck Patrick given the chance. One of his remarks made them both laugh. Who the hell were those whores? The only thing that reassured you in this situation was the way his eyes would occasionally meet yours while he spoke, as if he was silently watching over you.

You leaned closer to Art, resting your head on his shoulder, hoping to elicit a reaction from Patrick, but nothing. You needed to grab his attention. You trailed soft kisses from Art's shoulder to his neck and finally whispered behind his ear. "I really want to kiss you." You attempted to sound seductive, but your voice remained raspy from the aftermath of Patrick's cock forcing its way down your throat.

Art smiled at you and leaned closer, offering himself to you. You eagerly grabbed his face between your hands and passionately kissed him. His lips tasted like liquor and you could tell he had consumed a significant amount by his lack of concern regarding the presence of his peers witnessing the sloppy kiss happening before their eyes. You were practically shoving your tongue down his throat. The idea of kissing him with the very same mouth that had just taken Patrick’s load moments earlier was more thrilling than the kiss itself. Would Art taste his best friend on your tongue? Would he attribute the tangy aftertaste to the drink you had earlier? As you pulled away, you noticed Patrick watching you both with a smirk. You could tell he had thought the same exact thing as you.

You pulled away and whispered into Art's ear. "Baby, I'm really tired. I'm going to sleep. See you tomorrow." You kissed him goodnight and left the common room.

You already anticipated that Patrick would follow you to your room minutes later to finally have what he couldn't get earlier.

●

The doorknob to your bedroom turned, and you knew it was him. You were lying in your bed, on your stomach in your underwear, pretending to read a book. In reality, you had meticulously prepared yourself the first few minutes, ensuring you were immaculately clean inside. The remaining quarter of an hour was dedicated to selecting the perfect position for him to discover you in. After locking the door behind him, he stood for a moment, taking in the sight of you, before sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand roamed over your thighs and the curve of your butt.

"I can’t believe you kissed Art with that nasty mouth." He chuckled, playing with the elastic of your panties, his fingers brushing against your ass cheek. You dropped your book on the floor, rolled onto your back and looked at him with a taunting smile. “Oh I’m sure he loved the taste of it.” You teased. His hand now rested on your lower stomach, gently stroking it with light fingers. Your skin was burning under his touch. He seemed much less interested in that part of your body. “I used to spit his jizz back into his mouth and he would always swallow it like a good boy.” Patrick let out an unexpected snort, the sound echoing softly in the quiet of your bedroom, catching you off guard. Was he making fun of you? “I can’t believe you even exist.” What did that even mean? Was he repulsed by you and your actions? The fact that his hand lingered so close to your womanhood, yet he refrained from touching you to ease the fire in you, didn’t reassure you much. What if you had ruined everything?

He leaned in closer, closing the distance between your faces. It was something you had observed about Patrick before : how intimately he needed to be to communicate. He looked at you with a yearning in his eyes, a playful giggle escaping his lips. It was clear he had indulged in a few drinks as well. "What?" You asked, a smile on your lips as your eyes remained locked with his mesmerizing green gaze. "I want to taste that tongue too." He said. Oh god, it was happening, the moment you had always waited for, when everything in your life would suddenly click into place. "Then do it." You teased, sticking your tongue out playfully at him. Kissing him would mean crossing a new boundary in your relationship. It wouldn't just be about fulfilling primal desires, it would also satisfy your craving for affection.

You could feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours. You closed your eyes as his tongue brushed against yours with an hesitant lick. His light touch, more a hesitant exploration than a proper kiss, initially caught you off guard. Deciding to take charge, you closed the remaining distance and drew him into a proper kiss, imbued with urgency.

You wanted to consume him entirely, to have him whole within your mouth. Your lips pressed fervently against his, tongues dancing and exploring. Patrick tasted of beer, a sharp reminder of his earlier indulgence and the actions that followed. In that heated moment, you wondered if he could sense the lingering taste of his own flesh and Art's touch upon your tongue. The kiss was wet, a bit too eager, your mouths struggling to find harmony. Patrick was a messy kisser, and you savored every chaotic second of it. His enjoyment was evident in the sounds he made : a captivating blend of moans and gasps for air.

Saliva mixed as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of him, needing more of this connection. His hands found your hip, drawing you in until there was no space left between your bodies. Each movement desperate, as if trying to convey all the unspoken words and feelings you had kept hidden all at once.

When you parted to catch your breath, you kept your lips pressed against his, inhaling his oxygen as if it were your own. Wow. You thought, still trembling from the encounter. Your world would never be the same now that you had experienced such bliss. Once more, the visions washed over you, images of wedding, babies, and growing old together. But they were abruptly interrupted by Patrick's impatience. "Roll over, I want to see your ass." He demanded. He didn't need to repeat himself. You existed to fulfill his every command. If he desired you as his slave, you would oblige without hesitation. You surrendered onto your stomach, glancing sideways to observe his next move. He gently pulled down your panties, and you assisted by lifting your hips. His hand came down hard on your butt, delivering a sharp spank that silenced any further movement from you. A startled moan escaped your lips in response. It seemed like if there was one thing in this world Patrick Zweig took seriously, it was ass play. After the sting of the slap, he replaced it with warm, tender kisses on your bottom. He slid his fingers between your cheeks, circling your asshole before gliding down to your womanhood, plunging his index finger inside you. "You're so wet for me..." He murmured. You bit your lower lip, nodding eagerly. You were always wet when it came to him, as if his presence kept you in a constant state of arousal. He added a second finger, spreading them apart to widen you. "Get on all fours for me. Spread those sweet cheeks of yours." He commanded. You obeyed without hesitation, getting on your knees and reaching back to spread yourself open for him. Your chest supported your body weight as you positioned yourself, completely exposed and vulnerable, offering yourself fully to your lover, your panties hanging on your legs. 

Then, his lips joined in, and you felt his tongue on your clit, softly sucking the bud. A moan of his name escaped your lips. His face was buried deeply between your legs, the tip of his nose brushing against your entrance. It was so different from when Art went down on you. Art was meticulous and slow, but Patrick was messy and eager, mirroring his kissing. You couldn't tell if you were extra wet or if Patrick was just salivating like a starving man. His tongue slid up to your asshole, and he began flicking it there, sending shivers through your entire body. His fingers had withdrawn from inside you, but they still lingered, teasing your swollen folds, roughly massaging your clit, almost abusing it. You were a moaning mess. It was the first time Patrick took the time to focus solely on your pleasure. Sure, it was likely a prelude to fucking you afterward, but for now, his own gratification wasn’t directly involved. He just wanted to make you come. He was lavishing you with long, deliberate strokes of his tongue, starting from your ass and trailing to your pussy, teasingly inserting the tip into both openings each time. As his tongue worked its magic on your pussy, you felt the waves of your first orgasm building. You gasped, pushing your hips back toward him. "Pat-..." You moaned, your legs trembling, making it difficult to stay on all fours.

His fingers neared your asshole, his index circling it before slipping the first joint inside, your juices acting as lubricant. The sensation was underwhelming, you could barely feel his touch. Why was he acting like you were a virgin? Why was he handling you so gently? You yearned for him to ravish you like a wild animal. "Fuck me already!" You whimpered, glancing back at him. He withdrew, gazing at you as if seeking confirmation, then hastily pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned his pants, kicking them off in a rush.

"Got any lube?" You nodded, opening the bedside drawer. It was filled with an assortment of accessories that made Patrick snort. "You’re well prepared." He joked, leaning over you to rummage through the drawer. When he grabbed the lube and started to pour some onto his fingers, you stopped him. "Not too much. I want to feel you stretching me…" You said, watching as he bit his lower lip, clearly affected by your words. He coated his length with a quick stroke of his hand, then positioned himself behind you, teasingly rubbing his tip against your entrance. You had always thought it was impossible to hate Patrick but in that moment, you found yourself oddly resentful of Patrick. After several agonizing strokes along your crack, he finally pushed himself into your ass. You gasped, unprepared for the sudden fullness and the way he stretched you wide. You expected him to at least take his time with his cock, that wasn’t the case.

"You've got all these toys, but deep down, you're just a cockslut." He remarked. And maybe he was right. After all, most of those toys had been used with thoughts of Patrick's cock in mind. "Look at you, swallowing me whole. So hungry." He observed as you clenched around him with all your might. It wasn't as effortless as he made it sound, but there was no need for him to know that.

He rested his hands on both your hips and began moving inside you at a deliberate pace. You instinctively pushed back against him, syncing your movements with his. The sensation of his balls slapping against your entrance sent a rush of heat through you. His balls were undeniably your favorite part of him. Was it because of their symbolic significance, representing the potential to mother his child one day? Or was it their aesthetic appeal, hanging so perfectly beneath his thick cock? You couldn't quite pinpoint the reason. Releasing your grip on your cheek, you placed your hand over his on your hip, interlacing your fingers with his as he thrust into you with increasing intensity. Oh my god, you were holding Patrick Zweig’s hand. Well, sort of. 

You really were losing it. Patrick Zweig was fucking you in the ass, and all you could fixate on was the sensation of your hands touching. “Fuck, you’re so tight…” He murmured, spurring you to tighten even more for him. As enjoyable as his thrusts were, it was his voice and fervor that pulled the moans from your lips. His free hand left your hip and stealthily made its way to your clit, massaging it with the same intensity as his movements. The combination of his fingers on your sensitive bud and the rhythmic impact of his balls against you sent waves of exquisite pleasure through your body.

You glanced back at him and were struck by his breathtaking beauty. Sweat droplets clung to his hair and nose, his mouth hung half-open, and his eyes were locked on the point where your bodies met. When he caught your gaze, he placed a firm hand on your head, pressing you into the pillow. Without missing a beat, he continued to ram into you, his grip holding you down as he drove you both to the edge.

Tears streamed down your face, but there was no pain, only an overwhelming sense of euphoria. This was divine. The joy of being with him, of fulfilling his desires, consumed you entirely. It was an ecstasy you could no longer contain. "More…" You pleaded, pressing yourself closer to him, needing him with an intensity that bordered on desperation. He was pounding into you like a man possessed, your comfort an afterthought. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. The delicious sound filled your ears, heightening your pleasure. When your second orgasm took you over, you weren’t quite ready for it. You wanted to explode at the same time as him to experience bliss by his side but your body had betrayed you. You tightened around his cock and let out a high-pitched moan, almost too quiet to hear. Patrick continued a few more thrusts before reaching his own climax and when he finally came, he collapsed onto you, pressing you into the bed. His chest heaved against your back, his breath hot on your neck, his cock still buried deep between your cheeks. You felt him more intensely than ever before, his heat consuming you from the inside out. Breathless, sweaty and tear-streaked, you buried your face in the pillow, feeling him panting above you. He brushed the hair off your face and kissed your neck tenderly. “Wow… baby…” He whispered in your ear. Baby? If he wanted to kill you, he had just found the way.

●

Patrick had stayed the night, and it had been far more intimate than the previous one. After fucking, you both had showered together, which inevitably had led to more sex. The shower had felt somewhat pointless as you had ended up lying naked together on your stained sheets. Patrick had lit a cigarette, and amidst casual conversation that covered everything and nothing, he had mentioned his concerns about the tour not going well. You did your best to reassure him, emphasizing how he was the best player you knew and only needed to regain his confidence. He had also confided in you about the pressure from his parents to pursue a more conventional career. You had always assumed being the golden child of a wealthy family would be the easiest thing in the world, but Patrick seemed to be struggling under the weight of his family's expectations. After discussing his challenges, he had turned the conversation to you, asking about your classes and showing genuine interest in your life. It had made your heart flutter, while you enjoyed hearing about him, it meant a lot that he had wanted to know about you too. The night had continued with passionate making out until your tongues were sore, and eventually, you had both drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

Yet, your bubble was on the verge of exploding. He was officially leaving campus tonight. Determined to prolong your time together, you had skipped classes, rarely venturing out from your room except to fetch food. Clothing had become an optional inconvenience, discarded whenever possible.

You both lay naked on the bed, your head at the foot while Patrick rested at the other end, his legs extended. The room had fallen into a comfortable silence. Between the moans that had ceased and the exhaustion that lingered, words seemed unnecessary. "You've got cute toes." Patrick remarked suddenly, his finger tracing a line along the arch of your foot. "Toes?" You asked, taken aback by the unexpected attention to such a trivial body part. Was Patrick secretly a freak like you? “Yeah, mine are all fucked from the tennis shoes.” He raised his foot to your face, exposing bunions and calluses. As you examined his foot closely, memories of a particular sock hidden under your bed flashed through your mind. A sock you had savored so intensely that it had become even more pungent, forcing you to wash it reluctantly. The desire to experience that tangy taste again overwhelmed you. Fixating on his foot, you seized it and enveloped his big toe with your lips, sucking gently as you gazed into his eyes. As you continued, you pressed your own foot against his crotch, massaging it. Despite the redness and swelling from the intense attention it had received throughout the night, Patrick seemed to overlook any discomfort, lost in desperate moans of pleasure. You switched to his second toe, giving it the attention it deserved. And so on until all of his toes were covered with saliva. "Had worse in my mouth." You chuckled, your foot still working him over. Patrick bit his lower lip, curious. "Like what?" He asked. "Oh, you know, your best friend's cock." You shrugged, causing him to sigh. "No need to be a bitch about it, you sucked him plenty, no?" Was trash-talking his friend off-limits? Wasn’t what he was doing even worse than that? "I thought it was alright until I got a taste of yours." You explained, hoping to lighten the mood. 

"I've never felt like this before." You confessed, inching closer to Patrick to meet his gaze. You sensed your words had stirred something within him. "I will never be the same." Cupping his face, you compelled him to look directly into your eyes. "Do you think I can go back to how I was living before you?" You didn't wait for his response, pulling him into a deep kiss. Deep down, you knew his answer wouldn't be what you wanted to hear. Kissing Patrick felt inexplicably right, it was a sensation you doubted anyone else could comprehend. His tongue entwined with yours, sending sparks through your body, his rough lips meeting yours in a perfect union. When you finally pulled away, you both lingered in a silent exchange, words seeming futile. "Let's grab lunch, he's probably waiting for us." Patrick muttered, stepping back and retrieving his clothes from the floor. If you wanted Patrick all for yourself, Art needed to get the fuck out of your lives as soon as possible.

●

"Did you make it home okay last night?" You inquired, your gaze fixed on Art. The glare you shot him betrayed your frustration. You hated him for even existing. "Yeah, I got back early." He replied calmly. The three of you were seated at a table, sharing a meal. You couldn't help but notice how effortlessly Patrick reverted to his usual self, while you struggled not to fixate on him and envision his fingers up your cunt. It infuriated you that he could act so nonchalantly, treating you almost like a stranger. "Really? Then why didn't you text this morning?" The accusatory question slipped out unintentionally. You hadn't bothered checking your phone much that morning, but the absence of any message from Art had surprised you when you finally did. You were itching for a confrontation, and any excuse would do. "Practice. Lost track of time." Art explained, sensing your displeasure. He knew he was in hot water. "I was waiting for your messages." You replied curtly. "Patrick and I had a lot to catch up on." Patrick? Your Patrick? The same guy who was fucking you all night? "Oh really? You were with Patrick?" You squinted at Art. He turned to Patrick, hoping for backup. Patrick nodded. "Yeah, we hung out." He lied. You had always sensed that he would choose his best friend over you, and now you were certain of it. "You're a terrible liar." You accused Art, raising your voice. "And you're no better." You pointed at Patrick, disappointed by his lack of support.

Pushing your barely touched tray away, you stood up. "I was with Tashi, but I didn't want to upset you... I knew you'd get mad." Art confessed finally. "I'm just mad that you're a liar." You sighed. "I talked to her, I think you’re mistaken about us." Art tried to reassure you. "So you don’t only talk to me when you're horny?" You confronted him, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation. "I don't do that." He claimed. What a fucking liar.

"Then why do you disappear when it's not about sex?" You demanded. "I haven't forgotten our date two days ago. Just one date, and you couldn't make it until it was too late to go out because you were with another girl. Do you think I'm stupid?"

At that point, you were grasping for reasons to end things with him. You didn't care if he had slept with the entire team on the frat house floor, or even Tashi. What mattered was that he was holding you back from your love story with Patrick. Without waiting for his response, you walked away from the table. You may have been the one labeled a cheating lying whore, but Art was the one left feeling in the wrong. Good.

●

You were hiding in your room, seething with anger at both boys. Patrick, for siding with Art, and Art, for simply breathing. A knock on the door interrupted your fuming. You walked over and opened it to find Patrick standing there. "I wasn't expecting you." You said, stepping aside to let him in. No matter how angry you were, you couldn't leave him standing at the door. You locked it behind him. "I told Art I’d talk to you after your fight." He began. You sighed, already bored with the conversation. "What was that about, anyway?" He asked, looking genuinely confused. He didn’t seem to grasp how irrationally you could act when it came to him. "I'm mad at you too." You confessed, crossing your arms in front of him. "Me? Why? I was just trying to act unsuspicious." He said, raising his hands innocently. "So no matter how sore my ass gets, Art is always going to be your favorite?" You asked, hoping he would reassure you of your importance to him. He didn't answer. "I said I would try to talk to you, but I was thinking of using my tongue in a better way." Sex, again. The only thing that really worked between you two. He wrapped his arms around you, placing a soft kiss against the side of your neck. You tilted your head, letting him nibble on the skin there.

Before you knew it, Patrick was beneath you, his hands on your breasts as you rode his face. His tongue delved deep inside you, expertly fucking you with it while his nose rubbed deliciously against your clit. You could tell by his gasps for air that it was getting harder for him to breathe, but you loved it. You had never had sex as much as you had this weekend, and the muscles in your thighs were terribly sore, your clit on fire, and your walls irritated but you couldn't stop. You didn't know if you would ever see Patrick again, and if you did, who knew if you would become his dirty little secret once more? You rolled your hips over his tongue, your fingers tangled in his hair, slightly tugging on it. No matter how much you focused on his mouth, you just couldn’t relax. Both exhausted and saddened by his impending departure. His beard was also chafing you so bad. You lifted yourself off his face and chose to straddle his hips instead. “Don’t like it?” He asked as you moved away from his mouth. “Love it, I just want to feel you.” You replied, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. His face was covered in your juices, and kissing him felt like eating your own self out. Patrick’s hands found their way to your ass, spreading your cheeks as wide as possible. You started grinding against his crotch, rubbing your swollen clit against his length. Both of you moaned into each other’s mouths. You knew you had to be quick. It would be suspicious for the two of you to spend too much time together. But you didn’t want to rush, you wanted to give him a proper goodbye. After a few more rubs, you slid your hand between your bodies and aligned his length with your entrance. As you sat down on his cock, the pain was sharp, your inner walls could barely handle the friction anymore. You weren’t wet enough. You quickly pulled away and grabbed the lube bottle, spreading some into your palm and coating his length. If your body couldn’t accommodate him naturally, you’d find another way to ensure he could move inside you. Tossing the bottle aside, you sat back onto his length. The slickness made it much easier.

Despite the pain, you were determined to make him come. You wanted to see his face in that moment of release, to feel him fill you up. Ignoring the discomfort, you bounced on him with relentless determination. He started thrusting up to match your pace, and you clung to his chest, riding him with fierce intensity. Nothing about your union was pleasurable anymore, but you continued, driven by a desperate need to connect one last time. You simulated a few moans to keep him engaged. The fact that you were having sex with Patrick Zweig and faking it was such a crazy idea. However, it seemed to work well enough for him to assist you in bouncing faster on his cock. He continued to fuck you passionately. Your thighs were in such pain that you wanted to give up, but you couldn't. You had to be enough for THE Patrick Zweig. Sweat was streaming down your forehead as you continued to rock your hips on top of him.

He was nearly there. His fingernails dug into your skin, and he closed his eyes. When you felt him pulsating inside you with little to no release, you realized that his body was as exhausted as yours. You collapsed on top of him, embracing him as tightly as you could. "I don't want you to leave." You told him, your eyes welling up with tears. "I know." He responded, pulling you into a soft and slow kiss.

“Now make up with him and go be a good girlfriend.” Is that what he wanted you to do? Sure, you would do anything for him.

●

Watching him depart was heart-wrenching, even though you knew he'd return soon, for Art's sake. Standing in the parking lot with Art, waving goodbye as the car pulled away, a knot tightened in your stomach. You wanted to cry, scream, throw a tantrum like a child, but you couldn't afford to. You had to maintain composure in front of Art. 

"I'm still sorry about earlier." He said. After your intimate farewell with Patrick, you had called Art to apologize for overreacting. Blaming it on your menstrual cycle, you had claimed you forgot to take your pill yesterday, and Art had paid the price. This excuse also bought you a few days' respite from him coming near your inflamed crotch. Or so you thought.

He enveloped you in a hug from behind, nuzzling your neck. "Did you go for a run again? You smell." He remarked, catching a trace of Patrick's sweat. Despite your shower, it seemed your body was becoming intertwined with Patrick's. "Yeah, I will go take a shower." You replied, meeting his gaze. "Let me come with you, I could use one too." He suggested eagerly. Dread filled you, but if Patrick wanted you to pretend nothing had happened and fuck Art, you'd comply. 

In your bedroom, you hurriedly shed your clothes, aiming to get to the shower and scrub yourself clean between your legs before Art joined. "Did you smoke in here?" He asked, making your heart race. Caught red-handed. Despite opening the window and changing the sheets, Patrick's scent lingered. "No, but Patrick was here earlier, trying to convince me not to dump your ass." You deflected, shrugging it off as you stepped into the shower and drew the curtain. Desperate, you lathered soap over your folds, trying to erase any trace of Patrick. It stung horribly. Art joined you in the shower, his hands exploring your body eagerly.

"Art... We shouldn't... My pill." You pleaded, attempting to halt his eager touch on your swollen clit, but he persisted. A gasp and a grimace of pain escaped you, mistakenly taken by him as sounds of pleasure. "I can still make you feel good." He insisted, dropping to his knees and lifting your leg onto his shoulder, burying his face in your crotch. You whimpered as his tongue teased your clit. Why was he so fixated on eating you out? Couldn't he be more like other guys who enjoyed being blown? "What if I'm bleeding?" You tried to dissuade him, but he disregarded your concern. "I don't care.” He replied. Freak. "You're so swollen, I think you might really be ovulating." He commented, his tongue still flicking over your pussy. With a sigh, you closed your eyes, praying for this to end as fast as possible.

Thank goodness, Art proved to be a gentle lover with a smooth chin. It wasn’t exactly pleasurable, but at least it didn’t exacerbate the discomfort you were already feeling. Once again, you summoned your acting skills to feign enjoyment, letting out a fabricated moan as he continued to explore your labia with his mouth. Gripping his wet hair firmly, you emitted another simulated whimper. Art delved his tongue deeper, and you silently hoped any trace of Patrick was long gone. "I'm close..." You murmured, then closed your legs around his head, simulating an orgasm. He released your leg and stood up, wrapping his arms around your neck and kissing you deeply.

For a brief moment, guilt crept in within you for manipulating the boy. However, you quickly reminded yourself that he had only ever been a conduit to Patrick, nothing beyond that.

●

It had been a few days since Patrick had come home. Although he was physically far from you, your relationship had grown stronger. You would talk online for hours, and on lucky nights, you would get to hear his voice when he called you on the phone. 

That day, you had spent hours at your computer, waiting for Patrick's AIM icon to turn green. It was already too late for you, you could tell you were madly in love. Your life revolved around Patrick, and you wanted to be available whenever he needed you. You lived to serve him. You had always been a bit excessive when it came to him, but now you were a lost cause.

You: So what’s up with you? Patrick: Thinking about your tight cunt. You: Are you? Patrick: Send pics.

He wanted a picture? Of you? That was concrete proof that you were a significant part of his life. Significant enough for him to want to keep a part of you with him while he was away. You hastily kicked off your sweatpants and hurried to your desk to grab your compact camera. Setting the timer, you bent over and spread your cheeks in front of the lens. Flash. Grabbing the camera, you examined the picture closely. You looked huge. Placing the camera back on the desk, you reset the timer and sucked in your stomach this time, ensuring to spread your labias wide. Another flash. This one looked a bit better. Your crotch looked so much healthier than during his visit. You connected the camera to your laptop and dropped the picture into the conversation.

You: You sent a picture. Patrick: Fuck, I want to be inside you so badly. You: Can I get a picture too? Patrick: Patrick sent a picture.

It exceeded all your expectations. The photos revealed Patrick's lower abdomen, his hand gripping his erect penis tightly, and his large sack prominently displayed. Unfortunately, you couldn’t see his face. Was he biting his lips? Were his eyes closed? Was he looking at your picture while touching himself? It didn’t really matter, your hand was down your panties anyway, touching yourself.

Patrick: I qualified for the Sacramento Capitals. We could see each other then. I could come pick you up tomorrow. You: Really? I would love to.

Ever since Patrick had filled you and made you complete, classes seemed utterly pointless. Skipping a few days and failing them didn't concern you. It was evident you were securing your future as an athlete's wife. However, Art posed a challenge. He expected you to always be there, playing the role of the sweet, devoted girlfriend.

You: What do I tell Art? Patrick: I don’t know, find an excuse. Your family cat’s dying or something like that. You: You know my pussy’s already dying for you.

It only took a second for your cell phone to ring. “Hello?” You answered, a smile on your face. “Am I speaking to the aching pussy?” He teased. "Aching is the word. You fucked me so hard I could barely piss without it burning like hell." You whimpered, prompting a chuckle from Patrick. "I know the feeling. Is it still sore?" It had only just started to calm down after four days, the perfect amount of time to feign a painful period and keep Art's dick as far away from you as possible. "No." You replied. "Then make it sore for me again." He said, catching you off guard. Patrick wanted phone sex? "Grab one of those little toys you have.” He instructed. You opened the drawer and picked out your favorite purple vibrator. "What should I do with it?" You teased, you knew what to do but you wanted to hear him say it. "Is it a vibrator?" He asked, his voice husky. You hummed in confirmation. "Play with your clit.” He commanded. Positioning the toy against your bud, you switched it on. "It's on." You gasped, the vibrator buzzing against your clit. "Are you stroking yourself too?" Your voice was breathless with anticipation. "Like hell, I am." Patrick replied, his voice deep and filled with desire. You imagined him as he appeared in the picture he had sent you earlier, and a moan escaped your lips at his revelation. "Imagine it's my pussy milking you." You whispered, matching the rhythm of the vibrator with the pace of Patrick's heavy breathing. "I'm fucking you so good, you're so tight around me." He groaned, his voice sending shivers down your spine. You closed your eyes, picturing Patrick above you, his body pressed against yours. "Play with your tits, just for me." Patrick urged, his voice thick with arousal. With your free hand, you slid under your shirt, grasping your breast and massaging it, imagining Patrick's hands on you. "My nipples are so hard. Like my clit." You moaned, your arousal building with every word he uttered. "Patrick..." His name escaped your lips like a plea. "I'm so hard too, baby." Patrick murmured, the endearment sending a rush of heat through you. Minutes passed in a haze of pleasure and desire. You felt your pussy clench around the vibrator as it vibrated against your folds, mirroring Patrick's intensity on the other end of the phone. "Patrick!" You groaned, the sound echoing through the room. You heard him whimper on the other side of the line, confirming he was just as affected. "Good girl, I hope you'll be as good tomorrow." Patrick whispered huskily, his voice low and intimate, leaving you breathless and eager for more. 

"I miss you so much. I can't wait to see you." You panted, the dildo still vibrating beside you. He had already hung up.

●

Coming up with an excuse had been easier than expected. Art was a family man, so when he heard about your sick aunt's health declining and your mom wanting you to be there, he nearly insisted you leave immediately. You mentioned that your cousin could pick you up tomorrow for the drive back home. It was the best you could come up with, knowing he would have insisted on meeting any other family member. 

That night, he had decided to stay over to offer his support. Throughout the night, he had managed to remain appropriate, but now it was morning, and you were both cuddling in bed. His morning wood was pressing against your stomach. "I will miss you so much." He murmured, his hands wandering to your ass, giving it a squeeze. You could feel his desire, his need for you. Your aunt was dying, and he wanted to have sex? What a weirdo. There was no way you were going to let him spoil your body. You needed to be squeaky clean for Patrick. "I will miss you too." You lied, trying to keep your voice steady. His hands became more insistent, sliding into your pajamas, but you were determined not to give in. You pulled his hands out of your pants and shook your head. "I'm not really in the mood... Want me to blow you?"

Fellatio was the easiest way to get him to come. It only took some energetic sucking and a few tight strokes before he would make that weird sound and release himself. Today wasn't any different. After about ten minutes of bobbing your head and moaning as if it were the most appetizing treat, Art exploded in your mouth. Exactly what you didn’t want. You had hoped to trick him into coming into your hand, but he had not warned you beforehand. Now what? You had always swallowed before, you couldn’t just suddenly spit it out. So you swallowed his cum reluctantly, then hid your face in his neck, pulling him into a hug. You felt sick.

You glanced at his watch. Saved by the bell. "Don't you have to go?" He followed your gaze to his wrist and sighed. "My coach is waiting." He placed a soft kiss on your lips and began dressing in the clean clothes he had brought from his room. You watched him, feeling indifferent. "Don't forget to text me once you're there." He reminded you. You nodded. "Have fun at practice." With a wave, he exited the door, leaving you alone.

The moment he left your room, you rushed to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet bowl. You shoved your fingers down your throat, forcing yourself to be sick. You needed to purge any trace of Art from your body before meeting Patrick. You wanted to be pure for him.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you confronted your reflection. You were about to live the romance you had dreamt of for two full days with the man you loved, yet you had never felt so ugly. Apart from the few precious moments Patrick granted you, you hated your life and yourself and it was showing from the outside. You brushed your teeth hard, trying to scrub away the taste of your boyfriend.

●

With your travel bag slung over your shoulder, you made your way to the drop-off area. It was risky for Patrick to pick you up right outside the campus, but you didn’t care. Sure, Art knew many students, but not many were aware of your relationship with him. You were willing to risk it, you had missed Patrick way too much. Besides, you wouldn't be exactly heartbroken by a breakup.

When you spotted Patrick's car, you hurried toward it, your steps quickening with excitement. You opened the passenger door to find Patrick greeting you with a big smile. You jumped into the car, closed the door behind you, and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. Your tongue eagerly met his, tasting cigarettes and energy drinks. You felt like you were finally home, nestled in his embrace. It had been so long that you had almost forgotten how much you loved him. "Hey, handsome." You greeted him, your heart fluttering. "Hey, beautiful." He replied, giving you butterflies. You knew he was just mirroring your words, but you chose to ignore that fact.

Once you were buckled up and had placed your bag on the back seat, Patrick started the engine and drove off campus. The drive was only a couple of hours long, but you were excited to spend time in his company.

He offered you snacks and soda, which you declined. There was no way you wanted to feel bloated and fat in front of Patrick. The radio played some pop songs that Patrick hummed along to, making you smile. You decided to sing along, inviting him to join you. Soon, both of you were singing out loud, as if you were the only two people in the universe.

“I’m so proud of you for winning your spot there.” You suddenly said, reaching for his ear and playing with it. It was the first time you had dared to touch that part of him. Somehow, it felt like one of the most precious parts of his body, maybe because you cherished it so much. “Thank you.” Patrick replied with a smile, his eyes still focused on the road as he held the steering wheel. You continued discussing tennis and university, carefully avoiding mentioning Art.

Remembering that you hadn't texted Art, you pulled out your phone and quickly typed a message.

← [To: Art - 8:13 PM] I’m with my cousin, we’re almost there.

You tried to hide who you were texting, but Patrick noticed. He fell silent. You quickly slipped your phone back into your pocket. “Where are we staying?” You asked, trying to divert his attention from your texting. “Hotel.” He replied curtly. You couldn’t believe that Art had managed to ruin things even from miles away. “What kind of hotel?” You pressed, trying to get him to talk more. “I don’t know, a nice hotel?” He shrugged, no longer smiling. You already missed the sight of his teeth. You turned to him and placed your hand on his crotch, grabbing his dick. “Will you fuck me there?” You asked, squeezing him hard to get a reaction.

He glanced at you, biting his lower lip, and nodded. You pulled your seatbelt aside and leaned over, pulling his cock out of his shorts. “Can’t wait.” You mumbled, holding his length in front of your mouth. You wrapped your lips around the head, sucking on his foreskin. “Don’t.” He whined, leaning back against his seat. “I took the car right after practice and I’ve been on the road all day. I haven't had a chance to shower yet.” You looked up at him. “You think that will make me stop? I want to do it even more now.” You said. You loved it when he was all smelly and musky. You loved your Patrick all nasty. His scent had the power to drive you mad. 

“You’re a freak.” He said, a smirk on his lips. You gripped his shaft firmly at the base, your other hand caressing his balls, while your tongue traced every inch of his length. Your mouth was all over him, intent on reminding him of what he had been missing out on. The intensity with which you pleased Art earlier paled in comparison to the energy you now put into drawing passionate moans from Patrick's lips.

Whether it was the distance or the thrill of performing the act in plain sight, Patrick came in no time, filling your mouth with his warm release. As you withdrew and tucked his member back into his shorts, his cum lingered on your tongue, a taste you adored. You yearned to savor him endlessly, wanting to hold onto him forever. Eventually, you swallowed, feeling his warmth settle in your stomach. It was probably the best spot to store it after your pussy and your ass.

When the car stopped at a red light, he grabbed your neck and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as if searching for something. You moaned softly, taken aback by his boldness, enjoying every moment of his embrace. The green light allowed you to catch your breath. “How come you never try to spit it back to me?” He asked, glancing at you. How could you explain to him that you wanted to consume all of him, not letting a single drop go to waste? That you needed to be filled by him, that it wasn’t just a want but a need? That his cum belonged to you alone? That it wasn’t even his anymore?

“You’re too tasty.” You mumbled, looking out the window.

●

“This place is crazy.” You had not visited a lot of hotels but this one had to be one of the high end. “Courtesy of daddy.” You didn’t know much about Patrick’s parents except that they were extremely wealthy. You imagined Patrick’s dad to look similar to him but with salt and pepper hairs and lines on his face. In that moment, you wished to still be around in the future to witness Patrick grow old and gray. You pulled him into a tight embrace and grabbed his butt. “Could I get the discourtesy of daddy then?”

“I have to sort my bag before the match and then I’m all yours, babe.” He said, placing a soft peck on your lips before pulling away. He started rearranging his rackets and replacing the grip tape on one of them. You watched him work, tempted to tell him what you had done with his rackets in the past when you were desperate for his touch. But some things were better left secret for now. You could however reveal how seeing him with a racket was a true turn on.

"You know, I used to fantasize about your backhand." You confessed as you watched him inspect his racket intently. "My backhand?" He responded, taken aback by the unexpected revelation. "Yes." You continued, unabashed. "I wanted you to swing that racket at me with all your strength, just like you do with the ball." By now, he understood how violence was a turn on for you, but he had never ventured into anything that could potentially harm you. Did he have it in him to be the rough motherfucker you wanted him to be? "I wouldn't even care if it put me in a wheelchair or killed me." You added boldly. "I would gladly die that way."

He stared at you with a mixture of disbelief and intrigue, as if you had proposed the most audacious plan. Yet, beneath his initial reaction, you sensed he was intrigued by the notion. When he rose from his seat and took his racket, sitting at the edge of the bed, you knew exactly what was about to happen. He patted his lap invitingly. "Come here." He said softly. You obediently stretched out across his lap, presenting your butt to him. With a gentle touch, he lifted your skirt and slid your panties down, exposing your bare skin. The first smack of the racket against your flesh made you jump slightly. You whined like one of those porn girls but you couldn’t help it.  "Hard, you said?" He asked, his voice low and teasing. You nodded, biting your lower lip, eyes closed in anticipation. He lifted his racket high above his head, poised as if preparing to serve, and then struck you with all his might. A scream escaped your lips, tears welling in your eyes from the undeniable pain. The impact reverberated through your body, the sensation lingering deep within your core. The pain was intense, but a part of you loved it. "Is this everything you dreamed of and more?" He asked, his voice tinged with amusement. You couldn't respond, the pain rendering you speechless. Instead, you nodded, burying your face in the sheets of the bed.

"I could play tic-tac-toe on your ass." He remarked playfully, setting aside the racket. Leaning in, he placed gentle kisses on the red marks, his touch tender against the lingering sting.

Things had escalated quickly. Both naked, Patrick's head was now nestled between your legs, lavishing attention on your neglected pussy. He sucked on your clit thoroughly, as if his life depended on it. Your hands tugged at his ears, now bright red and matching the color of your swollen bud. A wave of pleasure surged through you, and you moaned his name repeatedly, like a mantra.

His tongue had soon been replaced by his cock, stretching your entrance as he pounded into you with relentless force. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands tangled in his hair, and you struggled to keep up with his pace. The intensity of his thrusts reminded you of the first time Patrick had fucked you, but this time, his tongue was all over your mouth, filling it with his spit. You wondered if this was how he always acted when desperate for cunt. The sensation was overwhelming. You could feel yourself leaving your body, every muscle tensing up as you clenched hard around his dick. The orgasm surged through you, and you moaned into his mouth, your cries muffled by his eager kiss. Your body trembled, riding out the waves of pleasure as he continued to thrust, his own moans mixing with yours in a symphony of ecstasy.

"I'm about to come…" He gasped, swiftly withdrawing. He knelt over you, stroking himself as he hovered above. His gaze locked onto your breasts as he exploded all over your chest. Though you had fantasized about being covered in his semen countless times, you couldn't help but feel disappointed that all that cum was going to waste.

“This is so hot. Can I take a picture?” He queried, grabbing his phone on the bedside table. “You don’t need to ask, I would do anything for you.” You confessed, posing for the picture, eyes staring into the lens and legs parted.

●

That morning, you woke up nestled in Patrick's warm embrace. Despite the lingering soreness from the night before, you felt a rare sense of complete happiness. Patrick slept soundly beside you, his arms wrapped around you. With the match scheduled for the afternoon, you knew you had time to enjoy the quiet moment, watching his peaceful expression. It still amazed you that such a handsome man belonged to you, in a complex, undefined way, but still belonged to YOU. You cherished every part of him. The unruly eyebrows, the envy-inducing lashes, the delicate freckles on his prominent nose, his full lower lip, and the stubble that adorned his square chin. You gazed at him, knowing deep inside that you could never love anyone more. You remained there, lost in admiration for over half an hour until he stirred awake. As he opened his eyes, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, finding charm even in his morning breath.

You sat upright in bed, the sheets draped over your naked body, feeling discomfort radiate from your sore ass. Every movement seemed to intensify the pain, so you opted to recline back against the pillows. 

"What time is it?" He asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Glancing at the clock, you replied. "10:53 AM." His yawn was contagious, even though you had been awake for a while already.  "Let's get dressed and go grab lunch." He suggested, rolling off the bed to head for the shower. You briefly considered joining him but decided to use the time to text Art, reassuring him that everything was going smoothly. When Patrick emerged from the shower, towel wrapped around his hips, you couldn't help but admire him with a sense of awe. Truly, you felt like the luckiest girl alive. "Your turn." He said, nodding toward the bathroom as he moved past you.

You felt like you had reached a new step of intimacy when Patrick casually entered the bathroom to use the toilet as you brushed your teeth a short while later. He nonchalantly pulled out his dick and pissed in front of you. It seemed odd to think so, but you found it insanely hot. Not the piss part, although if Patrick had that kind of fantasies, you wouldn’t mind, but his ease around you, making you feel like you were already his wife.

An hour later, both of you were showered, dressed, and on your way to find something to eat. 

Even a trip to a burger joint with Patrick felt like a date, or at least you hoped it was. Opting for water, you mentioned feeling nauseous to justify your choice. There didn't seem to be anything remotely healthy on the menu. Meanwhile, Patrick ordered a full meal: burger, fries, and coke.

Watching him devour his food with such happiness filled you with an inexplicable sense of contentment. You couldn't suppress the smile that spread across your face as he indulged in his meal, sauce smearing his chin and nose. He looked like a child. You couldn't help but picture your future children being just as messy as he was. Perplexed by your hungry gaze, he extended a fry towards you.

"I haven't had fries in ages." You remarked as Patrick offered you one. You hesitated briefly, aware of the calorie count in just one fry. More than five. You had checked the info every single time you had craved some. The grease made you think twice, but you took a bite to please Patrick. "Don't they serve these almost every day at the cafeteria?" He asked, his mouth full. "I've been on a diet." You confessed, hoping for some praise on your efforts. Art had mentioned Patrick noticed the changes in your body. Instead, he frowned, scanning you from head to toe. "I don't think you need to diet. You're perfect as you are." Perfect? You weren’t ‘just fine’, you were perfect. The compliment shook you. "Even before? I was so chubby." You said, surprised. He fed you another fry. "I never thought you were chubby." He admitted. You knew he hadn't paid much attention to you in the past, but how had he missed that? "You hardly noticed me before. But admit it, you wouldn't have fucked me earlier this year." You said, rejecting the last fry offered. "You know why I wasn’t eyeing you before." Tashi. Or was it because of Art? "But I always thought you were hot." Did he? It was hard to believe him given his previous lack of interest. "You were always Art's hot girlfriend in my mind. Well, you are Art's hot girlfriend." He corrected himself. Why did he have to bring Art into this? You dreaded whenever his name was mentioned in the conversation, knowing it could spoil the moment. Hoping to sidestep any tension, you reached out and placed your hand on his thigh, then slid it up to his crotch, giving a gentle squeeze.

"You're insatiable, aren't you?" You shook your head playfully and kept teasing him through his shorts while sipping your water innocently. "I have to save my energy for the match." He said, removing your hand. “I would usually allow a quickie but I know that won’t be enough for the little slut that you are, so keep your hands to yourself.” He whispered into your ear. You pouted like a child at his remark. You knew the sudden name-calling, as hot as it was, was due to the mention of Art. You were starting to know Patrick by heart. He suddenly felt dirty for what he was doing to his friend so he needed to degrade you to make himself feel superior. You were the whore who seduced him. He didn’t mean to fall for it. You didn’t mind that he blamed you. What bothered you was the lack of physical touch.

If Patrick wasn't going to give you what you desired, you were determined to make his life miserable until he did.

After lunch, you chose to sunbathe on the balcony of the room. You had discarded your top to achieve an even tan. "Everyone can see you, you know." Patrick commented as he settled at the foot of your lounge chair. You shrugged. Why did he care about your breasts if they weren't going to be in his mouth? He cupped one of your tits, squeezing it. "No, save your energy for the match." You mocked, echoing his earlier remarks. "Such a whore." He pinched your nipple in reprimand for your attitude, then turned and walked back into the room.

In the hours leading up to the match, you busied yourself by dropping random objects and bending to pick them up in front of him, occasionally ‘accidentally’ brushing against his dick. You could see the frustration building in his eyes. He was fed up with you.

The drive to the court was brief, yet you couldn't resist teasing him more by slowly pulling up your skirt at every turn. You felt his gaze on your legs and chest, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Your outfit wasn't drastically different from usual, but going commando added an element of novelty, showcasing your perky nipples and tight cunt to him. He clearly didn't fully comprehend who he was dealing with.

Once he parked the car, you hopped out and helped carry his tennis equipment. If fucking you was too much for him, then carrying his rackets should be, too. You had spent the entire morning treating him like he was incapable of anything by himself. You opened doors for him, wiped the corners of his mouth, assisted with his dressing, and even offered to wipe him when he excused himself to the bathroom, always using the excuse of conserving his energy. It was obvious he was amused by the situation and also enjoyed being treated like a princess.

Standing in front of the building, he took his bag back from you. “I don’t fuck losers, so you better win.” You warned him. In truth, you didn't care about the score, but you knew he needed the motivation. You were convinced his recent losses were due to a lack of support. He needed someone to cheer for him. “I’m just saying this for you." You teased, giving his ass a playful slap. "The guy you’re playing against is kinda cute. He will do." You shrugged and climbed up the bleachers to find your spot in the audience. As you settled in, you watched Patrick disappear into the building, a smile lingering on his face.

●

The first set had been a display of Patrick's skills, his forehand blistering the lines and his serves thundering past his opponent's defenses. Cheers from the crowd echoed around the stadium, encouragement punctuated by the occasional groan of dismay from his rival. You applauded enthusiastically. Perhaps you were biased, blinded by love, but Patrick's talent on the court was undeniable. You couldn't fathom why he hadn't already won a Grand Slam.

But as the second set unfolded, you knew why. The match took a different turn. Patrick's focus wavered, and with it, his precision. Unforced errors crept into his game, and his opponent, seizing the opportunity, began to make his way back point by point. The scoreboard tilted against him, the second set slipping away 6-4.

"Zweig, come on! I know you've got more in you than that!" You shouted at him. He glanced up at you, a smirk playing on his lips. Meeting your gaze, Patrick felt a surge of determination. This match was far from decided.

Entering the decisive third set, Patrick knew he had to regain control. The tension was high as the score grew tighter with each point. Sweat covered Patrick's forehead, his muscles tense. With every stroke, he fought to assert his dominance once more, refusing to let doubt cloud his mind.

At 5-5, the match hung in the balance. Patrick served with newfound determination, his first serves finding their mark with accuracy. He broke his opponent's serve with an impressive passing shot, seizing the opportunity with a groan of victory.

Serving for the match at 6-5, Patrick felt a surge of adrenaline. His serve was met with a return, but he anticipated it perfectly, sprinting to the net to deliver a crisp strike that left his opponent stranded. Match point.

As he walked to the baseline, he caught your eye in the stands. You subtly uncrossed your legs and parted them, revealing your lack of panties to him. You didn’t care that all the court could see your pussy right now, you wanted Patrick to fully admire his prize. You could sense his distraction at the sight of you, but he swiftly refocused himself. Winning was crucial if he wanted to claim you. The final serve was met with a powerful return, but Patrick was ready. He moved forward, anticipation guiding his racket as he unleashed a cross-court winner.

The stadium erupted in an echo of applause and cheers. Patrick dropped his racket, arms raised in triumph. He had won, not just the match, but the game you both played. Amidst the applause, he searched for your beaming face in the crowd, acknowledging the essential role you had played in his victory. He wiped his face with his towel and shook his opponent’s hand. You waited until the court's audience had dispersed and the cameras were no longer rolling before you joined your man.

Leaping into Patrick's arms, you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He instinctively gripped your thighs for support, his body glistening with sweat, looking more attractive than ever before. "Congratulations!" You exclaimed, drawing him into a passionate kiss. His lips tasted salty from the sweat covering his face. "Follow me." He murmured against your lips as he carried you inside the building. If he thought he could easily shake you off now, he had another thing coming.

●

Dropping you to your feet, Patrick led you to the locker rooms, which were empty for now. He pushed you into a cubicle and locked the door behind you. The scent of the room brought back memories of the frat house’s bathroom. "You've been teasing me all day. Now, you're going to pay for it." He warned. Pay for it? How? You grinned at him, sticking your tongue out playfully. He bit down on it gently, pulling you into a deep kiss, his hands roaming over your ass, groping you possessively. “Aren’t you tired after focusing so much on your tennis?” You teased, sliding your hands down his damp shorts to grasp his ass as firmly as he was gripping yours. “You’re such a cunt.” He grabbed your hands, removing them from his shorts as he flipped you over and shoved you against the way. Your nipples hardened against the cold wall. He pulled out his hard cock and plunged himself into you without any foreplay. You gasped at the sudden penetration, feigning dismay even as you loved every second of it. “People will hear us..” You whimpered as he started thrusting into you “Let them hear, I don’t care.” He retorted sharply, thrusting into you as your moans filled the room. You ensured your cries were loud enough to trick him into giving you deeper thrusts. Gripping your neck, he kept you facing the wall as you arched your back, inviting his forceful entry. Patrick exploded inside you without warning, then withdrew, leaving you frustrated. Noises beyond the door indicated you were no longer alone. 

"I should punish you like that and not let you cum." He whispered in your ear, eliciting a whimper. "Please…" You pleaded, spreading yourself for him. "I will be good, I promise." You reached for his cock, but he slapped your hand away and re-entered you slowly, inch by inch. This was how he was making you pay for it : agonizingly slow thrusts that left you desperate. Moaning louder, you urged him to quicken his pace.

Laughter and whistles drifted through the walls, signaling that your little fun was no secret to others. Everyone knew someone was being fucked in there. 

Finally giving in, Patrick began to ram vigorously, the wet sounds of his powerful thrusts reverberating through the room as you struggled to stifle your cries. "Patrick!" You moaned, your voice muffled by the wall you were almost kissing. Your orgasm washed over you, your legs shaking as you silently thanked the wall for supporting you. He slowly pulled out and flipped you around, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.” You giggled, pulling down your skirt. You could feel his cum running down your thighs, but you didn't care if anyone noticed. You wanted to parade your used-up cunt like a trophy. Patrick’s second trophy of the afternoon. Stepping out of the cubicle had been a challenge. As you stepped out, all the players turned to look at you, their faces adorned with wide grins. They knew what had happened in there, and it truly felt like a walk of shame. However, with Patrick standing beside you, holding your hand proudly, you felt like you could face anything.

●

Both of you had just emerged from the shower, wrapped in the hotel's luxurious bathrobes. Patrick sat on the bed while you positioned yourself behind him, legs on either side, tenderly brushing his hair. "I wish it could always be like this." You murmured, as Patrick closed his eyes in bliss.  "What do you mean?" He asked. You dropped the hairbrush onto the bed and began to massage his scalp. "You and me." You replied. He sighed, already knowing where this was headed. This wasn’t the first time you had expressed your desire to be with him exclusively. A request he would simply ignore, no matter how much you would make him come to try to convince him. "I can't stand seeing their faces anymore. No one understands me quite like you."

“I don’t get you. You’re just totally freaky and I accepted it.” He said, unsure if his comment would sting. But it didn’t, it was true, and you both knew it. “Please, let me be yours.” You whispered in his ear, your breath warm against his skin. Your heart pounded as you waited for his response, hoping that this time, things might be different. Patrick leaned back into you, his body relaxing further under your touch. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and possibilities. “I won’t be demanding. I will let you do anything you want to me. I will let you use me and toss me around. And when you’re done with me, I will let you fuck every pretty thing you see and not be jealous, I promise.” 

Your pleas elicited a burst of laughter from him before he fell silent, lost in his thoughts. "We can’t." He finally admitted, his voice barely audible. "I’d be the worst friend in the world."

Your hands paused in their gentle massage, and you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "Fuck Art.. Claim me. I promise to be good." You pleaded softly, your voice a mix of desperation and longing. You eagerly began to nibble on his earlobe, craving his closeness.

Patrick turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "He’s my best friend and I already ruined things between us. This would destroy him." He replied, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

You understood that this wouldn't shatter Art. He didn't invest enough in you for it to cause any real pain. However, Patrick's betrayal would certainly sting. Yet, it would serve as the ideal pretext for Art to sever ties with Patrick, freeing himself from a friendship that held him back from Tashi.

"Plus, you probably only find this so endearing because you like chaos. You’re drawn to the secret rendez-vous, the homewrecking and the desperate fucking. I told you, you’re fucked in the head."

You sighed, resting your forehead against the back of his head. And here he was again with the agression. "You know that’s not true. I have wanted you ever since the moment I laid eyes on you. Remember the US Open Junior championship? Recall the girl waiting for Art outside the locker rooms? Did you truly believe I was waiting for Art? I simply couldn't compete with Tashi. But I promise you, I can be better than her."

He didn't respond immediately, but his hand reached up to cover yours, squeezing gently. Though he didn't speak, his subtle gesture conveyed a clear message, urging you to remain silent.

You slid off the bed and positioned yourself in front of him, loosening the belt of your bathrobe until it fell away, leaving you standing bare before him.

"Please. Tashi can’t make you come like I do.” You whispered, feeling the heat of his gaze tracing every curve of your body. You knelt before him once more, this time in a physical plea. If he sought devotion, you were prepared to demonstrate desperation.

"What about Art?" You loosened his robe and pressed your face against his crotch, nuzzling between his legs. “He can’t fuck you like I do.” You chuckled, savoring the musky scent from his balls as if it were the strongest drug. Though you had never indulged in any substances, Patrick was undeniably more addictive than anything else in the world. “I can’t do that to him…” He gazed down at you as though he were weighing the prospect of claiming you for good, even though you had been his since you were fourteen. You sensed he was on the brink of surrender. “He chose Tashi over you months ago.” You sensed his muscles tighten beneath your fingertips.

“Shut the fuck up.” His words were sharp, and so was his touch. He roughly shoved you aside, causing you to fall back onto your butt. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed up at him, searching for a hint of the connection you thought you shared. But it was clear : Art mattered more to him than you ever could. 

"Please" You whispered, voice trembling with a mix of heartbreak and anger.

Patrick's eyes were cold, devoid of the passion that burned between you a couple of hours ago. "You’re the one who fucked up, he didn’t do anything. They didn’t do anything." He replied, his tone harsh and unyielding. Of course, you were the only one to blame. "It started as a game, but now... I can't do this." 

“Now what?” The weight of his silence crushed you, the realization that this relationship had no future was cutting deeper than any physical pain.

“Tell me you don’t like me and I will leave you alone...” Without saying anything, he looked at you with conflicted eyes, then turned away abruptly, leaving you with a heavy silence that spoke volumes.

●

Patrick hadn’t uttered a single word at the hotel after that. The only time he spoke was to urge you to get dressed, as it was time to return to campus. The car ride back to the university was painfully silent, with only the radio and your muffled sobs breaking the quiet.

Once close to the campus, he pulled the car over to the side of the road, turning off the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. He turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and pain. The silence stretched on, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you leaned over and kissed him. For a moment, he kissed you back with a desperate intensity that made your heart ache. But then he pulled away, breathless and shaken.

"I do care about you. More than I ever thought I would.” He whispered so quietly you had to strain to hear him. In that moment, it felt like there were only the two of you in the world. Those were the words you had been dying to hear, and it felt like he was only willing to admit them out loud once. Patrick Zweig cared about you. Maybe not as much as you cared about him, but it was a start. You were confident you could find a way to make him love you.

With a smile, you reached over to his crotch and slid your hand down his shorts, massaging him. That was the thing with Patrick, you didn’t know how to show your affection in any other way than through your body. Everything else felt...forbidden. Was it because you were in a relationship? Not exactly. Was it because you had idolized this man for so long that he had become some kind of god to you? Most likely. Patrick seemed unreal to you, and feeling his body was the only way to make sure he was real. He allowed himself to get lost in your touch for a moment, moaning at the sensation before abruptly stopping you. “Fuck, you’re truly mad.” He removed your hand from down his pants. “We can’t. Let’s drive you back.”

You had imagined countless ways to convince him to keep you. You could remain his side piece for the rest of your life, offering him your body before he went home to his wife and kids. Yet, you were certain he would find a way to reject you anyway. Deep down, you knew it all came down to his loyalty to Art, not your relationship with him. Now, you were parked in front of the campus.

“I love you.” You had wanted to tell him that ever since you first noticed him at fourteen. Saying it felt like the most natural thing in the world, it felt as natural as breathing. You nibbled on your lower lip, looking at him with hopeful eyes. You didn’t expect him to reciprocate because you knew he couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t. No one in the world could love as fiercely as you loved him. But you needed him to acknowledge it. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if absorbing your words. Taking a deep breath, he nodded in response to your confession. Of course, he already knew. 

He unlocked the door, signaling for you to leave. Reluctantly, you opened the car door and stepped out. Patrick took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Take care of Art." Not a word for you.

"I will." You lied, your voice barely audible. You did not give two fucks about that asshole. You despised him and hated your relationship with him. Just thinking about him made you feel nauseous.

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving behind the shattered remnants of a relationship that was never meant to be. For a fleeting moment, you considered stepping in front of the car and ending it all, hoping he might finally take you seriously and feel enough pity to let you stay even just an afterthought in his mind. But when you looked back, he was already far gone.

●

Not knowing what to do now that your life had been shattered, you wandered to Art’s dorm, hoping to find some comfort. You knocked on his door with urgency until he finally opened it. “Fuck, are you okay?” He asked, noticing your tear-streaked face and runny nose. “No…” You admitted, unable to hide the heartbreak you were experiencing. “Is she okay?” Who? Oh, right, your aunt. You remembered the lie you had concocted to slip away with Patrick. “She’s really not doing well. I think she’s going to die.” You replied, knowing deep down you were really talking about yourself.

Wrapped in Art’s bed, cocooned by the blanket, your face nestled against his neck while his hands traced gentle patterns on your back. Using him to dull the lack of Patrick had become a habit over the months, but now it felt unsettling, almost like betraying him. “I can’t keep lying to you. There’s someone else. Or there was.” You murmured against his skin, sensing his body tense beneath yours. “I already know.” He confessed. He knew? Why would he persist in perpetuating this farce of a relationship? The only rationale behind this seemed to be that the relationship held some benefit for him. Was it the intimacy? The status it afforded in Tashi’s eyes? “How did you find out?” You asked, seeking clarity on the matter.

“First of all, you never feel like doing it anymore, and you’re the horniest person I know.” He said. You barely had enough energy to fuck him, plus you couldn’t scrub yourself hard enough to remove the dirty feeling. “You have marks that I know aren’t just accid—” He poked at the bruise on your thigh, an obvious bite mark. 

“And you don’t care?” You cut him off. You withdrew slightly to study his eyes, but he remained silent, offering no response. “God, you really don’t care.” You slightly raised your voice at him. You disentangled yourself from his embrace and slid out of the bed. Standing before him, hands firmly planted on your hips, you confronted him directly. “I truly wonder what I am to you. Don’t you think I went and fucked someone else because I just got tired of my boyfriend ignoring me to spend so much time with his ‘friend’ Tashi…?” You emphasized the word 'friend'. It was wrong, shifting the blame for your infidelity onto him. But you couldn't help it. You couldn't bear to be the villain in this story. Patrick was your soulmate, and Art was just there in the meantime.

“You know she needs us." Art attempted to explain, perched on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on you. "Us? She doesn’t need me, believe me." You reassured him. Tashi couldn't care less about you, and now that she was out of Patrick's life, you felt no obligation to keep her in yours. "Maybe because you're playing besties with her ex." He said, the way he phrased it sparking doubt about what he truly knew. Was he aware of your secret relationship with Patrick?

"Maybe someone needs to. You barely treat him like he's your best friend. And for what? Because he satisfies your little girlfriend in ways you never could?" You intended to talk about Tashi, but the parallels with your own situation felt uncomfortably apt. From the way Art glared at you, it was clear he understood the message perfectly. "You're a coward, Art. If you made a move, you could have her. But you prefer your comfort. You like having me around to keep your dick wet, but you don't love me. I'm just convenient." His eyes were red, though he wasn't shedding tears. You couldn't discern if he was sad or simply enraged. That was the perpetual challenge with Art : his reluctance to communicate. Even now, he maintained a stubborn silence. "Why her, by the way? Is it because she chose Patrick and you can't get over it? Just fuck her already. Get it out of your system. Or maybe you already have? Did she get down on her fucked-up knee and worship your talent?" You regretted mentioning Tashi's knee, but it was at the heart of the matter. The catalyst for everything.

“I fucked someone else and you won’t even react. Call me a whore, insult me, be disgusted by me. I don’t care, just say something. Grow some balls and end things with me.” You practically begged him. Patrick had no issue calling you all the names in the world. Why couldn't Art do the same?

"Let's end it." He finally muttered. You weren't sure if that was truly what he wanted, but it was definitely what you desired, and the ever-so-accommodating Art might have just said it to please you.

“Finally.” You clapped at him, more mocking than applauding his courage. "Thanks for everything." Grabbing your shoes, you left his room without looking back. Walking barefoot down the dorm hallway, a lump formed in your throat and tears streamed down your cheeks. You were crying. Who would have thought Art fucking Donaldson would ever make you cry?

You wouldn’t miss Art, but you couldn’t believe that you had let the opportunity to be with the man of your dreams slip away because of a relationship that had ended with a snap of a finger. Art had shattered your life's blueprint, the plans you had crafted since adolescence.

●

You were finally free, and you had to tell Patrick right away. At last, you could be together with the man you were meant to be with. Practically sprinting through the corridor, you hoped to reach your room before his bedtime. Grabbing your laptop, you opened AIM, hoping to see a message from him. Thank goodness he was online, but there was nothing from him. You clicked on his username and opened your chat box, scrolling through the dozens of nude pictures you had sent him. 

You: I just broke up with him. Can I see you, please? Patrick: You truly love making my life insanely complicated.

You watched the "typing" indicator flash, but despite your endless waiting, nothing ever appeared on the screen. He was now offline. In a final desperate attempt, you sent him a ‘Please,’ only to be met with an automated response:

zweigpat can't receive IMs right now. Status is unavailable or offline.

●

As you lay in bed, tears staining your cheeks, you couldn't shake the feeling of rejection that hung heavy in the air. The weight of Patrick's silence felt suffocating, leaving you to wonder if he had blocked you out of his life completely.

Hours passed, the room growing darker as evening fell. Your stomach rumbled with hunger, yet you felt emotionally drained, as if life had been sucked out of you. A knock on the door shattered the silence, momentarily pulling you out of your misery. Could it be Art offering explanations? He had to be the last person you wished to see at this moment. Was it Tashi coming for a fight? She would destroy you. You had to admit, dying in her hands sounded quite sweet at the moment.

You hesitated before making your way to the door, the anticipation gnawing at your insides. With a shaky hand, you turned the doorknob, half expecting to see Art standing there with a remorseful expression. Instead, you were met with the sight of Patrick, his face etched with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in his presence, your mind struggling to process the sudden turn of events.

Before you could say anything, Patrick had closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. It felt surreal, almost too good to be true. There he was, standing before you. Patrick Zweig. And he was yours.

He yearned for you with an intensity you had never seen before. His desperation for your touch, his craving for your lips and body, his longing for your love. All of it consumed him completely, making him a shell of himself. The roles were now reversed, and Patrick Zweig, once unattainable, now laid vulnerable at your feet. The power had shifted to your side. The longing in his eyes, the very thing you had waited for since you were fourteen, now seemed pitiful. He truly looked pathetic, and a twinge of revulsion began to creep into your thoughts. Patrick Zweig was yours and it felt disgusting.

♠♣♥♦

Tagging : @starrgurl46 @egcdeath @izzywags478 @serenadingtigers @justzluv

n/a : Here is part 2 of Silent Devotion. I'm not sure if this calls for another sequel. Is this turning into a series? I don't know, to be fair. I like writing about obssessive!reader (even though, she's not as remotely freaky as she was in part one) but it's always A LOT. I lose sleep over this. I also love that we got to see more of Patrick in this. Hope you liked it! (The amount of researches I had to do about facebook in 2006 and AIM.... I don't want to talk about it.)

See you next time!

[helloyellow17]

Idk man I might get torn to shreds for saying this, but I simply cannot understand the new trend, particularly among younger internet users, where people write a laundry list of their triggers in their bio and then expect everyone to read and cater to said list on a PUBLIC PLATFORM.

This is the same mentality that drives people to attack appropriately tagged fics on AO3 for having x y or z content because “How dare you post this when I have trauma about this???” Obviously if someone is going to write a super heavy and highly sensitive fic and NOT tag it properly, they ought to be called out on it. But this isn’t about that, it’s about the people who don’t curate their own content, it’s about the people who enter public spaces and demand that the general public cater to THEM specifically.

Additionally: Listing out your triggers for everyone to see is just ASKING for trolls to come into your inbox and flood you with triggering content. (Unfortunately, as much as we would like to believe otherwise, the internet is full of selfish jerks who don’t give a crap about anybody’s trauma.) Not only this, but the algorithm does not read your bio. The algorithm does not care about your triggers unless YOU make sure to block specific tags and content.

YOU are responsible for curating your own content, and nobody else.

Obviously this is not to say people shouldn’t try to tag their posts for common triggers, because that’s the common courtesy thing to do. But if Becky has a phobia of bees, it is on her to block that tag and curate her feed around it, and she does not get the exclusive right to suddenly demand that nobody talk about bees within a ten mile radius of her. If Alec has a phobia of dogs, then it is well within his right to avoid contact with them, but he doesn’t get to go to a public park and yell at anybody who brings their dog there. It is his responsibility to know his own limits and seek out parks that are dog-free. (If someone brings a dog to a dog-free area, that’s a whole different issue that I won’t be getting into rn but yes, the person who does that is in the wrong there.)

The internet is widely a public space. If you want to create a safe space completely and utterly free of your specific triggers, you have to put the work in to make that space for yourself. You don’t get to ask other internet strangers to do it for you.

I’m saying this out of genuine concern (and admittedly, frustration) because there are so many young teens in fandom nowadays who don’t understand this, and they end up putting themselves in extremely vulnerable and even downright dangerous situations because they don’t understand that putting your well-being in the hands of a stranger is a terrible idea.

Please be safe, and for the love of all that is holy, be reasonable. Curating your content yourself is just as much a protection for you as it is a vital key that allows public communities to function.

[g0dlyunsub]

hey!!! Ugh I just love your account! I have a request for Spencer Reid x fem reader!! Can you do one where he is always working and it makes the reader upset bc he is cancelling dates and coming home late and kinda neglects her feelings and doesn't really notice how much it affects her and how sad she gets and then he misses their anniversary dinner and she breaks and tells him that it makes her upset when he's gone all the time and he just feels so awful bc he's so in love with her and never wants her to feel that way because of him and apologizes and reassures her and makes sure she feels loved!!

ty for the request and i loved the idea for this one!

wishful thinking.

pairing :: spencer x fem!reader

warnings :: angst with a fluffy ending; very mild makeout session at the end :3

word count :: 2.4k

author’s note :: i kind of giggled at the ending as i was writing it, but i’m pretty proud of how this one turned out!

accompanying song :: neverthere by xander

spencer’s phone is quite literally the bane of your existence.

you know what to expect whenever it rings, so you hate when it actually does – its earthquaking vibrations and trilled beeps tear the happiness straight out of you.

it’s the second date in a row that he’s had to pass, and you wonder if you should just stop trying so hard. was it selfish to want to have him all to yourself, to have him seated right across from you, sharing your laughter as you pass him his plated pasta? were you expecting too much, imagining a serene life with him ten years down the road, perhaps with kids or pets of your own? was it unfair to think that you could craft a lie, telling him your stomach hurt really bad, so bad that you would have to curl up on the floor and pray he’d stay by your side just this once to comfort you?

all you ever wanted was spencer. more specifically, you wanted spencer during your first three dates, when he’d silence all of his phone calls, and wave them off like nothing even though you insisted he take them. maybe if you didn’t bring up the importance of taking work calls, none of this would have ever happened. maybe it was all coming back to bite you for your non-confrontational nature, since you could never plead him to actually stay.

but he’s your boyfriend… and that’s all that matters, right? after all, he has lives to save – people whose names are called out during prayers day and night by their loved ones as they cling on to the sliver of hope that your boyfriend and his team promise during the darkest hours. granted, spencer would drop everything if you were in a similar situation, but none of your problems have actually been life-threatening. but a girl can dream, can’t she? your first anniversary date was when spencer promised to make amends, a formal compensation for all of the past dates that he missed and left you feeling empty on your shared bed, stains of mascara chalked up on your dry cheeks.

“i’m so sorry, honey, i’ve just been… called in for work,” spencer stands, dusting the napkin that was folded nicely on his lap. you watch as he takes a sip of his glass of water, then walks over to you to plant a kiss on your forehead.

he runs his fingers along the velvety texture of the sleeves of your dress, and you offer him a weak smile.

“it’s okay, duty calls, right?” you feel the tears surfacing and you have to fight yourself to not blink. it’s too early to cry.

“i-it’s a really bad one this time, and i hate to do this on such an important day-” spencer begins to apologize frantically, and his face marks an expression of genuine concern with his brows furrowing and lips twitching.

“it’s okay. you need to go, i understand.” you state plainly, and you immediately feel shameful – your words are too assertive and snarly for how you normally respond.

spencer pauses briefly, fidgeting with his fingers, before he gives a slight nod in your direction. he then walks over to the couch, grabs a book, and tightens the clasps on his bag. 

“i’ll be back as fast as i can,” spencer utters quietly and walks out of the door. when the apartment door locks with a click, you break down immediately.

at first, the tears fall one by one. but then, a salty stream evident of pure emotional wreckage makes its way into the slight gap of your lips, and it’s an unstoppable domino effect. your shoulders shudder and heave as you struggle to catch breaths in between, and you splutter cries of your boyfriend’s name. 

maybe it would’ve been better to just stay as conversational partners, to exchange updates once in a while when he’d actually commit to a time. it was your fault for getting your hopes up high, and all of this – fanciful dinner and dressing your best for the occasion – was wishful thinking. you just didn’t want to admit it.

“y/n?” 

you look up to see spencer in front of the doorway, and his bag that was barely holding on to his shoulder drops to the floor with a thud.

you quickly look away, brushing the tears away with one arm and sniffle before choking out a response.

“i thought you left already, why are you here?” again, your words come out icier than you had hoped and hit you with a sharp pang of guilt.

spencer narrows his eyes ever so slightly as if he’s scrutinizing you, observing your body language. it doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re upset.

“i was going to. realized i forgot-,”

he clears his throat when you raise your eyebrows and proceeds, "i misplaced my wallet."

he slips out of his loafers, shoving aside his pair of converses that lie adjacent to your pretty pair of heels. he walks over to you, and you realize that you’re still seated at the dining table. you must look so stupid right now, waiting as if he’d just be returning from a bathroom break.

“i need to head out, but i promise… i promise we’ll talk about this really soon. we’ll have the anniversary dinner and-”

“did you even try?” you blurt out, and you look up at him with your puffy eyes glazed with tears.

a deathly silence clouds over the entire apartment, and you’re thinking of two options: leave the apartment and go run to a friend’s place, or confront him and see whether making amends – again, wishful thinking – would be possible.

“y/n. please believe me when i say that i’ve tried to, i’ve tried-”

you slam a hand to the table before standing up, your face twisting into an expression of outrage.

“no, because then you would’ve silenced it. you would’ve cut the call, just like you used to.” you fire your words at him as your hair sticks to the drying tears on your cheeks, and you begrudgingly wipe at your face. 

a slow sigh escapes from spencer’s lips, and he looks at you with those eyes – the eyes that seemingly warn you, saying you don’t want to go there. not right now.

but you double down on him, the rage fueling your words as you lash out. 

“it was just this one time. i only wanted you to stay for dinner just this one time.” you helplessly drop your hands to your sides, the tears landing on the floor with soft plops.

“i know. and i’m terribly sorry.” spencer bites his bottom lip and takes a step toward you. but you take a step back, and maybe that pulls a string between the two of you, because you can see how his shoulders tense up.

“look, can we talk about this when i get back? i’ll make it up to you, i swear.” he combs through his hair, the stress almost palpable as it leaks from his shaking fingers.

while you know he has to head out again, the way he so easily brushes off the conversation like it’s something he doesn’t even want to think about feeds into your disbelief. soon, however, your anger subsides into a tired frown. 

“i don’t know, you might come home late… when i’m asleep or something.” you look at the wall where a photo of the two of you is framed, and you weakly smile at how happy you seemed then. 

“i’ll give you a call, is that okay?” he searches your face for any signs of approval, but you’re zoned out thinking about the past, of how everything used to be.

“whatever, just go.” you wave him off and walk to the couch, where you lie down and turn against him to face the plush fabric.

spencer sighs, and his hand looms over your head momentarily before he grabs his wallet from the table. you hear a faint sorry trail from behind as he leaves the room, and your nails claw at the arms of the couch before the darkness cradles you once again.

it’s 10:30 pm, and you hear the doorknob click again. you had just cleaned up the dishes after eating dinner alone and left his portion in the fridge. you were now changed into your pajamas and getting ready for your night routine.

you peep out of your bedroom door to see spencer, his suit all wet. he looks at you as he takes off his shoes, and a sullen expression paints his face. did it start raining after he left? you realize that you were mostly cooped up in the bedroom since his departure, so you wouldn’t have known.

bravely looking up at him in the eye, you state: “you came back early.” you hate how unwelcoming you sound in his own home.

he pauses before he sets his wet bag on the floor and removes his blazer jacket to throw over a chair. 

he approaches you, hands in his pockets and hair twisted in matted curls. 

“hm.” he grabs a towel from the closet and makes his way to the shower, brushing past your shoulder. you feel an icy shudder spread through your spine after he closes the bathroom door.

was he giving you the silent treatment right now? 

you hear the water start from the bathroom and you sink into your bed while turning to twist the lamp lights on.

after all that torturous waiting you went through, he was giving you the silent treatment?

fifteen minutes later, a knock reverberates from the other side of the bedroom door, and even though you don’t respond, spencer steps in. he’s changed into a t-shirt and black pajama pants, and he drops next to you on the bed.

“i’m taking the week off.” 

the sentence startles you, and it’s something so unexpected you choke on your own saliva.

“what, what do you mean you’re taking the week off?” you ask him, finally turning to face him in the eyes. his brown irises blaze into your own.

“i’ve been pushing off everything you wanted to do with me — things that I wanted to do with you — and i’ve just been…” he turns away to play with the wrinkles on his pants as he speaks, picking out the dust that lies embedded between the folds.

he pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a deep sigh. he continues, “i don’t know if it’s all worth it.”

silence casts a blanket over the two of you.

“spence,” you say after a while, and hesitantly lay a hand on his thigh.

“nothing’s more important in the world to me than you. you and your happiness. i know you love this job and i know you love helping people. you’re such a kind hearted man, and it’s why i fell in love with you in the first place.”

when spencer gives you no response, you confess: “spence, i get jealous sometimes.”

this time his eyes widen, and he looks at you.

“you do?” he asks softly, peering into your eyes and you cave instantly. 

“of course i do. it’s… everybody wants you, spencer. we all need you, whether we realize it or not.”

he scoffs.

“but i only want you.”

his voice is raspy yet mellow at the same time, the smoothest stream of sweetness seeping through your eardrums. god. you can never stay mad at this gorgeous man, the same man that made you cry on numerous occasions just counting the past week.

“you need to do more than that, if you… you know.” you quietly murmur as you fidget with the hem of your nightgown.

“i know,” he speaks with a hushed tone. “i told hotch, and i told him it was going to happen whether he liked it or not. the demands of this job are… tough, but i don’t want to miss out on all the things we planned together. i won’t.”

you start bawling right when he delivers the last word, and all the tears that you were holding back spill over your flushed cheeks. your boyfriend immediately leans in to console you, pulling you into a tight embrace as his chin rests on top of your head. 

it’s okay, he murmurs reassuringly. you ease into his touch, and you realize how much you missed this. how much you missed spending time with him.

his left hand tugs lightly at your soft hair while his right rubs your back in smooth circles. 

“i missed you,” you speak with a hushed voice, looking up into his eyes as a glassy coat of tears blur your vision. 

he cups your face with his hands before whispering, “i missed you too.”

you continue to blabber words of love-stained anguish but he cuts you off short, pulling you in for a short kiss on your lips, which are now tainted with your tears.

“you taste… salty,” he whispers, giving you a slight smile as he brushes off the rest of your tears that weigh down on your eyelashes.

“it’s because of you, silly,” you drawl as you taste the salty residue of your tears.

yeah, spencer responds hesitantly. but he’s wearing a small smile, tilting his head to one side as his eyes emit a glint of tranquilizing peace.

he reaches into his pajama pocket and takes out a piece of candy. you curiously watch as his fingers quickly remove the wrapper, revealing a glazed cherry-flavored sphere. 

“may i?” he asks, and his faint voice is a gravitational force that you can’t resist.

you briefly respond with a lazy hm? before he plops the candy into your mouth and kisses you again. the sweetness explodes like fireworks with his warm breath, and the sticky layer of sugar melts like acid on your intertwined tongues. you let out a satisfied hum when you pull back, and it’s undeniably attractive the way spencer licks the corner of his lips.

a tear falls from your eye again, and this time, it’s not out of sorrow.

[radiance1]

DnD au where either the batfam or some mebers of the Justice League get taken into a game.

Who's the game master? Both Vlad and Ghost Writer. Ghost Writer makes the overall world while Vlad voices everything and adapts on the fly when the 'players' do things they didn't expect.

The thing that I'm thinking about here is that Danny is a Naga, and in his lore he's actually a very important and powerful person, either politically or physically. Probably physically, but he constantly plays the damsel in distress for like, no reason.

The boy just genuinely likes to play the damsel in distress even through he's actually quite powerful in the grand scheme of things.

But here's the thing.

The batfam/Justice League don't know that.

They just think he's a very unlucky monster guy who keeps landing himself into dangerous situations and calls for them to save him when he's in trouble and, them being heroes, they save him every time.

The opposite of Jazz, really.

Who is a badass character that, at the start of the entire thing, saved the players from one thing or another at times and then helped them in battle in the later game while also secretly being a very important character in the lore just like Danny.

Is Jazz also a Naga? I don't know, had me thinking that she was more of an Amazon or something like that. But she could be a Naga not gonna lie.

AnYWYAS.

How are Danny and Jazz important? Well, I would like to think that they are actually royalty. Like, full blown very important royals from a very big and powerful kingdom or empire.

Danny would be a Naga prince, and depending on if Jazz is a Naga or Amazon she could be either a queen or princess.

Whatever the case, the two of them would make comments about each other. Danny's comments being about how, maybe when starting out, the players aren't his usual savior and stuff like that, with Jazz's comments being that saving the players quite reminds her of a specific little Naga she constantly has to save.

Maybe Vlad sees this and decides that Danny and Jazz become a link to give the players something that they, well, missed (Low chance if Batman is there, but then again that's gonna depend on if the Batfam are in their hero or civilian personas). Like maybe a comment here, a clue there, an item given.

Stuff like that.

I feel like Danny curls his tail around whoever saves him and leans heavily into the damsel in distress act, going on and on about "Oh my hero!" and all that. Some might think there would be a problem with that, but Danny weighs absolutely nothing, carrying him is literally like holding a feather.

Which is concerning because he has both a long and beefy tail that should make him weigh waaaaay more than he actually does.

Jazz definitely carries everyone in a princess carry, regardless of gender and regardless of who it is. Has a modified carry for Danny in regards to his tail but that's really it.

Maybe the players get sneak peaks that there's something more in regard to their constant damsel and randomly spawning ally. Maybe knowing them gives them access to stuff they, reasonably, shouldn't and when they're present with the group, their presence changes some things.

This was honestly just an excuse for Danny to be a damsel in distress, not gonna lie.

[dykedvonte]

You ever just see a Mouthwashing take that makes you want to bang your head into a wall? I literally just saw someone claim Curly couldn't have been emotionally abused by Jimmy before the crash because he was in a higher position of power than Jimmy.

-Shrimp Anon

The mouthwashing fandom has shown me that people genuinely do believe that certain types of abuse are not as detrimental as other types especially when they deem those immune/resistant, ergo, believing one is objectively worse no matter how it affects the person nor the intersections of power, history and dynamics at play.

Get ready cause this is a yap session:

Cause like it's heavily implied that Curly and Jimmy's friendship was toxic and abusive, pointedly in the direction of how Jimmy uses Curly's belief/comfort in him. Curly wasn't forced to enable Jimmy but he was emotional and mentally on edge around him in almost every scene in some way. Mental and emotional abuse are not contingent on what positions you have at work. Yeah, he's Jimmy's boss but he was Jimmy's friend first and it's like getting into Psych discussion to talk about how social power tends to overshadow any perceived organizational power in the human mind. People are concerned about their jobs ofc but they tend to hang onto and put more value/investment into their personal relationships, hence why there tends to be laws and restrictions around mixing the two.

I always see the sentiments that "Curly is a grown ass man", "Curly is bigger than Jimmy", "Curly is Jimmy's boss", "He just needed a backbone" as criticisms of Curly and while I do agree that on the surface level all of these to be true and viable ways Curly could've taken more control of the situation, I often look at the parallels of Anya and Curly as victims of Jimmy pre/post crash.

The way Jimmy talks to Anya post crash is how he talked to Curly in the pre-crash segments. It's hard to pin-point mainly because we know he hates and wants nothing to do with Anya compared to his contrary but similarly handled obsessions with Curly. It's a weird sort of "honey-moon" effect of abuse Jimmy does in terms of emotional and mental victimization. He is always horrid to Anya, always talking down or questioning her abilities and thoughts in a situation, this of course includes the harassment and assault. However, he has a moment of attempted gentleness/conditioning when he question her about the mouthwash when she's contemplating drinking it at the table. The key difference is he has no personal investment in Jimmy outside wanting nothing to do with him, meaning there is no sort of romanticized version of him that he can condition her off of. He knows this, hence, why he always reverts to trying to make her to scared to oppose him.

This sort of give and take of "kindness" doesn't work on her because she knows he is just doing it to take more from her than whatever he could possibly give but it reflects even the "softer" scenes between him and Curly where he always rewords or rephrases Curly's sentiments and concerns to sound more shallow. He is feigning a deeper understanding by reworking Curly's emotions into something bad and needing to be hidden. Everything is laced with envy and resentment, an outburst just around the corner, I mean he even slams the table in the birthday party scene, a tactic in emotional manipulation to set the victim on edge and cloud their ability to respond. Even if Curly knows Jimmy won't get physical in that moment, the physical actions is intended to make him back down in the confrontation in case it does. This is something that is just not person specific. It ingrains itself into how you interact with the world and life and it shows in major and minor ways with Curly.

Post-crash, the abusive nature is more in tandem to the physical victimization Anya went through and the stripping of voice and autonomy we see take place. Like the parasite in HFIM, Jimmy speaks for Curly most of the time and puts words in his mouth, similarly to how he takes Anya's plans as his own. He very commonly, with the both of them mind you, supplements the worst aspects of himself into them; pettiness, selfishness, lack of understanding... And tries to cover himself with their best qualities; kindness, planning, initiative, etc...

These parallel are just to say that positional power has little to do with if a person can be abused and how it can even be flipped to further the abuse. There is no doubt that Curly could've picked up on Jimmy's envy of his position hence another reason he never confronted him as a Captain but as a friend as doing so would immediately put Jimmy in a space to be confrontational/combative.

I think the disdain some people have when they talk about the heavily implied if not implicitly stated emotional/mental abuse Curly experienced being Jimmy's friend is when treating it as an excuse to why he didn't do more. I can understand that completely because it is not an excuse to why he didn't do more but is a very real reason people in his position in these scenarios can experience whether in the context of a work or social environment. However, I also think the way people talk about it really does demonstrate a bigger problem when talking about abuse when somehow who is/was abused is either part of the issue or enabled it.

Harkening back to the sentiments about Curly's inaction regarding Jimmy, I think the exact phrases I used/have seen show how there is an inherent belief that it is easier to overpower the effects of emotional/mental abuse that go in tandem with the perception of Curly as someone who should be able to. There is not an age you suddenly stop being susceptible to abuse nor a set point or low where you realize how it has affected you. You don't suddenly know to stand up or put a face on to face your abuser nor admit that you inadvertently enabled them to subjugate someone else to the same treatment. Maybe it's my psych brain but their is this growing belief that direct action is somehow easy or always the best method with the game shows you instances where it is not always the case. In real life that rings true too. He should have done more, but it's not impossible to see why he struggled to find a way or didn't even if it makes us mad.

It's not easy to suddenly gain a "back-bone". You don't immediately want to resort to aggression, especially if it mirrors the type you were a victim to. You don't want to believe you allowed yourself to be treated this bad, let it get that bad or allowed something bad to happen to someone else. It is easy to be in denial, to retreat to your thoughts or make excuses to avoid the painful truth. It's frustrating but in a way we know is relatable. It why we both hate and love Curly for it. We know we'd be better, we think we'd be better, we like to think we wouldn't falter in the same ways but it's always easier to say that from the outside looking in. It's easy to see what he was doing wrong because we are seeing it, not him, but the game really does make you picture what you would do if this was your raw reality and it's why this debate about Curly seems so never ending/contradictory. We can all say what we'd do but bottom line is that's much different when you're in the moment with all the emotions and human feelings attached.

I personally think Mouthwashing tackles the themes of rape culture, enabling, toxic masculinity, types of abuse and patriarchy in ways that are meant to deconstruct the typical straightforward views we mostly have of these concepts and how little subtilities of them are just as, if not more, detrimental than the overt/obvious parts. The game deals with the idea of little details and bigger picture in a way to show that sometimes the bigger picture is not the issue but the little details that make it up. It's why I have a personal dislike of depictions of Jimmy as the typical horrible person who would of course do something like this because the game is about noticing the little warning signs, the foreshadowing and foresight.

It's why I dislike the typical discussion of "bro code" and "boys will be boys" for the game because the game makes a point to avoid the standard depictions of such. It is about the type of men who still enable despite not condoning, agreeing or even perpetuating harmful beliefs because they can't see the little details or the ways it seeps into their everyday. The severity is not obvious to them as it was not obvious to Curly, Swansea or even Daisuke the way it was to a woman like Anya. There are little details about Jimmy that should ring alarms but if you are too naive like Daisuke, too distant like Swansea or too conditioned like Curly, they are just off markers.

There is 100% more constructive/concise ways to say "Curly was a victim of Jimmy's abuse on an emotional and mental aspect that clouded his judgements and perceptions in the scenario" while also critiquing on the side of "Curly still had a responsibility to protect Anya as a crew mate and Captain that he failed to do due to biases and stigma's he failed to surpass" without the weird condemnation people give him about should've knowing better than to let himself be manipulated by a person he considered a close, if not family/best-friend and had his own reasons to trust initially. Also stop being weird about victims of abuse in general with this fandom, like sorry not everyone has a like social epiphany the moment someone's nasty to them. People are treating it like you immediately know when you are in a toxic relationship immediately or comprehend when a person is actively dangerous and either it's your fault for not knowing how to leave/cut them off or you deserve it. Like the hypocrisy of people believing how certain fans treat the story reflect their irl views but not their own is crazy.

End statement is: I honestly don't even know man, I've been writing this too long and just like no man on that ship was perfect or really helped Anya when it mattered and I feel like pitting them against each other in discussion on who did the least or most or how it was justified sucks cause in the end Anya always did the most and best thing for herself.

[therealslimshakespeare]

Hi! I’m an environmental eng girly myself so I’m sort of very interested in this (and also a new reader so please bear with me if I’m lacking on some knowledge here). The 1950s were just generally a very interesting time for women in stem/ engineering but obviously not great for equality still. For example, since you mentioned that Lu is from Texas, in the 1950s there were roughly 700 engineers working with the Highway Dpt of Texas and only THREE were women. So I’m curious, how does Lu handle/ cope with being in a field that would have her be surrounded entirely by men? She would very likely be the only women in most of her classes and professional endeavours. And I know you mentioned that when she works on that Twisters inspired Tornado project with those military boys, all of them love and adore her which I LOVE! Because she’s so smart and such a genius so it makes my heart really happy to see that that allows her to command respect 🥰 But in college, how does she manage being in a space with all these guys who might not all respect her (god like uni eng guys are a special brand of asshole, I’m not saying all of them but some…). Because I’m being so real- that is still an issue in engineering and still something that my girl friends and I have experienced/ felt 😅 And then also with environmental engineering specifically a lot of the work is sort of… rural and isolated. Like you won’t be working in a big crowded space a lot of the time. And being with all those guys, (also like… again, college guys are just a special brand of asshole? I feel like every girl would be out of her comfort zone if she were to be around only them, even now) is that something that induces anxiety for her? Does she ever worry that “putting herself in that position” is inviting anything similar to the horrific violence she’s already gone through? And then on the fluffier side, HOW does she persevere?! Because again we know she wasn’t doing well? I get the vibes from the asks that she was genuinely very depressed and not at all in a good place. So I’m just so intrigued by this era of hers. Anyways this is sooo long and convoluted feel free to ignore it haha. It’s just something that is so interesting to me I love this woman in stem so much 🥰 But yeah I’m interested in her college days and how she handles her horrible mental health, a very very shitty boyfriend and THIS on top of it all.

Oh and to add, we know that Ida worries for her often (along with the rest of the trinity), is she ever concerned about Lu being in those sorts of situations? Because Ida has so much complex trauma of her own (remember in Hardwoods how she has that thought that being alone with men is courting violence!!!!!!!!!!!) and she had to SEE Lu being assaulted? Just wondering because I love these two. And the rest of the trinity I guess. I know my parents would be🤧

Aaaaah see now you’re educating me about the Texan engineering!!! Omg that’s so cool. I knew it had to be slim pickings but goodness, three? Yeah, wow, ok then Lu, ya got your work cut out for you. Also, Nonnie, you’re so cool, I feel special for you gracing my inbox 🥰

Oh yes, just from acquaintance I am somewhat familiar with the engineer bro vibe, ha. Having come from the army has to help her a little. So far in the story we’ve focused on all the boys who love and take care of the girls as integrated into themselves, but you know there were the assholes in the 100th about it and you KNOW there were absolute pigs in the stalag, too. So it’s not a fully new issue. But, somehow this is even more secluded, likely? So, it’s intense.

I think she’s already very withdrawn during this era so she’s not trying to make friends with them all, if they’re assholes she does her best to keep her head down and then enjoys smoking them at tests or in the field. If they wanna play a practical joke to sabotage her?!- oh well, they shouldn’t have picked on Bucky Egan’s daughter. But omg, for all these women there’s the question of if they’re inviting that violence again by pursuing these careers and that’s so horrible to even be considered but it’s so real!!! My girl has her brass knuckles though, the (pretty worthless social friends from Spencer’s crowd) and a will of iron. This is the field she wants to work in, she always did and she happened to go to kindergarten in war for it but by god she’s gonna keep at it through college.

Also. Not wanting to fail. I think depressed and miserable as she might’ve been, failing (she’s so like Gale lemme go scream) would be worse than anything that could happen to her while she was trying. She’s so dogged about it, and this is something of her own, it’s not her crew and it’s not her squadron, it’s her. She’s doing this, and she might as well not get up again if she fails, I think is her attitude…when she’s so down, ya know?

Ida…for a long time Ida lives in a world where everyone could potentially be awful. She can’t contextualize it well. It takes a massive toll on her mental and bodily health, that constant alertness and suspicion and stress. Being in Germany likely only exacerbates that, tbh. Nice thought Rosie but, she’s having some severe ptsd just living amongst the language every day. 😭

[genericpuff]

All That Glitters is Not Feminism - An Analysis of LO's Brand of "Feminism" and What Remains of its Fanbase (The Twist)

Alright y'all, I've been waiting a hot minute to talk about this because I wanted to see how it fully panned out before saying anything about it. And it's not even specifically about LO, but I do think it's very adjacent to it in a way that I'm sure you'll be shocked to hear. Much of it speaks to how we prop up white writers even at the expense of POC.

This is 'the twist' attached to my first post that I made just a couple hours ago that concerns an entirely other topic but I feel ties into this subject very well.

If you haven't heard, there's this author who recently fucked around in the Del Rey publishing scene.

Her name is Cait Corrain.

In the original tweet calling this person out, names were not dropped, but it was made very clear that what Cait did was unacceptable behavior.

You can read the entire thread that started it all from Xiran here:

There's also a GREAT recap thread from one of the affected authors, Bethany Baptiste:

I want to make it clear that Cait Corrain isn't just a debut author.

Cait Corrain is - or now, was (foreshadowing is a literary device that-) - a debut author who had an agent, a publishing deal with Del Rey (an imprint of Random House which is a MAJOR publisher) and even an upcoming Illumicrate deal - meaning, her book was going to be packaged in a monthly loot crate subscription shipped directly to people's doors, quite possibly one of the best marketing deals a debut author could ever get, usually unheard of in this industry. All the pre-reviews were strong and positive.

Cait's book was literally set up for success. All she had to do was sit back, relax, and watch the fruits of her labors roll in. She had written the book. It was ready for release. The hard part was technically over.

But I guess the racism brainrot got to her because as it turns out, since April - for EIGHT MONTHS - she's been making alternate accounts on GoodReads to review bomb the indie and debut works of her friends and peers, most of whom were POC and did not have the same opportunities set up for them as she did. There are loads of receipts to back this up that you can find in those above threads ^^^

To say that this is appalling is an understatement. This was an intentional and deliberate act of racism by a white queer writer who claimed to be "jealous" - of what, I can't imagine - so much so that she deliberately sabotaged her peers, people who had supported her and her book.

And then when she got caught? She doubled down on it and claimed it was a "friend", also an alternate account she made up.

The exchange between her and this made-up person is actually the funniest shit out of this entire thing, it's so poorly written and as soon as people noticed the time stamps were out of order, that was when it truly cemented her newfound clown status.

"oooooh he's standing right behind me, isn't he?" energy right here LMAO

yes keep expositing cait, that's really selling the "this is a genuine conversation that really happened with a real person" bit 🤡

Anyways, it became abundantly clear that Cait was just going to continue to dig her heels in over something she caused.

This has been a hot topic in the UnpopularLO Discord, not just because of how crazy of a situation it is that we had to talk about it - and we have people within the community who work in the literature and media sector - but because we noticed one very telling thing in the list of series that she had review bombed in her very own personal act of wrath.

You see, Cait made one fundamental mistake that led to her undoing - she didn't just review bomb the works of her peers, she positively reviewed her own book and others.

What's her book about though?

It's an Ariadne x Dionysus retelling set in space.

It's literally another "modern retelling" of Greek myth.

And wouldn't you know it, guess who else created a modern retelling of Greek myth that she included in her positive review raiding while she was sabotaging the work of her actual peers?

Now, I think it goes without saying that what I'm about to say should be taken with MOUNTAINS of salt, I'm sure a lot of you are reading the headline and going, "Ugh, really? You're gonna make this about LO? Could you give it a rest already???"

I need you to understand, with the current state of Rachel's fanbase and 'modern' Greek myth literature as a whole, at this point Lore Olympus - and the works that are literally inspired by it such as A Touch of Darkness - has basically become the shopping cart litmus test of basic decency. It's like when someone says they like Harry Potter - you can't take it automatically at good faith anymore, because there isn't a whole lot separating someone who simply liked Harry Potter as a kid and still rewatches the movies from time to time from someone who fully supports the politics and agenda of J.K. Rowling. No, not everyone who still watches the movies or reads the books fondly is a TERF by default, but it's justifiably a reason for suspicion when the consequences are often too dire to risk.

There's this thing that's been happening in the LO fanbase that I frankly saw coming, but has really recently started to hit its peak. It's what I call the "Kanye Effect", where the comic has become so absurd and backwards in its misogyny and white feminism that the only people who seem to be left supporting LO are the people who are legitimate white feminists and misogynists - because all the normal level-headed people fell off the comic ages ago (or transitioned into the critical side of the community).

I mentioned it in my last post, but it bears repeating - Rachel's fanbase has literally been shipping Hera, a victim of abuse, with her abuser, Kronos. I'm really hoping a lot of them realize how fucked up that is now that Hera herself has called it what it is - abuse - within the comic, but I also can't count on the LO fanbase picking up on that or even noticing it with how quickly people swipe through it each week, it's very apparent at this point that most of LO's readers don't know how to chew their food and don't pay attention when Persephone and Hades aren't onscreen.

But I'm digressing. Or am I? We're talking about Crown of Starlight after all. The debut Dionysus x Ariadne sci-fi/fantasy romance that was quite literally advertised using Lore Olympus as its baseline-

This. This is what the ongoing cultural erasure and white feminist uwu-fication of Greek myth is doing to the literary zeitgeist surrounding Greek myth as a whole. This is why we criticize Lore Olympus and works like it that are created by disingenuous people who only seek to use the assets of Greek myth material as a way to shoot themselves up into fame and stardom. This is why we demand better standards in the literature and webcomic industry, so that people like Rachel and Cait can't use their privileges to quite literally erase the source material that they used to make themselves famous in the first place.

If anything, Cait's actions didn't just affect the people she negatively review bombed, or the people she was affiliated with, but also the people she positively reviewed. While I don't support what Rachel creates, she wasn't the only one who Cait went out of her way to review positively from her alt accounts, there were many others as evident in the Google Doc - but all this really does is tarnish the legitimacy of these books and their ratings by artificially jacking up their numbers that are advertised to others.

Making Greek myth fanfiction or fun creative retellings was never the problem, but it's now being sabotaged alongside so many other genres and mediums by toxic white individuals who can't even keep themselves from committing hate crimes, let alone create something purely for entertainment that's transparent in its illegitimacy, lest it destroy the illusion that these people are qualified to speak over those whose voices are being stifled, often by these very same people. Many of these writers get caught and are still allowed to continue what they're doing - that was certainly what we feared with Cait.

Until today.

It was revealed today that Cait's book will no longer be featured in the Illumicrate May 2024 box.

Del Rey has dropped Crown of Starlight from their publishing schedule.

Daphne Press will be hopefully following suit.

And, most telling of all, Cait's own agent has severed ties with her.

For anyone not familiar with the inner workings of the publishing industry, Cait has essentially been blacklisted. Without an agent or a publishing house, she'll have to entirely rely on her own resources through self-publishing. Unless she manages to sneak her way back in under an alias (which I wouldn't put it past her to try) she no longer has access to the mainstream publishing industry that was already guaranteed for her before she let her 'jealousy' get the better of her.

Her career was already made for her. She had a red carpet laid out for her debut. Her book was getting good pre-reviews and she had quite literally nothing keeping her from her success. The best thing she could have done was nothing. Somewhere in her head, she made up a threat that didn't exist, and sealed her fate in acting on it, a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I think in these situations such as with Cait Corrain, Rachel Smythe, and - also recently and relevant - James Somerton, we need to become increasingly aware of how white voices are still overpowering POC voices, not just in their actions, but in the opportunities they're given over others which they then use to further stifle the voices of those they feel "threatened" by or feel entitled to speak over. While neither James nor Rachel have used sock puppet accounts to "take out the competition" (at least as far as we know lmao) James did quite literally steal the words and voices of queer writers who were deserving of their time in the spotlight, and Rachel's work is being quoted as "rewriting Greek myth" as if its blatant gentrification and appropriation should be marketed as some sort of positive.

It's all too common for these deeply-rooted prejudices to rear their ugly heads and for the people who carry them to act out in this way while justifying it as "jealousy" or "a mistake". This isn't jealousy. This isn't a mistake. This isn't someone "starting drama". This is genuine, targeted hate, with the intention of snuffing out the voices of others who should be empowered, not silenced.

All that time and effort, and for what? Racism and petty jealousy? It just goes to show, it doesn't matter how many opportunities you're given, how high up on the ladder you already are - it won't fix the deeply-rooted insecurity and racial pettiness that spurs people on to do such horrible things.

I've spent enough of my time and words today talking about Cait, and James, and Rachel. So to end this off, I want to join in with all the others who have highlighted the books that were review-bombed by Cait, and help in uplifting them so they can have successful debuts. I'll be pre-ordering a few of them, so I'll be happy to make dedicated posts for them in the future after they release. Please consider purchasing them for yourself if you want some new reading material <3

The Poisons We Drink by Bethany Baptiste:

So Let Them Burn by Kamilah Cole:

To Gaze Upon Wicked Gods by Molly X Chang:

Mistress of Lies by K.M. Enright

Voyage of the Damned by Frances White:

(I'm sure there are plenty others so if I missed any here, please let me know so I can add them here and check out their books!)

If there's any silver lining to this, I hope that it makes people aware of the media they consume and who it's being created by. I hope it makes people more willing to seek out the books that aren't getting the same opportunities as Cait Corrain and Rachel Smythe. I hope it's a wake-up call to the industry that matters like this need to be taken seriously and that POC writers are still being silenced under their own noses. And most of all, I hope it's a reminder that we shouldn't even need at this point that this behavior is not okay, no matter what level a person climbs to - that just because someone is part of one minority doesn't mean they're not capable of sabotaging another. It sucks that that has to be said, it sucks that despite these groups being so intersectional there are still people within them who submit to their deeply-rooted insecurities and find ways to feel threatened that they use to justify hateful behavior.

Having a platform is a privilege. It should never be weaponized against your own peers or those who you simply feel "threatened" by for no reason beyond your own imposter syndrome or doubts or internal struggles. Because as much as you may feel like you've earned where you are, that never gives you the right to weaponize your opportunities against others who were never given those same opportunities in the first place. "Feminism" is not using your power to crush "other women". "Progressiveness" is not exclusive to the progress that only benefits you.

I wish only the best to those who were affected by the actions of Cait Corrain. You deserve to be heard and seen and appreciated for the work you do and the abuse you've had to tolerate. I look forward to your debuts in 2024 <3

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Ras creates an evil clone of Tim Drake for whatever reason and after he trains it it runs off and none of his assasins can find him.

Ras isn't too concerned because he specifically made this clone in a way that it would start to fall apart after three years and he fully expected the clone to come crawling back when that happened.

Except, the clone never came back. If fact no one heard anything from or about him since he ran into this forest three years ago and never left. His men searched that forest countless times and deployed his greatest trackers. They all said the same thing, his trail stops dead in a small grotto. There was no where he could have gone.

Its like he just vanished.

The evil clone turned out to have stumbled apon a natural portal and decided he was screwed if he stayed so why not take a chance. He could probably fight his way out of hell. Probably. The angry swarm of Assasins after him was probably going to be its own form of hell anyway, so why not. He jumped through.

The other side of the portal was not hell, thankfully. It was a small city in Illinois...for some reason. He began to patrol the city in his altered Red Robin Costume, looking for the basic necessities when he stumbles across Phantom who was in the middle of finally being captured by the Fenton parents.

Danny could do nothing as his parents were quickly killed in front of him. When he was freed from his restraints he didn't attack the other teen, he didn't get angry or yell. He cried and thanked him then cried harder.

The clone really didn't know what to do in this situation and just awkwardly comforted the ghost. Danny dragged this guy home when he found out he didn't have a place to stay. Clone Tim was planning on using the hero for a while before bouncing but all this plans changed when he saw what Phantom could do. That kind of power would be owned and controlled by someone eventually, whether it be the League of Assasins or the Justice League it was all the same. So why not him?

Danny was easy to manipulate, his sister not so much. Once he started pointing out that he was protecting Danny from people who would hurt him she became swayed.

He disliked Sam. She reminded him too much of Jason and Damian, or more accurately, a fusion of the two. The horror.

He genuinely liked Tucker, he was carefree and true to himself. Plus who was he to turn down an assistant for creating tech. He had discovered he was no longer in his own universe and the JL and LOA didn't exist here.

Tim Drake didn't exist here.

He was free.

The clone almost cried. He was Tim here. The real Tim. The only Tim. No one to prove he's better than. No one to the "the evil clone" of. Just Tim.

He was going to make the universe regret that. Starting by dating the ridiculously cute and over-powered boy that he most definitely is not in love with. No siree its just him using someone. His heart definitely isn't pounding in his chest right now as he asks him out. Nope. He definitely isn't super giddy when he says yes and kisses him. Haha that only something someone in love would do.

.

.

.

Crap.

-meanwhile in Batmans universe-

Ras casually explains he created an evil clone of Tim and its out there somewhere and its failsafe has somehow been destroyed. (Thank you Danny)

Tim freaks out and the batfam investigate. They do eventually open a portal into Amity Park where Evil Tim immediately tells them to frick off. So much chaos ensues