#in his mind LI is helpless without him and will forever need him. he WANTS him to depend on him

[tortademaracuya]

Tristán is what still being friends in your 20s with that girl you had the toxic codependent homoerotic reationship with in your youth is like

[derekhighwaytf]

Witches and Twinks

MONDAY

The small London restaurant’s dim light flickered against the wine glasses, casting soft Merlot shadows onto George and Adam’s lips, noses, the entirety of their smug, helpless faces. This should have been the perfect pairing.  They were both intellects, with high senses of self and a love for information (ie. control), and though they’d talked for nearly an hour at this point, the conversation felt more like a fencing match than the start of a beautiful new friendship—each word a parry, each retort a thrust. Adam, dressed in his sweater and khakis, leaned back in his chair with a faint smile, his tone sharp but measured for every measure George tried to fling upon him.

“As much as people romanticize magic or ‘karma,’ it’s all just bullish storytelling,” Adam said, swirling the last of his drink. “Yes, Shakespeare and Marlowe write about it, but even they understood that human intellect, not divine intervention, drives our fate. Julius Caesar—perfect example. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.’ The real power lies in reason and intellect.”

George, dressed more casually in his loose-fitting green shirt, met Adam’s judgey gaze with a bewitchingly bemused smile. “Shakespeare also believed in the supernatural,” he countered. “The witches in Macbeth didn’t rely on logic to mess with the characters. Magic, fate, karma—call it what you may, but it holds an inexplicable force over more than just imagination. You’d be surprised how much control you don’t have.”

Adam chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his confidence more than bordering on just arrogance. “Macbeth? The witches merely represent internal fears and ambition every man or woman has in themselves. You can interpret them as mystical, inexplicable forces if you must, but at the end of the day, it’s Lady Macbeth’s persuasion and greed that destroy her husband. Shakespeare knew that intellect was the ultimate weapon. Magic? That’s just an excuse for weak minds like yourself who can’t handle the complexity of the human condition.”

George’s smile twitched as if he found the power not to turn Adam into the jackass he’d been acting like right then and there. “You academics, always trying to boil everything down to logic. I think you’re missing the point of the supernatural entirely. It’s not always about intellect. There are forces beyond understanding, beyond your understanding,—forces that aren’t impressed by your degrees or how many times you’ve read Troilus and Cressida.”

“An underrated work, if I say so myself.”  Adam’s smirk deepened. “And yes, the mysterious ‘forces beyond understanding.’ Tell me, how do they rank next to a Ph.D. in Shakespeare? I’d be curious to know.”

George tilted his head and took a swig of his drink, his gaze softening in a way that made Adam’s need to seek scholarly validation seem hollow. “You think Shakespeare would’ve agreed with you?”

“I know he would’ve,” Adam replied, superiority painting his tone. “The entire premise of his greatest works is that humanity’s biggest downfall is ignorance, not the supernatural. He’d side with intellect.”

“Or maybe he’d side with me.” George leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “You don’t think Shakespeare had a little magic in him? Maybe even enough to change a man forever?”

Adam’s smile faltered slightly, a small crack in his polished confidence. “What are you getting at?”

George’s just giggled, something dark and knowing flashing behind them. “I’m saying that not everything in this world is logical, Adam. You’re sitting here, lecturing me about Shakespeare, as if your intellect puts you above magic or fate. But I could change your entire world with just a flick of my hand, and all that book knowledge would evaporate into thin air.”

Adam’s gulped, unsure whether to get up and run or call the waiter. “Magic doesn’t exist,” he scoffed. “This isn’t some fantasy. It’s reality. You want to impress me? Show me something real.”

Without hesitation, George raised his hand, a scarred palm outstretched, and without breaking eye contact, he waved it through the suddenly thickened air with an inexplicable grace. The motion was so sudden, almost imperceptible, but Adam’s reaction was immediate. His breath hitched, his confident posture writhing and wilting as his widened eyes fluttered in confusion. The polished veneer of intellectual superiority melted away as something unfamiliar and overpowering gripped him.

Suddenly, Adam found himself folded over the table, unable to look away from George. The irritation he’d felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a deep, floundering passion—something that made his heart race and his chest tighten. His thoughts scrambled, no longer sharp and clear but clouded, fogged by an overwhelming sense of need.

“I…” Adam stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t understand… what were we—?”

George shushed him, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “You’re not supposed to understand, love. That’s the point.”

Adam’s breath grew shallow, his pulse quickening as his gaze locked onto George, unable to break away. His mind, usually so sharp and critical, was a jumbled mess of scrambled eggs. Everything he knew, everything he prided himself on, suddenly felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered now was George—his voice, his presence, his timeless beauty.  George was Adam’s everything now.

“You’re…” Adam’s words trailed off as his hand reached across the table, trembling. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”  He swallowed his own tongue, choking on his own breath.  “Will you marry me?”

George’s smile widened, a quiet, knowing victory in his eyes. He leaned back, looking under the table, watching as Adam’s brain couldn’t catch up to his…heart.

“And just like that,” George whispered, “all your intellect can’t stop what you feel now, can it?”

Adam blinked, his face flushed with a mix of confusion and something else, something deeper. “No… I… I can’t stop it.” He swallowed hard, his voice small, vulnerable. “I don’t want to.” 

George’s eyes glittered with satisfaction. “Good,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “Now, why don’t we talk about something that really matters back at your place?”

Every part of his intellectual, collected self knew better than to let this menace into his home, but all Adam could do was nod at his newfound love’s commands. And how bad could it be?  All’s well that ends well, right?

Adam fumbled with the keys to his flat, his hands trembling with an erotic urgency he’d never known before. A man of his knowledge and tact would never sleep with a man so quickly, but alas, his once methodical mind, the same one that could cite King Lear on a whim, now reeled only with thoughts of George on his bed—George's lustful eyes, George’s sweet cock, George's very presence seemed to fill every emotional crevice of his being. His usual restraint, his prudent superiority, was gone, replaced by a consuming need to be filled by this cunning, enchanting strange.

They stumbled inside, the door locking shut behind them. “I’ve never…” Adam’s voice cracked, and he shook his head, words failing him. “I don’t know why, but I want you, I need you. Now.”

George’s lips curled into a soft smile, almost pitying. “Not yet, love. You’re tired.”

“No, I—” Adam’s horny existence began to protest, but before he could finish, George raised his hand and with a single flick of the wrist, Adam’s body crashed into a wave of heavy and irresistible drowsiness. His knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled backward onto his bed, the fatigue wrapping itself around him like a thick, suffocating blanket. His eyelids fluttered as the last bit of resistance left him, and in moments, he was fast asleep, still in the preppy clothes that once defined him.

George stepped forward, his eyes brooding as he stood over Adam's sleeping form. His fingers trailed lightly over Adam’s temple, tracing the outline of his brow. “You’ll thank me for this one day,” George murmured, though he knew Adam couldn’t hear. 

With that, George’s expression shifted from amusement to something far more dangerous. He moved to the center of the room, kneeling over, and began reciting words in Old English, his voice low and rhythmic, like a conjurer summoning something deep and ancient.

“This man doth dress in shorts of scanty seam,  

But two inches, nay more, could his cloth bear.  

All trousers, all pants, dare try to redeem,  

Will twist and turn, yet still they'll shorten there.”

As the words slipped out from George’s lips, the change began. Adam’s legs, still clad in his conservative khakis, twitched. The fabric shimmered like glitter, rippling unnaturally, as though it had come alive beneath him. Slowly, the pant legs began to pull and pull, retracting themselves upward inch by inch. The sturdy material warped and shrank, tightening suddenly as it rose. In moments, the khakis had transformed entirely into a pair of short, nay, outrageously short gym shorts—barely two inches of inseam, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The fabric clung to Adam’s shivering thighs, exposing pale skin that had seemingly never seen the light of day. His knees, his nonexistent calves, everything that had been carefully covered up was now on display, with the hem of the shorts barely reaching the tops of his legs. He lay there, still sleeping, completely oblivious to the transformation.

George’s eyes gleamed as he watched his imagination solidify into reality, their bright, synthetic fabric snug against Adam’s skin. “Much better,” he whispered, stepping closer. But alas, he wasn’t done just yet.

“In tanks of muscled shape, his chest laid bare,  

Neckline to navel, each nipple shall show.  

Armholes so deep, their movement none can spare,  

In every stride, his shirt reveals more woe.”

Another shift rippled through Adam’s sleeping body, this time around his torso. The sweater he’d been wearing—the very picture of propriety—began to distort itself, the fibers unraveling at his collar. The neckline dipped lower, and lower, and lower still, until it stopped just above his flat belly button. The sleeves, too, warped, pulling up and away from his twig-like arms until they were nothing but gaping holes that left his ribcage completely exposed. The fabric thinned as the sleeves disappeared, leaving him in a muscle tank so revealing that his nipples couldn’t help but to peek through with every slight motion.

The soft knit of his sweater had become a thin, athletic material, stretched across his chest and shoulders, barely covering anything. His once modest outfit was now reduced to something shamelessly provocative, his entire upper body on display, his pasty white skin brushing against the air with every breath.

George admired his work, his fingers drumming lightly against his thigh as he took in Adam’s new look. “Perfect,” he murmured. And yet, there was still more to be done.

“In high shoe laced, his socks pulled crisp and white,  

A chain of gold doth glisten 'round his neck,  

Beneath it all, a jock to fit him tight,  

No other cloth for him shall fate select.”

Once again, for the final time tonight, the changes swept through Adam’s cold, lifeless body, this time starting at his feet. His Sperry boat shoes dissolved, giving way to a pair of bright white Nike hi-tops, their thick laces tied into the most perfect bows for the treadmill. The socks that appeared around his ankles pulled up snugly, reaching mid-calf, their crisp whiteness almost blending to the cream of his skin.

Next, the thinnest, most douchiest gold chain materialized itself around his bony neck, resting just above his exposed collarbone. The delicate glint of the necklace caught the light, its subtle flash at odds with the rest of his now athletic ensemble. Finally, the transformation moved beneath his shorts. His boxers melted away, replaced by a tight-fitting jockstrap that cupped him in place, offering minimal coverage and the most maximum exposure, almost as if he were a twink stripper on the Miami shore instead of the next youngest professor at Yale.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Adam, once a picture of scholarly decorum, now lay before him clad in nothing but slutty gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed far more than Adam would ever desire, hi-top sneakers, a thin gold chain, and the most illuminating jockstrap. It was absurd, provocative—and exactly as George had imagined.

For the final touch, George recited the couplet, his voice soft but firm:

“Forever cursed, his garments shall remain,  

In shorts, in tanks, he'll live his life in vain.”

With those words, the spell was sealed. No matter what Adam touched, no matter how hard he tried, every article of clothing would morph into this same, revealing outfit. George smiled, satisfied, and took a seat in the armchair across from Adam. He watched him for a moment, sleeping so peacefully despite the irreversible change that had just taken place.

But as the night crept on, George allowed himself to sleep too, a smirk still resting on his lips as he lied next to his creation. Tomorrow, when Adam awoke and his spell of infatuation wore off, George knew that’s when the real fun would begin.

TUESDAY

“AHHHH!”  Adam woke up, his heart racing as the morning light shone onto his hungover face. His body felt strange, but his mind was far more disturbed. The events of the previous night seemed fragmented, cloudy—George, the strange pull, the overwhelming desire, none of it made sense. He sat up in his sheets, his eyes darting around the room, his chest heaving.

He looked beside himself and dear God, there he was. George was still asleep, draped casually across the sheets, his face peaceful in the way that seemed entirely at odds with the havoc he’d wreaked. Adam’s stomach turned. I slept with him, Adam thought, his mind spinning like a top. He clenched his fists in the sheets, his face flushed with shame. How had he let this happen? His mind, so methodical and proud, had completely failed him and allowed him to degrade himself for some vampiric twink.

Panic gripped him as he stood from the bed, only to stop mid-step when he realized a breeze he’d never felt before. His legs were bare, his thighs on full display. It was then that he noticed his reflection in the mirror across the room. His mouth fell open in shock. Gone were his conservative khakis and sweater. In their place, he wore nothing but a pair of impossibly short gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed his chest and nipples, white socks pulled up to his calves, and, what on earth, a jockstrap?  He looked at himself again and thought he looked like a child dressing up in his musclehead uncle’s clothes.

He quickly shuffled to his dresser, desperate to change out of this ridiculous, humiliating outfit before George woke up. He rifled through his drawers and pulled out a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, but as soon as his fingers touched them, they shimmered and twisted, morphing into the same slutty gym shorts and revealing muscle tank that now clung to his body. Adam's eyes widened in horror. He threw the clothes aside and reached for another pair, only for the same thing to happen. Every single item he touched—his jeans, his sweaters, even a pair of pajamas—all transformed into the same jock-bro ensemble.

“What the fuck?” Adam muttered under his breath, the frustration building. His heart pounded as he rifled through his now everchanging closet, grabbing hangers and tossing clothes aside in a frantic attempt to find something—anything—that wouldn’t transform. But everything he touched met the same fate, shrinking and twisting into the cursed, douchebag outfit.

Behind him, he heard a soft laugh.

George finally awoke, sitting up in bed, arms crossed, a lazy smirk plastered on his face. “Having trouble love?”

Adam spun around, his face flushed with fury. “What the hell is this?” He gestured to his outfit, his voice rising. “What did you do to me?”

George laughed again, softer this time, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What’s wrong? What happened to the complexity of the human consciousness or whatever bullshit you were spewing last night?”

“Magic?!” Adam’s voice cracked with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “Is that what you’re blaming this on?  You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, but I am, love.”  George stood, casually pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. “Oh, come on. Don’t you like your new look? I think it suits you.” He took a step closer, his smirk growing wider. “And honestly, after all that big talk, I would’ve thought you’d handle a little transformation with more grace.”

Adam clenched his fists, his voice shaking with rage. “This isn’t funny, George! Somehow you’ve made me look like some jock-bro idiot. What the hell am I supposed to do like this? Just tell me what you did!”

But George’s expression darkened. “You still don’t get it, do you?” His voice dropped, the playful tone gone. “You can’t just insult me, mock what I believe, and expect no consequences.” He took another step forward, his brooding eyes locking with Adam’s. “You wanted to prove your intellect was above everything—above magic, above fate. But you’ve proven nothing except how small your mind really is.”

“Small?!” Adam barked. “The only thing small here is you, you psychopathic, egotistical—”

But before Adam could finish, George’s pupils flashed with anger. He raised his hand, the air around him seeming to hum with energy. “Careful what you say next,” George warned. “Or you might not like what comes next.”

Adam’s lips parted, the insult on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated. His pride warred with his common sense, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You’re nothing but a dumb fucking slut."

Suddenly, quiet filled the room as the words escaped Adam’s quivering lip, but once he got himself collected, George’s voice rang out in outrage, calm, yet oh-so commanding.

“This man shall bear a curse of feet most foul,  

With stench of sweat, his socks shall rot and tear.  

His pits shall reek, his skin a pungent scowl,  

Athlete’s rot shall mar each inch laid bare.”

Adam barely had time to register what George had said before a horrifying sensation crept up from his feet. He looked down, his newly acquired hi-tops feeling unnaturally damp. His socks, once crisp and white, were now soaked with sweat and dirt, clinging to his wretched skin. He wrinkled his nose at the sudden, overwhelming odor that wafted up from his shoes. It was rancid—like rotting toe cheese mixed with mildew and and an ocean’s worth of sweat. His feet itched uncontrollably, the skin burning as if something was crawling beneath it.

At the same time, his armpits began to burn and sting. He reached up instinctively, only to pull his hand back in disgust. His armpits were slick with a salty wetness, and the stench hit him like a punch to the gut—thick, sour, and overwhelming. It was as if he hadn’t showered in weeks, months even. His face flushed with embarrassment as the realization set in: his body reeked. His feet, his armpits—every part of him was drenched in sweat and stench, a walking cloud of filth.

“What the—?” Adam staggered back, staring at George in disbelief. “What did you—?”

But George wasn’t finished. He raised his hand again, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction.

“This man shall itch where modesty once laid,  

His bush shall grow, his groin a scratching hell.  

He’ll fight in vain to stop his hands’ parade,  

As arse and crotch demand his touch as well.”

And just like that, a sharp itch exploded itself across Adam’s groin, so intense that he doubled over in shock. His fingers flew to his waistband, instinctively trying to scratch the burning sensation beneath his jockstrap. The itch was so unbearable, spreading across his groin and into his backside, radiating like fire near his hole. No matter how hard he tried to resist, his hands were drawn to the sensation, scratching furiously, desperate for relief.

But there was none. The more he scratched, the worse it got. His fingers dug into the fabric of his shorts, and soon, he was practically clawing at himself, unable to stop. His face flushed red with embarrassment. The itch was maddening, and it didn’t care about decorum or propriety. Weak, he was scratching himself in front of George, his hands running over his crotch and ass, completely helpless against the overwhelming need for relief.

“Stop this,” Adam gasped, his voice shaking as he continued to scratch. “Please, stop.”

But George only smirked, his voice calm as he began the next quatrain.

“Each hour, his body shall release its gas,  

With burps and farts to shake the very air.  

No matter where he goes, no lad or lass  

Will dare endure the odors he’ll declare.”

Before Adam could breath in, his stomach rumbled violently. His eyes widened in horror as his body took over, an enormous belch ripping from his throat, so loud it echoed through the tiny studio. A second later, a foul-smelling fart exploded from him like a cloud, the stink so pungent it nearly knocked him back. 

“No—” Adam gasped, but his body betrayed him again. Another belch, followed by another fart and another burp, and yet another fart. The stench filled the room, thick and nauseating. His face turned crimson as he stumbled back, his hands flying to his mouth as if he could stop the sounds from escaping, but it was no use. Every few seconds, another belch, another fart, the air around him quickly becoming unbreathable.

George watched, amused, as Adam staggered, his eyes wide with humiliation. He raised his hand one last time, his voice soft and final.

“This man of filth, of shame, of rank decay,  

Shall live apart from grace, in filth to stay.”

With that, George turned toward the door, leaving Adam in the haze of his own stench, his body a twisted caricature of everything he once prided himself on. The smell of his own filth lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive, but it was the itching, the relentless belching, and the horrible farts that kept him anchored to the spot. His whole body was a battlefield of sensations he couldn’t control. His intellect, once his greatest weapon, felt utterly useless now.

He staggered toward the bathroom, desperate to scrub away the grime of his new persona. He turned on the shower, hoping the water would wash away the stench and the shame. But as soon as the water hit his body, it did nothing. The sweat, the reek from his armpits and feet, even the itch in his groin—it was all still there, clinging to him like a second skin.

After multiple futile attempts, he stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed from scratching and embarrassment. His once carefully maintained hair was now matted with sweat, and his body, encased in the ridiculous bro-ey outfit, made him look more like a lazy frat boy than a Ph.D. candidate.

Adam threw on a hoodie, hoping it might cover up some of the smell, and pulled the hood over his head, trying to obscure himself. He couldn’t just stay home. He had a meeting with his professor that afternoon—he had to go. He had to maintain some semblance of normalcy, even though nothing about this felt normal.

As he left the apartment, he became acutely aware of the looks he was getting from people on the street. Some wrinkled their noses, others shot him a glance before quickly looking away. His footsteps echoed in his ears, punctuated by the sound of another loud fart escaping him, followed by a huge, gut-shaking belch. The smell followed him like a shadow, and the itch in his groin was impossible to ignore. He scratched absentmindedly, wincing as he did, but the relief only lasted a second before the itch came back with renewed intensity.

The closer he got to campus, the more nervous he became. His body wouldn’t stop betraying him—every few steps, another belch, another fart, another desperate scratch of his groin and butt. He could feel the sweat pooling beneath his shirt, the odor rising with it. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, hoping to disappear into himself, but nothing could hide what was happening to him.

By the time he reached his professor’s office, he was a mess of nerves. He stood outside the door, trying to compose himself. You can do this, he thought, even as his body itched and groaned in protest. But the second he stepped inside, the look on his professor’s face told him everything.

“Adam,” Professor Wilson said, his voice hesitant as he looked up from his desk. His nose wrinkled almost immediately, and Adam saw him discreetly glance toward the window as if considering opening it for fresh air. “Are… are you feeling alright?”

Adam swallowed hard. “I—I’m fine,” he lied, but even as the words left his mouth, another loud belch erupted from his throat, followed by the unmistakable sound of another fart. The air around him was thick with the stench, and he could see the professor’s face go pale with disgust.

Professor Wilson stood abruptly. “Perhaps we should reschedule,” he said, clearly trying to hold back his revulsion. “It seems like you’re not… in the best condition today.”

“I can explain—” Adam started, but even as he spoke, his hands betrayed him again, scratching furiously at his groin and rear, the itch unbearable. He tried to stop, tried to keep himself composed, but his body had other ideas. Another belch, another fart, each more embarrassing than the last. The smell in the room was unbearable, and Professor Wilson’s eyes were wide with a mix of pity and horror.

“Adam, I think it’s best if you go home and take care of… whatever this is,” Professor Wilson said, his voice tight with discomfort. “We’ll discuss your dissertation another time.”

Adam’s face burned with shame as he nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak. He turned and left the office, another loud fart escaping him as he hurried down the hallway. The students he passed gave him wide-eyed stares, some covering their noses, others whispering and laughing as he stumbled past them. Each new step felt heavier, the weight of the day pressing down on him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the nightmare his life had become.

By the time he could finally make it back to his apartment, he was utterly defeated. His body reeked, the itch in his groin had only gotten worse, and his belly was constantly churning with the pressure of more belches and farts waiting to erupt. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. The day had been a disaster—there was no way he could continue like this.

As the evening settled in, Adam lay there, his mind racing even as his body continued to betray him. He had to find George. He had to fix this. There was no other option.

He couldn’t live like this—he couldn’t endure the stares, the laughter, the humiliation. His career, his entire life, was at stake. With each itch, each stench, each belch and fart, he felt his old self slipping further away, and he was terrified of what he would become if this continued.

With a heavy sigh, Adam closed his eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would find George and demand that he fix what he’d done. Tomorrow, he would get his life back.

WEDNESDAY

Adam sat desperate against his pillow and his headboard, his phone clutched in his hand, staring down at the screen with a sense of failure. The stench from his armpits, the itching in his groin, the endless belches and farts—everything had become so utterly unbearable. The reflection he caught in the mirror was still that of the cursed gym rat, his outfit vulgar and ridiculous against his scrawny body, the stink so thick it began to cling to the walls of his flat.

He began typing. His fingers trembled slightly as they tapped against the glass, carefully crafting the text to George. His pride screamed against it, but he was out of options. He couldn’t live like this, not anymore.

"Hey George,  

I’ve been thinking a lot…and I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I was so out of line, and I didn’t mean to insult you or dismiss what you believe. I get it now—there are things beyond intellect, beyond control, and…beyond me.  I was wrong, and you were right. There.  I should’ve believed in magic instead of trying to mock it. Please, is there anything I can do to fix this? I don’t want to keep living like this, I just can’t."

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, his stomach twisting into a knot of hope and dread. Adam tossed the phone onto his bed and laid back, staring at the ceiling as the minutes stretched into hours. Every itch, every foul-smelling fart reminded him of his new reality. He tried to distract himself—cleaning the apartment, watching plays on Youtube, attempting to focus on some new Shakespearean analysis—but nothing worked. The stench hung in the air like a punishment, stuck to him no matter what.

By midday, Adam’s hope had started to wither into nothingness. George wasn’t going to respond. He probably didn’t even care. Maybe this was it—maybe this revolting, humiliating state was his life now. He sighed, dragging his hands through his sweaty hair, glancing toward his phone again. Still nothing. He swallowed the lump in his throat and paced around room, fidgeting with his bro clothes that clung to his now lean body like a cruel joke. 

Bzzzz.

Adam rushed to his phone, his heart thudding against his chest as he unlocked the screen. A message from George appeared, and his breath caught.

“Curses can’t be undone, love.”

Adam’s face flushed with frustration. His jaw clenched as he stared at the words. All of that groveling, all of that begging, and this was the response? He typed furiously, his anger bubbling to the surface, but before he could send anything back, another message appeared.

“But I must admit.  I didn’t think you would actually say that.  Honestly, I really appreciate the apology. Why don’t call it even, huh?  Why don’t I give you a gift?”

Adam blinked at the screen, his anger slowly dissipating into confusion. A gift? What kind of twisted gift could George possibly mean? If it was anything like the last, then he could keep it. But before he could protest, another message filled the screen.

“His arms, like oaks, doth stretch from end to end,  

With strength to lift the world or crush its weight.  

Their power matched with beauty none can fend,  

Two mounds so vast as sunset’s final state.”

As Adam read the words, he felt a sudden warmth spread through his arms. Not again, he thought, but then his eyes darted down in alarm as his previously thin, lanky arms twitched, then bulged. He watched, wide-eyed, as his biceps began to swell, the muscles rippling and bubbling beneath his skin. The skin of his arms grew tight, barely able to contain the massive growth. His once scrawny arms were transforming into huge, muscular limbs—so strong, they looked like they could crush stone with a single flick.

He flexed experimentally, his new muscles hardening themselves like marble. His biceps were enormous, so large they cast a shadow on his bony torso. He stared in disbelief at his own body, feeling an unfamiliar surge of power rush through him.

His phone buzzed again, another text:

“His chest, like breasts of Venus round and great,  

Two orbs of strength that push against the day.  

Each pect’ral it’s own ball upon a beach,  

So full, so firm, none dare to turn away.”

Adam’s gaze shifted down towards his chest, and once again, he felt the same warm, tingling sensation spread across his torso as he began to feel an unnerving top heaviness. His pecs swelled, pushing against the straps of his tank top until the neckline stretched even lower than before. His chest ballooned outward, each pec growing into a massive, rounded mound of muscle, firm and solid beneath his skin. His nipples presented so visibly, his chest now so large it jutted forward, casting a shadow over his barren stomach.

The weight of his new pecs made him feel even more powerful, even more in control. He couldn’t stop staring, watching the way his body filled out, how his once-flat chest had been replaced by two enormous mounds of muscle that jiggled involuntary with every breath. They were so big, so round, they almost looked unnatural—but Adam loved it nonetheless.

Another text…

“His stomach, carved like canyons deep and wide,  

Each groove a trench, each line a valley low.  

His legs, like trunks of ancient oaks abide,  

With strength to stand through storm and sun and snow.”

Adam’s abdomen contracted, the sensation rippling through his core. He watched as the muscles on his stomach began to etch themselves into deep, chiseled grooves. His once-flat belly was now an eight-pack, every ridge and line so pronounced it looked like his abs had been carved out of granite. His waist boxed in, accentuating the sheer mass of his chest above and the powerful definition below.

His legs were next. His thighs bulged beneath his gym shorts, the muscles expanding rapidly, filling out with every second. His calves thickened into pillars of strength, his quads growing into enormous slabs of meat that made his legs look like logs. He was massive now, his entire body transformed into something that looked like it had been sculpted by the god Zeus himself.

The final couplet arrived, and as Adam read the words, he felt the last part of the transformation taking hold:

A man’s man, dominant, in every stride,  

With looks that none, not man nor beast, can hide.”

As Adam gazed into the mirror, his eyes widened in awe. His reflection had changed entirely. He stood there, towering, his body brimming with strength and raw masculinity, as if he’d eaten raw eggs every day of his life since he was ten. His jawline was sharper, his posture more commanding, and the way he looked—it was undeniable. He was an alpha now.  He demanded attention, respect, and desire. The smell, the stink that had once plagued him—it didn’t matter. His overwhelming physicality eclipsed all of it.

Adam grinned, a wave of confidence crashing over him. This was power. This was control. He grabbed a jacket, still feeling the massive stretch of his biceps as he slipped it over his shoulders, and headed out.

At the nearest gay bar, the moment Adam walked in, all eyes were on him. His broad shoulders and massive arms filled out his jacket in ways that left little to the imagination. He could see heads turning, guys sneaking glances at his hulking frame, his thick pecs nearly busting through his shirt. He walked up to the bar, and within seconds, a couple of older men sidled up to him, their eyes wide with interest.

One of them, a trucker looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and the crustiest mustache, leaned in, his voice low. “You’re looking good, boy. Smell like man too.  Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

Adam wrinkled his nose slightly. The man was old, rotund, and ugly.  He could do better, much better. “No thanks, ..sir,” Adam replied coldly, his voice deeper and more commanding than he remembered. The man’s face fell slightly, but Adam didn’t care. He was too busy reveling in the attention, in the way every guy in the bar seemed to be watching him, wanting his body.

As the night wore on, more and more guys approached, trying their luck with him. But none of them were good enough for Adam. He was an alpha now—he could have anyone he wanted, and the more he held out, the more they wanted.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, he would go see George again.  If George can do this for him.  There’s no telling what else he could get out of the witchy twink.

THURSDAY

Adam took the tube immediately once he awoke and stood in front of George’s door, the weight of his muscular new form making him feel absolutely invincible. His inflated biceps and thick chest on the reflective glass of the door fed his ever growing ego, but deep down, he couldn’t help but shake this nagging doubt. George had done this to him—made him into a walking Marvel superhero, sculpted from stone, pure lust, and raw, unadulterated power. But was it enough? No, Adam wanted more. Needed more.

He knocked, his hairy knuckles bristling past the door handle. The first time he’d sought George, he’d dismissed the supernatural as nonsense. Now, with the power of George’s magic coursing through his sculpted body, Adam was ready to claim yet another piece of it. But this time, he knew he had to play his cards just a tad bit differently.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, his face shifting from surprise to a soft, almost suspicious smile. “Adam,” George purred. “Back so soon?”

Adam leaned against the doorframe, his massive arms bulging as he flexed them just enough to show off the strength George had given him. “Missed me?”

George raised an eyebrow, but his gaze lingered on Adam’s tits, those enormous pecs straining against the thin straps of his bro-ish muscle tank. There was a flicker of something in George’s eyes—desire, interest, maybe even a sliver of actual emotion, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Adam noticed, and he played into it, taking a step closer, his voice low and smooth.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Adam said, his hand grazing George’s arm. “About I’ve been thinking about just how much I owe you for this body, for… everything.”

George tilted his head, still guarded. “And what exactly do you want this time, Adam?”

“I don’t want anything,” Adam replied, his lips curling into a seductive smile. “Just you.”

He moved closer, his muscular frame dwarfing George’s, his presence overwhelming in the cramped air of the doorway. George hesitated for a moment, but Adam’s hand slipped to the nape of George’s neck, pulling him in with surprising gentleness. Their lips met, slowly melding together, turning into something hotter, far more dangerous. Adam’s thinly veiled cock rubbed against George’s abs as his walls came crumbling down, and for the first time, Adam felt the subtle shift in power—he had George, really had him.

The day blurred into heated moments, their bodies tangled in sheets and sweat. Adam was relentless, his new body a weapon of seduction, and George, for all his magic, succumbed to the raw physicality of it. They moved together with an intensity that neither had expected, sucking, fucking, and by the time they lay spent, George was quiet, staring at Adam with something akin to affection.

Adam, however, was already thinking ahead. He turned to George, still catching his breath. “You’ve got power, George. Magic.”

George giggled with a flush.  “You’re just saying that.”

But Adam turned cold.  “I want more of it.”

George’s face darkened. “What exactly are you asking for, Adam?”

Adam grinned, his arrogance returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. “Whatever gift you think I deserve. You’ve given me all this, how can I doubt your judgment, my sweet baby.  My love.  I’ll leave it up to you. Surprise me.”

George’s expression shifted from curiosity to something more guarded, his eyes narrowing as he watched Adam’s smug face. “Anything I want, huh?”

Adam shrugged, confidence oozing from every pore. “I trust you.”

George sat up, his fingers trailing along Adam’s broad chest as if considering his next move. For a long moment, he said nothing, then with a quiet, deceptive murmur, he recited:

"A man so well endowed, his length shall grow,  

Eight inches, thick as snake in fabric’s cage,  

His buttocks firm, a perch for all to show,  

A bubble round to seat him firm with age."

Adam’s goosebumped body tingled immediately, the familiar warmth of transformation spreading through his lower regions. He let out a low, grunty moan as the sensation deepened, his cock thickening and lengthening under his teeny tiny shorts. Diameter growing as his ass tightened, the muscles swelling into perfect, round bubbles that pushed him slightly upward in the bed. He grinned, looking down at himself, clearly satisfied with George’s work.

“That’s more like it,” Adam murmured, his hands roaming over his newly enhanced assets. The heft of his cock felt incredible, and his ass, firm and plump, made him sit taller, more confidently. “I can’t wait to use this out in SoHo.”  He turned to George, expecting more praise, more lust, but George’s face remained unreadable.

Then, George’s voice darkened, and he continued the sonnet.

"But this thick snake shall rise and never fall,  

In constant stand, no peace, no quiet still.  

His rounded arse shall breathe and stretch at call,  

Each muscle loose, no seat can meet its will."

Adam’s smile faltered, confusion flickering in his eyes. The change happened so quickly—his cock, now a monstrous length, hardened immediately, pushing insistently against the fabric of his gym shorts. It throbbed, always erect, always at attention, with no sense of relief. He shifted uncomfortably as his ass, once firm and perfect, started to feel strangely loose towards the center. It twitched and clenched on its own, the muscles stretching and relaxing without his control, as if it was becoming an underground tunnel.

“Wait, what the—?” Adam stammered, sitting up, his hand moving to adjust his cock, but it wouldn’t soften. His asshole kept opening with a subtle, almost breathing sensation that made him feel unstable, as if he could fit a tube station in there.

George smirked, watching the realization dawn on Adam’s face. “Not quite what you expected, is it?”

Adam’s panic grew as he tried to stand, but the constant, unrelenting erection made every step uncomfortable. His ass moved with a will of its own, making it impossible for him to walk without awkwardly adjusting himself.

“Stop this,” Adam demanded, his voice sharp with fear. “Fix it!”

But George continued, his voice soft, but with a cutting edge:

"For every man he sees and thinks of thus,  

A need shall spark, his body shall obey.  

Two seconds more, his lips will ask with trust,  

And if they say ‘yes,’ he cannot turn away."

Adam’s eyes widened in horror as the words sank in. The change was immediate. His mind, sharp and calculating, suddenly snapped. The second he looked at George, an overwhelming desire flooded him. He took a step forward, his voice trembling.

“George, I—” He swallowed, trying to fight the words that wanted to spill out, but they escaped anyway. “I want you… I need you. Please, let’s do it again.”

George’s smirk faded into something almost pitying as he stepped back, shaking his head. “No.”

Adam blinked, the refusal shocking him, but the need remained. His body trembled with desire, the thought of George sending his blood rushing. He reached out, desperate. “Please, I can’t—”

But George stood firm. “This is what you wanted, Adam. You wanted the magic. Now you’ve got it.”

Adam’s desperation turned into panic, the uncontrollable lust gnawing at him as he realized what had happened. “Please, you have to stop this! I can’t live like this!”

George’s eyes softened, but his voice remained firm. “If you never see me again, I can never curse you again. Plain and simple.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the curse pressing down on him. He had no choice. He nodded stiffly, his voice shaking. “Fine.”

Without another word, he fled the apartment, the constant throbbing in his pants making every step unbearable, as if he were walking with a third leg. His ass twitched, loose and awkward, making him shift with every movement. He tried to keep his eyes down, avoid seeing anyone, avoid thinking about anyone. But as he neared his flat, he saw him—the old, fat man from the bar, the one with the crusty mustache he’d brushed off so easily the night before.

Adam’s eyes locked onto him, and the thought, just two seconds, crossed his mind. The change was instant.

“Hey,” Adam called out, already relieving his itchy erection, his voice unabashed from shame. “You wanna fuck me?”

The man’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do.  Let’s go boy”

Before Adam could stop himself, he moved closer, his body betraying him. They ended up in Adam’s flat, the humiliation sinking deeper as he stripped down, his body moving on its own, giving in to the fat man’s cock. Every moment was pleasure, the curse forcing him to enjoy it all. As the man’s fingers roamed into his hole, Adam’s cock stood painfully erect, his ass twitching and clenching, unable to resist the pleasure.

By the time it was over, Adam lay in bed, the old man’s snores filling the room. He stared at the ceiling, the weight of his actions crushing him. He hated it. He hated the curse, hated George, hated himself. But as he thought back to the encounter, a sickening sense of satisfaction settled in his chest.

Maybe this was who he was now. He’d become the horny, bro-ish slut he’d always railed against.

But hey, at least he still had his wits about him.

“You wanna go again,” he asked the sleeping bear.

He awoke.  “Fuck yeah I do.”

FRIDAY

Adam groaned, his body still humming from the night before, shifting slightly in his bed, the weight of his smelly, bulging muscles pressing against the mattress in ways that felt less and less alien. The stench of sweat and sex clung to the sheets like a cruel reminder, but what gave him the most relief was that the old mustached bear, the fat man who had taken him, or he’d taken in, last night, was gone, leaving Adam with what few shreds of dignity he had left. For but a brief moment, Adam felt a glimmer of his old smart self, something buried deep beneath the layers of this cursed, grotesque transformation.

He brought himself up slowly, running a hand through his cum-soaked, dampened hair, trying to ignore the disgusting aire of musk that followed him everywhere. The night’s events replayed slowly in his mind, and each moment sent waves of heat rolling through him. He was disgusted with himself, yet somehow also satisfied. As much as he wanted to shake off the craziness of last night, something darker tugged within him—or instead, someone.  Someone he couldn't control.

George.

The mere thought of him, that witchy smile, made Adam's heart pump and race. He tried to resist it, clenching his fists as he paced around his tiny studio. No. He wouldn’t give in. Not again. But the more he fought it, the stronger the curse became. His cock twitched in his shorts, eternally hardening more and more, his mind clouded with an overwhelming desire as he let out a massive burp. It was George. He needed George. He needed to see him, fuck him, even if it meant more and more of these horrible, disfiguring changes.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Adam was out the door, heading toward George’s place. His brain screamed at him to turn back, to stop this madness, but his feet kept moving, each step heavier with the weight of inevitability. He arrived at George’s door, his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his ears. Before he could second-guess himself, he knocked.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, the same knowing smile curling on his lips, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Back so soon?” George asked, voice dripping with mockery.

Adam swallowed, his throat tight. His body screamed with need, the throbbing in his pants unbearable. “I… I need to fuck you,” he stammered, the words barely making it out. His muscles tensed, his breath shallow. “Please, George. I just want to stick my-”

“No.” George’s tone was sharp, cold. “I warned you, Adam.”

Adam froze, his heart sinking. Panic flooded his chest. “No, wait, I… I—” He turned to flee, the humiliation too much to bear, but George’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You’re not going anywhere,” George said softly, a cruel edge to his voice. With a flick of his hand, Adam’s body locked in place, muscles freezing as though they were held by invisible chains. Adam’s eyes widened in fear as George circled him like a predator, his gaze sweeping up and down Adam’s massive form.

“You could’ve been so wonderful, Adam,” George whispered, his fingers trailing across Adam’s rigid biceps. “If only you weren’t so obsessed with being better than everyone else.” George stopped in front of him, his eyes gleaming. “But don’t worry. I’m going to fix that.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, his giant mind racing with panic. He tried to move, to speak, but nothing worked. He was trapped, helpless, his body at George’s mercy. And then, George began to recite.

“This man, with wit so sharp, shall find it dull,

His tongue to fail at words with length and grace.

In single beats, his speech doth make him full,

No thought can break the barrier of his face.”

Adam’s head buzzed as George’s words sank into his soul. He tried to protest, to say something, anything, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out were simple, one-syllable words, clumsy and slow like the dumbass he used to make fun of, the one he was about to become. “Wh-what… you… do…?” he stammered, struggling through each word. His brain felt like it was being squeezed, cell by cell, every attempt to say something even somewhat intelligent or complex was met with a foggy, impenetrable wall.

“No… more…” he managed, but even that felt like a battle. His tongue stumbled within his mouth, his speech slurring as the magic took further hold. Adam’s face twisted in frustration, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even think of a word longer than one syllable. His mind was trapped in this humiliating simplicity, a far cry from the sharp intellect he once wielded.

George smiled, watching the struggle unfold with sadistic delight. “You’re already looking more like yourself, love.” He continued, his voice low and melodic.

“A jaw so slack, it barely knows its place,

His mouth hangs wide, flies wander through the door.

With 'duh' his mind reflects upon his face,

A smile so dumb, he trusts each word, what's more.”

As the next words spread themselves throughout the air and landed onto Adam’s face, he felt his jaw slacken into a relaxed position, the muscles in his face going completely limp. His mouth hung open, agape, his lips parting into a dumb, vacant expression. He could feel the cold air tickling his teeth as a small, stupid smile crept onto his face. He tried to close his mouth, to tighten his jaw, but it wouldn’t obey him. No matter how hard he tried, it remained slack, open, like a door left ajar.

Flies buzzed around, and before he knew it, one flitted into his mouth. He barely registered it, too dazed, too numb to even care. His face felt frozen in that idiotic grin, his eyes glazed over. Worse yet, every word George said sounded so… true. Every part of him wanted to believe whatever George told him, his gullibility sinking deep into his bones.

Adam’s mind screamed at him to resist, to hold onto what was left of his pride, but that part of him was fading fast. His lips, still curled in a stupid smile, parted again. “Uh… yeah, right…” he muttered, barely able to form coherent thoughts. His voice sounded thick and dopey, like it belonged to someone else, someone who couldn’t even spell Shakespear.

George’s voice softened, almost tender. “See, isn’t that easier? No more thinking, no more overcomplicating things. Just smile, and trust whatever I, or anyone tells you.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but his mind couldn’t focus. His thoughts were slipping away, replaced by something far simpler, far more primal.

“His thoughts now cloud with only two desires,

To lift, to bed, these things alone will stay.

His mind a fog, of neither will it tire,

And all else fades, in gym and bed to play.”

With those words, haze descended over Adam’s mind. Thoughts, once sharp and filled with wit, were now muddled, clouded with only two overpowering urges. He wanted to work out. He wanted to fuck. Everything else—his career, his pride, his intellect—faded into the background, meaningless, never to be seen again.

Images of bench presses flashed into his shrinking mind, the sensation of cold iron in his sweaty hands, the strain of his muscles as they bulged and flexed. And then there was sex—hot, mindless sex. His cock throbbed in his shorts, and the desire, the absolute need for physical release overwhelmed him, drowning out any other thought. Working out, fucking, working out, fucking, again and again and again. That was all that mattered now. Nothing else made sense, not like he could comprehend it anyways.

Adam tried to resist, to push through the fog, but alas, it was no use. His mind was too far gone, too consumed by primal urges. He let out a resonant, needy groan, his thoughts too disorganized to form any coherent plan of escape.

George watched with satisfaction as Adam’s transformation neared its end. With a triumphant smile, he delivered the final couplet.

“And now this man goes by initials who,

With knowledge slight, no higher than eight-two.”

As George’s last words took their hold, Adam felt the last remnants of his old self slip away, the final pieces of his mind shattering like glass into a distant oblivion. He wasn’t Adam anymore. He was… AJ. His name was AJ, always had been. That dumb, jockish grin became permanent across his face as his old life rewrote itself. His memories, once filled with scholarships, academic debates, tragedies and comedies, were now replaced by scenes of the gym, of flexing in front of the mirror, of fucking nameless faces in dark, sweaty backrooms.

His chest swelled with pride at the thought of lifting those heavy weights, of feeling the burn in his muscles as he pushed himself harder and harder. His thoughts were no longer burdened by complicated ideas or big words. They were simple, direct. Lift. Fuck. Repeat. That was it.

AJ blinked, his slack jaw hanging open as he stood there in front of George, his once bright mind now dim, sluggish, and focused only on the most basic of desires. His body reeked of fart and musk, his mind a tangled mess of lust and primal urges. His life as Adam, the intellectual, was gone. All that remained was AJ, a dumb, slutty, smelly jock.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork as AJ smiled dumbly at him, his eyes empty, his brain no longer capable of critical thought. “You look perfect, AJ,” George said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

AJ’s grin widened, his thick tongue lolling slightly as he scratched at his crotch. “Th-thanks… bro,” he slurred, his voice deep and stupid.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” George murmured, tilting AJ’s chin up so their eyes met.

AJ’s smile grew even wider, his lips twitching as he struggled to form words. “Yeah, bro,” he said, his voice slow and thick. “I’m… real good.”

George couldn’t help but laugh. AJ was exactly what he had imagined—empty-headed, obedient, and driven by nothing more than his primal instincts. “You won’t be needing any of those big words anymore, will you, AJ?” George asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

AJ shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly as if even that small movement required a great deal of effort. “Nuh-uh,” he mumbled. “Big words are… uh… too hard.”

“Exactly,” George said, patting AJ’s cheek lightly. “And from now on, you’re going to live a very simple life. No more worrying about being better than anyone else. No more trying to prove how smart you are. You’ll be much happier this way. Just working out, fucking, and doing whatever you’re told.”

AJ nodded slowly, his thick muscles pulling and rippling beneath his skin as he flexed unconsciously. “Yeah, bro,” he agreed, his voice, like his mind, slow. “I like… liftin’... an’ fuckin’...”

“Now, AJ,” George said with command, “I think it’s time you head to the gym. You wouldn’t want to miss leg day, would you?”

AJ’s eyes widened slightly, the thought of working out sending a thrill of excitement through his body. “Leg day,” he repeated. “Yeah, bro. I gotta… lift.”

George smirked, watching diligently at his Frankenstein creation as AJ’s single-minded focus shifted completely to the gym. “That’s right, big guy. Go on, hit the weights, and make sure everyone sees how big and strong you are.”

AJ beamed, his dim-witted grin stretching even wider. “Gotta pump some iron.”  And as AJ disappeared into the distance, George sighed, knowing the man who’d once scoffed at him, at the very idea of magic and fate was now living proof of it’s power, his entire existence rewritten by just a few simple words. George smirked, satisfied once again, and waited for the next asshole to match with him on Hinge.

AJ, meanwhile, wandered toward the gym, his thoughts a jumbled mess of anticipation and primal urges. He could feel the weight of his bulging muscles with every step, the tightness of his tank top stretching across his massive chest. The constant itch in his groin had him adjusting his shorts every few seconds, a fart always ready in the chamber, and his cock already hard at the thought of the next guy he’d meet, or the next weight he’d lift.  He grinned stupidly, flexing his biceps as he prepared for the first set. “Let’s go, bro,” he muttered to himself, his voice thick with excitement. “Time to get swole.”

And with that, AJ’s transformation was complete. The man he had once been—Adam, the intellectual, the scholar—was gone, replaced by a farting, burping, simple-minded, horny, muscle-obsessed jock who lived only for the gym, for sex, and for any task any man asked for.

“Life’s good, bruh.”

[8makes1newworld]

Mine Forever

a vampire Seonghwa + human reader scenario for the beginning of Halloween season

I hope a certain someone likes this

warnings: wax play. unprotected sex. touch of degradation. blood drinking.

The candles burned low, casting an intimate and somewhat erotic glow around the room. The vampire studied the body of his subject closely, admiring the curves and angles. The wax and candles were a plaything to him, and so were you. His subject. He couldn't wait to see your reaction as the hot wax dripped onto your skin.

You knew you loved the pain that was dished out, and that was why you stayed all these years with him. Seonghwa knew it too, and that was why he wouldn't let you leave. You were stuck here with him, and he knew it, and that was part of the fun. He could do whatever he wanted with you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You gasped sharply as he poured the hot wax onto your skin, mind reeling with pleasure despite how painful it was.

"Taking it so well, pet~" A sadistic smirk twitched at the vampires lips. His face drew near yours as he watched your face contort with the mixed feelings.

His brow quirked as you whined. "Good. Taking it so well without uttering a single word just like how I trained you~" He smiled devilishly.

Your breath caught in your throat as he tilted the candle over your chest. The sticky warmth running along your nipples was enough to cause your eyes to roll back from the sickening pleasure while terrified of what he would do to you next. Finding it exhilarating just the same.

Seonghwa purred with pleasure as he watched the substance pool on your skin, his grin mocking as he watched you where you lie before him helpless and accessible to every whim that he had for you. Being indulged in all of his dirty ideas as you accepted innocently without question.

"You like being a vampire's toy~? Aren't we both so lucky~? You're all mine to play with." The low sound of his purrs made your hair stand on end even more than you thought was possible.

The vampire admired your curves. Finding you even more beautiful then the goddess venus herself as well as Eros.

His glowing red eyes surveyed your body where you lied down.

Indeed you were everything he wanted and more. Always stirring a feeling inside of him that he had thought was long forgotten to never return again.

With you he could remember he was a man as well as vampire, craving the sweet essence that pumped through your veins as well as the feel of your creamy soft skin that enticed him to touch you.

"Does my little one yearn for a reward?" The vampire smirked as he watched you nod eagerly.

"I wonder what I should give~ Such a gorgeous jewel would need something nice, maybe something that would leave a deep impression on you~" Seonghwa's voice rang in your ears as his fingers touched the wax that had now hardened on your nipples. Giving a tug that showed to whom your body belonged to.

You whine from the lack of sensation. How he loved to hear your sounds. So soft, so innocent and literally gifts stolen from a captured angel.

"Mh will this do, little slave~?" He slots himself between your legs suavely. His crotch pressed flush against your entrance.

You nod frantically as his face draws close to yours. The menacing look of hunger mesmerizing you.

"There, there. Such a cooperative little dumb pet~" His voice was like velvet, caressing your ears with unseen hands.

"You're all mine. No one will ever have you, little darling." His voice was a firm but gentle hiss. He discarded his pants hastily and climbed onto you with the grace of a cat.

Your heart pounds. Everything you ever dreamed of with this being was in this moment when it happened.

You moan in ecstasy when you feel his tip press into your hole. Your body arching as you tried to use your arms to crawl away from the stretch that threatened to fragment the remainder of what sanity you had left.

"How can I resist such a delicious delicacy?" Seonghwa smirks at you while your eyes screw shut. He groans in enjoyment as your wet cunt envelopes him in a heavenly embrace.

Your sweet moan electrifying him and making him feel every inch of his body come to life.

"So beautiful, made just for me the warmth of your sweet embrace of love is such a succulently sweet craving to feed~" His voice tender with hints of lust.

He thrusts into you deeply, getting closer to you to inhale your sweet scent. His eyes holding contact with the big beautiful eyes that he so frequently lost himself in.

You were more than just a plaything to him. But the darkness in his heart prevented him from ever saying so.

Your moans spur him on to thrust harder and your hands tangle in his hair passionately while his fangs mark across your neck. Branding you as his.

"My little slave~" He coos sensually and effortlessly coaxed your walls to flutter with arousal. The heat within yourself growing unbearable as the union of your bodies slapping together grew louder.

"Let it out, my little doll~" He growls against your neck, "No one else will have you."

You wildly writhe beneath him as your climax grows nearer, gripping onto the vampire for dear life as all reasoning threatened to shatter.

He smirks when he feels your throat constrict with a gulp. The temptation growing stronger as his mouth closes in on your delicious, pulsing artery.

You release with a screeching cry that could easily rival a banshee. Though the sound was far more soothing and spine tingling. The sensation of his fangs burying into your neck was more than your body could handle.

Pure ecstasy racked your senses and the only thing that you could think of was him. Sucking the blood that you willingly gave him.

He groans lowly as he empties himself inside of you. The heat lulling you to sleep. As well as the loss of blood.

"Mmnh~" You moan softly and close your eyes. Drifting to sleep as the vampire withdrew his bloody fangs from your body.

The vampire gazed down at you, admiring your sleeping face in the candlelight. Your serene expression reminded him of what he had once lost.

With care, he picked you up and carried you to his chamber. The Victorian-style canopy that accented his bed was what he felt was a fitting place to lay you down beneath.

He silently wished that he was a different being now, haunted by endless memories and regrets. But every moment of seeing your peaceful face and your body lying peacefully in his arms, he couldn't help but dream of what might have been.

"As Van Helsing once said 'there's no use in crying over spilled milk'" Seonghwa whispered to himself as he admired you while you slept peacefully in his arms.

He couldn't fathom how things could have been had he been human, but for now he was content to relish every moment with you.

Whether it was love or something else entirely, you were essential to him. He needed you, and he knew you needed him just as much, maybe even more.

No one could ever desire you like he did, and that made your submission to him all the more special.

He was going to savor every instance he had with you, and try to hold on as long as he possibly could. Then maybe, one day you would be a thirsting creature just like him.

The moonlight filtering in through his gauze curtains made a gorgeous, pearlescent glow.

Your peaceful breathing was hypnotic as he watched your beautiful face.

A dark smile played upon his lips as he admired you.

One day, he would be able to have you in his life forever, and this thought filled him with a sadistic joy that he could hardly bear to imagine.

"You're mine forever, y/n~"

[skeletalgoats]

Unforgivable Accidents

Synopsis: Roach said and did things the other day without thinking when he got drunk, and it now will forever haunt him

TW: Mentions of alcohol and drugs, no good ending, death (A slightly brutal one too 🤷‍♀️)

A/N: I was about to do this with Gaz or price but I wanted to see my favorite character suffer 🙌 Also I lied to my mutual saying that I was gonna make a good ending but I'm gonna make some Roach fluff as an apology for this lmfao

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡♡♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night wasn't looking very pretty.

At all.

You really don't know what you did wrong either.All you did was ask if he was alright.

But you guess the problem was probably you then.

"Do you ever shut your mouth for once?! I Don't see why it matters to you, useless bitch." Roach spat at you.

You kept on telling yourself that everything is alright, he's just drunk.

What happened to him???He was normally so sweet??Let alone the sweetest person you knew….

Maybe he just needed some understanding?

"Roach, look, I'm really sorry for bothering you, but you need to calm down and tell me what's wrong.You're just drunk."

But at that exact same moment, he crossed the line, losing it.

"You could drop dead right now, and I wouldn't care.It would be nice to have your mouth shut for once."

"What?"

"You heard me, Fucking kill yourself."

You had no words.The sweetest person in your life telling you to die didn't really seem right.

"Roach, please let me hel-"

You were interrupted by a coffee table being thrown at your face, and you didn't realize how much of a bloody mess your face was until you collapsed onto the ground and hit your head against the wall, painting it red.

The next thing you knew, you were being punched in the face by him, falling unconscious.

When you woke up you were still in the same place where you were beat up.Looking at the time you saw that it was 2:24 in the morning.Turns out Roach really didn't bother helping you out.You sighed and tried getting up, but you couldn't move without feeling a massive amount of pain, you fell back and sat there for a moment before starting to cry when all the emotions that you felt before return back to you tenfold.

Your cries turned into sobs, and your sobs became mixed with your wails of pain as you struggled to breathe.

As you tried calming yourself down, you found it harder and harder to breathe.

Desperately, you use all your might to get up and grabbed some pills and water, hoping it would help with your breathing.

You grabbed the bottle and without thinking, you downed the whole thing desperately along with the water.

You noticed this stinging in your throat as your mind went foggy.

You tried getting up, but you couldn't move.

You tried screaming for help, but you couldn't make a loud enough noise from the panic and strong emotions.

You tried thinking of what to do desperately, but the only thing filling your mind were the last things Roach told you.

"You could drop dead right now, and I wouldn't care.It would be nice to have your mouth shut for once."

Panic filled your mind as you felt helpless, until everything went black.

The next morning, Roach wakes up to find that you weren't in bed next to him.

This slightly concerned him.Maybe he was too harsh?After all you only meant well….and he was drunk, hopefully you could be understanding, right?

As Roach got out of bed and got ready, he wondered what to say, until he got hit with this bad feeling in his gut, but he brushed it off, assuming that he was being dramatic and you were perfectly fine making coffee.

Walking downstairs he began to speak.

"Hey, uhm about last night…I just wanted to-"

He froze as he looked up at you, turning as pale as a ghost.

"No...No No NO!"

He rushed to your side in seconds, shaking you while hoping that you would wake up.

"Hey, hey!Are you alright?!...Please....wake up....I'm sorry....please don't leave me...."

He began laying you onto the ground and performing CPR, but no avail.

His eyes darted around the room looking for something that would help.

Spotting the phone, he dialed an ambulance.

As you were put on the stretcher and and drove to the hospital, Roach was filled with regret and grief, begging for you to be okay.

In fact, he would give anything for you to be alright.He would sell his soul....hell, would even sacrifice himself for you.

After waiting out of your room for hours, a nurse walked out and spoke the last words he wanted to hear.

"We're sorry, but they couldn't make it."

In that moment he could not except the fact that he just lost the most important person in the world to him.

You were dead.

You died because of him.

Because he was drunk.

Because of some stupid alcohol changing how he acted that night.

And he will forever regret it and mourn your death...

[lindajenni]

a needed sacrifice (a repeat daily)

"'come now, and let us reason together,' says the Lord, 'though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall be as wool.'" isa 1:18

was the death of Jesus necessary? well, i guess it really wasn't if the Father God was content to have His "unique creation" forever separate from Him. but He wasn't. He had to bridge the great gulf that had continually expanded since He created us. "and besides all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed, so that those who want to pass from here to you cannot, nor can those from there pass to us." luke 16:26

the One who created us and all things is holy. darkness cannot exist in His light. it will always be extinguished. we had to be born again as children of that light to cohabit with Him.

so i ask again: was the death of Jesus necessary? to the Father, yes! one can only look to their own life and see if it was. in my case, there is no doubt it was necessary. and now a little story.

the room

in that place between wakefulness and dreams, i found myself in the room. there were no distinguishing features save for one wall covered with small index card files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings.

as i drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "people i have liked." i opened it and began flipping cards. i quickly shut it, shocked to realize that i recognized the names written on each one.

and then without being told, i knew exactly where i was. this lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. here were written the actions of every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.

a sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as i began randomly opening files and exploring their content. some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that i would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. a file named "Friends" was next to one marked "friends i have betrayed."

the titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "books i have read," "lies i have told," "comfort i have given," "jokes i have laughed at." some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "things i've yelled at my brothers." others i couldn't laugh at: "things i have done in my anger," "things i have muttered under my breath at my parents." i never ceased to be surprised by the contents. often there were many more cards than i expected. sometimes fewer than i hoped.

i was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life i had lived. could it be possible that i had the time in my short life to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? but each card confirmed this truth. each was written in my own handwriting. each signed with my own signature.

when i came to a file marked "lustful thoughts," i felt a chill run through my body. i pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. i shuddered at its detailed content. i felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

an almost animal rage broke on me. one thought dominated my mind: no one must ever see these cards! no one must ever see this room! i have to destroy them! in an insane frenzy, i yanked the file out. its size didn't matter now. i had to empty it and burn the cards.

but as i took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, i could not dislodge a single card. i became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when i tried to tear it.

defeated and utterly helpless, i returned the file to its slot. leaning my forehead against the wall, i let out a long, self-pitying sigh. and then i saw it. the title bore "people i have shared the gospel with." the handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. i pulled on its handle and a small box not more than 3 inches long fell into my hands. i could count the cards it contained on one hand.

and then the tears came. i began to weep. sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. i fell on my knees and cried. i cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. the rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. no one must ever, ever know of this room. i must lock it up and hide the key.

but then as i pushed away the tears, i saw Him. no, please not Him. not here. oh, anyone but Jesus. i watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. i couldn't bear to watch His response. and in the moments i could bring myself to look at His face, i saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. why did He have to read every one?

finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. but this was a pity that didn't anger me. i dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. but He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

"no!" i shouted rushing to Him. all i could find to say was "no, no," as i pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. but there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. the name of Jesus covered mine. it was written with His blood.

He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. i don't think i'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed i heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "it is finished."

i stood up, and He led me out of the room. there was no lock on its door. there were still cards to be written.

by joshua harris

do you think your life needed sch a sacrifice? yes, there are cards remaining to be written. i wonder what they will say and if they too will need a covering? try though we may we will always fall short of the glory of God. i would venture to say we will always need a covering.

[witch-hazels-musings]

In this darkness 

warning: indulgent comfort fic, some feels and stuff  

diluc x gn reader | diluc drabbles 

You let out a sigh and turned to your side. The sheets were easy to manipulate since it was just you in the bed tonight. Diluc promised he’d join you but, since he was no where to be found, you were certain something kept him occupied; as it usually did. 

The palm of your hand slid across the cold, silken bedsheets. Traveling fingers touched the empty mattress and you closed your eyes to imagine the one you loved there instead. Sometimes you wondered if your life was a dream, a figment of your imagination. On days when he wasn’t here you worried about suddenly waking up and finding out none of it was real. 

Quickly, you opened your eyes when your empty fingers gripped nothing. 

It wasn’t like you needed him by your side every second of every day, but there were times you felt lonely without him. He could be standing right next to you and you’d secretly wish he’d be closer. 

Pamper me, give me your undivided attention. Your heart would plead while you smiled at those who passed by before continuing with your work. 

Out of the two of you, you were far quicker to gather that desire of closeness. It would come like a creeping itch until it spread across every inch of you. Nothing to satisfy it until he held you in his arms for an unbelievably long time. Often you were able to satiate it, subdue it by sleeping next to him. Your hand would find his in the darkness. His exhausted fingers curling around yours, thumb unconsciously rubbing against your skin. If you removed the covers enough you could even press your forehead to his shoulder and breathe him in. It wouldn’t last forever, by the archons if this boy wasn’t a thousand degrees when he slept, but you’d tempt the heat if it meant being close to him. 

-- 

Another sigh left your lips and you gave up on holding back. Perhaps, maybe, possibly, you could check in on him for a minute. Steal a bit of his time.

You didn’t want to be annoying so it would only be a quick check-in and then head back to bed. 

The floor creaked as you glided through the hallway. A soft sliver of orange light spilled from under the study door, drawing you closer. You could tell it was shut to avoid distractions; of the household or the occupier you couldn’t tell but, now that you stood before it, you began to have second thoughts. Your mind begged you to go back while your heart anchored you to the floor.

Nervously, you pulled the robe further around before softly knocking. 

There wasn’t a sound. Not a movement at all which meant he’d probably slipped out for the evening. A common occurrence with him. Defeated, you hung your head low, the robe falling off your shoulder as you turned away but before you could take a step, the study opened and you took in Diluc’s comforting glow. 

“Y/N?” 

“... hi.” 

“It’s well past midnight what are -- are you alright?” his hand moved to your arm and you stepped closer to him. His neck stretched as he searched the hall before he looked you over; always the worry wort. 

You didn’t mean to look so helpless. It was more of your nerves, half-embarrassment that made you look as pitiful as you were. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Bad dreams?” 

“Something like that ...” you lied. 

He looked at you for a moment before his hand slid down to capture yours. It was a sweet, innocent gesture but it made your heart flutter nevertheless. He pulled you into the study and you never thought the sound of a closing door would be so comforting. 

Diluc led you further in, passing the parchment covered desk and toward the couch that rested under the large window. He got you settled. Ushering you onto the cushions, a blanket carefully placed over your legs, a pillow at your side and just when you thought he was going to return to his work, you saw him bring several documents with him as he sat next to you. 

You waited, silently, as he settled in. His leg resting over his opposite knee so as to not bump you. His muscular arm pressing against you, lifting it slightly as if to request you wrap your arms around it. You did and soon found yourself perfectly comfortable against him. “Try to get some sleep,” He hummed, lips touching your head in a gentle kiss. 

“I’m not sleepy,” You explained through a yawn. 

“Mmhm,” He replied, unconvinced, with another kiss against your hair. Diluc shifted on the couch. He pulled a document into his lap and began to read through it carefully. You were certain he needed to get through whatever they were. That’s why he hadn’t come to bed, you realized.

“Hand me some," You yawned again, hand extending to the documents. 

“You should get some rest.” 

“So should you. Now, gimmie," You curled your fingers quickly, a playful beg he succumbed to almost instantly. Smiling, you took the papers in your hand and began to read them carefully. At first, you were digesting the information with ease, quick problems identified and solved. You made a few comments to him and he replied accordingly.

Every once in a while you’d leave a soft peck against his bicep, your arms would tighten around him or you moved closer against him. If he wasn’t busy writing something down, his hand was resting against your legs. You knew he wouldn’t admit it but Diluc had clingy tendencies just as much as you did. 

Soon the conversation died down, the clock ticked in beat with your heart and, just as he expected, your body grew heavier as soft breathing filled his ears. 

“Sleep well, my love," He whispered and took the papers that had fallen from your grip. He adjusted the blanket, made sure to not disturb your slumber with his actions. Your breathing tickled his arm and he smiled at the sensation.

“I’ll keep the darkness at bay," Diluc promised as his lips brushed against your brow and his fingers caressed your peaceful cheek. 

Diluc would've continue his work if your resting face hadn’t caught his attention. You looked so peaceful next to him.

Content, happy, lovely.

He felt guilty for not always being there for you, knew he should give you more of his time, wondered if he should push you more to rely on him. You were so headstrong, determined, stubborn just like he was but how he was enamored with the way you loved him.

He knew, no matter what, you’d come to him when you needed his strength just like he’d come to you when he needed yours.

[ohnococo]

All For You | Reiner Braun x Reader

Summary: You and Reiner have sex for the first time.

Notes: Post time-jump, though there’s not even the tiniest bit of plot in this porn. Pls be gentle, it’s my first time writing in this fandom and I just want to take care of Reiner (don’t we all tho?)

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Post time skip, PWP, Vaginal Sex, Creampie

NSFW/18+ ONLY Under the cut!

You feel it as you ease down onto Reiner, his every muscle is tensed beneath you. Each slow inch deeper and deeper into your warmth has him shuddering and expelling jagged breaths as though they were being forced from him. You can see from the way his eyes try desperately to focus on you and how he clenches and unclenches the sheets with your every move, that everything in his body is telling him to thrust. To grab you by your hips and pull you down onto him, fast and hard, fast enough to break you, fast enough to break him, and with enough intensity to have you both fused together by your jagged ends. He resists, brain always conquering heart, and lets you sink down slower and slower still. When you finally settle down against his hips, clenching around the expanse too wide for your walls to do much more than grip at weakly, he lets out a drawn out groan, a sound not unlike a final breath. As you begin rocking on his cock, adjusting, squirming, Reiner smooths his hands across the cool sheets as if searching - but forcing himself to only feel around blindly in the same small circle.

“You can touch me, Reiner.”

He blinks away the haze clouding his vision, trying his hardest to focus on your sweet face as he considers his options and looks almost worried for a moment.

You know exactly where his mind is at and meet him halfway. “You can’t hurt me, I promise.”

Tentative hands slide from the sheets to meet your knees and you take the final step of pulling them up to your hips where he squeezes lightly. His grip tightens reflexively when you slide up his length slowly, as high as your range of motion - limited by the size of the man you were sitting atop - will allow. Once you sink back down onto him he lets out another low groan, as if your weight were instead on his chest, pushing the air from him. You establish a rhythm, and despite the large hands gripping you there is no attempt to change it, so you continue to move faster and harder down onto him. Each time you pick up your pace his hands have to readjust from trembling against your skin, as if he might have to force them back to his sides, to gripping you tightly as if you might float away and deny him your warm embrace.

You relish in the small noises bubbling up from his swollen lips, music to your ears as you commit the dark blush across his cheeks to your memory. He sounds almost as if it’s a shock to his system every time he’s buried fully inside of you, filling you to the brim, his breaths becoming quieter and quieter. Eventually all you can hear over the lewd sounds of engulfing his cock with your wetness is the small choked groans stuck in his throat as he stares in awe at where the two of you meet.

“Breathe, baby, you’ve gotta breathe.”

It’s as if he’d needed permission all along, the way he begins taking deep breaths, chest shaking, stomach twitching, and then releases all of his pent up energy in a long broken whine. With his laboured breaths and glassy eyes, it occurs to you that you’d love nothing more than to make him try and speak for you through all of this.

“How does it feel, Reiner? Is it good?”

He pulls a trembling lip between his teeth, eyes darting up to meet yours, traveling up and down your jiggling body, then rolling into the back of his head as you clench around him with each drag up his throbbing length. He nods, though the movement is so small it’s barely perceptible.

“You’ve got to speak for me baby, let me know if i’m making it good enough for you.”

He shuts his eyes tightly and you allow it, knowing you may never get a coherent sentence out of him if you were to force him to watch you taking him. “It’s… of course it is… s’good. So good.” He ends his babbling with a deep a breathy sigh of your name and the way it makes you shiver on top of him, pussy fluttering as heat pools all the faster in your core, has him whispering your name again and again in search of that same reaction, until it’s too much for him to say even that.

You know you’re pushing yourself too far with a cock as big as Reiners, but you can’t help going faster, bringing yourself down onto him harder, anything to keep hearing the noises he’s making. Anything to make him open wide beneath you like you’d never seen before. You lean forward, bracing yourself on his broad chest, crouching so your weight is on your feet instead of your knees to give yourself that little bit more room to slide up until only the thick head of his cock is anchored inside of you only to slam back down hard and fast. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a tinge of selfishness in the movement, loving the drag of his silky cock against the sweet spot inside of you, but nothing was more important to you in this moment than the sounds being ripped from Reiner. Deep moans punctuated by helpless whines as he emptied his lungs, followed by gasps of air inward bordering on little hiccups as he desperately tries to wrap his head around just how good you could make him feel.

You want to both be trapped in this moment forever, a blissful in between where nothing matters to one but what the other can give, but you know if you don’t keep control you’ll be giving out and spent long before he is.

“I need you, Reiner.”

The words have his eyes snapping open, and he tries his very best to focus on you, on the urgency in your voice. You know you can only keep his mind on track for moments at a time with the way you were about to milk him dry, but you too are falling into a state of delirium at the feel of him stretching you so well even as he lies doing nothing but twitching and whining beneath you. As the coil within you tightens, threatening to break and leave your words unsaid, you rush to give him the purpose he needs, lest he lie there all night heaving and moaning without the release you intended for him from the very start.

“Need you to fill me. Need you to cum for me.”

The haze clouding his eyes clears for only a moment as he very suddenly looks alert, almost alarmed. Alarmed that his body is acting on your command, not his, and that the orgasm coursing through him in white hot strides from his toes all the way up and into his tightening balls were for your sake, and yours alone. He groans, he whimpers, he cries, all movements that happen without his control as he fills you with all that he has to offer. In the end, it may have indeed been only for you as his heat flooding you seems to spread throughout your body as you clench and cum around him. You make as much of a mess of him as he does of you, your slick pouring down and pooling on his hips, and rock against him holding him deep as he will go as you ride out both of your orgasms. This is the bliss you’d always wanted him to have. This is only a piece of all the things he intends to give you.

[prompts-of-a-dreamer]

Too Much!

art by : @randomdoodle

Sub! Erwin x Fem!Reader

Tags: SMUT, Dom-Sub, Bondage, Edging, Overstim

Words: 900

          Erwin Smith was a deceitful man. Not a lot of people know what goes on in that mind of his, behind those big, shining blue eyes and a confident smile. He was always so composed, playing his wild cards right. It takes a lot to take him apart, piece by piece and seeing him unravel so beautifully.

           However, bottled emotions can only compress so far. Once the cap is sealed, all it takes is a little tug to send everything flying out.

           Now, the big, bad, strong man lies before you, his large hands tied above his head, showing off his pretty abdominals. The usually neat, pretty blond strands were unkept, laying across his forehead messily, framing his furrowed eyebrows. His eyes were out of focus, lips uttering prayers and begs in between pleasurable moans.

            You stood in front of him, smirking and feeling proud of your work. He tries to look at you, but the stimulus that kept his hips bucking was too great to endure. In his eyes were beady tears, screaming for help and mercy. But you weren’t ready to give up your fun just yet. No, you had simply just started.

           You leaned in towards him, whispering sickly sweet teases towards your helpless commander. “What’s the matter, Sir? Is this too much for you?”

           “No,” you stood up, glancing at the time. “It’s barely been an hour, sir. You’re going to have to work harder than that.” Your response had him frowning in disappointment.

           His mind was too fuzzy to come up with an answer. He’d put all of his strength to keep his eyes focused on you and let out a breathy mewl, “…P-please!”

           As you stepped back you fixated your eyes on his thick, pretty, throbbing cock. The poor thing stood at a whopping nine inches, with a nice maroon – almost wine-colored – gradient on its tip, shiny and slimy from all the precum leaking out. It had been left untouched for the past hour, with Erwin begging for you to rub him. The only stimulation he had received was from you kissing, biting and suckling on all his other sensitive spots except for his poor, pulsating cock.

           You took a scan to find another spot to tease, which was difficult, as Erwin was covered from head to toe with dark little kiss and bite marks. Slowly, you sat in front of his crotch, in between his legs and lifted one of his thick thighs. He started to whimper as you sensually kissed and nibbled on his thigh. He tried to keep himself still, afraid of crushing your little head with his big limbs. You gently slapped his wiggling legs, “Stay still.”

           He tried to be obedient like a good pet, but his abs started clenching harder, and his hips bucking forward. With shaking legs, he whined, “J-just one touch! Please, Y/N!”.

           You held down his thighs and leaned forward, warm breath sending shivers down his painfully sensitive cock. You wondered if you could make him cum without touching his member at all. With a playful grin on your face, you started to kiss, suck, and bite even harder on every inch of his skin, his abs, his thighs, his nipples, his neck, except for the part of him that wanted, no, needed it the most.

           His moans grew louder and breaths heavier as you continued to suckle on his body. Every sensation on his body felt so painful, yet so good. His desperation blurred the lines between ache and pleasure. He had no idea whether he wanted it to last longer or end quickly. But even if he wanted the sensation to last forever, his muscles could not do the work for him.

           With a high-pitched moan and a little growl, he let go of everything, painting your hair and himself white with his cum. His eyes roll back, legs shaking and his pretty abs started flexing as he tries to catch his breath. A devilish thought ran across your mind as you saw the pretty boy breathing so hard, all his muscles flexing and shaking, not even being able to say a word yet.

           You crawled and sat in front of his crotch, smiling as you lean in until Erwin could feel your soft sighs on the tip of his cock. He lifted his head up, trying to catch a view of what you’re trying to pull. Not wanting to miss your opportunity, you stick out your tongue and gave the commander’s pretty cock a little kitten lick on the tip. He growled and wiggled his body spontaneously in response, hands moving desperately within restrictions.

           “N-no! Please, stop!”

           Being the devil reincarnate that you are, you took a long lick from his balls to the top of his shaft and started sucking on his fat dick, leaving him breathless and laughing like a madman from the incredible sensation. In between his desperation, he let out little whimpers that motivated you to keep on going. His legs started rubbing the floor under him in circles as you palm the head of his cock while licking up-and-down his shaft.

           It didn’t take him long to climax again, this time letting out a more desperate load, as he groans, which shot straight inside your mouth, leaving but breathless pants and sighs from his lips.

[zeta-in-de-walls]

Tommy’s character and the theme of failure

One thing I’ve always rather appreciated about Tommy’s story in the Dream SMP is how it explores the idea of failure. It can be a challenging one to do right as it means exploring a character’s weakness a lot and can start to feel unsatisfying if the character never succeeds but I feel like Tommy’s story avoids this issue as his arc is ultimately an encouraging one. His character never stops trying or gives up in spite of his losses, showing the perseverance to keep going until eventually he starts to find happiness, no matter how elusive it seems. 

Tommy’s character is no stranger to failure of course but I’d say this theme starts to become prominent with November the 16th. Tommy had two goals: to save L’Manberg and to save Wilbur. He was pretty optimistic about both. And he failed. The day ended in disaster with Wilbur dead, Technoblade, his idol, mocking his heroism and telling him to die, and his home in ruins. It takes him a long time to come to terms with who Wilbur was, separating Wilbur into two in his mind: President Wilbur and the ‘crazy’ Wilbur who blew up L’Manburg. 

But Tommy continues on, quietly moving on as L’Manburg gets rebuilt. No matter what, he still believes in L’Manburg; it’s still alive. Also, he wants to finally get his remaining disc back from Dream, feeling the need to do this after putting it aside for so long.

But of course, things don’t go well. That which he had taken for granted, his bond with Tubbo, was under fire. His personal wish to get his discs back was causing division. A simple prank gone wrong was tearing everything apart as Dream threatened L’Manburg once again. None of these things were purely Tommy’s actions, and yet his actions played a part all the same as Dream essentially took advantage of all of Tommy’s weaknesses. Tommy was being viewed as a liability, a troublemaker, as self-centred, as a problem. 

Tommy’s character likely blamed himself somewhat for his failure with Wilbur and L’Manburg the first time but it had been out of his hands and his reactions were more shock than being truly broken by the events and he kept up his optimism. Yet this time, the problems were not things far beyond his control. It seemed it was his own mistakes spelling his doom and it impacted him quite severely. As much as he recognised Dream as an antagonist here, his friends distrust of him was his failure. Despite his best efforts, he could not convince Tubbo not to exile him. 

Rather than seeing the fairly resilient, optimistic Tommy like the first time he was banished, this time Tommy’s defeated. We see the full effects it takes on his mental state and the narrative does not pull its punches. Tommy’s already depressed and we start to see evidence of suicidal thoughts very quickly. This is all made far, far worse by Dream who encourages his dark thoughts and feelings of worthlessness, telling him everyone’s better off without him while breaking his spirit and making him miserable by repeatedly blowing up his items. 

Dream was of course Tommy’s enemy, he’d recognised before that what Dream had been doing to L’Manburg, with the obsidian walls and insisting on banishing Tommy, had been unfair even if Tommy had been helpless to stop him. Yet over exile we see him really start to internalise Dream’s words, starting to really believe that narrative that he is unloved and a liability, despite his best efforts. As his mental state worsens we see him starting to believe Dream’s lies so much that he begins to believe that Dream is really his friend who cares about him. Meanwhile, he’s angrier and lashing out at the people he cares about, we seem him kill Jack, break the bridges he built and generally lashing out at the people he misses the most. 

So through exile, we see Tommy at his weakest and most vulnerable. We also see some of his flaws with his uglier side, his uncontrolled emotions, his dependency on others, his deep self-worth issues and how he can be so successfully lied to. This deep exploration of Tommy’s character allows us to really see how the repeated failures and setbacks and losses affected his character mentally and depict it as yet another obstacle he needs to overcome. 

And ultimately he does, ultimately deciding to fight back and run away from exile on his own. Tommy’s arc goes to very depressing places but manages to remain an inspiring story by showing you at his weakest and yet also show him never truly giving up but pressing on, in search of that happy ending. Running away from exile has him also realising that Dream is his enemy, not his friend and he commits to fighting back against him. 

But of course the narrative doesn’t entirely move on. Tommy’s struggles and failures continue to plague him as the mental issues he has with self-worth and his confused feelings towards Dream do not go away. He managed to continue but that wasn’t the perfect victory as most of his problems are still there and he’s still the same person. at Techno’s house, we see him and his confusion. He’s lighthearted and joking about but he’s still deeply troubled without a clear stance on Dream or L’Manburg or Tubbo and he clings to the idea of the disc as a simple goal. It seems as if he’s doomed to become the person he hated or make the same mistakes again. He once failed to save Wilbur and it seems as if his greatest failure would be to go down Wilbur’s path too, blowing up the country he once loved. 

And Tommy nearly goes too far. He finally meets Tubbo again and his anger, his issues all come back as does some self-centred behaviour as he declares that ‘the discs are worth more than you ever were’.

And he immediately regrets it. He apologises, he turns around and gives them up to Dream. He won’t let himself turn into Wilbur. 

And yet, every little victory he fights so hard for is met with an even greater failure. He switches sides on Technoblade while giving Dream exactly what he wanted. His story isn’t a happy one in spite of him trying his very best and making the decisions that are right for him. And we can only wonder how inevitable it was or if he could’ve done better for he hurts Techno deeply. Is he doing better or does his very nature doom him to make the same mistakes again and again?

Once ore, we see L’Manburg blown up and this time Tommy declares it a lost cause. Despite his best efforts, it’s over and we can only stare at the ruins of the nation he’d once helped build with Wilbur. Additionally, Tommy is dead to Techno now, that relationship seemingly broken forever. 

But it’s not the end. Tommy is defeated once more, with each failure hitting harder than the last but he doesn’t give up. He keeps on fighting. For all he’s lost, he’s won Tubbo back, and the experiences may have been terrible but he has learned something through all of it. Even if all that is, is understanding suffering a bit better and getting back the courage to apologise and reconcile.

He and Tubbo go after Dream and it’s almost, almost too late. He’s nearly locked in prison forever and Tubbo almost killed. 

But it’s not end. Just this once, it’s not a failure. They bet it all and finally had that victory. The rest of the server comes to save them and Dream gets locked in his prison while Tommy and Tubbo are finally free. 

Course, Tommy’s story isn’t over there. And the thing with this theme of failure is that it keeps on cropping up. They may have finally gotten a victory but Tommy’s issues aren’t over. he tries to start again, building his hotel but the trauma from exile has made an impact on him. It’s something that can’t be solved in a day, but only over a long time. And despite everything, the issues keep coming back. Tommy feels like things are unresolved with Dream and visits him again. 

And he gets locked in prison and dies and then gets resurrected. And its all absolutely devastating and it seems as if Tommy will never get better, that he’ll never truly have his happy ending. His hotel gets stolen from him and its as if everything he tries to do ends in failure.

He tries to sort things out, tries solving things with killing Dream and it just gets Ghostbur killed and the guilt can only eat at him. Wilbur is back at Tommy’s afraid but time has passed and he’s starting to see Wilbur more for who he is. After all he’s been through, he understands him way better than he did before. He once more commits to helping him but Tommy isn’t the naive kid he once was. 

Tommy still lives in the very same spot he always did. He still wants the same things he always did: a home, security, peace, friends, and he’s been experiencing many losses. And yet, his story is not a hopeless one. Because in spite of all that’s happened, he’s still trying again. And he’s learned and can avoid making those mistakes again. Right now, he’s doing better, he’s committing to living peacefully in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He’s been attempting to build bridges and though all his failures haunt him, he is gradually healing day by day, still trying to find that happy ending.

I think Tommy’s story is very cool for the way it really explores these themes of failure. It does not pull its punches, its dark, never easy or straightforward but that’s also what makes it so powerful. Those bright spots, feel so good, they feel so rewarding because they were so hard-fought. We root for Tommy’s character because we’ve seen his journey and really feel he deserves his happy end even though its never going to be perfect and indeed every failure is a mixture of forces outside of his control and his character which he has been trying to improve, learning to be nicer, more forgiving and more aware of his own emotions. He can’t fix Dream nor does he know how best to help Wilbur but he can help himself and that’s what he’s always trying to do. He holds himself to account and always tries his best.

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Yes ! Can you maybe do an imagine where the reader breaks up with Will because they dont think they’re good enough for him ?? But with a happy ending where they get back together because he really wants to be with them

Of course, sweet Anon!😊 Man, y'all really love angst lmao In retrospect, this might be a bit too angsty😬I blame Bo Burnham's Inside

This imagine is going to be really depressing, like a lot. There will be mentions of attempted suicide and self harm so, SEVERE TRIGGER WARNING.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been over a year since you broke up with Will.

You'd never felt more depressed in your life, but you thought it was the right decision at the time. What bullshit that turned out to be...

Your crippling insecurity forced your mind to think you didn't deserve to have someone as amazing as Will, he was so thoughtful and you were so, well, so dependent.

You weren't in the best stage of your life when you met Will, you were in a really dark place and you had even more trouble getting out of it. You haven't really made much progress since then, but you tried.

You just wanted to feel better for once. Every day, you just felt like you were drowning and taking Will with you.

He was your rock, and he made sure that he was right beside you every time you felt bad. Of course, being an actor, he had to go away sometimes and you always told him that you'd be fine. You weren't, of course, but you were always so happy for him whenever he'd book a film or TV show because it made him happy.

There were days you just felt numb, mostly when Will wasn't with you. Those days you'd just lay in your bed, sob uncontrollably until the exhaustion would put you to sleep.

Will felt helpless, and you could always see it on his face. He was worried about you, he wanted to help you, but it wasn't something that he could change or do anything about. Him worrying about you day and night made you feel even worse, that was not what you wanted for him. He deserved to be with something that lifted him up and encouraged him, not someone who's depressing all the time and unintentionally bringing him down with them. No...you didn't want that for him at all.

It was inevitable, but it didn't make it any easier to break up with him.

Will's heartbroken face would forever be engrained in your mind, but you kept telling yourself it was in his best interest.

You cried the hardest you ever cried in your entire life. You loved him so much, you didn't want to let him go, but you couldn't let your toxicity ruin his life. And you honestly thought that it would get better in time, but it only made your mental state deteriorate ever more.

One night, when the pain got too hard to handle, you took and broke your shaving razors, taking out the blades.

In hindsight, you really wished you hadn't, you felt embarrassed about it for the longest time. But trying to look on the bright side, it did force you to finally get the professional help you needed. Therapy, medication, the whole nine yards. You kicked yourself for not getting yourself help sooner, because you felt better now that you were going to therapy.

You still struggled a lot, but you knew once you found the right medication, it would become more bearable, and it did eventually. It took a lot of hard work.

You thought about Will a lot, what he was up to, if he found someone else that he loved. The thought was painful, but all you wanted for him was to find true happiness.

One day, you decided to go out to a coffee shop one morning, as opposed to just Postmateing yourself like you normally did. Your therapist did say you needed to get out more, so you took their advice.

You walked through town, a simple little coffee shop catching your eye. The name sounded familiar to you, though you couldn't quite place why. You didn't think you'd been to this place before, you usually made your own coffee, but you wanted to give it a try.

The light ring of a bell filled your ears as you opened the front door. It was a really cold morning, so the warm heat hitting your skin and inhaling the strong smell of coffee and freshly made bakeries put a small smile on your face.

You were thankful that there wasn't a line, possibly to early in the morning, maybe you got there before the usual early birds. Though looking around, it was a small place, only a few book readers scattered amongst the small tables that were set up opposite of the counter where you ordered.

While waiting for your coffee, a wall full of art caught your eye. You walked closer to look at all the pieces, all of them painted by customers. Hmm, cute...

You didn't really acknowledge the bell ringing once more, signaling an arrival of another customer, to focused on the pretty art.

"Hey!" You heard one of the workers say cheerfully, probably addressing the new customer. "Your usual, Will?"

Your smile dropped. Ha, what are the odds, right?

"Yep, of course. Thank you."

Then, your heart dropped.

You recognized that voice anywhere. Now you knew why this shop sounded so familiar, it was Will's favorite place to get coffee, he had mentioned it to you before. Of course, of all the coffee places in town, you had to pick this one.

You slowly turned around, your heart beating out of your chest and almost coming to a complete stop once you laid eyes on his face. That face you always thought about, even in your dreams. "Wi-"

"Y/n!" You cringed as the coffee shop worker called out your name, telling you that your coffee was ready.

Will immediately snapped his gaze over to you, clearly having trouble believing it was actually you. You stood there awkwardly, having a hard time reading his expression. Was he mad? Sad? Happy?

"Y/n." Will almost whispered, taking a couple steps closer to you.

Will looked the same, just as handsome as when you last saw him. His eyes were locked onto you, looking you over in awe. He thought you looked so much healthier now, but always thinking that you look stunning, no matter the circumstance.

"How...how are you?" Will started, a small smile finally stretching across his lips. "You look," He chuckled softly, "amazing."

You looked down slightly when your face started to burn, all of your blood seeming to rush right to your face from one simple compliment. "Thank you." You said sheepishly. "You look amazing too, as usual."

Now it was Will's turn to blush, his easy to spot with his fair complexion. "Uh, do you wanna, maybe, sit down? Or we could go somewhere else, if you want to, that is. Don't feel pressured or anything." He rambled.

You smiled. "Yeah, sure." You grabbed your coffee and joined Will at the table he chose to sit at. "So, uh, how've you been?" You asked, taking tiny sips of your hot drink.

"Good, good. I'll be filming a new project soon, so that'll be fun." Will paused for a beat, then sighing despairingly . "I've been, uh, thinking about you. A lot."

"I've been thinking about you too."

"I kinda lied. I am filming something soon but, I haven't been good. Ever since we broke up, life just...kind of feels a bit grey now."

You frowned, biting your lip hard to keep tears from welling up in your eyes. "I'm sorry, Will..." You whispered. "I thought you'd be better off without me to drag you down. I was such a burden."

Will furrowed his brows, shaking his head with a frown. "No. You weren't dragging me down, I loved you, Y/n. I would've done anything for you. I know that you struggled a lot with your mental health, but I wanted to be with you through all that. I never thought you were a burden, not for a second."

"I just," You wiped an unwanted tear from your cheek, "I don't think I was ready to be in a relationship then. I've been working really hard on my health and now that I have a clearer mindset, I think it was probably for the best that I broke up with you when I did."

Will took a deep breath. "I respect that. I do. I'm happy for you, that you're better now. I don't want this to come off as selfish...but I still love you. I want to be with you. But I understand if you can't be in a relationship right now. I'll wait for you, as long as it takes if you'll let me."

You blushed furiously once more. At this point, you practically wanted to throw yourself at this man. You didn't care if it didn't work out again, you still wanted him, badly.

"I still love you too, Will. Always have."

Will smiled softly. "I don't want you to be my partner again if you're not ready."

"I don't know if I am, I'm still working on myself, but...goddamn I wanna kiss you so bad right now." You said, eliciting another blush and a shy laugh from Will.

You answered him by leaning forward slowly, rubbing your nose against his before gent as you smiled widely at him, leaning closer. You almost shivered as his cold hands reached over to delicately trace your jawline, the gesture automatically putting you in a sort of trance where you could only look into his eyes.

"I really want to kiss you." Will giggled, fully cupping the side of your jaw. "May I?"

You answered him by leaning forward slowly, rubbing your nose against his before gently connecting your lips with his.

Over a year of wanting and missing Will, you ignored your dislike of PDA, you've needed this for so long. The spark you always felt when you kissed him was still there, still giving you goosebumps along with an intense desire you definitely couldn't act on in this coffee shop.

Will pulled away, only to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes closed just relishing in the moment. "I've missed you so much."

"Me too." You chuckled breathlessly.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to rush back into things. We can take it slow if that's what you want."

This man was always such a gentleman, but it just made you even more eager to take him home with you.

"Right now, I don't think I'm capable of taking things slow." You said, a almost seductive tone to your voice.

Will smiled playfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "That's absolutely not taking things slow."

"How about we go to my place? Make up all the lost time?" You asked not as confidently, the feeling of rejection making you nervous, but Will smiled gently, taking a hold of your hand and kissing you once more.

"Lead the way."

~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed! Hopefully it wasn't too depressing and dark in the beginning.

[hongism]

the little things - c. jongho

↣ pairing: jongho x reader; mentioned poly ot8 x reader ↣ genre: sfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, fantasy au, witch ateez au ↣ wc: 3.6k ↣ summary: when the winters seem to drag and last forever, you find yourself slipping a bit into murky waters of despair. jongho is your lifeline, your lifesaver, your lifeboat, determined to guide you back to peaceful shores. ↣ warnings: mentions of intrusive thoughts, depression, lots of Talking about depression/grief/mourning, mentions of death/talking about someone who has died

The air bites harshly at your skin, nipping the areas where you can’t be bothered to pull your blanket up over, and if you were in a different emotional state, perhaps you would find it in you to care more. Instead, you remain rooted to the spot — a small stump behind your cottage that overlooks the quiet and expansive forest just over the lip of the hill. It’s a beautiful sight, even in the midst of winter like this where snow has just fallen and left a white sheen to the tips of the trees below you.

It would be wise for you to be inside just in case someone decides to climb the hill to your shop and request a prescription, but you know you will sense them coming before they even reach the stairs.

So, you stay where you are, letting your blanket slip a little more from your shoulders. Your guest — even the loud and boisterous one as he works — sings along to a silent melody, painting your ears with the pleasant sound of his voice as he moves freshly chopped wood to your dwindling pile by the house. Despite your attempts to help, he simply told you to stay put and not move a muscle while he chopped and moved them. Arguing with him would be a losing fight anyway.

In all honesty, as beautiful and delightful as the forest below you usually is, you cannot find it in you to see that beauty right now. Nothing seems to be working. All your wasted and helpless attempts to feel some type of way about your surroundings have failed time and time again. Either that or they are drowned out by that lingering ache in your chest, the one that clenches your heart tight in its clutches and pins you to the ground in a state of numbness that sadly is not foreign to you.

You wish you had a better explanation for that tightness in your chest. Whenever Seonghwa or Hongjoong asks after you and how you’re faring, you scrape by and say you are doing fine. Because yes, you are arguably fine. Not bad but not particularly good either. Just a middle ground of fine. (Nothing is ever truly fine in such a world where the word has become a cloak for how one truly feels, and you know both Hongjoong and Seonghwa can see right through your ruse each time you utter the words ‘I’m fine’. Neither push you further than that, however, so you don’t say anything else). Part of you feels the tuggings of guilt on your heartstrings when one of the others tries to cheer you up — Wooyoung with his playful jokes and endless tickle fights on the couch that end with you exhaling an exasperated sigh and leaving him there alone, San who does anything and everything to help but is too clumsy for his own good so he accidentally makes things worse, Yunho who tries his best to sit with you in absolute silence without moving while you read but inevitably cannot sit still for more than five minutes without doing something. So you do feel guilty for not being able to cheer up when they try their hardest to break that emotional wall around you.

It must be frustrating for them to have to deal with you while in such a state of emotional distortion and confusion; you aren’t sure whether you could be nearly as patient as they are with you (god, they are all so endlessly patient — another thing to feel guilty about). Yet you must admit that it is frustrating for you as well. Because as much as you want to be more than just fine or okay or whatever variation of “I’m not good, not bad, I don’t know what the fuck I am, I just am” you are on a certain day, you cannot will yourself into pushing those negative thoughts and feelings out of the picture. Almost like the thing holding you down has an anchor tied to your ankle and causes you to sink deeper and deeper each time you try to fight your way out of it.

Maybe you aren’t paying as much attention as you thought you were after all because when a firm hand reaches down to clasp around your shoulder, you are more than a little startled.

The little jump in your body as well as the sudden gasp that tears through your lips catches your companion off-guard too, it seems. Although Jongho is always a hard book to read; he doesn’t wear his feelings on his sleeve the way people like Wooyoung and San do. The slight and momentary widening of his eyes tells you all you need to know before you let yourself relax under his warm touch.

That’s another thing about Jongho — he is always so warm. Now, of course, you are fairly certain that part of that relates to him being an elemental witch, so obviously he will carry some extra warmth in his body because of those energies, but he holds a different kind of warmth with him as well. One that makes you believe for almost a second that it will be okay.

The sun flickering at the edge of the horizon.

Two swallows flitting across the bright and clear morning sky.

The rolling forest that rests at the foot of your hill.

It’s green today. The snow caps the trees just enough to leave hints of winter foliage peeking through.

Green and alive and beautiful.

Then the illusion breaks, like the anchor around your foot let up for just that moment to let you gasp in a desperate gulp of air and beauty before dragging you back into its abyss.

What a cruel, cruel mistress.

“Too cold?” Jongho inquires as he squats down beside you. A smile twists his lips, gentle and effervescent. (“Love,” your mind helpfully supplies, “he looks at you with love”).

“It’s not too bad today,” you reply in a quiet tone. There lies an alternate meaning to what you said, something contained and locked away in the box you call your heart, and Jongho takes that box into his hands so carefully as always. Sits down on the snow-covered ground without complaint beside your tiny stump and lets his hand slip down to rest over where your thigh meets your knee. It’s careful. Your lip twitches in some direction.

“That still implies it’s a little bad.”

You hum in response. There isn’t much for you to say to that even though he is unfortunately all too correct in saying such a thing.

“I chopped enough wood to last you through February. Should be a harsher winter than usual, so don’t hesitate to send for me if you need more before then.” You reach down to cover Jongho’s hand, tracing pointless and unknown patterns into the back of his hand. The touch is more for you than anything else; a peace of mind that allows you to disconnect the brutal reality of your pained chest from what is sitting right in front of you. Love, joy, care, warmth.

Why does your chest only grow colder in the face of something that burns so hot?

Jongho’s lips move again, and you are almost certain that he is speaking to you but the deep waters clog your ears and make it impossible to understand what he’s saying to you.

Why does this anchor never find a place to rest? You want to rest.

When you fail to respond or even acknowledge whatever Jongho has said in the slightest, he takes it upon himself to stand back up and nudge you away from your little stump. You are understandably confused by the action but too …absent to reality to complain or fight back against whatever he’s doing.

So you opt to simply stand off to the side and watch as Jongho brushes stray pieces of snow off your blanket. He wraps it snug back around your shoulders. It’s a bit warmer this time. Then, he guides you to the back door, hand closing around the soft white handle and pushing into the cottage without a word. This is just another language you speak. Understanding. Push and pull. The complex nature of working with an emotionally stunted and constipated individual who does not know how to communicate what exactly they are feeling or thinking in the moment.

You prefer to just exist rather than bog yourself down with such detailed intricacies — it makes things easier for you in the long run.

Once inside, Jongho continues to push you forward until you reach the positively tiny dining table you have set up next to the kitchen. Hardly an excuse for a dining table since it’s barely bigger than your bedside table but then again it’s made to seat you and only you. That doesn’t stop Jongho from pulling a second chair up to slot into the space directly to the right of your chair. Again you do not fight him when he eases you down onto the soft ivory cushion.

Instinct causes you to shift and look out the window above your table, finding the first few flakes of the morning snow beginning to fall. You wonder if Jongho sensed the weather shifting or if it’s merely happenstance that brought you both inside before the snow started.

“Seonghwa went on a rampage and cleaned the house again,” Jongho murmurs. He follows your gaze out the window but doesn’t say anything more than that, leaving the conversation open and hanging onto a hope for your response.

“Is he worried over Hongjoong?”

“No more than usual. You know how he gets. Can’t sit still even when you ask him to.” You shift to look at Jongho, noting the smile that curls at the corners of his lips, and this time you return the gesture with a lopsided grin of your own. “All before sunrise too.”

“He always has to be the first to wake up, otherwise he doesn’t get to tell you that you’re his darling sunrise.”

Jongho’s smile stretches wider and shows off his gums and teeth. It’s beautiful, you think, somewhere in the back of your mind that remains untouched by that cold sadness. Happiness looks good on Jongho — warm, alive, and beautiful. You wonder if it looks the same on your features as well, if it were ever to come back to you.

“Shall I prepare some tea?”

“You’re beginning to sound like Yeosang.”

“Maybe all those naps on the couch are finally starting to have weird side effects on me.” Jongho shrugs then laughs under his breath, but the sound is still clear and bright on your ears. He pushes back from the table to step into your small kitchen nonetheless, not waiting for your answer to his question as he begins to rummage through your cabinets.

“That would make sense; you’re his favorite after all.”

“Hm, I think Seonghwa has me beat there.”

“Only because of their familiar bond. Otherwise, I’m positive you would take the cake.” You prop your elbows up on the edge of the table, leaning forward until your chin rests atop your clenched fists, and you simply watch Jongho move around the kitchen with little on your mind for a bit. He’s quiet again; this time, he doesn’t speak as he works, and it allows you to stew in the silence while you can. You have to remind yourself that sometimes it’s like this. Some days are harder than others. Some days are easier, and some are like today where you can’t even manage to pinpoint the source of your negative feelings.

You glance over at the wall, staring hard at the small chalkboard that sits there with your messing scrawling and intelligible handwriting. Then your stare settles on today’s date. The small red circle around the number placed in roman numerals there. You left no other note there, no indication of what the red circle means, but after several years of practicing said habit, the knowledge is deeply ingrained in your mind now.

“Ah…” you exhale without thinking. You don’t notice the way Jongho’s gaze flickers over to you, how his hand hesitates near the kettle, or how he follows your stare to the calendar. You’re far too engrossed in the swarm of hurt in your chest. Suddenly your shifting moods make much more sense. “Another year, another birthday passed.”

The day always feels so odd and cathartic to you. A day one is supposed to celebrate that has long since grown cold and lonely because the one you are meant to be celebrating is nothing present. Birthdays are almost worse than the other melancholy anniversary that hasn’t left your mind.

You force your gaze away from the calendar to look back at where Jongho stands frozen as a statue in the kitchen.

“Did you… remember?” You ask. Jongho doesn’t typically come over unannounced, but he rarely explains why he comes to visit either. He did neither again today. It is far more understandable now that you’ve finally realized what day it is.

“I did,” he whispers back before settling back into his routine of making tea. “I did not want to mention it unless you brought it up first.”

His tone is careful and wary, like he’s treading on broken glass and trying not to make the damage worse. You are almost grateful for it.

“It’s okay,” you say through a strained smile. “At least I know why I’m feeling this way now.”

Next thing you know, Jongho is abandoning his station at the stove, leaving the kettle behind to heat up, and he returns to your side within seconds. Although this time, he merely stands beside your chair and brings his hands down to cradle your face in his rough and warm hands. You can’t understand why until his thumbs brush something damp away from your cheeks. You don’t even remember feeling the tears spring up.

“It’s okay.”

You nearly snap back and say it’s not okay, why would it be okay if you’re crying like this? But then it hits you that Jongho is not implying the situation is okay or that it is not something to be upset over. Rather, he’s telling you that it’s okay to cry like this, to be affected and hurt and in pain. You wish you could believe it.

“I thought it would get easier as more time passed.” You keep your tone quiet, knowing that if you lift your voice any higher it will begin to crack and break.

“Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. But I think you’ve made lots of progress as it is.” Jongho squats down until most of his weight is pushed onto his toes, sitting just beneath your eye level now. His hands don’t drift from your face for a second though, and right now, you couldn’t be more grateful for the warmth of his touch. “It’s not always about measuring the pain or comparing how much it hurts not to how much it hurt back then. Sometimes it’s about being able to see how you’ve grown and how you can look back at memories that were once painful with fondness now. And occasionally, it’s about being able to look at the calendar and smile because you know you get to celebrate a life and a soul that you still cherish.”

“What if one day I look at that calendar and don’t remember though? I don’t want to forget, but I want to be okay.” You suck your lower lip between your teeth and bite down hard on the skin. It doesn’t help with your sudden influx of tears (not that you expected it to) but Jongho wipes them away with each one that falls.

“Is that what you’re afraid of? Forgetting?”

“Y-Yeah. I get… I get upset because — I don’t know. Part of me feels guilty to even want to be okay when I know that he didn’t get to be. He didn’t have the chance to be okay, he was gone before he had that, and I’m here and I just… feeling a lot less deserving of that.”

Jongho shifts his weight to rest on his knees now, and he pulls you a bit further down to still comfortably hold your face between his palms.

“Would he want you to punish yourself for something out of your control? Or would he want you to rest in the knowledge that he is okay now? Resting easy after a long fight and at peace because he did well in his life? Even if that life did not last as long as we might have hoped, he still did well and worked hard and showed a life that was full of many beautiful things, no?”

“You’re right,” you murmur, eyes flitting away from Jongho’s ever so gentle ones. “I’m thankful for the time I had with him, even if it wasn’t as long as I imagined it would be. He’s at peace and he’s resting and okay now. Just the selfish part of me isn’t ready to let go.”

“You don’t ever have to let go, darling. Not completely. And if you don’t want to let go, then that gives me confidence that you won’t forget him or the memories of him. He will always be resting here.” Jongho’s left hand falls to rest over your heart, fingers barely brushing against the soft material of your clothes there. You instinctively reach over to cover his hand with one of your own and press him closer and closer until his palm lies flat against your chest. “He would want you to find the peace you deserve even if he isn’t here on earth anymore.”

“I’m trying my best to remember that,” you counter. The words come out a bit choked and thick thanks to your tears but you push through that and continue speaking nonetheless. “I’m trying to remember that he would want us to celebrate him and remember him fondly, not just the sad parts or the tragedy. He wouldn’t want to be remembered as something sad or a tragedy, and he wouldn’t want to only be remembered when times are sad. I just feel like I’m drowning in these feelings and can��t get out sometimes.”

“In times of grief, we often let ourselves sink because we lose ourselves in the feelings of pain and sadness. It’s easier to get lost in it than it is to fight your way out of it, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. There’s always a way out. Sometimes you just need someone to hold your hand and help guide you home.”

“I want to go home,” you whisper. It sounds utterly stupid to say aloud since you are sitting in your own damn kitchen right now, you are home physically, of course you are, and you are more than well aware of that. Still, your heart feels like it’s torn from your chest and off who knows where with no hope of coming home, yet Jongho just twists his hand around and takes hold of yours. You cling to your lifeline harder.

“Do you trust us to stand by you until you find your way home?”

“Always.”

“Then I promise that’s exactly what we’ll do.” Jongho pulls your hand close to his face, then presses his lips to your knuckles. The gesture is soft and intimate, even moreso with the knowledge that Jongho isn’t one to typically engage in such physical affection often, and you feel some warmth creep into your chest again.

“Will you stay even after that?” You ask through a breathless whisper, bracing your hands on Jongho’s firm shoulders and offering a teary smile. Jongho pushes up, and his head bumps haphazardly into your shoulder as he moves suddenly. It causes you to tip back a bit, nearly falling all the way off the chair, but he catches you before you can slip. It’s not a verbal answer, nor do you need it to be because you’d like to think you can understand what Jongho means in the movements without hearing him say it. “Thank you for being patient with me. All of you are so patient and gentle with me.”

“I think this is where Seonghwa would say something grossly sappy like ‘that’s part of being in love’,” Jongho murmurs before his forehead finds purchase against yours. You let your eyes flutter shut and rest in the gentle embrace. “Thank you for opening your heart to me.” You hum back, not bothering with words in favor of just drinking in Jongho’s presence. “The kettle is boiling away, you know.”

“Let me have this for just a few moments more.”

“Always,” Jongho sighs against you, but it’s not a tired or exasperated sound, merely content in the peaceful space the two of you have created. You’re content as well — okay for now, fine for now, but maybe even leaning more on doing well and feeling good. Not perfect, although you don’t think it needs to be perfect as long as you have the hopes of reaching safe shores.

...

a/n: this came at an opportune time i think? april 7th/8th is always difficult for me and i know many people can relate to that well and understand that feeling, and i kinda unintentionally reflected those feelings into this part of little things, but i hope maybe that you can find comfort in this and understand how important and valid your feelings are, no matter what ❤❤

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Allurement : Swan Song

Yandere Namjoon x Reader

Trigger Warning- Suicide

The clouds roared with slight flashes as Namjoon sped-up the vehicle. He could not even think, it was like a reflex when he asked (Y/N) to accompany him. He could feel the uncomfortable clenching of his stomach, it was fast turning into a churn, and he the sweat forming on his palms. Namjoon could hear the thrumming of his heart as he drove past the other vehicles.

Please be okay, please.

-----

Namjoon pushed the brakes as soon as the car was inside the premises of the hotel. With once more flash over the sky, the few tears of the sky turned into weeping. He could feel his breathing go ragged, and his stomach churning as he stepped out of the car. Rounding up to (Y/N)'s window he bent down, he could see the confusion in her eyes

"Stay inside," he instructed before jogging into the building.

Namjoon jogged past the police cars, he could vaguely hear his name being called, but he could not be sure- all he could hear was a neverending beep. It was a hotel he and his family regularly visited, the manager greeted him, but he paid no mind to it. As he neared the room that had its door wide open with two officers outside, he felt the churning of his stomach intensify- it made him nauseous.

"Namjoon, wait." Yoongi's face came into his sight, his hair seemed a bit ruffled as his arms came up to hold Namjoon.

"Where is she? Where is my mother?" Namjoon heaved out, each breath turned laboured, it felt punishing even.

"Namjoon, please." his colleague's eyes turned glassy as Namjoon fisted his shirt.

"Yoongi, where. Is. My. Mother?" receiving no reply, he pushed Yoongi away before marching into the room, despite his legs shaking slightly, he held up his chin.

There were more officers inside, but no one dared to stop him. But he wished they had. The room reeked of vomit, and sweat perhaps. The air was thick, a hush fell over as soon as he was inside, facing the bed.

Where his mother's body lied.

His eyes moved to the familiar bottle of sleeping pills she had been prescribed- it lied on the floor on splattered puke, as helpless as him. Namjoon staggered back, his legs were boneless, but he felt hands supporting him.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's alright." Yoongi's voice floated in as he felt hand steadying him.

"I want you to be happy Namjoon. No matter what, I want you to keep your happiness...I won't be there forever-"

Her words rang in his ears like a broken recorder, with his parted lips that took in as much as they could to soothe his burning lungs, Namjoon gasped out, his vision was already blurred, and his cheeks were damp. He could taste the salt on his lips.

"Take him out, and do not let the news slips away. I will talk to the doctor." his father's voice floated in, he had not even sensed his presence until the man spoke up.

"Namjoon, Namjoon let's go. Let's go okay? Let them handle this, for now, I will take you to her in the hospital, okay? But please, just...Just, come with me now." he turned to look at Yoongi, who had tears welled up in his eyes as well. But Yoongi had far more control over himself at the moment.

Namjoon stayed silent, letting Yoongi lead him out. He was not even sure if he could see anything- his mother's lifeless body was all he could see before his eyes, despite the fact that he was already out of the room, out of the building.

It was pouring outside, and it was growing colder with the gusts of wind turning stronger. And yet, the rain seemed to be the only source of numbing the overwhelming pain further. It was like he could not scream when all he wanted was to scream, he could not speak, could not even breathe. He walked forward, under the sobbing sky before his knees gave out completely and he fell down.

"Mr Kim!" the voice was barely audible to him, but as soon as he felt a hand touching his shoulder, he looked up, (Y/N)'s eyes shone with worry as she looked down at him "Mr Kim, what-" he held her hand and pulled her closer before pressing his face into her stomach as if she could shield him from the pain, the callous truth he was denying at the moment.

And he broke down, wailing, screaming, sobbing like a child who lost everything. Without any further question, he felt her arms surrounding him, rubbing his back in the most soothing, comforting manner possible. Perhaps her arms were what he needed at the moment. His hold on her hands tightened as he gasped and screamed his agony out.

"It's okay, you will be fine, everything will be fine. It's okay. Let it out, let it out." her voice was like a warm blanket engulfing him, shielding him from the cruelty his life had exposed him to.

"Omma..." Namjoon gasped out, pressing his face into her arms further "Omma..."

But his desperate calls would never be answered again.

****

taglist- @kpopisnicee @njrwifey @amoc94 @potterbrooke @theresa-nam-nam-me @illnevertrustmyselfagain @casualminiaturetimemachine @bighitfics @luvaffaire @rkive-diary @dearbambideer

[bruhstories]

Baby, I’ve Already got Your Heart

Summary: An accidental meeting between Armin and Y/N leads to an unhealthy obsession. Pairing: Armin Arlert x Fem!Reader (modern AU) Warnings: stalking, language, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), oral sex (female receiving), switch!Reader, switch!Armin, rope is involved. Word Count: 2.5 k

A/N: This fic is heavily inspired by this song. It is surprisingly wholesome, considering the tags xD

Armin Arlert. The purest man in the world. You accidentally met him one cold, rainy day when he entered your coffee shop for shelter and warmth. He naively talked to you, grateful for how nice you were with him, grateful for the cappuccino on the house, grateful for the towel you offered him to dry himself off. Little did Armin know, a fixation sprouted in your mind and heart, developing into the unhealthiest obsession. He was just so cute — and you just had to have him. It helped to know that you were both going to the same university, and after that, you knew everything about him: his Facebook, Instagram, email address, hell, you even knew his real address. To be fair, it was a piece of cake, the boy was absolutely clueless and whenever he 'accidentally' met you, he thought it was by pure chance. The next and most obvious step was to befriend people in his social circle, one Jean Kirstein, one Sasha Braus and one Connie Springer. Naturally, you did your homework, and you knew his best friends were Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman, but they weren't easy targets. Besides, it would jeopardise your entire plan, as you found Armin was considered a genius. An oblivious genius. He didn't know it yet, but you loved him and he loved you too, right?

A text from Sasha, months after you first met the angelic man, set your plan in motion. A casual gaming night at Armin's place, and you were invited. How perfect. Poor glutton Sasha had no fucking clue how much you were using her, how you told her you want to meet a cute guy, someone nice and caring, someone smart and attentive. The girl put two and two together and decided she just had to introduce you to one of her friends, especially that he was also interested in meeting a girl like you. Unbelievable — you acted surprised, met up with Sasha and left for Armin's little gaming night. You wouldn't let this opportunity go to waste. Starting from tonight, he'd be yours. Forever.

"Armiiiiiiiiin, I brought a plus one!" Sasha barged into his house. "This is my friend, Y/N. Y/N, Armin! Oh shit, pretzels!" The brown-haired woman left the two of you in the hallway and the blond flashed you a smile.

"I feel like I've seen you before." He mused as he closed the door behind you.

"If you ever drink coffee at Rose's you might've seen me there." You smiled and removed your leather jacket, revealing a Pearl Jam t-shirt.

"No way you listen to them!" Armin blurted.

"Are you kidding me? They're my favourite!" You lied through your teeth with a sickly-sweet smile.

"Mine too! Oh, I know, you're the girl who gave me a free cappuccino months ago!"

"I remember! You were drenched in rainwater." You laughed as the two of you entered the living room. "I had to mop up the puddles you left behind."

"I'm so sorry about that..." He blushed. Your heart fluttered and you couldn't wait to get your hands on him, but for the time being, you needed to behave.

"No worries, I just hope you didn't catch a cold." You assured Armin and sympathetically placed a hand on his shoulder. There he goes, blushing again. It couldn't be... was he a virgin? Fuck. This was better than you could've imagined.

"Who's this?"

"Oh, Mikasa, Eren, this is Y/N. She's friends with Sasha."

"Nice to meet you!" Eren shook your hand. "Oh, God, you listen to Pearl Jam, too? You nerds are going to get along just fine." He joked.

The night went great, and you actually had fun with Armin and his friends, despite not intending to mingle with them too much. People started leaving around 2 am, but Eren and Mikasa stayed longer. Too fucking long — and things were boring now anyway. You and Armin kept talking about video games and books, Mikasa fell asleep on Eren who was playing fucking Farmville on his phone. They had to leave as soon as possible.

"Hey, Y/N, we can take you home." Eren suggested and you froze. Shit.

"Didn't you say you're almost out of gas?" Armin questioned his friend.

"Ah, fuck, you're right. I still don't know how that happened — I fuelled the tank yesterday!" The brunette scoffed. "Guess you're on your own, Y/N."

"It's alright, I'll take an uber." You politely smiled.

"Alright, we'll wait for you."

Oh, for fuck's sake. Truth be told, you appreciated how nice and caring Armin's friends were, but you had a different goal to accomplish.

"You really don't have to, plus I have to use the bathroom." You excused yourself. "Um, where is the bathroom exactly?"

"Upstairs, first door on the right." Armin told you while gathering plates and cups from the table. You nodded and climbed up the stairs. Your hand hovered over the bathroom doorknob for a good minute, eyes drifting to the door next to it. Armin's bedroom, by the looks of it. Surely, you could take a look, right? Fuck it. You opened the second door and at first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. LED and fairy lights encircled a corner of his room and, curiously, you walked closer to see what that was, because it didn't look like a desk. Your Y/E/C widened when you saw tens of framed photographs of yourself on the square table, objects you thought you lost and — Jesus, was that your bra? A rush of anxiety hit you, but before you could do anything, a blow to your head blurred your vision.

•°☆°•☆•°☆°•

Dark lashes fluttered as you opened your eyes. The sudden realisation that you were naked and restrained to a bed made you jolt. What just happened?

"Fucking finally, I thought you'd never wake up." Armin greeted you, but his voice was different, deeper and darker.

"Ar-ugh, Armin?" You groaned at the stinging sensation at the back of your head.

"You know, I was relieved you didn't leave with Sasha, otherwise you would've slipped between my fingers again."

Again?

"Ugh, and Eren and his stupid idea. 'We'll take you home.'" He mocked his best friend with a high pitch. "I've been dreaming for this moment since I walked into that shitty coffee shop."

You were at a loss for words. This was not the Armin you fantasised about, not the Armin you wanted. He was much more and much worse. And. So. Much. Better.

Alright then, you'd put up a show for him.

"P-please, Armin, please untie m-me! I'll be good, I p-promise!" You stuttered and whimpered, trying your best to sound genuine.

"Why, so you can run away?" The blond scoffed. So, he didn't know you stalked him. What a twist.

"I won't r-run, I swear!"

"Bullshit." Armin bent over your body, hands around your neck. You gasped and pretended to be startled by his touch, but in reality, your core was already burning with lust. You knew you couldn't keep up with this charade. "No, Y/N, I won't untie you. But we'll have so much fun." He sneered.

"You promise?"

"Yes. Wait—"

Your laughter filled the bedroom, genuine laughter that baffled Armin. Was this some sort of reverse psychology trick?

"Oh, Armin, even when you reveal your true colours, you're still oblivious to the reality of what's in front of you."

"Then enlighten me, what am I so oblivious to?" He folded his arms across his chest and waited.

"The fact that this was my fucking plan, too." You stretched as much as your restraints allowed you to and licked your lips. "I guess we both stalked each other without even knowing. How ridiculous."

"I think I would've known if you stalked me, Y/N."

"Really? Let me prove it, then. Your favourite food's Carbonara pasta, your favourite drink is peach and lychee iced tea, favourite movie is Interstellar, you lived on Sheena street until you were 12–"

"That's common knowledge, Sasha could've told you any of that." Armin blurted, growing impatient.

"You watch BDSM and asphyxiation porn between 10 pm and 11 pm every Tuesday, you're a virgin, you own a fleshlight–"

"Fuck, alright!" He threw his hands in the air, defeated. "So, what next?"

"You untie me and you tear me apart, Armin, that's what's next."

The blond hesitated before removing the cuffs on your ankles, still unsure about the ropes around your wrists. Clearly, you weren't making things up, but what were the chances of both of you stalking each other? For a brief moment, Armin felt guilty for hitting you and practically holding you captive, and you could see that on his face, but obsession and desire soon took over, and he reverted back to his darker self. His soft hands moved from your ankles to your knees, up your thighs and stomach, stopping above your chest, deciding it's best if you're not fully free. Armin licked his lips and climbed on top of you, unbuttoning his flannel shirt. You thought was surprisingly strong for such a thin man, but when the unbuttoned shirt revealed his chiselled abdomen, it made sense why he was strong.

"The wrists, Armin." You insisted but the blond clicked his tongue.

"I like you better when you're helpless." He pressed his lips onto yours in a hot kiss. A great kiss, you thought, your tongues wrestling for supremacy.

"Please, I want to touch you! I need to..." You trailed off, intoxicated by his smell, notes of saffron and cardamom. His hands roamed your shoulders, tickling your axilla and groping your breasts. "Please let me touch you, Armin!" You begged again, but he didn't say a word, his hot breath fanning over your oversensitive nipples, goosebumps all over your skin. His pink tongue poked out of his mouth and you watched him painstakingly slowly lick one of your nipples. It literally pained you to be unable to touch him, pull him closer to you. Alas, you had no choice, and despite yearning to be in control, it aroused you to have him control you.

"You smell so sweet." He abruptly stopped. "I bet you taste sweet, too."

"Armin..." His words made you brace yourself. While you weren't a virgin, you've never had anyone eat you out. The blond was already in between your legs, one hand resting under your thigh, the other gently touching your slick folds. Armin was so careful, like you were made of glass, and the ticklish sensation didn't help you at all. You wanted him to ram his cock inside of you and rearrange your guts, but he wanted to take his sweet time. The teasing only made you dizzy with pleasure, and you bucked your hips, trying to get him to move faster.

"You really need to learn to be patient, Y/N." Armin purred, pressing gentle kisses on your thighs. He lazily dragged his tongue across your slit, electricity shooting through your body. God, how you wanted to rip those ropes apart. Two fingers entered you and the blond gingerly licked your clit.  

"Fuck– so... so good ah–" You couldn't form a sentence even if your life counted on it. Gradually, you could feel your orgasm building up and Armin sensed it, picking up the pace. His fingers thrusted harder and you arched your back, the intensity too much for you. "Armin, please! I wanna come with your cock in me!" The begging didn't stop him, he was determined to make you finish then and there. And he did — within seconds you melted under his touch, legs trembling with pleasure. Armin pulled back, his mouth messy with saliva mixed with your juices.

"You come when I want you to come." His voice was low, almost like a growl. He unbuttoned his jeans, and you watched him like a hawk, waiting to see just how big his was, and you were not disappointed.

"Please please please let me suck it, please!" You begged him, eager to taste him. He smirked and kissed you, all the while rubbing his cock.

"You want this?" Armin quirked a brow at you. The little shit, jacking off in front of you and you couldn't even do anything about it.

"Armin..."

"Say it. Say you want it."

"Armin!"

"Say it, Y/N." He groaned, precum leaking from his member. Fuck.

"I... I want it..." You eventually gave up.

"Good girl." The blond climbed back on top of you. He raised your hips and you placed your legs on his shoulder, his first thrust slow and deep. Armin couldn't help the moan escaping his lips — this was so much better than that shitty fleshlight and countless porn videos. You couldn't deny the fact that it hurt, despite your soaking cunt, but you quickly adjusted to his size. As Armin pounded you, the bed underneath the two of you started moving and screeching, and the ropes tied to the metal bedframe loosened and you felt your arms fall onto the pillows. In his frenzy, the blond didn't notice, so you took this opportunity to lower your legs and wrap them around his waist, one hand grabbing his soft locks, the other wrapping around his neck. You used his weight against him and turned him over. You were in control.

Armin was taken aback by this, but the feeling of your fingers squeezing his throat only turned him on more. You bounced up and down, throwing your head back and groaning. He gripped your hips tightly, thrusting his own hips against yours.

"F-fuck me harder, Y/N!" He begged and you sped up. You felt like a queen — no, a goddess — when he asked you to fuck him, the feeling of him inside of you so addictive. He was your drug, and your rehab, your poison, and your antidote. And you were his and his only. His cock was twitching in your cunt and knew he was close but you didn't want to risk it. Swiftly, you got off of him and wrapped your lips around his dick, bobbing your head up and down. It didn't take long for him to finish, hot liquid shooting down your throat with one final grunt. You swallowed it all and threw yourself next to him. It was breaking dawn already, but you weren't tired. Physically, yes, both of you were exhausted, but mentally it felt like you discovered a hidden gem.

"What the fuck did we just do?" Armin calmly caressed your hair as you nuzzled his neck.

"Are we talking about the obsessively stalking each other part or the part where you hit me in the head? Or the fucking?"

"The everything." He explained. "This is wrong."

"Did it feel wrong?" You asked him, your fingers idly tracing circles over his chest.

"Well, no..."

"Then it's not wrong." You shrugged. "Am... am I yours?"

"Yes." The blond instantly replied without a trace of hesitation in his voice. "Am I?"

"You've been mine the moment you set foot in that shitty coffee shop." You laughed.

"And what are we going to tell the others?"

"That we ended up talking all night and I stayed over?"

"Sounds like a plan." Armin kissed your forehead.

"By the way, I really don't like Pearl Jam." You admitted.

He laughed and it filled your heart with warmth. You have no idea why you and Armin were like that, or how things would be from now on, but you had a good feeling about it. Things were okay. You two were okay.

[reginaaxxwrites]

Walls Could Talk • Todoroki Shoto

Pro Hero! Shoto x Villain! Reader

warning: mentions of blood, gore, killing, problems in psychological thinking

° • ° • ° •

"I'm asking you again. Why did you kill those people?" Tsukauchi asked the 20-year-old woman.

They were both sitting at a chair, a table between them as they were facing each other. He couldn't believe that the girl who's sitting in front of him, used to dream about being a hero someday.

But instead, she became a wanted villain. A woman who would kill innocent people, enjoying every stab she makes at a lifeless body. Her hands were used to be gentle and pure. Now, it's tainted in blood and hatred.

Tsukauchi didn't understand why she would do such a thing and why did she become what she is.

Y/N looked at him. Instead of answering his question. Her lips form a grin and started to laugh. It frightened him.

"Of course, you would ask that question." She stopped laughing and remained her body composed.

She leans forward even though chains surround her body, keeping her from escaping under their hands.

"I can see how sad and frightened you are, Mr. Tsukauchi. But you see... You can't change the fact that I killed people. I can see it in your eyes that you couldn't believe what I had become. A girl who you once thought a pure and innocent—you probably still think of me that. But I'm sorry to tell you that L/N Y/N is no longer here." She laughed again.

Tsukauchi wanted to save her. Maybe there's another way that could bring herself. He believes that there's still hope to bring back into your senses.

"No one can save me... Not even All Might himself." She looked at him, this time her eyes glowed in red like Aizawa's.

He stood up in his chair, leaving her behind. He took out his phone dialed his number. Maybe he can make her talk. Maybe he can bring her senses back.

Maybe he can bring her back.

He can't let her become like this.

Tsukauchi waited for him to pick up his phone. He balled his fist, his knuckles turning white. He's becoming impatient. He knows that he's busy due to his hero works but if he could just answer the phone.

He's the only person he thought could save her.

"Hello?"

"Shoto! I know that this might not be in a good time. But could you lend me some of yours? I need you here. ASAP." He said in frustration.

Todoroki could hear his frustration and panic through the phone. In fact, Tsukauchi called at a good time since he was about to talk to him about his recent investigation.

"I'll be there in 10 minutes." Todoroki hanged up and went to his car.

Δ Δ Δ

"I don't why Mount Lady said that girls would die if I smiled. Is my smile, deadly? Does my smile kill you?" Todoroki said, sitting beside the girl who tried her best to stop herself from laughing.

"Pfft—Sho, no. You're helpless." She laughed.

Todoroki stared at her. He felt warm in his chest, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile. Everything about her just makes him feel warm and happy.

"Okay—Pfft—I'm done laughing." She giggled, removing her small tears from her eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She smiled and let her head lay at Todoroki's broad shoulder. "It's just a way of telling that they love how you smile. Because you know... You're handsome, seeing you smile makes them like you even more. It's making me kinda jealous, though." She giggled as she intertwined her fingers to his.

Todoroki caressed her hand and kissed it, making Y/N flustered from his sudden actions.

"Then, should I only smile whenever I'm around you?"

"Oh, stop. That's making me sound a little selfish."

"I don't mind."

"You're literally taking every word seriously, aren't you?"

"Is that bad?"

Y/N once laughed again. Todoroki never fails to make her laugh. But he didn't mind. Her laughs were music to his ears. He loved them. Everything. He loved everything about her.

Days like these... He wishes to stay like these forever. He never wants to let go of her hand. Without her feels empty and cold.

She brings him happiness. A love that once was taken away from him was brought back because of her.

Δ Δ Δ

Todoroki arrived at the police station where Tsukauchi is. Tsukauchi went to Todoroki after seeing him enter inside the building.

"About the investigation—"

"We have some important serious matter besides that mission." He cuts him off. "Follow me." He turned around and walks off.

Todoroki followed him, yet he is confused. What is that important serious matter is he talking about? He hopes that it isn't dangerous because if it is Tsukauchi would not just have called him but also Midoriya and Bakugo.

After entering a room. Todoroki stood there in shock to see a familiar woman sitting inside the custody suite. Chains were surrounded her body as she looks emotionless.

She's breathing, alive. But at the same time, the aura she's giving was cold. There was no warm feeling he used to feel whenever he sees her.

Todoroki could feel his body weakened. How could possibly that the girl he thought died a few years ago was alive and is sitting inside the room? Not knowing that he's outside. He could've sworn he saw her took her last breathe.

"I'm sure you know why I called you."

"H-How? She died in my arms." His voice was shaking.

"Remember the wanted villain? Phantom Scarlet. Who kills innocent people. Whether it's a child or an elder. She kills them without mercy." Tsukauchi feels sick of how brutal her ways of killing are. She likes to kill them in a creative way. She's a psychopath. A serial killer. Sure, saving her is not a solution to this case. But he wanted to know why and how did this happen.

All of her classmates knew that she had died. They were there during her funeral. So how could a dead L/N Y/N is still here, killing people as the way of her fun time, a hobby?

"Maybe you could bring herself back to senses. Or ask the questions that could get answered. I know this is a sensitive favor. But I know that you also, have some questions to ask her." Tsukauchi started to talk. He gave Todoroki a glance that he should enter inside the custody suite.

Todoroki nodded at him as he held the doorknob tightly, taking a deep breath before entering.

He sat down at the chair that faces her and kept himself calm. He took one last glance at the large window where he could see Tsukauchi looking at them.

"Y/N."

The E/C-haired girl looked at the man she once knew. She stared at him, plainly. Not really surprised that he was sitting in front of her.

"Who would've thought that he would call you."

"You died. We were at your funeral. You died during the war between Midoriya and Tomura Shigaraki. How—"

"You know nothing, Todoroki. The man we fought killed my parents, my family. I seek revenge. I wanted to avenge my parents that's why I fought him together with Midoriya even if it caused my life."

Todoroki gripped his pants. He remembered how Shigaraki stabbed her deep. He stabbed the critical parts of her body. She coughed blood, she was losing all of her blood. Todoroki trying to keep the pressure. He was desperate to close your wounds so she would stop bleeding.

"H-How did you survived?"

"I didn't die. Everyone thought I did. But I didn't." She chuckled. "No one dared to open my casket because I wasn't the one who's inside of it."

Todoroki widens his eyes as Tsukauchi heard the words she said. If she isn't the person inside... Then who?

"Surprising, isn't it?" She smiled, her voice in excitement as she was about to reveal something important. "You're wondering who's inside? Honestly, I don't even who's inside. Probably another person's dead body that I killed." She giggled.

Todoroki was in shock to see the girl he loved. Up until now. He couldn't even go out on dates and love another girl because he still loves her.

"Disappointed to see the girl you once fell in love with is a psychopath? I killed people because I wanted to. I woke up and felt an urge to kill. The first time I killed after the war... I felt alive. It's like it was the missing piece in a puzzle. It completed me. I let all of you knew that I died because being with all of you doesn't feel like home anymore."

"What about you told me that you wanted to be a hero? To save people and bring them into justice?" Todoroki asked. He was still looking for her.

Y/N...

"Aww... Can't you see, Shoto? I'm not in the right mindset. I said those words to fit in. When clearly what I wanted was to avenge my family and kill villains. It's a cruel reality, Sho. Accept it."

Bring her back...

"Did you... Did you really loved me?" He looked directly at her eyes. He could've sworn she saw her eyes widen by the sudden question he asked.

He's hoping that even if she lied about becoming a hero and her true intentions. At least the love that she gave to him was enough to make him believe that deep inside she was honest about herself. That she really, truly loved him.

"Our love made me crazy, Shoto. I wanted to kill those girls who come and flirt with you. But I stopped myself because I knew you would leave me. Though, I did hurt Camie once. She kept texting you so I gave her a little warning." She giggled. "You made me a maniac, Shoto. And you didn't even know."

Everything was clear. The days they spent together, he didn't even notice that she was a psychopath. That she has a longing for killing people. But how would he know when you were the girl that kept him warm and loved?

All of it was a lie.

"I did love you. That's why I am willing to kill for you. But seeing your face right now, makes me wanna burst into a laugh. Did I disappoint you? I hope I did."

"STOP! BRING HER BACK. I KNOW SHE'S STILL IN THERE. WHOEVER ARE YOU—JUST FUCKING BRING HER BACK!" Todoroki couldn't hold it any longer and shouted at her.

He refused to believe, but how can he tell that this wasn't happening when she told him everything.

Everything is twisted.

"Give up, Shoto. You can't save everyone. That includes me. Let me go and move on." Y/N said in a gentle voice. Todoroki calmed himself but he already knew.

She has a split personality.

"Y/N?"

"There's nothing you can do. I let myself do this. I chose this path." She looked at him the way she looked at him during their high school days. "No one can stop me from killing." Then a split second, she was no longer there, again.

"That's enough, Shoto," Tsukauchi called to get their attention. "We've got the answers we wanted. It's enough."

It was truly terrifying. Tsukauchi looked at her. She was still there but it feels like she isn't.

Todoroki went out of the room, feeling sick about what happened. She had a split personality all this time. He couldn't save her... He can't save her. Not anymore. In order for her to stop killing, is by locking her inside a psychiatric ward or by putting her on a death sentence.

"Thank you for your help, Shoto. And I'm sorry." He followed Todoroki as sat down in frustration. His right hand on his face, still shocked about everything.

"It's all my fault."

[tintagliat]

Manga Recommendations

(1)Blue Phobia 

Numerous prisoners were sent to mine a mysterious ore which lies underneath a certain island in the middle of an ocean, but after some time turns out there's something strange about the ore. The more you touch it the more it changes your skin and bones into a blue-ish color, and in the end, your entire body will turn into a strange ore.The people who sent the prisoners, set up a research facility to do various experiments on them and treated them like test subjects. The story starts when one of the researchers Kai, tries to help one of the patients escape.

Status:Completed

Chapters:18

Volumes:2

Genre:Action, Psychological, Seinen 

Blue phobia also has an excellent one shot you should check out!

(2)Our Happy Hours

This manga tells the story of two people, hopelessly lost in a world of chaos and pain. The main Character Juri Mutou, is a previously accomplished pianist who descends into a place of darkness. At the beginning of the story, she is shown in a hospital surviving her third suicide attempt. The other protagonist Yuu, is a prison inmate on a death row. Even as he waits for the inevitable death sentence to befall, he tries to kill himself whenever any opportunity is available.

Status:Completed 

Chapters:8

Volumes:1

Genre:Psychological, Music, Drama 

(3)Eternal Sabbath 

A young man was created in a lab, given a gene called ES - Eternal Sabbath. As a result, he will live to be two hundred years old. He has the power to enter your mind and make you think you've known him your whole life - or forget him, however he wills. He is known as Shuro, though he has taken other names as he needs. Today, he is Ryousuke Akiba.

Status:Completed

Chapters:83

Volumes:8

Genre:Drama, Sci-Fi, Psychological 

(4)MARS

Kira, a shy high school student, lives only for her art. Rei, An arrogant, rebellious and violent playboy, wears his delinquency like a badge of honor. They are exact opposites in every way, but when Kira sees Rei kissing a statue of Mars, she overcomes her fears and asks him to model for her. And, to everyone's surprise, Rei agrees.

Status:Completed

Chapters:41

Volumes:15

Genre:Drama, Psychological, Romance 

MARS is by the same author as Eternal Sabbath. Mars also has a prequel series called Mars: A Horse with No Name

(5) Three days of happiness 

Helpless and struggling for cash, 20-year-old Kusunoki sells the last of his possessions to buy food. Noticing his poverty, an old shop owner directs him to a store that supposedly purchases lifespan, time, and health. While not completely believing the man's words, Kusunoki nevertheless finds himself at the address out of desperation and curiosity.

Status:Completed 

Chapters:18

Volumes:3

Genre:Drama, Romance 

(6)Yasha

Arisue Sei is a youth who lives alone with his mother on an outlying island of Okinawa. Though his mother is quiet and fears being conspicuous, they were living happily. But on a certain day, that tranquility is suddenly destroyed. Sei's mother is killed by a group of mysterious men, and he is taken captive. What kind of secret does he have?

Status:Completed

Chapters:63

Volume:12

Genre:Mystery, Drama, Action

Yasha is written by the same author as Banana Fish. A certain Banana Fish character does make a cameo in the series. Yasha has a short sequel series called Eve no Nemuri. Yasha also has a live action TV show which aired in 2000.

(7)Annarasumanara

This is technically a manhwa but whatever.There is a rumor that a magician lives in the tent by the abandoned theme park; some even say his magic is real. However, before he starts his show, he always asks his audience: "Do you believe in magic?"When Ah-ee stumbles into the abandoned theme park and has a chance encounter with the magician, her life is changed forever. Annarasumanara reveals a philosophical, heartwarming, and thought-provoking story of what it means to grow up into the person you want to be.

Status:Completed

Chapters:27

Volumes:3

Genre:Mystery, Seinen, Drama 

(8)Bastard 

Also a manhwa.To most, Jin's father is a successful businessman, good samaritan, and doting parent. But that is merely a facade; in truth, he is a deranged serial killer—and Jin is his unwilling accomplice. For years, they have been carrying out this ruse with the police being none the wiser. However, when his father takes an interest in the pretty transfer student Yoon Kyun, Jin must make a decision—be the coward who sends her to the gallows like all the rest, or be the bastard of a son who defies his wicked parent.

Status:Completed

Chapters:94

Volumes:5

Genre:Mystery, Horror, Psychological 

(9)Blue Lock

The story begins with Japan's elimination from the 2018 FIFA World Cup, which prompts the Japanese Football Union to start a programme scouting high school players who will begin training in preparation for the 2022 Cup. Isagi Youichi, a forward, receives an invitation to this programme soon after his team loses the chance to go to Nationals because he passed to his less-skilled teammate —who missed— without trying to make the game-changing goal by himself.Their coach will be Ego Jinpachi, who intends to “destroy Japanese loser football” by introducing a radical new training regimen: isolate 300 young strikers in a prison-like institution called “Blue Lock” and put them through rigorous training aimed at creating “the world's greatest egotist striker.

Status:Ongoing (has 100+ chapters as of now)

Genre:Sports, Shonen 

[sometimes-petty]

I’ve been thinking...

There's so much to extrapolate from the conceptualization of the Maralto and the Process. When I first watched 3%, I've noticed that the system was further explained and explored every season, each time showing a different layer.

First of all, it starts as being cartoonishly and sickly unjust.

However, for the entirety of Season 1, we only see the Process itself, and only a fraction of the actual life on the Inland. Although unjust, the whole trial feels functional to the plot. The Inland is shown as a grey and awful place where to live, so of course, we only root for the characters to pass all of the tests, or at least not to die trying.

It reminds me of certain criticisms aimed at stereotypical YA dystopian novels/movies, where the worldbuilding displays the society in it as generically unjust, but the characters are never shown truly struggling under the system.

Like in The Hunger Games, during the first season of 3%, the emphasis is less on fighting the system and more on getting out alive from the Process. It's a necessary step, being that it's the first season.

Secondly, in Season 2 the system starts becoming unfair.

It's slightly different than in the previous season, however, it's the first crack in the façade of the Maralto and starts showing how deeply human the system truly is.

Like I said in another post, Marcela considered giving Marco a second chance in passing the Process, because he's her son and she loves him, despite changing her mind in the end and prioritizing the Maralto's laws over him - after he failed another task. The OG Rafael tried to participate in the Process the same way his brother did one year earlier. André outright murdered his own mentor rather than losing the privilege he received in passing the Process. Not to mention the Founding Couple, who overthrew the entire society, causing countless people to die, to prevent their work from being stolen.

To sum up, in season 1 the Maralto can be reached only by one's own abilities and skills; in season 2, we're shown the collateral effects caused by this rule. The only point is not passing the Process, as much as getting to the Maralto, with any possible shortcut. Season 2 is all about the core of the selfishness that comes with the existence of the Maralto.

Thirdly, during season 3 the Maralto is shown in all of its ineffectiveness.

It all revolves around the Concha, of course, and all of the changes that it brings.

We know from season 2 that the Maralto guarantees regular vaccinations to anyone under 20 years old, as usual because they're the only ones who still matter. Nothing is done, nevertheless, to truly help them out of the horrible circumstances they grow up in. The most we see is in season 1 when Ezequiel goes (mostly) out of his way to take care of Augusto (Julia's son; she said that she chose that name for him as soon as he was born), though until it puts at risk his place at the Maralto and as the head of the Process.

Otherwise, kids on the Inland grow up poor, abused, and helpless, with the only actual support coming from the Church, that indoctrinates into worshipping the Maralto. As long as everyone lives like this, they'll all want nothing more than passing the Process and leaving that hellhole. We see it with Joana in season 1 and with Glòria throughout all the series. Thinking about it, the vaccinations are probably only there to make sure no highly contagious illness arrives on the Maralto through the Process' candidates. Elìsa herself never cared that much about the Maralto, on the contrary she didn't see the point in such a stark division, but she too was given the choice to either live in misery or well enough.

Then Michele and Fernando found the Concha. As it's shown at the front door and in practice, everyone is welcome there, and people start having a second chance. Of course it threatens the Maralto's position at the top of society.

It reminds me of the workers' struggles in various countries. I don't remember where I read it, but it was someone joking that, in the 60s, once people started having a TV at home and eating meat more than once a week, the Communist Party started having fewer militants. This is what happens when people's demands and needs are actually met. The point was never the revolution itself; it's only a necessary step after the government refuses for so long to act to improve people's living conditions.

Similarly, on 3%, once people weren't starving or getting murdered and finally had the chance to live a fulfilling life, they wouldn't turn anymore towards the Process for it. Even the Causa disappeared, since the reason for its existence became less relevant.

Finally, in the last season, the Maralto has long been stripped of any greatness it could represent for viewers, and all that's left to see is an illusion.

Once again, Joana face-plants into this new trial when she meets Veronica, and all her resolution starts faltering. Rafael and Cassia find a common ground in the way either the Causa or the Maralto's military gave them both a purpose when passing the Process wasn't an option anymore. André believes himself as the right heir of the Founding Couple and kills himself rather than living without this idea, even when the Maralto itself is gone forever. The same happens to Marco, Leonardo, and Naìr when it's time to flee. Even Natalia, the most determined militant of the Cause, ready to give her life for it, momentarily opposes destroying the Maralto when she sees how much knowledge is stored in their archives.

All in all, everyone is offered their greatest desire when coming to the Maralto - a mother, a purpose, happiness, culture - and only finds lies when they get closer.

The Maralto never worked. Laìs and Vitòr themselves had miserable lives when they'd rather choose the system they created over their only daughter.

The point is, the system was human-made, with all of the faults that come with it, and just as readily could be unmade.

To conclude:

"We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine rights of the kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings." - Ursula K. Le Guin