#SCO organization | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rottingpink · 5 months ago

Text

wicked games | choi "thanos" su-bong

cw: manager! reader, rapper! thanos, fwb but thanos wants you real bad, pre-squid game! au, flirting, teasing, suggestive comments and innuendo, female reader, no use of y/n, oral sex, unprotected sex, thanos cums in his pants, 18+, MDNI

synopsis: thanos never meant to catch feelings for his cold, no-nonsense manager he’s been hooking up with.

masterlist

You were sat beside Thanos at his kitchen island, your fingers scrolling on your iPad as you flitted through your calendar, which included all of his important appointments for the month as well as your own.

Your posture was as rigid and straight as your tone as you spoke about his upcoming tour. For work.

That’s what tonight was. Work.

You scheduled a dinner date with him, which he suggested take place at his luxury home, hoping that it would be intimate and personal, and yet like always, you'd gone straight to business from the moment you sat down at the countertop.

He watched your lips move as you spoke, barely processing the words leaving your mouth. He was more focused on the softness, the fullness of your lips. How they looked stained red from the wine you were drinking.

He had kissed them before. And you had let him. More than once.

His fingers curled against the glass. "…so if you want to switch up the setlist—are you even listening?" He blinked, tilting his head.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm listening."

You gave him a sharp look, unimpressed. "Then tell me what I just said."

His mouth quirked. You were always like this. So put-together, so untouchable, so fucking cold; except for the nights you weren’t.

The nights where you let him press you into the walls of hotel rooms and penthouses just like this, where you gasped against his mouth and dug your nails into his back and let him ruin you.

You'd let him fuck you stupid on his cock until you were an incoherent mess, your neat hair spread out under you and your lipstick smudged onto your chin, with the remainder of it on his mouth.

Then, in the morning, you always pretended it never happened. Always leaving first without a single word, even when it was in your apartment.

He was too busy imagining the different positions he could put you in if you just loosened up for two seconds to notice that you were still waiting for a response. Thanos exhaled through his nose, smiling innocently.

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head before taking another sip of wine, your throat working as you swallowed. His fingers tightened around his glass.

"You never focus," you sighed, shifting in your chair. "If you actually paid attention instead of zoning out...

"Maybe I wouldn’t zone out if you weren’t so fucking boring," he cut in, his voice lazy, rough.

That got a reaction. Your expression barely shifted, but he caught the faintest flicker in your eyes, annoyance.

Good. He liked when he got to you.

"I'm not boring. I just know how to organize my priorities. In case you haven't noticed, your life would be a mess without me." You say, your voice clipped.

"You're right about that, actually." He grinned, pushing your hair out of your eyes. "Who else could fuck me as good as you? I can't find a replacement for your pussy."

He saw the flicker of your gaze, the way your throat worked as you swallowed, the subtle shift in your breathing. Your cheeks were a blazing pink with anger and embarrassment. He liked when you weren't being a robot for two seconds and felt something for him.

Whether it was want and anticipation for your next time in bed together, or a flicker of care, like back when he had gotten sick after a show in Busan.

When you had been the one hovering in his doorway, your eyes softened and your brows furrowed together in quiet concern. When you had sat next to him and dabbed sweat off his forehead with a warm towel and held his hand.

He had never brought it up.

You would have denied it anyway.

"Anyway." He broke the silence, leaning closer to you. "You were talking about stage lights?" You scoff and shake your head, staring at him disbelievingly.

"I wasn't talking about stage lights, Su bong." You snap at him, getting annoyed at him by this point.

You lean back slightly so he's not in your face, and the movement causes your breasts to bounce in a way he can't look away from.

Thanos’ smirk widened as he shamelessly stared, his dark eyes fixed on your chest before trailing up to your lips again. He shifted his hand up to your knee.

"You lean back like that again," he murmured, his fingers sliding up the fabric of your skirt just a little, barely touching the skin of your thigh, "and I might think you’re trying to play games with me."

You inhaled sharply, your spine straightening at the contact, but you didn’t push him away. You never did, and that’s why he kept testing you. Kept touching you, kept pushing just a little further every time.

You gave him a sharp look, clearly unimpressed. "Watch it."

"And you're a delusional little tease," he shot back immediately, grinning as his fingers curled against your thigh, kneading the soft flesh. "Seriously, you ever get tired of pretending you don’t want me? 'Cause it’s getting a little old, princess."

You scoffed and shifted in your seat, but that only made his grip tighten. His other hand slid under your stool, pulling you in much closer.

"Enough, Su. You always do this," you said with exasperation, grabbing both his wrists and setting them on his lap. He merely laughed and grabbed your waist once more with his big hands.

"Do what?" he grinned, leaning in so his lips brushed against your ear. "Tell you how sexy you are? My sweet little manager. Sometimes I think you might hate me."

"Don't be ridiculous." You shot back, pushing some hair out of your eyes and shaking your head with frustration. "Now, can we please foc-"

"I'm ridiculous? You're the one who gets onto me every time we're alone and let me fuck your sloppy little pussy." His fingers flexed against your waist, voice dropping into that flirtatious tone that he knew made your stomach tighten.

"Stop it." You repeat, your face too warm for your liking. You hate the way you can't seem to control yourself around him. You wanted him to shut up so you could focus and finally accomplish something without ending up bouncing on his cock.

Ever since you'd indulged him for the first time, it feels impossible for you two to be around each other without this happening.

His hand slid from your waist up to your jaw, fingers tilting your chin up so you couldn’t look away from him. His thumb ran over your bottom lip, his eyes flickering down to your mouth, full of heat and intent.

"You think about it, don’t you?" he continued. "When you’re alone at night. You touch yourself and think about me, huh?"

Your nails dug into your palm, lips pressing together. He liked your little pouts. They were so cute. He liked to catch you off guard and press your lips against his quite often when you were sulking, and you were afraid he'd do it now. "Stop it now, Su-bong. I won't ask again."

He only grinned wider. "Ohhh, you do." He squeezed your thigh again, mocking you now. His free hand pushed his thumb firmer on your lips. "Knew it."

You jerked your head away, pushing at his stupid, handsome face. That seemed to goad him on, however, and his hands hooked around your waist, tugging you forward so your knees hit his. Your balance wavered, and your hands landed flat on his chest. You could feel his heart pounding.

His fingers trailed up the curve of your spine, slow and deliberate, until they tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck. He grinned as he gave it a slight tug, forcing your head back just enough for him to drop his mouth closer to yours.

Your breath fanned against his lips, warm and quick.

"You always leave me hanging, pretty baby," he said softly, slotting his mouth over yours but not kissing you just yet. And he called you the tease. "Why don’t you stick around this time?"

Your lips parted. For a split second, he thought you’d let him win. But then you blinked, your expression shuttering. Your hands flattened against his chest, firm now, pushing him back.

Thanos let out an exaggerated sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "You're impossible, you know that?"

You scowled, slamming a hand down on the counter to shut him up. "Do you even understand how important this tour is? You do this every time. You don’t take anything seriously until the last second, and then I’m the one running around fixing your mess. And you think it’s funny-"

He cuts you off by groaning loudly and picking you up by your waist, lifting you onto the counter in one smooth motion.

Your breath hitched in shock, your hands gripping his shoulders as your thighs instinctively parted to accommodate the space he took up between them.

Your heart was pounding so loud you swore he could hear it. It felt like it was echoing through your whole body. He got right in your face, his hands gripping your hips, holding you there. His breath was warm against your lips, his voice low and strained.

"God, you are so fucking bossy."

You blinked, thrown off for just a second. But then your hands pushed against his chest, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. "Excuse me?"

"Bossy. Annoying. Nagging." His nose scrunched up, his fingers pressing into your waist. "So fucking uptight. All you ever do is bark orders at me."

"Because you never listen!"

He frowned, beginning to unbutton your blouse. You couldn't find it in yourself to stop him. "Shut up." He muttered, his hands hooking around your body to take off your bra as well, letting your tits spill out. He sighed out loud and marveled at them, big hand grabbing onto the mounds and squeezing. he flicked your left nipple with the pad of his thumb.

"Mm!" You choke out, squirming against his wandering hand. "Su, l-listen," You mewled out his name desperately, writhing as his free hand palmed at your clothed pussy under your skirt.

“You can take it, princess,” he murmured. “Open your legs.”

You obliged, and his eyes lit up at the soft, damp patch forming on your panties. He groaned and tugged your panties down your legs, pressing open mouthed kisses to the column of your throat to distract you from him stuffing them into his pocket.

His mouth traveled lower, licking at your nipple sucking on the soft bud before transitioning to the other, his lips hot on the soft, plump flesh of your breast.

He's sure to kiss around the nipple and suck on your skin enough to leave marks, his teeth indenting your skin just hard enough for you to cry out.

"Ngh, s-stop m-messing around," you warned.

"Why should I? That's not how we work, princess. You're not in charge right now."

You frowned, squirming slightly. You're unable to keep your moans at bay, and you can't help but find the sounds he's making while sucking on your tits embarrassing. However, he didn't stop.

His hands kneaded your breasts, thumbs and fingers sinking into the pliant mounds as he lavished attention on each nipple in turn. He licked and sucked, his tongue tracing the curve of your areola, his teeth nipping at the tender skin. Your back arched, pressing your chest further into his eager mouth, craving more of his touch, his heat.

Moaning softly, he continued his assault on your breasts, the obscene sound of his suckling and slurping filling the room. His fingers tugged and rolled your nipples, the dual sensations of pain and pleasure blending into a heady mix that made your head spin.

As he finally released your spit-slick nipples, he kissed a trail down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel. He licked and tasted every inch of your exposed skin, his hands mapping the curves of your waist and hips, the flare of your thighs. Your skin burned under his touch, your body aching and eager for his caress.

He got on his knees, reaching the apex of your thighs. Thanos hesitated momentarily, his breath hot against your pussy. He inhaled deeply, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils. "Fuck, you smell amazing," he kissed your inner thigh. "Been waiting to see her weeks now. You keep ignoring me and playing hard to get, princess. I'm tired of it."

He nipped at your thigh, and you squealed when he bit down on the pudgy flesh, smoothing his tongue over the blossoming red welt on your skin.

Not wasting any time, Thanos dove in, his mouth covering your pussy in a broad stroke. His tongue parted your folds, delving into your slick heat, tasting your essence. He groaned against your flesh, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading your legs wider, opening you further to his greedy mouth. He licked and sucked, his tongue circling your clit before flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips bucked, seeking more of his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close.

"S-slow down!" You cry out as his nose bumps against your clit, and he shoves his face fully into your cunt, lapping at your folds so eagerly that he started to drool. His cock strained against his pants with excitement, and he growled lowly into your pussy. "Hold still, stupid," He murmured, grabbing your thighs and spreading them as far as they could go.

You pant, your head lolling back. He slides one of his hands into yours to keep you upright, while his other moves between your legs as he sucks on the sopping folds of your pussy, shoving a finger deep inside.

With a scream, your legs begin to shake and you try to move back so you dont gush all over his face, but he drags you forward by your hip, his finger gliding easily through your slick arousal. "Stop running away from me. Stay put or ill get the ropes," He threatened, pushing his finger up against your sweet spot.

"N-no! Ngh... I'm cumming! Please, it's too much," Your begging comes with soft whines as your eyes fill with shiny tears, and he moans against your pussy, rutting his fat, drooling cock against the leg of one of the stools desperately.

Your walls clenched around his invading finger, gripping the thick digit tightly.

Pleasure coiled taut in your tummy, your body wound tight like a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment. Drool dripped down his chin as he ate you out almost reverently, the obscene sound of his suckling and slurping filling the kitchen.

The counter beneath you grew slick with your juices, a testament to your overwhelming arousal. He could feel your thighs trembling around his head, your breath coming in sharp gasps and pants as he pushed you closer and closer to your peak.

You weakly cry out his name while leaning back and dropping your body onto the countertop, your orgasm coming crashing down hard as he continued to eat your pussy through it. That was all it took for him to finish in his pants, cumming in his boxers hard.

Your vision went white, stars exploding behind your eyelids as pure, unadulterated bliss consumed your every sense, until finally, with a shuddering sigh, your body went limp and pliant against the countertop.

He leaned back, his chin covered in your juices. He didn't bother to wipe his chin, standing up and pulling down the zipper of his soaked pants. "Look what you made me do, princess," he tutted.

You lifted your head just enough to see his cock slap against his chest as he tugs off his shirt, though your vision was hazy. He gently pushed you back, one hand going around your throat loosely as he positioned his flushed, swollen tip with your sopping pussy.

You're hypersensitive from your recent orgasm, and as the hot, hard flesh of his cock sears into your tender pussy, you try to sit up. He pushes you back down immediately, causing your lashes to flutter and your head to reel. "Su, ungh, please." He coos at your cries, his grip on your throat tightening to give you a minor distraction from the feeling of him beginning to stretch out your gummy walls.

You sob weakly, scratching at his wrist lightly with your nails. He hisses lightly, pushing into you some more. It felt like his length was never ending. It was just him pushing... pushing... pushing... he dragged you back to him by your neck so your ass was right against his pelvis, and he stared down at your fucked out expression as you squeezed his wrist.

"What, princess? Tapping out so soon? Thats not fair. I earned this." He thrusted forwards, and you moan out, your back arching off the counter.

You could feel his mushroom tip pressing flat against your soft cervix from how close you were and how far deep he was inside you.

You were gone, on the other hand. Eyes drenched with tears, drool running down your chin, and your face burning hotly. "You wanna know why, beautiful?"

He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, his cock kissing your cervix. "Y-you, anh... keep acting like you're too good for me. Like... fuck," he almost trailed off, getting caught up in how hot and tight and soaked you were inside, but he shook his head and tried to focus.

He wanted you to understand how he felt.

"Haah, y-you always... f-fuckin' ignore me and act like I don't mean anything to you." he rocks into you deeper, his hand tight around your throat, keeping you dizzy and dazed, but not enough for it to be uncomfortable.

He dragged his hips back slowly, leaving you momentarily empty, before he quickly thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you in one swift, hard stroke. A cry tore from your throat at the sudden, intense sensation of being so utterly filled, stretched wide around his girth.

"S-shit, mmh, y-you show up, you..." He swallows, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, "...you wreck me, and then you just leave. Like it’s nothing."

He began to move more consistently, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside you, before slamming forward again, burying himself balls-deep in your clutching heat.

Each thrust pushed you up the counter, your breasts bouncing obscenely. "Su, s-su!" You scream, your pussy tight around his cock. He grunted, setting a hard, driving rhythm, the obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the kitchen.

He kept going, moaning each time his cock impaled you, stretching you so full that you couldn't think. You were getting fucked so dumb, and his hand around your throat wasn't helping. He frowned, fucking you harder. You weren't listening to him, like usual.

He lets out a sharp, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “God, I like you.” The words come out in a rush, like they’ve been clawing at his throat, forcing their way free. "I like you so much. You l-let me f-fucking slut you out, but you won't see me."

He angled his hips to hit that special spot deep inside you with each thrust, sending bolts of electric pleasure shooting up your spine. Your pussy clenched and spasmed around his pistoning cock, dripping with your arousal. "I d-do see you, mmh, I l-like you too Su!" You wail, panting. "I d-do, I... ohmygod, ngh, Su, please, f-fuck me,"

He lets out a huff of air through his nose, slapping your cheek lightly to keep you present. He's over the moon with the knowledge that his feelings are reciprocated, and his stomach flutters with happiness. " 'S exactly what I'm doing, stupid." He murmurs, before yanking your hips up, plunging hard into your dripping, puffy cunt.

Gripping your cheeks hard enough to bruise, he shoved his cock back in, driving even deeper into your core than before. "Like you so fucking much, princess, God."

Your pussy gushed and squelched obscenely with each forceful pump of his hips, the wet sounds mixing with your escalating cries as you milk his cock dry. He shoved his lips onto yours, taking your hands into his. His cock jerked and throbbed inside you, coating your insides with ropes of his hot load, his thick cum feeling creamy and heavy as it filled your womb

He gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he ground against you, making sure every last drop of his cum was seated deep inside your fluttering hole.

A scream of pure ecstasy tore from your throat, your inner muscles spasming and gushing around him as you came hard. Your vision went white, stars exploding behind your eyelids as wave after wave of pleasure hit you.

He dropped himself on top of you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and murmuring how you wouldn't be leaving him in the morning when he was done with you.

933 notes · View notes

missaengg · 2 months ago

Text

Love Next Door: A Skyhaven Conundrum

Pairing: Caleb x f!reader Tags: nsfw - suggestive and language, eventual smut, developing relationship, modern au, use of pipsqueak and princess, use of oppa, humor/slight crack, featuring mom's-best-friend's-son/next door neighbor Caleb Word Count: 6.6k In which you face the aftermath of your last mortifying encounter with Caleb and discover that perhaps there's more to your fantasies... A/N: Part 2 of what I am now dubbing the "Love Next Door" series! Much thanks to @wistfulwanderingone for helping me outline the series, beta reading, and for KEEPING ME SANE throughout the process! And to @candiedcoffeedrops for beta reading and breathing new life into my motivation whilst writing the second part to this mini series! I love and appreciate you both so so very much 🥰

Part 1

It’s silly.

You know it’s silly.

Doors are inanimate objects. Their sole function is to act as an entrance or an exit. They can’t think. They can’t emote. And they most certainly can’t mock you.

But this particular door is different.

This particular door belongs to Caleb’s apartment.

And this particular door, you swear, is judging the ever living shit out of you.

You hate it…or maybe you love it because it’s currently the only thing separating you from Caleb. This being the first time you’ll be seeing him since…the garage incident…of which you do not speak.

It wasn’t your idea to come visit Caleb. Quite the contrary. If anything, you would’ve been more than happy to never see him again for the rest of your life—not after what happened during your last encounter. But your mom being your mom, had packed a disgustingly excessive amount of food for her “son” because “he’s all by himself in Skyhaven and starving to death”, insisting that you personally deliver the food to him despite your rather vocal protests that he’s a grown ass man and a far better cook than you.

Which is precisely how, instead of spending the day joyfully away from Caleb, you’ve found yourself here. In front of his apartment. Fidgeting. Sweating. With only that stupid, offensive door keeping you from being in his presence.

Laughing at you.

Glowering at his door, you shift your weight from one foot to the other, chewing on your bottom lip and rolling your shoulder to ease the fatigue from the comically overstuffed bag you’re holding—somehow still intact despite looking as though it might burst at the seams from the slightest of jostles. You raise a hesitant fist to knock on his door, only to lower it immediately, repeating the cycle a few times before letting it fall listlessly back to your side.

How? How are you supposed to face him again after what happened? How are you supposed to pretend that nothing happened? That he didn’t catch you having a humiliating, visceral reaction to his deliciously chiseled, Greek god-like body…?

And if the incident itself wasn’t mortifying enough, the explicit wet dreams that followed have plagued you, slowly depriving you of your sleep and your sanity. The number of…showers you’ve had to take. The questioning glances your parents have given you as you took your third shower of the day.

Maddening…Absolutely maddening…

Squaring your shoulders and taking in a deep breath, you muster as much courage as you can scrape because…well, it’s not like you can stand there forever. And also because your mom would kill you if you returned without personally delivering the food.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The silence that follows is suffocating, hanging in the air like the humidity of a muggy summer day.

Anticipation and dread churn in the pit of your stomach, twisting your organs into painful knots. Time drags on as you wait, your throat holding your breath captive, each passing second feeling even more stifling than the last.

Why the hell is it taking so long for him to open his door?

After what feels like an eternity—though realistically, it was probably closer to a few minutes at most, the door hinges open. Your face contorts into a scowl, ready to greet your mom’s-best-friend’s-son, childhood friend with some snarky comment about not being his errand boy.

But the snark withers away before you can even utter a single word.

Because when the door opens, you’re face to face with the most beautiful man tits you’ve ever seen in your life.

Caleb’s man tits.

Have they always been this breathtakingly magnificent?

You know you must look like a fool with your mouth hanging open and your eyes bugging out, but you can’t stop staring. You can’t help it! In your defense, it would be hard for anyone to stop staring when subjected to such a luscious view of glorious, firm, meaty mounds. Mounds dotted with a set of perky, pink nipples just begging to be sucked. Mounds connected to a—at present—naked Caleb, fresh out of the shower and dressed in only a low-slung towel, his hair still wet and slicked back, dripping water onto his broad shoulders.

A wayward drop slides down his shoulder, and your eyes unwittingly trace its descent—down past the necklace nestled in the divet between his tits, down past his abs and his belly button, all the way down to where a faint trail of dark hair begins.

Oh, what you would do to be that drop of water…

Your thighs quiver, trembling in their need to rub together and relieve the growing ache in your weeping sex. Thankfully, a single brain cell has somehow managed to retain its lucidity, saving you from embarrassing yourself in front of Caleb. Again.

Why? Out of all the outfit choices you had in your closet this afternoon, what demon possessed you to believe it would be a good idea to wear a short skirt to see Caleb? Have you learned nothing from the last time you saw him?!

“Pipsqueak?” Caleb’s deep voice cuts through the absolute insanity overtaking your malfunctioning brain. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Blinking rapidly, you awkwardly hold up the bag as your brain takes a moment too long to catch up. “My mom made you food.”

Caleb’s attention flitters to the bag, a stoked smile forming on his lips—lips you want to catch between your teeth and nibble…

Oh god, brain, please stop…

“It’s really heavy,” you mumble, shaking the bag as best you can considering its weight. “You gonna let me in or what?”

“Ah, sweet,” Caleb drawls, pulling the door wide open. “Perfect timing. I was just cravin’ your mom’s cooking.”

He invites you in, and as you step inside, the steam radiating from his post-shower body curls around you, enveloping you in the overpowering scent of his body wash. He smells clean. Fresh, with a woody undertone. Manly.

It takes every ounce of willpower you have not to rip that goddamn towel off of him.

“You mind putting that in the kitchen?” Caleb asks, shutting the door. “I’ll take care of it after I get dressed.”

“Sure,” you mutter, distracted by your woeful endeavor to conceal how flustered you are by the sight of his gorgeous, bare chest. “Anywhere on the counter?”

“Yep,” he calls out behind him, already halfway to his bedroom.

As soon as Caleb disappears, you mindlessly shuffle into his pristine kitchen and plop the ridiculously loaded bag on the dark marble countertop. Letting out a sound somewhere in between a feeble whimper and a whine, you crumble, bracing yourself on the counter as your knees give out, praying the cool marble will ease the fire ravaging your out of control cunt, rendering your underwear useless.

But it does fuck all to abate the fire.

Not even a little.

Cursing under your breath, you weigh your options. While Skyhaven is only a short train ride away from Linkon City, it would still take over an hour to get home to your blissful shower head, which frankly, is an hour too long, and while you do have the option of using Caleb’s…you would rather die than utilize his.

You need some other way to cool down.

Fast.

Before this heat kills you.

Ice. Yes, you’re a genius, ice. A mouthful of ice should do the trick. Nothing like chewing on ice to ease sexual frustration—at least that’s what they say, right?

Rushing to Caleb’s fridge, you rip the freezer door open only to find… nothing. No ice. None, whatsoever. Not even an ice crumb.

Fuck.

Water then. While less than ideal, cold water will have to do. Or any cold beverage. It doesn’t matter what as long as it’s cold. Frantic, you dig through his fridge searching for anything that might calm your burning loins.

Nothing.

How is it possible for the inside of his fridge to be like a cold Sahara desert?!

You’re on the verge of ripping every single strand of your hair out when you spot it, sitting by its lonesome self at the very back of the top shelf, hidden behind a hunk of beef.

A single can of cold beer.

Driven by desperation, you grab the can, wasting no time popping the tab and bringing it to your lips, downing the entire thing in giant gulps. Only once it's empty do you stop, exhaling and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Refreshing.

And from the subsiding fever in your lower body, the answer to your prayers.

Thank fucking god.

“Pipsqueak, what’re you doin’?”

Startled, you jump, twirling around like a teenager caught raiding their parents’ liquor cabinet. You scramble to think of some excuse to explain yourself, but as soon as your eyes settle on Caleb, your mouth drops open yet again. Because for some unknown reason, he’s still shirtless despite changing into a pair of sweatpants.

Before the sight of Caleb’s tits can undo the magic of the beer you just drank, you squeeze your eyes shut, angling your body away as if to preserve his modesty instead of your own sanity. “Why the fuck are you not wearing a shirt?!”

“Why’re you being weird?” Caleb snorts derisively, and though you can’t see him, you’re certain he’s doing that thing he does where he arches an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “You’ve seen me without a shirt on all the time.”

That…is true. You have seen Caleb without a shirt on before. Many, many times. But never, in all those times, have you been so affected. Never, in all those times, have you felt the urge to raze the landscape of his naked torso with sinful, red blemishes…

“That—” you sputter, “That was when we were kids!”

“Pipsqueak, what’s going—Whoa, why the hell are you havin’ a beer?”

Shit.

Say something.

Quick.

“I was thirsty.”

Not quite the complete truth, but not quite a complete lie either.

You crack one eye open, peeking at him to gauge whether he’s bought it.

Caleb narrows his eyes. “So you had…a beer?”

“You had nothing else to drink,” you retort, shooting him a reproachful look as you turn back to face him.

Caleb tilts his head towards the sink as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The sink is right there.”

“I wanted something cold. You need to stock your fridge or something ‘cause this,” you gesture to his fridge, “is just pathetic.”

“Water is free.”

“And you make a decent enough salary to have something on hand for guests, butt munch.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Caleb raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll make sure my fridge is stocked to your satisfaction the next time you unexpectedly come by. Happy?” Without waiting for your response, he grins, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “But seriously, butt munch? What’re you, five?”

Ugh, of all the insults you could throw at him, why butt munch? You haven’t used that insult since you were in middle school!

Bristling, you double down, stubbornly lifting your chin. “What’s wrong with butt munch?

“Nothing,” Caleb laughs. “Nothing at all, Pipsqueak.”

Caleb pops the ‘p’ in ‘Pipsqueak’ causing your hand to twitch, itching to smack him.

Deep breaths…Deep breath in…Deep breath out…You are not choosing violence today. Not today. Your situation is already precarious enough as it is.

As you remind yourself to remain civil, which can be difficult to do sometimes considering it’s Caleb, you miss him eyeing the can you’re holding until he swipes it from your hand.

“Hey!” You lunge for the can, but he holds it just out of reach, sticking out his tongue as your hands grasp nothing, but air. “Give it—” you lunge again, “back!”

Why the hell is he so freakishly tall?!

You can only helplessly watch as Caleb shakes the empty can by his ear—evidence of your shame—and frown when no liquid can be heard sloshing around.

“Pipsqueak, did you just drink an entire beer?”

“Yes,” you bluntly state, planting your hands on your hips. “So?”

“Aren’t you…Aren’t you a lightweight?”

You scowl, feeling your blood pressure skyrocket so high you fear you might have a stroke. “For your information, jerk face, my tolerance has gone up significantly since we last drank together.”

Caleb stares at you for a moment before doubling over, raucous guffaws violently racking his body. “Jerk face?” he gasps, struggling to catch his breath in between bursts of uncontrolled laughter.

Seriously, what is with you and juvenile insults today?

It’s gotta be the man tits. His stupid man tits are clearly robbing you of your ability to think.

“Yes, jerk face,” you snap. “Also, not that it’s any of your business, but I’m no longer nineteen and new to drinking.”

“Sure, whatever you say, Pipsqueak,” Caleb snickers, reaching out to tweak the tip of your nose with a cheeky grin. “That’s not what your face is sayin’ though. Your face is almost as red as when I caught you starin’ at my ass.”

And there it is…the bane of your existence…the incident he’ll never let you forget for the rest of your pathetic life.

“Oh my god!” You swat his arm away, glaring at him with a scathing indignance. “So what if I did?”

Caleb lumbers forward, invading your personal bubble, forcing you to stumble back until your lower spine bumps the counter. In a disturbing re-enactment of your last encounter, he leans forward, leveling his gaze with you. He places both of his palms on the counter’s edge, effectively trapping you between his arms.

His voice dips into a silky murmur. “You should stare at my ass more often.”

That bastard.

Of course he’s enjoying riling you up and watching you get flustered.

“Knock it off, Caleb,” you warn.

“Why should I?” Caleb asks, innocently poking your cheek. “You’re adorable when you blush.”

“Caleb, stop! You’re being—”

“Being what?”

“You’re being annoying!”

“Oh?”

Caleb leans in even further, holding your gaze as if challenging you to a game of who’ll look away first. Refusing to give him the satisfaction, you meet his challenge, staring deep into his purple eyes with a brazen insolence. While you’re the perfect picture of defiance on the outside, your inside tells a different story as your heart begins to race, thundering in your ears, and your throat constricts, making it difficult to breathe.

Too close. He’s too fucking close. Close enough that you can count the number of freckles dotting his sun-baked cheeks. Close enough that you can smell his natural musk beneath the fragrance of his body wash. Close enough that if you were to lean forward just an inch, you could press your lips to his and taste him…

“Why do you even care? You have girls staring at your ass all the time, Mr. Hotshot Pilot!” you blurt, practically shouting.

Stunned, Caleb draws back, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted. You freeze, your own face mirroring his expression, also surprised by the amount of vitriol you just spewed. Surprised by the undercurrent of frustration and…jealousy you’re feeling.

“Whatever,” you grumble, glancing away. “My mom told me to bring you food. I brought you your damn food.” You gruffly shove his arm out of the way, creating an opening for you to wiggle out from between the counter and his tree-trunk of a body, more than eager to make your escape.

Caleb’s arm falls back to the counter, where he remains motionless. “I never said I don’t care,” he whispers, so quietly you barely catch what he said.

What does that even mean? Does he mean the act itself or you, the person who was doing the staring? Your footsteps falter, abandoning their mad dash for freedom. “What?”

“I said, I—” Caleb sighs, his shoulders slumping forward. “Never mind.”

You wait to see if he’ll continue, but he stays silent, his mouth pressed together into a thin line, his brows tightly knit together, his attention fixed on the marble before him. When it becomes apparent he has nothing more to say, you mutter, “Whatever. I’m going home.”

“No—” Caleb pushes off the counter, following you out of the kitchen. “C’mon, Pipsqueak, you just got here. Have dinner with me.”

Had this been any other day, you would’ve stayed. You love Caleb’s cooking. But not tonight. Tonight is about self-preservation. Tonight, you have to get out of here before you do something you’ll regret, something that would irrevocably change the course of your friendship with Caleb.

“I’m not hungry,” you lie, hastening your pace. “I’ll just eat when I get home.”

“Wait—” Caleb catches your wrist, preventing you from progressing any further to the exit—another act eerily reminiscent of the last time you saw him, almost as if he’s intentionally trying to recreate your last encounter.

“Caleb, let go.”

“No,” he says petulantly, wearing a mischievous grin, but there’s a tension in his jaw that betrays his carefree attitude. “Why’re you in such a hurry to get home anyway? You got a hot date or somethin’?”

Being around Caleb when he’s like this tends to bring out the brat in you and sensing an opportunity to rile him up for a change, you shoot back, “Yeah, the hottest.”

Caleb’s expression instantaneously darkens, and his grip around your wrist hardens. A possessiveness you’ve never seen before radiates from him in dense waves. Despite his relentless teasing, Caleb has always been gentle and patient, but this is new. Different. The turbulent storm brewing in his eyes should scare you, but it doesn’t. If anything, it excites you. Even more than you were.

“Well, too bad, it’s cancelled,” Caleb growls, jerking you towards him. “Cause I’m not sendin’ you on a date with some jackass drunk.”

“Caleb, I can handle myself just fine. And I’m not a child. I can drink a beer without getting drunk,” you argue, your voice an octave higher than you intended. “And who the hell do you think you are telling me what I can and can’t—”

Just then, a vein of lightning streaks across the sky, casting an ominous glow across Caleb’s face. A giant crack of thunder soon follows, booming through the apartment, causing you to flinch.

No. No, no, no. No. This can’t be happening. You checked the weather forecast this morning. You checked. It said nothing about rain, let alone a thunderstorm. But fuck, if it’s storming, that means—

“Flights are going to be cancelled, aren’t they?”

Something sinister flashes through Caleb’s eyes as he regards you in a manner that tickles your burgeoning desire. “Yeah, ‘fraid so.”

“It’s not gonna end anytime soon, is it?”

“Nope. Looks like it’s just you and me, Pipsqueak.”

Great, just great.

Stuck in Caleb’s apartment overnight with your raging hormones and his luscious man tits.

A strangled wail of despair erupts from somewhere deep within you, and Caleb promptly pulls you into his arms, mistaking your guttural panic for your fear of thunderstorms.

While it’s true that you fear thunderstorms—something about the way the dark clouds drown out the light, the way lighting flashes in the sky, and the way the wind howls and rattles the windows—it’s the least of your worries at the moment. What you need is to get away from the sexual temptation that is Caleb and home to your magical shower head!

“Hey, it’s okay,” Caleb murmurs, cradling your head against his chest, burying your face between his tits—the same tits currently driving you to the brink of combusting. He holds you so tight you can’t even turn your head, not even to free your nose from being squished. His breath tickles the shell of your ear as he pats your back in a steady, soothing rhythm, just as he did when the two of you were kids. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Every part of your body is intertwined with his, almost as if your bodies are melting together into one—to the point it's difficult to discern where you end and he begins.

The soft murmur of his voice. The calming cadence of his heart. The bewitching scent of his natural musk. The searing warmth of his body. The impressive bulge of his dick…

They muddle all of your senses and sensibilities.

It’s dizzying. Perplexing. Exhilarating. And yet his embrace feels like the most natural thing in the world, as if you belong in his arms. His embrace feels like home.

It’s the most wonderful feeling.

And the most dangerous.

Perturbed by this new revelation—and by your overwhelming urge to rut against him like a dog in heat—you wrench yourself out of his arms, unintentionally shoving him back in the process. Caleb staggers back, his arms still hanging in the air as he studies you with an expression of utter bafflement. You look away, clearing your throat and sheepishly rubbing your arms. The sudden loss of his warmth causes you to shiver, which in true Caleb fashion, he clocks instantly.

“You’re going to catch a cold in that skirt,” Caleb muses, more to himself than for you to hear.

Grimacing, you glance down at your bare legs, tugging on the hem of your skirt. Of course he noticed. But…isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that why you wore this skirt to begin with?

Who the hell knows anymore…

“Why don’t you go wash up?” Caleb suggests, gently nudging you in the direction of his bathroom. “I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

In a daze, you nod, absentmindedly stumbling down the hallway at Caleb’s prompting. One foot in front of the other, plodding along on autopilot while your brain tries to make sense of what’s changed. While you still want nothing more than for him to fuck you senseless, something had shifted. It wasn’t just about wanting to fuck him anymore, there was something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Why did his embrace feel like home? Why did you want to stay wrapped in his arms forever, hoping he never lets go? And why now, instead of all the previous times he’s held you before?

He was still just Caleb, for god’s sake—annoying, infuriating, juvenile, mom’s-best-friend’s-son, childhood friend Caleb who got under your skin every chance he had. But the sexual lunacy aside, he wasn’t just Caleb anymore. He was…Caleb.

“Guess you’re going to have to cancel that date, huh?”

Between the vexing arousal running rampant in your sex and the confounding chaos of what else you might be feeling, your brain only vaguely registers Caleb’s question drifting after you. Before your brain can sync with your mouth, you answer, “There was no date.”

“What?”

Caleb’s ask for clarification hurtles you back into the present, and you wince, realizing what you just admitted. Well, no use hiding it now. You’ve already said it.

Heaving a sigh of resignation, you turn to face him. “I said, there was no date.”

A look of surprise crosses Caleb’s face for a split second, and then his face lights up like a child on Christmas morning, his eyes crinkling with what appears to be sheer joy. “Were you…Were you trying to make me jealous, Pipsqueak?”

You purse your lips, fixing him with a withering stare. “Not even in the slightest, asshole.”

“I mean, it’s okay if you were,” Caleb sings with a cocky, self-satisfied smirk. “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about, Princess. You’re the only Pipsqueak for me.”

“...Shut up, Caleb.”

Expelling an exasperated grunt, you swiftly flip back around, making it your number one mission to reach your destination—away from him. Caleb’s chuckles float after you, but you don’t dare look back. Not even once. Not even as you enter his bathroom and shut the door.

It’s only once you're inside and the door locked that you allow yourself to relax, releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding in the form of a long, suffering sigh.

Why did you do that, admit that there had been no date, that you made it up?

And…why did he look so overjoyed?

Dismissing the notion that his joy carried any deeper meaning, you cross over to the shower and turn on the water. Knowing Caleb, it likely meant nothing. He was probably just overjoyed to have more arsenal in which to torment you in his pocket.

“I left a change of clothes outside the door.” Speaking of the devil, Caleb’s chipper voice drifts into the bathroom. “Take your time. I’ll be in the living room.”

“Okay, thanks.”

You wait for the creak of his floor as a sign he’s walked away before slipping out of your clothes, loosely folding each item and placing them in a pile on the vanity. You slip out of your underwear last, quietly groaning at how dark the gusset is compared to the rest of the garment—a pitiful reminder of how hysterically depraved you become around him.

Making a face, you place your underwear with the rest of your clothes, and as you look up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your hair is disheveled as if Caleb had run his fingers through them. Your lips are swollen as if you were biting them in restraint to stifle your moans. Your cheeks are flushed a rosy pink as if in the throes of passion.

Caleb standing behind you, his hands on your shoulders. Gliding them down your arms as he presses kiss after kiss to the crook of your neck. Leaving behind lovely, little bruises as if to say, “she belongs to me”. A calloused hand cupping and kneading your breast while his thumb rolls your hardened nipple. His other hand sliding between your legs, gathering your arousal on his finger.

His mouth breathlessly moaning your name and hoarsely whispering, “I love you”…

Holy shit, what was that?!

Horrified, you snap out of your lust-fueled reverie, dragging your hands across your face and digging the heels of your palms into your eyes.

God, you must really need that shower or something because clearly you are losing it. There could be no other explanation. You are losing your damn mind, and it’s all because of Caleb and his goddamn sex appeal.

Aggravation rippling in your throat, you step into the shower, welcoming the warm cascade of water falling on you like a gentle rain, but it does nothing to relieve the turmoil roiling through your lower body or your mind. It can’t. Not by itself. Not without some assistance.

Caleb’s detachable shower head looms above you, shining through the steam like a lighthouse in the midst of a foggy afternoon as if guiding you to your solution. Goading you into using it for a depraved means other than its intended purpose.

It’s tempting. So very tempting. Caleb’s bathroom is most definitely not an appropriate location for what you have in mind, especially with the risk of being discovered by the cause of your distress—which would only then serve to add to your distress. You know you shouldn’t, but…

Fuck it.

It’s not like you have much of a choice—not if you want to survive spending the night with Caleb.

You grasp the shower head, freeing it from its perch, and position it between your thighs. You gasp as the stream hits your swollen clit and bite down on your knuckles to keep from crying out, suppressing the subdued whimpers threatening to escape. After all the pent up frustration, the pressure feels good—more than good, it feels amazing.

As the water works its magic, your imagination returns unbidden to where it was before—Caleb moaning your name. His erection digging into your lower back. His finger slipping through your folds and gathering your slick, shuddering at how wet you are for him. His finger sliding to your clit and stroking it in languid circles, teasing you before plunging deep into your waiting cunt.

A stifled cry squeaks past your knuckles as you feel the familiar tightening of your abdomen. As the coil winds taut, your cunt clenches around nothing. Your muscles tense in anticipation. Your head lolls back, your mouth in the shape of a silent ‘O’. And then you let go, your breaths coming out in short puffs. Your legs turning to jelly. Your eyes rolling back as you’re overtaken by a burst of ecstasy. Waves of pure, unadulterated pleasure coursing through you as sparks traverse your body. All while you hear Caleb murmuring a throaty “good girl” as you come for him.

The shower head lingers between your legs while you ride out your orgasm. And through another. And another.

It takes three rounds for you to lose the deranged absurdity clouding your judgement and for the unbridled fervor to wane. Three rounds to drain yourself to a state of exhaustion—enough that you’ll hopefully remain clearheaded and sane when back in Caleb’s presence.

Your feverish insanity now satiated, you wash up and get dressed in the clothes Caleb left for you—a plain, cotton T-shirt and a pair of soft pajama pants, both of which hang loosely off your frame. You emerge from the sauna his bathroom has turned into, padding to his living room. Caleb doesn’t notice you enter, and you don’t make a point to announce your arrival either. You quietly observe him, still shirtless, lounging on his sofa with a headset on his head and a controller in his hands, one foot propped up on the coffee table.

It’s been a while since you last saw him so engrossed in a video game with his friends, playing some first-person shooter game he had you try once. Back then, it annoyed you how absorbed he’d become because he’d ignore you for hours, but now, you find it endearing. Not only did it prevent him from noticing how long you took in his shower, he looked…adorable, laughing at something his friend said as he quipped something equally as childish back.

Caleb’s attention flickers in your direction, his face lighting up when he notices you by the entrance. “You’re done?” he beams, lowering the controller and sitting up, dropping his leg to the floor. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you respond with a shrug, unexpectedly feeling shy of all things.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re never bothering me.” Caleb gives you a lopsided grin so cute your heart skips a beat, but before you can process your reaction, his attention is back on the TV. “Yo, I gotta go.” He pauses, listening to something being said on the other end. “Yeah, that’s right. Your boy’s got a girl over. Be jealous, assholes.”

Out of reflex, you roll your eyes, but you can’t help wondering…

Does he mean “girl” as in you?

Does he see you as a woman the same way you’ve been seeing him as a man? Could it be that he sees you as something more than just a “little sister” or even a friend?

The thought causes your heart to flutter. Something unfamiliar blooms in your chest, filling it with…hope? Or longing? Some strange emotion you’ve never associated with Caleb before. Not like this.

“Pfft, nah, it’s just Pipsqueak,” Caleb sniggers. “Seriously though, I gotta go.”

And just like that, the fragile illusion—or delusion—shatters, deflating the unidentified emotion budding in your chest, which confuses you because why did you “flate” to begin with?

You’re reeling from this new development when Caleb suddenly frowns. “No, fuck you. I’m not giving you her number,” he snarls, venom dripping from every word. “Not cool, man. Whatever, I'm gone. See ya.” He rips the headset off his head and tosses it onto the coffee table before turning off his TV system. “Assholes.”

Gingerly taking a seat on the couch as far away from him as you can without appearing unnatural, you study him curiously, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “What did your friends say?”

“Nothing,” Caleb mutters, brooding at the dark screen.

“Didn’t seem like nothing,” you prod carefully.

“It’s nothing.” Caleb shakes off his mood, giving you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it.” He reaches out to ruffle your hair, but his frown returns when he notices the towel wrapped around your head. “You didn’t dry your hair.”

“Hm?” You look up, brushing your fingers along the damp fabric. “Oh, yeah, I didn’t feel like it.”

Caleb gives you that look, one you know all too well—the mother hen look that always comes with a side of nagging. “You’re going to catch a cold like that, Pipsqueak,” he chides, heaving himself off the couch. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“No, that’s okay—” you begin, but Caleb’s already on the move. “Caleb, it’s fine!”

Your protests fall on deaf ears, and as Caleb disappears into his bathroom, you click your tongue, following it with a tiny chuff of laughter. Typical Caleb. Scolding you about your wet hair, just like he used to before he went off to college.

Caleb quickly returns and plugs the dryer into the outlet. He comes around the side of the sofa and takes a seat, patting the cushion next to him. “Come here. I’ll dry it for ya. Just like old times.”

You hesitate, contemplating whether it would be wise for you to sit next to him in such close proximity, but…he’s just drying your hair. It’s perfectly innocent. Plus, you’ve pacified your raging hormones so it should be fine, right?

Despite your apprehension, you comply, scooching down until you’re sitting in front of him with your back to his chest. Caleb unwraps the towel from your head and sets it aside. Then he turns the dryer on to the lowest setting, checking the temperature on his palm before directing it to your scalp.

“Remember?” he asks. “I used to do this for you all the time.”

“Mmm,” you hum in agreement, basking in the sensation of his fingers combing through your hair and brushing along your scalp. It’s a sensation that’s both familiar and soothing, evoking memories of how often he would do this for you growing up. And by often, you mean often because you were notoriously awful at drying your own hair. You still don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. It’s just hair. It’ll dry just fine on its own, but Caleb would scold you, insisting that you’ll get sick, and force you to sit down so he could dry it.

Just like he is now.

Feeling his fingers tousling your crown, it dawns on you how much you’ve missed this.

“It really has been a while, hasn’t it?” Curious, you tilt your head back, musing at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. “Why did you stop?”

Caleb’s hand stills—a momentary pause before he guides your head back to its original position. “We got older,” he replies with no further explanation.

Squinting, you mull over his answer. “Why would that change anything?”

Caleb softly sighs. “It just did, Pipsqueak, okay?”

Feeling unsatisfied, you scrunch your face and pucker your lips, but sensing his reluctance, you don’t press any further. A part of you rationalizes that it’s because you want to honor his boundaries, but if you’re being honest, it’s mostly because you’re not sure you’re ready to hear the answer either. The uncertainty of what he might say scares you.

Caleb clicks the dryer off and gives your hair one last ruffle. “Okay, done.”

“Already?” You twist around to face him, shooting him an impish smile. “You didn’t leave it looking like a bird’s nest, did you?” you accuse him playfully.

“Please,” Caleb scoffs, a half-amused smirk tugging on the corner of his lip. “I am the master at drying your hair.”

“Uh huh,” you hum, narrowing your eyes at him in mock disbelief.

Caleb merely quirks an eyebrow in response, holding your gaze as if to dare you to say otherwise. It’s only then you realize how close you’re sitting next to him. How close his face is to yours for the second time that evening.

As if he realizes it himself, Caleb swallows. Hard. Your eyes flicker to his lips—the same lips that have haunted your dreams—where you detect what appears to be a tiny quiver. As if he’s just as nervous as you.

And then you feel it—your heart stuttering in your chest before fluttering wildly against your ribs like a captive bird trying to escape its cage.

Ba-dump…Ba-dump…Ba-dump…

Your lungs refuse to work, depriving you of oxygen. They’re only capable of taking in shallow breaths, which you attribute as the cause of the intoxicating dizziness shrouding your head. Without thinking, your lips part, and as if drawn to him through his gravitational Evol, you lean forward. Slowly. Inch by inch. Closer and closer, wavering just short of your lips meeting.

Caleb stiffens, his breath hitching in his throat. But as if he too is under a spell, he’s unable to break the trance binding you together. His free hand curls into the fabric of his pants. His eyes tremble with a hesitant uncertainty. But his gaze remains fixed on you.

Time screeches to a halt.

Holding your breath, you search his gaze, silently imploring whether he too wants to cross that line. A line you’ve never considered crossing even in the face of your most deviant fantasies. A line that, if crossed, would change the course of your friendship forever. A line that leads to a new world, unexplored and potentially perilous.

But he has yet to pull away, and you wonder…you wonder…you wonder…perhaps he wants this just as much as you.

As if compelled by a siren’s song, you surrender. You creep forward in timid, imperceptible whispers with your eyes half-closed and your lips softly parted, ardently seeking his touch. But before your lips can meet, Caleb falters. He pulls away, exhaling a shaky breath of air disguised as a chuckle before putting on a tentative smile.

“I should…I should go make dinner before it gets too late.” Caleb gets up from the couch, unplugging the hair dryer and wrapping the cord around the nozzle. “You should call your mom to let her know you’re staying the night.”

The spell breaks.

You wake from what feels like a fever dream, and the gravity of what almost happened—what you almost did—sinks in. “Right, yeah—I should—Right—” Stammering, you clench your hands into fists, your fingernails biting into your palms. You scramble to your feet, your eyes darting about the room, your focus on anything but the man you almost kissed. “She’s going to worry—Need to—Gonna go—Need my phone—”

Your blood pounding in your ears and adrenaline coursing through your veins, you dart towards the guest bedroom under the guise of finding your phone, despite it being safely tucked away in your pocket.

Fuck, what was…what the flipping shit was that?! What were you thinking?! You weren’t thinking, that was the problem, but fuck…what the hell just happened?

You tell yourself it was because of your hormones. Just your damn hormones. Nothing else. Nothing more. But deep down you know it wasn’t. It wasn’t. It was something more than that. Something more tender and vulnerable and intimate. Something that terrifies you the more you linger on it. Something that you can’t deny any longer.

You don’t want to just fuck your mom’s-best-friend’s-son…you’ve developed feelings for him. Feelings you don’t fully understand. Feelings that change everything.

But…it wasn’t just you.

Caleb didn’t pull away either. Not at first. Like he wanted it too. Like he might also have feelings for you. And if that’s the case then…then things just got more complicated.

You’re in treacherous, uncharted territory.

But first…

First, you need to survive the night.

Survive the night, and then…and then you can deal with all this nonsense.

May God have mercy on your soul…

Taglist: @xaviersknight, @godoffuckedupcats, @flwerie, @opalesquegirl, @calebsbabyapple, @matanetuyo, @candiedcoffeedrops, @rxelarailuj, @ama1lv

If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please fill out this form here or comment below. Thank you!

Divider courtesy of @saradika-graphics

178 notes · View notes

moonchild9350 · 7 months ago

Text

Lavender Fields-Chapter 1: Different

Summary: you give an insight into your daily life within the lab, a place you've never left after being brought here by humans. life is mundane and repetitive, that is until you meet Hyunjin, your new lab technician.

Pairing: Hyunjin x humanoid!gn!reader

Genre: sci fi au, romance, au, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning: verbal and brief physical abuse

Notes: welcome to the Lavender Fields series! I am pumped to release this series and embark on this journey with y'all :) I hope you enjoy the first chapter and as always, let me know what you think!

Taglist open-comment or message me to be added! (age must be in bio or pinned)

Series Summary: you, a humanoid from a different planet, was born within a lab here on earth in the near future, your days filled with servitude and testing within the labs to learn more about your kind as your kind are not able to feel emotion. you had nothing to look forward to until you met Hyunjin, a technician assigned to you. you learn much at his hands and invaluable lessons, enlightening your once purposeless life.

If you enjoyed, please consider a like, reblog, or comment as it keeps me motivated ♡

Divider by @cafekitsune

Series Masterlist

“Time to wake up!”

You open your eyes at the shrill sound of the cheery voice that is speaking over the loudspeaker signaling the start of another day. You sit up, and blink, clearing the sleep from your eyes before swinging your legs out of bed to get up.

The minimalist room is cold, the chill brushing against your skin in the early hours of the morning. You don’t mind, however, as you are made to withstand the cold.

You walk to the door and open it, merging into the crowd of people hurrying down the corridor. You follow the queue, all of you on your way to the the morning room, a place where you prepare for the day. It is quiet, no one around you utters a word, casting an almost eerie silence, with only the pitter patter of bare feet on the floor.

Once at your destination, a lady dressed in blue guides you to a stall, your daily outfit hanging from the partition that blocks off a changing area so you can dress in privacy.

There's a small mirror plastered on the wall, tiny cracks scattered throughout from years of age, but still usable nonetheless. You look at your reflection, your face puffy from sleep and eyes bloodshot. You tossed and turned last night as you kept being awakened by vivid images flashing across your mind leaving you in a panic.

You eyes travel down to the small engraving on the side of your neck that has been there since birth. It blends in perfectly with your skin, the intricate swirls almost looking like a tattoo.

Sighing, you grab the white garment from its hanger and slide it over your head, the scratchy material rubbing against your skin, the feeling almost akin to sandpaper. You don’t mind however, as you can’t tell since you’re not programmed to feel unlike most humans.

Once dressed, the lady fixes your hair, brushing the long strands that travel down your back and land at your tailbone. She ushers you out of the stall once done, ordering you to follow the others in line to your assigned work room.

You arrive in minutes, your desk set up with your task for the day. Today looks like you’re organizing testing supplies as there’s a haphazard pile of tubes, wires, and other things in the center of the desks.

Sitting down, you begin your work, keeping your eyes on your materials that are in front of you. It’s silent in the room as no one says a peep.

Watchers pace the rows with their hands behind their backs, their eyes trained on you and your peers, ensuring the job gets done appropriately.

If you mess up a task, they scold you but it makes no difference. You do not understand the meaning behind the words, not understanding why they scrunch their face up in a scowl, spitting words in your face as to what you did wrong and how useless you are.

The morning passes and you work until your stomach growls, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room. You immediately put down your supplies as there’s the ring of a bell over the intercom, signaling it’s time to make your way to the lab.

You only get food after morning work and going to the lab, the humans claiming it’s a treat, a present for being obedient. That’s why you obeyed, completed your work, and let them experiment on you without complaints.

So is the life here within Biofuture labs.

-- --

You are y/n, from the planet Gevora, which is light years away from planet earth in which you now reside. You resemble the humans here on earth, the only difference being you are emotionless, as they were not needed on your home planet.

Your only home that you’ve ever known is Biofuture labs, a name you’ve seen many times on the doors you pass on a daily basis. You were born here, within the confines of this building, and taken away from your mother at age five, where you were put with the other children from your planet.

You don’t remember much about your mother, but then again you don’t remember much of anything of your past. Only that you are 25 years old and you have the number 032518 inscribed on your arm.

Your days are busy and long here within the lab, the technicians making sure no one is idle. Mornings are spent completing your assigned task, similar to a job, a concept you know of because of a description you read in a book.

Mid to late mornings are spent in the lab, your assigned lab technician running different tests on you, jotting down responses and results.

You’re not sure what they’re testing for, but you’ve noticed they take special interest in you for some reason, as they run extra tests on you, whispering to each other while staring at you all the while.

Today was no different. An orderly leads you to lab five, the typical space you spent every day in for testing. You walk into the empty space, your eyes roaming the area to take in your surroundings.

The walls are a ghostly white and there’s a table with two chairs in the center of the room. There’s nothing else present except for a window on the wall next to the door. However, every time you try to look through it, you only see your reflection.

You walk towards one of the chairs, pull it out, and sit down, placing your hands in your lap. You look at the man across from you and wait for the session to begin.

Your lab tech’s name is Raoul. He’s bald with piercing black eyes that are unsettling to you, the feeling unknown but just doesn’t sit right. He never smiles at you and sometimes he'll scream.

When these events occur, you stare back at him as something bubbles up inside you. It’s a gnawing feeling deep in your gut, that sometimes spreads to other parts of your body. If it goes on long enough, you start to see spots and break out into a sweat, all while your hands start to tremble.

You’re not sure what is happening when that occurs and no one takes the time to explain...not that you ask. One time you discussed the sensation with one of your peers during a free period, away from the prying ears of the technicians. However, after explaining what occurred, they didn’t know what was happening either, as they’ve never felt that way.

You stared into this man’s eyes, hoping that it would be a good session, and not one where he screams as you really don’t want to feel that way again.

“Y/n, are you ready for today’s session?” Raoul asked as he pulls out a stack of cards.

“Yes,” you respond, your gaze flickering down to the cards in his hands.

You watch as he pulls out the first card and holds it up to you. You realize it’s the same test that you’ve completed this whole week, the same cards, the same images. You don’t understand why they keep making you repeat the test. Are you doing something wrong?

“What do you see here y/n?”

You gaze at the image, your eyes roaming the card. You tilt your head to look at it a different angle, trying to get a good grasp of the concept.

It’s a mess of a picture, the picture not clear cut, but if you look at it long enough you can start to make out wings of a maybe an…insect or a bird? You think a moment more before nodding your head, agreeing on your answer.

“A butterfly,” you say plainly, your eyes settling on Raoul again.

He doesn’t respond to your answer, but instead places the card aside just to pick up the next one.

“And here?”

Once more, you stare at the picture, the image strange. This picture has red on the top and bottom of the black image. You remember the feeling you had whenever Raoul screams at you, hurling names that are not yours and sound insulting. This picture reminds you of that in a way, but you can’t put a name to it.

Taking a breath, you respond, “bear with blood on its head and feet.”

You watch Raoul’s eyebrows raise briefly and within a second it’s gone, his face devoid of any reaction. Did you answer wrong? Why is he looking at you like that? Your eyes follow as he puts the card down and picks up another.

And so it goes, card after card as time passes. Your responses are simple, “two people, animal skin, another butterfly, another animal skin, a face.”

At the last three cards, you sit up straighter and your eyes get bigger as something warm flows through you. This is the same reaction you had the previous days of the week. Raoul watches your every move, ensuring he doesn’t miss your reaction.

“A tiger, a person, a crab,” you respond in succession.

You let out a breath as he sets the last card down, the test seeming to be over. Raoul leans forward and stares at you with narrowed eyes. You don’t move but stare back, waiting on the next test.

“You are nothing, you know that?” Raoul says, spittle flying from his mouth.

You cock your head, unsure of what he meant. He lets out a loud laugh at your reaction, his hands coming down to slap the table. You jolt in your seat at the sound, your eyes wide as the hairs stick up on your arms, and little bumps form. You feel your heart beat faster, the thump thump pounding against your skin.

Despite this, you continue to stare at him, watching as he turns red in the face from laughing.

“You don’t even know what you’re feeling! I knew it was too good to be true!”

What you are feeling? What does he mean by the word ‘feeling?’ You watch as Raoul gets up and walks your way, stopping right next to you. He grabs your hair and forces you to look up at him.

You comply without protest, your hands still in your lap.

“You. Are. Nothing.”

He releases your hair with a shove, your hands reaching out for the table to catch yourself from falling. You blink once, twice before an orderly is next to you, ordering you to get up and follow them out of the room. It seems today’s testing is over.

“Dinner will be in a few hours. You will wait in your room until said time,” the orderly saids, glancing at you in her periphery.

You nod and continue to follow her all the way to your room. She unlocks the door and lets you in, closing and locking it once you cross the threshold. You glance at the door before glancing at your room, taking in the few belongings you have.

Your bed sits in the corner, a simple blue blanket placed neatly on top, your pillow fluffed and ready for nighttime. Next to your bed is a pile of an assortment of books that you have acquired over the years. You often sit curled up in the corner reading, filling your head with other worlds and what is in them.

However, your most prized possession is the mural on the wall across from your bed that you have been working on. In different vibrant shades of purple, you have painted lavender flowers. The wall is covered in delicate strokes of the purple stems, accompanied by the brown stalk that anchors it to the ground.

You discovered the flower in one of your books, your eyes lighting up at the picture. You remember touching the page with your fingertips, lightly brushing over the image as you stared at the beautiful colors. After that moment, you worked extra hard to earn favor with some of the orderlies so you could acquire paints.

You were going to recreate the scene so you could go to the place with the flowers, the pretty lavender flowers. That was years ago. The wall was halfway painted in the beauties, causing you to feel warm inside.

Walking further inside, you grabbed your paints and paintbrush and kneeled down to paint, your mind drifting in the mundane task that you have grown accustomed to. Your eyes wandered over the wet paint, as you paid attention to the tiniest detail, wanting to get the picture just right.

Time passed and you painted, lost in the world of lavender, that you didn’t hear the bell outside your door signaling dinner. You jumped when you heard the door open, dropping your paintbrush in the process, the bristles brushing against the hem of your dress, staining it in purple.

“Dinner time, get up,” the orderly said, crossing her arms when she noticed you weren’t ready.

You had no time to put your supplies away so you gently set them down and got up, your knees cracking with the sudden movement. You followed the lady to a hall, and sat down next to one of your peers. Dinner was served and everyone ate in relative silence as there was not much to say when everyone did the same thing day in and day out.

The rest of the afternoon passed with no significance. Settling into bed, you pulled the blanket up to your chin. Yawning, you turned your head to gaze at the mural, your mind drifting to how it would be escape to the field, to smell their scent, and touch their delicate petals.

With these thoughts you drifted off, another day come and gone of your life here within the lab. — — Days passed, which turned into weeks. You were subjected to the same tests again and again. You were yelled at and chastised over and over, the same phrase repeated on a daily basis.

“You are nothing.”

You sat there as you were tossed around, your hair disheveled, your arms pinched, your face spit on as Raoul ran his tests day in and day out. You felt that weird sensation as before, but a new one had started to develop.

On a particular day, you endured the typical testing, but when Raoul repeated the same phrase to you, you felt a pang in your heart, and your eyes clouded over causing your vision to be blurry.

You had no idea what was going on and tried to blink, jumping in your seat as you felt tears fall from your eyes. Raoul stared at you in disbelief. He screamed that you were faking it, that you had no inkling as to what you were feeling.

Feeling. Feeling. Feeling.

You are nothing.

You continued to stare straight ahead as he screamed in your ear, chastising you for things you did not understand. Your hands were trembling, your heart beating rapidly until you heard a loud bang on the window.

Raoul stopped, and straightened up, narrowing his eyes once more at you before exiting the room. You let out a breath, your body sinking in the chair you were sitting on. It was over, or so you would hope.

— — Hyunjin watched as the director banged on the glass of lab five, the vibration causing the glass to rattle. He glared at Raoul as he watched the man release you and walk to the door.

In his four years of working here, he’s never experienced a technician as brutal as Raoul, and it was unfortunate he was assigned to you.

You. The anomaly.

You were different than your peers. Typically your kind does not experience emotions, do not even know what they are. However, you showed promise as a little girl, being subjected to testing from a young age.

His father remembers you and was in awe, watching as you were taken from your mother at the ripe age of five and brought to the room with the other children. You hesitated and held on tighter to your mother’s hand, fear etched in your eyes at the strange people coming to take you away.

His father went on to say it took you a while to adjust, your days spent separated from the other children, as you didn’t want to interact with them. Of course overtime, you forgot your mother, and fell right into the routine of living here in the lab.

You excelled on your testing, the technicians surprised at how your grasped emotional concepts the others have not. You were the only one in the hundreds of Gevorians that lived here that had an inkling of similarity to human kind.

Over the last six months, that uniqueness showed as you had interesting results after taking the Rorschach test over and over. It seemed you could learn to encompass the emotional capacity the others lacked.

Hyunjin took notice and became interested in your progress, wanting to know more about you. He looked through your files, all the way from childhood to adolescence, studied your results and the potential you had to make it in the human world, which is ultimately the labs goal.

He took to watching your sessions, notebook in hand to take notes. Imagine his horror when he saw Raoul abusing you, berating you for not being able to feel. Hyunjin’s heart broke for you in your predicament as he’s sure you were confused, not being able to understand the emotions that were going through you during the sessions.

Eventually, he had had enough as he saw you crying one day as Raoul spat in your face and called you nothing once more. He marched to the director’s office then and there and demanded Raoul be taken off the case and that he be assigned to you instead.

At first the director was hesitant, not sure if he would be able to handle you, but after many reassurances, he was granted the request.

Hyunjin went so far as to ask to have your sessions in different places throughout the building, to see if it’ll help in your journey. He was very persuasive, promising positive outcomes, which was risky, but a risk he was willing to take. He remembered silently cheering when the director granted him that power.

Now, here he was with several other technicians and the director himself, all staring down at Raoul.

“As of today Raoul, you are no longer y/n’s technician. Hyunjin will take over their sessions,” the director said in a commanding tone, his hands placed behind his back challenging any defiance.

“What the fuck! I’m making progress! Can’t you see that!” Raoul screamed.

Hyunjin shook his head in disdain, “How? By abusing y/n? Berating them? How is that going to help you son of a bitch?”

“Hyunjin!” The director said, shock in his eyes. He turned to look back at Raoul, “you are not their technician any longer. That’s final.”

The director turned around and marched out, the other technicians filing behind him. Raoul turned toward Hyunjin furious.

“You think you can handle y/n? Good luck, you won’t make a dent. Don’t come crying to me when the director fires you because you failed in your task.”

Hyunjin wiped the spit from his face and watched Raoul storm away.

He was definitely up for the task, wanting to make sure you could have a fulfilling life. One that was better than the one you lived within these walls.

He turned to stare at you through the two way mirror, watching how you stared straight ahead, waiting for someone to get you. However, he looked closer, and noticed your face was wet, as tears streamed down your face.

You didn’t wipe them, but let them fall down your cheeks, onto your clothes as you most likely had no clue what you were feeling.

He watched as an orderly came to retrieve you, watching as you walked past him, not even giving him a second glance.

He would be successful if it’s the last thing he does. He can’t let a promising, talented person like you rot here within the lab. He will mold you, teach you, and take you under his wing.

And once Hyunjin sets a goal, he follows it through.

He can’t wait for your first session together.

He can’t wait to meet you.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground @frehyun @seungminsbest @nightmarenyxx @linocvp1d @ddroh @redlightsallnight @eastjonowhere @stayjinnie

#stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #stray kids fluff #hyunjin fluff #stray kids fanfic #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin fluff #skz fluff #stray kids angst #hyunjin angst #skz angst #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x you #hyunjin x you #stray kids

169 notes · View notes

coochiequeens · 4 months ago

Text

Indigenous women represent about one-fifth of all women killed in gender-related homicides in Canada -- despite comprising just five percent of the female population."

Possible human remains discovered at a Canadian landfill site may be the bodies of two murdered Indigenous women police suspect were disposed by a serial killer, the Manitoba provincial government said Wednesday.

At the Prairie Green landfill, north of Winnipeg, experts "identified potential human remains in the search material," the government said in a statement.

Federal police and the province's chief medical examiner are now investigating and seeking to identify the remains as those of Morgan Harris and Marcedes Myran.

The two women were raped, killed, dismembered and thrown out with the trash, according to court testimony from a trial heard last year.

On a tree out front of Camp Marcedes, located next to the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, a photo and red dress signify the loss of Marcedes Myran with a call to action in searching the landfills for her remains from Downtown Winnipeg, Canada on September 27 2023.Shay Conroy for The Washington Post via Getty Images

Jeremy Skibicki was found guilty in July 2024 of killing four Indigenous women.

The body of another victim, Rebecca Contois, was found in a separate landfill and in a garbage bin, while the remains of a fourth unidentified victim in her 20s is still missing.

Skibicki targeted Indigenous women he met in homeless shelters.

In December 2022, Winnipeg Police Chief Danny Smyth wrote an open letter to Indigenous leaders, vowing to secure a conviction. following correspondence to the AFN, AMC, SCO, MKO and the Long Plain First Nation.

"The investigation involving the murders of Rebecca Contois, Marcedes Myran, Morgan Harris, and Buffalo Woman has been one of the most complex and important homicide investigations during my tenure," Smith wrote. "I have heard the calls from the families, the Indigenous leadership, and the community. I understand your calls; the pain and sorrow is unimaginable."

Elle Harris, member of the Long Plains First Nation and daughter of Morgan Harris, poses in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, on April 27, 2024. SEBASTIEN ST-JEAN/AFP via Getty Images

The case was seen by many in Canada as a symbol of the dangers faced by Indigenous women in a country where they disproportionately fall victim to violence, termed a "genocide" by a national public inquiry in 2019.

Indigenous women represent about one-fifth of all women killed in gender-related homicides in the country -- despite comprising just five percent of the female population.

A similar situation exists in the U.S., where Native American women are disproportionately targeted in murders, sexual assaults and other acts of violence, both on reservations and in nearby towns.

There were more than 5,700 reports of missing Native women and girls in 2016, according to the anti-sexual assault organization RAINN, which cites statistics from the National Crime Information Center. The BIA estimated more recently that roughly 4,200 cases of missing and murdered Indigenous people remain unsolved.

Earlier this month, the remains of a woman found dead on a reservation in southwestern South Dakota were identified as a Sioux woman who went missing more than a year ago.

#Canada #missing and murdered indigenous women #Manitoba #Rest In Peace Morgan Harris #Rest In Peace Marcedes Myran #Jeremy Skibicki killed women #Rest In Peace Rebecca Contois #Rest In Peace unidentified woman refered to ad Buffalo Woman #Roughly 4200 cases of missing and murdered Indigenous people remain unsolved.#Skibicki targeted Indigenous women he met in homeless shelters #Why was he in homelessness shelters with women in the first place?

75 notes · View notes

pandorasworkshop · 2 years ago

Text

🌕The Bedrooms of the Moon Signs🌕

Pandorasworkshop

Okay so the moon rules the fourth house which is the house of comfort, mother and the home. So looking at people's moon signs is a great way to grasp what their bedroom may look like or what they feel comfortable in. Disclaimer: aspects other fourth house placements and what house ur moon is can affect this.

Moon in Aries: neat and organized or veryyy chaotic, they may have a little corner of their room dedicated to an interest of theirs. Some friends have dumbbells in their rooms as well. Whatever house their moon is in may show be more prominent in their room. Do you guys know those pretty minimal rooms on Pinterest (not the beige) thats what this placement reminds me of and also very chaotic rooms where there are collage walls.

Moon in Taurus: they payyy attention to the little things, they know what they like a value being comfortable, some of my friends with this placement spend a little more on their rooms to make sure everything is up to their standards. Usually have nice bedsheets too. Think nice fabrics. Most likely to have a mini fridge in their room. Their rooms always have a luxurious undertone even if that's not their aesthetic.

Moon in Gemini: techy room three friends of mine have an Alexa in their room and two have a record player. May spend money on gadgets for their room. Naomi Campbell has this placement and her house is literally the shape of an eye. Most likely to focus on lighting in their rooms (led, sunlight lamps, fairy lights). Lot of kpop fans with this placement. Could have multiple journals or sketchbooks all around their room. Tall windows.

Moon in cancer: they like being cozy, literally every single person I know with this placement has a veil hanging from above their bed. Ambient lighting and the starlight projectors. Appealing to all the senses to feel comfortable is important to them. May use candles, diffusers, or incense. Stashes food in their room. Weighted blankets. If they aren't doing well their rooms show their emotions. Most likely to have stuffed animals on their bed.

Moon in Leo: whatever hobbies they have you WILL absolutely know once you step foot in their room. One friend of mine with this placement is a guitarist has seven guitars/banjos/bass hanging on her walls plus pedals and amps all her posters are of bands. Another friend is an artist she paints and likes to bejewel stuff those shiny rhinestones are EVERYWHERE and her walls are painted with her art. Another friend is a nail tech/makeup artist all the tables In her room are filled with supplies and makeup. Look in the cabinet oh more nails. I feel like these placements pets love to hangout in their rooms as well.

Moon in Virgo: their rooms tend to be very organized. Many influencers online who tend to do those organized videos tend to have this placement. Most likely to have one of those carts that wheel around and are a container. Two friends with this placement both have veryyy coordinated bookshelves. Bullet journal and they may have lots of pretty pens. Anything they buy for their room is always useful. Tend to be plant parents as well and a friend and my cousin with this placement both have a yoga mat surrounded by plants. HIDDEN CABINETS. You can tell where they are mentally through their rooms. Really polished rooms even without trying.

Moon in Libra: may have had to host people a lot in their rooms so their rooms have multiple chairs. Their room either looks straight out of a catalog or there is clothes thrown EVERYWHERE. May have a specific area in their room they get ready in. May have framed photos of their loved ones or Polaroids. If they get flowers from somebody they may incorporate them into their room decor by putting them in a vase or drying them. Libra is ruled by Venus so their rooms always like pretty and almost refreshing.

Moon in Scorpio: every single person I know with this placement is metal/goth 😭 really living up to the stereotype. But Scorpio rules the 8th house and 8th house is about secrets, occult and obsession. Many of my friends with this moon placement when they have it they reallyyy lean into their aesthetic. All five of my friends have their walls covered with things and a typically goth aesthetic they really lean into. Something though I feel like is not talked about with Scorpio is their lighter side. Scorpios sister sign is Taurus and Taurus is very light. Both of these signs can embody one another. A girl on tiktok has a Scorpio moon and Venus and her room is very coquette but her walls are still covered with all sorts of things and she really leans into her style.

Moon in Sagittarius: might have a lot of funny things in their room or just plain out strange things. A friend with this placement has road signs all over his room, a random urinal(don't ask me how he got it idk), life size Bigfoot cutout, and a singular poster of the movie white chicks. Another friend with this placement is really well traveled and she has all the cool souvenirs from all over the world and collects them, she also has a few of those educational posters that are pretty.

Moon in Capricorn: antique but not antique in the way Pisces can be. Lots of nice wood furniture, maybe a bit of a masculine undertone with neutral colors. Moody style and coloring. Capricorn is the sister sign to cancer so their rooms are also very cozy. Whimsigoth or academic. Neutral colors or colors that are darker in shades. Knit blankets remind me of this placement. Leather reminds me of this placement as well. Think of retro made new.

Moon in aquarius: do you guys know those blue/white futuristic technological themed rooms people have on tiktok. That's what this placement reminds me of. People I know with this placement tend to have nice ass pc set ups. You may like to sleep in the cold so they can be extra warm in their blankets. Rooms may be more minimal. Nice wallpaper with celebrities who have this placement.

Moon in Pisces: Antiques but in that almost magical way. Women on tiktok with this placement have these beautiful gold gilded mirrors. My friend has this gorgeous antique wardrobe. Most likely to thrift their decor. Florals remind me of this placement. If this person is really religious or really spiritual then you'll know when you go into their room. One of my friends is Christian and her room is filled with beautiful antique crosses. Another friend is Hindu and she has a nice altar in her room. If this person is a smoker they might have decor that relates to that. Witch friend has a lot of themed decor like moon shelves and a whole bookshelf dedicated to her craft. Pisces rules twelfth house which rules religion, substances, and spirituality. Pisces is also the oldest sign.

#astrology #witchblr #witchcraft #astro notes #astro observations #astrology observations #astrology transits #folk magic #spellwork #witchcore #witch #witch community #astrocartography #moon signs

919 notes · View notes

materialsscienceandengineering · 2 months ago

Text

Nanostructuring MOF crystals unlocks their potential, retaining electrical properties with enhanced sensitivity

Scientists at IMDEA Nanociencia are working on the development of materials whose properties can change as easily as we flip a switch. They focus on joining molecular switching (spin transition), electrical transport properties and porosity in the same material. Such materials have an enormous potential to host gas molecules, such as carbon dioxide or hydrogen, and feature responsive properties in the presence of these gases. In their latest work, researchers report on a metal organic framework (MOF) material that exhibits spin crossover (SCO) behavior, i.e., it can change its magnetic state in response to an external stimulus. This is of enormous interest to the development of electronic applications such as data storage or sensors, as the electrical transport properties depend directly on the spin state of the material.