#hey no pressure no obligation no guilt

[rubiesintherough]

.

[astralnymphh]

saturated sanctity

tonguefucking raw in the barn, away from dina's eyes ౨ৎ

. part two 𝜗𝜚

❛you had cunt on your mind, 'n cum on your breath❜

PREVIOUS CHAPTER . NEXT CHAPTER > .ᐟ ♡. summary; a chore so innocent and prosaic, far from featherbedding and near to plucking grain from your scalp– turns for the worst, or the best? i soundly connote, fornication ventured on two bends of eager knees, drinking you from beneath the hood 𐙚 .ᐟ ♡. cw; depictions of infidelity, homewrecking, semi-risky sex, jealousy, bit angsty, tension, guilt, pining, tears are shed, playing around, lusting, clit stim (r, fingers and oral), fingering (r), pussy eating (r), scant nipple stim (r), ass groping, ass slapping, breast groping, swallowing slick, pussy slapping, steamy make-out buildup, dirty talk, needy ellie, smug ellie as usual, dom!ellie, sub!reader (i swear sub!ellie is coming next chapter) domestic acts, bold text is flashback dialogue, petnames; babe, baby, good girl (lmk if i missed anything) .ᐟ ♡. pairing; farm!ellie x farmhand!reader .ᐟ ♡. a/n; ending feels a little lazy but it is what it is. hey i'll pull through on ss3 that's like the smut crux, if u get my jizzst..

✵ masterlist ✵ series masterlist ✵ got too lazy 2 proofread right away ✵ WC; 9.8k+

VOLUME TWO - The skin that flakes/ Under the hood

𝄞

Indulgences have the gall to peck at you. 

Pecky and prickly as the oncoming hens do, handwriting–on–the–wall misgivings that throttle you off a steady minute by minute track. Small nuances under light of sun kept doing so this week, numerous things apropos of bawdy suggestions wisped by that reckless pink snake of hers– always mere footsteps from running into Dina, ‘I think it would be, really, reaaally hot if you didn’t wear your p-panties at the table, tonight..’ always brain–caked in a bit of alcohol, hiccuping. Or, even when a cold cuff cocoons the hind of your upper–thigh, an inch below the crease of your butt and done as she passes like a ghost behind you in the kitchen. 

A plum bruise should have formed from how often you flicked that forehead of hers. But no, of course no. The only thing that formed each time was a cocky curl into her lips, corkscrewing those fine hazel freckles connate to a whirlpool in water.

Owing to the fact that she lacked sufficient care from you, has her pouting when you deny her. Denied her of that fiendish wish to lie beside each other– even if it be upon that packed sofa, or– of her vehement dreams, reposing within sniffing distance of an ambery lit fireplace, running her work–worn fingertips along your hill of chest, letting the beat beneath your breast verse in her hands a tale to beckon her own in accordance, toasting aflutter with love. She would push a kind pressure to said breast, emboss prints to squishy skin, mold it to her liking, and smirk when your nipple erects and bends under her hardy palm. 

On the other hand, woe of denial, she sought Dina in your figment. When she wasn't courting twisted fingers up your billowing skirt, she instead smelt her heart in twisting her from the inside out, which– even more woefully, gave Dina the impression that Ellie had come crawling back on starved knees. Woe is her, to misreckon and take what she thought was hers to safekeep.

Arteries, wrenched and awreck, you felt a toy in contrast to what really stood. Worry. 

Worries are the hens, pecking at you.

Will Dina catch you two here? Over there? This night, or the inbound day? Tines of time aren't obligated to tell, ringing of peril whenever they yen a sign to sow.

Thoughts would only continue to foment come light of day.

A lemony sun has risen beyond the hill laden skyline, plucking rays for your wake. Muted orange tones mingle and caper into flaming reds on the crest of your sealed eyelids, caught just as you bid adieu to your cotton sogged dream. For dreams die, at every crossroad.

“Mhh..” the gentlest brush of breath hinders sun washed quietude split, and a set of toes curving down to a stretch. Achy aches ache, as there’s enough ache to go around for farm hands such as you, ugh right? 

Disturbing be the sunlight drawing blinding rays on your bleary pupils, attempting to shade out familiar nooks of your room. Ah, there we go, hues of sable dark in unvisited corners and shyly crowding the light, fluid out of the clear glass pane. As the couch is situated opposite of this blaring window, it greets you quite rudely. 

The moment colors begin to mature and petrify within your vision, you're already hiking up a foot and rocking your bottom off the quaint sofa, veering a peek to the indent left. Slept like a log, huh? Feet plant weight on plods carrying you towards the wardrobe, grantingly aside the wide pearl–border window, flitting a forearm up to block incoming light. 

A huff bloats your cheeks and pouts ducky lips, then grumbling a burden off your shoulders, “Hhhmmmm..” no truer words were spoken.

You lodge fingers in oaken crevices and pull a sundry of drawers from their frame, rubbing cotton on wool as you dig without aim on what you may don, this or that, with which and what, where and when. Blah, yawn, bored, you avert your gaze on lucent glass and scrutinize a pine bough panorama– only for your eyes to spring and espy a sparkle.

A gleam of skin.

And a tuft of copper.

Ellie.

Her torso fit in a white ribbed tank, soaked in hues of gray at the dip cut collar, and handsomely clung to her perky breasts. An arm raises, a graceful length likeness of a canopy above her head, stretching freckled flesh over toned muscles, the grooves– shadowed in a whisper of brown, highlighted celestially, and exposing a small auburn bush beneath her pit. A seen groan escapes her slit gob, brows hefty– she crumples them dear into her eye sockets, ruching the thin skin. Exertion tapered her body akin to clay, and it was undeniably hot, scrunching her face up like that. Ellie then juts her hips forward and casts her head rearward as she stretches, releasing all tension in a swing of her arms down. 

Seems like she's tending to the fore yards.

Dew gleams honey, sweat paints skin, and portrays your girls as a ruddy rose in dashing spring. Ruddy, yeah, that solar ball in the sky sure made her skin popping arid of paleness. Naturally, her freckles betone like pepper, bulging on her red face– which scrunches in her gripe of stress.

Her lips part, mouthing an obvious, ‘Fucking hell.’ and baring teeth after, slightly. Lashes interwoven, her eyes stayed squinted, only to widen and dart when a muffled shout rattles the walls.

Right, fuck, Dina needs me.

Just as the drizzly auburn–head jogs from a peeking view and presumably into the house, you reverse and capsize through stacks of cloth until you land your choice– a sundress. Hey, it's hot today, let your butt breathe for a change. You dangle it by the thin straps prior to pleating up the skirt and slinking it over your crown, yanking every seam in place. Ruffles hit a stonecast above your knee, a sensible length.

But one question stands unturned.

Bra, or no bra?

Hmm.

No bra.

A proper chest of cotton cradles your breasts come rain or shine, not like Dina would mind with brine, nor judge off the heart– just freeing the girls. No biggie. The woven material lollops to a fare–thee–well, cozy on the curve, ribbing as it falls in place. Now, you just need something on your feet. Striding forth, waxing a gale, bare steps soften on each oak board's scant gap, sylvan grain texture grazing your toes. Just a few feet ayond the couch is your shoe cubby, small box frames home to varied work boots and scuffed sneakers, and based on today, you choose boots, clasping the hardy backstays in a pinch. You crouch and gripe at the sore sting your knees gave, manning it through and sliding foot by foot plumb to the squishy sole of your boots, tying up the cordy laces.

Guh, these boots are near rugged.

Ignoring the plain–in–sight fray to your boots’ hemp laces, you grasp and wrench the icy knob ‘round till the door grinds a cry open. Stepping under the arch, you brisk thump by thump and cut where the hallway bends, advancing the dining table.

A dyad of ears harks your growing din of solid steps, calling, “There you are, did'ja sleep like a log?” mellifluous notes of Dina's cadence carries, veering your sight on the kitchen– where she be, perching an oaken honeycomb rack to forearm.

That I did.

“Yuup–” you pirouette, spanning the table's border and hiking that very ridge plane into your butt, sighing, “sun was there to greet me, obnoxiously.” leaning into the table, you grouse lightheardedly.

“Oh shit– sorry ‘bout that, swear I'll put up a–”

“Don't worry, it's the one thing that actually wakes me up these days,” you crack a quip, chuckling with an open mouth.

Dina caters a kind tug on her mauve lips prior to whisking her eyes returned, a glossy honey to be. Syrupy knuckles press and crinkle in the hilt of a honey fork, pruning waxy slices and welling gold bubbles, crafting a drippy stream that canals into a glass bowl. Through laden light it gains a gilded life, casting a tiny star on the moist blob– and there you witness, nectar of the gods.

Capricious minds might have swiped a dollop of that sweet, sweet delicacy by now.

Weighing the silence, you tempt thoughts racing around your skull. What chore am I assigned today? Where is the cacophony of babbles and gurgles that follow Dina like a haunting spirit? Where did Ellie go? Ellie, Ellie, Els.

God did she look breathtaking in that tight–

A rush of thuds divert your curious eyes to the creaking stairs, preluding the swell of said babbles and a husky voice, Ellie's voice. 

“Dina?” hailed she, echoing halfway down the steps, “I changed his diaper!”

Dina cocks her head in heed, crowing back, “Okay! Just– give ‘im to her!” tone knocking against the hollowed walls, then, she sheers attention to you, “mind feeding him?” 

You hum a keen, “Mhm.” void of second qualms and wait on that certain honey–head to appear, hearing the increments of footsteps draw lower and nearer.

The honeylike cowl, stria of fawn auburn drapes soft strands to laze with a purpose on her neck, fashioning that scruffy mullet eyes prize after. Honeykin defines the head that tags after gray, deadbeat converse hop the last few steps and plant still on the oaken floor. For a honey so sinful sought you, and buys a bite of time, to stare.

Her liven pasture eyes catch on you, just a moment, and skip away, reminded of what she intends, “Uh, here.” her forearms unfurl and slink to you, offering JJ up in thankful arms.

You rub in bare flesh to hers, scooping the gurgly baby in a shyer than thankful human cradle, foreheads feckly bumping into each other as you swap, a ghosting of heads. A whaff of her work–spent scent digs into your brain, and you had to admit, it was a tinge sort of lovely. She had the farmyard tang about her, blessed with sweat, a firming physique, a stare that caught you a corpus melting in her esse.

Fairer than the weeks before her touching of you, the bounty it procured was tame, fair is the present. Fairest days, faring a harvest more splendid than dreams carping yonder ebony skies and heavy heads. An unruffled weightlessness many souls find hopes fed in, you found aplenty of in the waking world. With Ellie, you drank laughs, fiddled about the haystacks, snuck apples in your fist– nicking dewey chunks down her gullet in shared kisses, or let her shamelessly tug some of your ass meat in horny hands. Oh, isn't infidelity just the niftiest drug.

Smitten as a kitten, you are.

Carpe diem.

“You’ sleep well?” asked Els in monotone, pitching a paw up to weave through her jumbled locks, splitting strands.

Heaving a breeze, you sigh, “Decent enough, you?” and counter the question, bobbing your stance on bending knees– pray that baby doesn't scream, as always. 

“Like a baby,” she asserts, lush of a brag, dropping her hand and poking at the chubby–cheeked fella, who just got a free mention, “not so much this one, yeahh? Did you scream my ear off all night?” cooing.

“Mhm, heard that.” you add.

“Betcha did.”

“Hmm.”

Her eyes peek up, and goddess, it's that look again. Oh yes, the very gaze spilt upon the oaken table that hale spring day, a twinning star. These eyes, ladies and gentle–non–mens’, fondled a plight of husky play sat on the edge of her mucky mind, and it showed vividly in those flourishing pupils that thin her pine–lined eyes. Tilted smirk dotting dimples in her big appley cheeks, cuspid teeth goring a dint in chapped lips crying with dire need of moisture. Sexy– minus the lips maybe.

She knows what effect that look has.

What exactly sits vanward of that hormone tipsy mind, is an excerpt best served in the formula of two tongues tied– for even Ellie herself may strive to compose hunger incarnate at this fledgling hour of daybreak. And yet she cannot. The mere thought of your pussy clots her brain cells. So, how do we fix that?

Play pretend!

“Hey babe,” that auburnette already had her head whipped south towards Dina before you could flit a blink, feet sparking her a brisk carry yon the shabby oak floor. Creak, creak, clonk, foot by foot she departs a sliver of bitterness in your chest. 

A demure bitter, a sense you can simply shake off. For now.

“There you are..” spoken so softly from Dina, who still had a rack of flaxen honeycomb in her hold, slanting to an angle, “what took ya so long?” voice curling.

“Wasn't that long,” she emphasized her vowels, “m'here now..” 

“Good..” 

She was far from there.

“Mhh,” hummed Ellie, pressing her lips into a thin stroke, puckering about to intone a curly, “ohhh, honey– can I have a lick?”

“Mh–mm, that's for the apples.”

“Aww.”

A meshing of lovers. Real love, virgin love, dying love, feigned love, it all wreathes together on the outside– for the sake of earthly vein, tender were those emotions long ago. Hasty do the doves encircle a budding entanglement, and bells chime where dust remains uncollected on wanton hearts. Uncanny, do the crows crawl in their grandeur of an affection died– sprawling sooty wings through tough gravel and mushy mud, rendering them unable to fly again. Unearth that shit, and you're seated for a whole fuckfest, indeed. 

So consume what you see with a grain of shit–face nothingness.

Ellie slinks a glide upon Dina, pushing her harsher on the counter's nook and slumping arms to swaddle her torso. She cradled her in the natural bow of her body, projection of her bony hips plated dual plumb dimples in her ass, grinding with a purpose. Denim chafes on denim, bringing a light noise of fabricy licks. The cottony hem of her soiled tank begins to bunch with each rolled hump, proving the friction to be– lustful. Her hands wander her body, not yours, pausing and choking the fat plush of her thighs, losing sunny–ruddy pigment to wanting pressure, then releases, and traces back up.

Pupils of yours aimed so pinpoint on each sweep of her hand, yet, you bore an idle set of gestures. Cupping a waxy rubber bottle in your grasp, brimmed with milk opaque of lily–white and feinting a crisp chill to your fingertips, you park the nozzle to the baby's lips. Giving a squeeze with care, you feed him– idly, idly turned from the scene afore, except for your eyes.

Strain sets a pull on them as you stare.

A bitsy wince of, “Ellie..” dries moistness on her lips, shuddering to an ajar gasp.

“Mhm, like that?” husked with a bass that ripples, so, so deep in her diaphragm, you swore it nearly rattled your ears from where you poise.

A gasp died into, “We can't–” 

“But we can..” a frugal answer, meant for one pair of ears only. Only, what a joke. An ill timed joke on Dina.

Had it truly been for one person only, Ellie would not be striking risk right in the butt. Nifty as she is, juggling those risks aimlessly, she stares at you. The crown of her head ruffles up messily on her scruff as it pivots, flushed nose pointed to you, pale lids of supple creases kin to a beach cove as they open, batting reeds of chestnut everlasting. They flap, waiting for you, in the delay of that week–past chance snuffed. 

Intimidating, austere demeanor flowering in those buttony pupils– and she eyefucks you with them, even tugging a wink your way. A fucking wink. Her ploy of fondling Dina, so obscenely, clearly dirty, read in gold typeface as ‘Wish this was you.’ loud and proud. Much more so when her digits curl and dig dents in her waist, and her teeth carve marks as she bites her coral lip down, showing you. 

She's showing you how she wants to play with you.

Being an unwelcome voyeur, you felt the tail–tug to glance away. And in that fleeting veer, a loud smack resounded and left you surprised on the tips of your boots.

“Uh!” a yelp ejects air from its jailed position in Dina's gullet, forwarding her body with a jounce.

A foul, “Hehe–” trebles a giggle from Ellie, shit–eating grin withal, “so sensitive.. again?” her hand rubbing circles to where she struck ass.

Fuck.

Fuck, because she has uttered those exact words to you before, wetly on the shell of your ear, yesterday. At dead noon eve, stark flat on your bedroom door, a makeout you'd rather not divulge. Though, did Dina hear that thumping racket?

You feel a throb, a throb that drops. It beats from your maddened heart to your aching hole, literally. A web of hot arousal dribbles over the ribbing of your walls, leaking into a sticky splotch on the plateau of your panties. Fern eyes of something unholier–than–the–moan–of–a–devil felt denser working than self–pleasure, it tickled just right.

But it doesn't belong to you, so don't pluck that apple. Ignore that tickle.

“Okay, baby–” Dina gruffs and shoots her shoulders up, nudging Els’ clingy head off, “seriously, I got shit to do.”

“Hmm, suit yourself.” Ellie gave up and wacked her hands up in defense, feigning offense. 

You slither that milk–glossy tap gently from purling lips, cooing, “There you go.” as you set the bottle down with a placid thud, spurring a lone finger up to bat slowly upon the baby's nubby nose, how maternalistic of you.

A gait of striking steps softly approaches you. With your head huddled and stance shielded the opposing direction of the two, you couldn't see who that person was. Although, you deemed it safe to assume it may be Ellie, coming to poke at you again.

“Hey, could you help Ellie sweep the barn?” a honeyed voice entrances your focus instead, Dina, of course, “sheep dragged in a whole buncha’ shit, shouldn't take long though.” she notes, casually.

A long droning intervenes “Uhhh, I never volunteered to–”

“You did when you chose to live on this farm with me,” her voice strains, flowing into a breezy chuckle whilst gesturing for you to hand her JJ, “Right, babe?”

“Pshh–” 

Bearing aloft, you slink that baby's bum right into her curviform arms, feeling the cottony onesie drag on your forearm as his weight lifts off, bending at the knees scantily.

“Fiiine, I'll muck the– smelly sheep shit for ya’,” her voice bores deeper in exaggeration, becoming a blurry blob moving behind Dina's poise as she slinks forth, “gunna’ need a mask, I think.” and quips, wrapping her lithe arms to a cinch on her waist.

Dina grunts, butting her arms loose before it gets tighter and coasting a few feet yonder, “Barn, please.” reiterated she, flatly.

Tapered as her jaw is, she clenches it further, taking that blow of a refusal to her touch peevingly, teeth to a grind. Jeez, she's quite handsy today.

“Hmmph,” a grunt deadlocks at the fore of her compressed lips, rolling at the neck and cocking aside a signal for you–”c'mon.” she mumbled, clicking her waggish tongue.”

A scoff jumps from you, “M'not a horse.” you squint and trot your feet along, heavy timber steps pittering towards the ajar backdoor, dash of light spilling through.

“What? Didn't say you were.” she headstarts and jerks the door chasmally open, banging against the oaken trim.

“Door!” shouted Dina, now muffled as you enter beneath true light of day.

“Sorry!”

You wince both muck–free feet into a macula of moist earth, feeling your weight sink and squeeze a taint of muddy blob as you hoick off and traipse forth. A kittenly, “I think the only horse here is you– smelling of sheep shit,” comeback lightens the air, giggling, “Peee–yuuu, somebody get me a mask.” and shooing an invisible stench from your nostrils.

“Puuh–lease, as if you don't smell like a hot pile of garbage after your chores,” thrummed out of her gob easily, just so she could smooth in, “Emphasis on the hot.”

“God, you amuse me.” you shake your head low and smile, bloating the inwards of your cheeks ‘till they hugged your nose, two blooming mushrooms.

Her body spirals in a swing of her leg, now walking completely backwards, “Wasn't trying to amuse, m'being serious. U're hot.” she brownnosed, even giving you the fucking eye–up–and–down. 

This baser, coy weirdo. Can't go nary a breath without summoning a smile unto you.

Your wandering eyes travel up a stream of fading cumulus clouds, sheer stranding like a veil pierced with astral rays– and you mull mind over answers across those clouds, for how could you reply, origin of wit?

Then, so cross the dumbest, possibly weakest retort, transferring from sky–gaze to mouth.

“Andddddd u're not.” you skip ahead of her with a feign of sass, causing her to whip back around.

“Not what you said last night.”

Okay that's true, but..

You egg her on, splayed palm melding to cold, rusted iron grip of a shovel, “I said a great many things, remind me?” as you tease.

“Gladly.” a hotness more snug than the sun cupped your wrist, pricking your grasp open free of the shovel–hilt and spinning you like a ballerina– knocking shin to shin so you plaster flat on the splintered wood door of that barn. Els hovered close, horridly close, breath fervent to your mid–face, “where should I start, babe?”

You freeze, blizzard of a kindled burn, a smolder trenching roots through your reddening cheeks. That throb, returns. You just couldn't gauge which throbbed more severely– the banging of a mad heart, resounding echoed thwacks against caved ribs, or the chokehold of your beaded clit, squeezing up into your cunt and getting you to chafe moist arousal from your labia, wringing webs across your entrance.

No, not again, not here.

“You should start..” a gulp burdens the words back in your gut, re–rounding with a deflect, “by mucking the stable.” silkenly fallen to a wholly nether topic.

Dumbfounded was the look to darken her visage, bristly brows dropping like sawed trees and cleft of her lips bowing to a frown, unamused, “Seriously?” 

“Mhm!” you swerve the shovel handle at her unprovoked, letting her catch it prior to crouching under her barred arms and strolling off towards the sheep stall.

And like a dog, she tailgates hot on your hind. Bark bark bark, yapping ditto to one too, “Why do I gotta shovel shit n’ not you? –Huh?” yet in the most unserious, sportive tone, ever. Dorky smirk lingering in her words, pounding a laser through the thickset back of your skull.

Man, if Ellie was a dog– she'd be a damn Siberian husky. Pining for unending attention and peskily playful, too playful, even. 

Each crunch of hay behind you, every little sigh she put forth in bone–dry air, the sum of her laughy scoffs that no way in a verdant pasture heaven wouldn't be expelled without a toothsome smirk. She was the blight of you, your anathema, pockmarking inside your brain imagery of how she looked when you averted your gaze, meanwhile she beheld the rear of your head, cocksure of her annoyance. Oh, and goddess how it never falters to soar her heart high of a heavenly altitude, skirmishing every cloud with her melodious drum of life when even simply laying scrutiny to the hair awry with mess, shrouding your nape in the natural fall of it, bouncing on each step. A love of life that you could give.

That is all her mind bends to, pestering you, so help her goddess, she will enact anything, to make this abominable sin a grounded relationship.

Look upon me, won't you?

You tuck a finger around the tiny hook lock, opening the large sheep stall, “Because–” you pause, cutting past the rails and drawing an arm over to grasp a rickety rake, elevating it over the half–wall, “someone's gotta uncover the shit first.”

Her knee pooches out mildly as she recasts her weight on a wall, twiddling her thumb over every scuffed mark of the shovel, examining its ridges beneath her print. Yet, her eyes stayed absorbed in you, taking the waft of every leg stride, arching of your spine as you stoop down, extension of your hands grasping the rake's shaft– stabbing the crooked tines into a labyrinth of heaping hay, the screaming of metal scraping on concrete, causing her ears to tremble and tighten, alongside a squint. The noise muffles, then awakens as she relaxes her facial muscles, slacking her jaw to speak, “Y'really good at that, y'know..” mumbled, even.

“Mmht–” you smack your tongue moist, dithering your head in puzzled wags, “–I am literally just raking the ground,” humbled you, thinking of her dumbly so, “weirdo.”

“Pshh, yeah, but I bet you'll have this whole stall swept in like a minute tops.” she claims through a fried rasp, vailing her pale lids low as she stares– stares of yearn.

Further squashed upon hilarity, you whack a tuft of hay clean through air, then stake the rake upright to a wooden beam and lean, staring back rich with spite, “And I bet an hour for you, what– just standing there?”

“I don't see any shit yet, m'waitin’ on youu..” her vowel drawls long, smug–fuck expression curling those rosy lips.

“Oh really?” your thumb unlocks from the lot of your clutching digits, breaching the rake with a springy sound as it bludgeons against the oaken column. Ranging your foot forward, you brace the skimp distance from you to her, planting softened steps.

Maraschino cherry of her chubbed cheeks, a puckish smirk reads more and more intently as you approach. Each thwack of sole leather to hardy ground is a pump of excitement for her– reckoning your current passage as a rite of igniting something. Sway of your hips, stopping of your tracks in front of her, she wonders– or hopes, of what you'll do next.

You gave that freckled face a prompt pore–over, recognizing that flare of her brows jerking up slightly when you park optics onto her slit–open ones, inhaling, “Then let me do it.” and splaying your palm up to the ceiling, expecting the shovel plumb in–hand, easily.

“Hmm, nah.”

You furrow a lone brow, “Why not?” 

“Cuz’ I got it.” spoken cockily, lips flubbed out and head swung like a whip, winding the crescent strands of burnished hair out of her eyesight.

So cavalier.

If Dina were here, the place’d be fuckin’ primely polished. Be for real.

“Sure,” you blunt your accent, nigh on sarcasm, “what's gotten into you?” pleating your fist to a ball, you slot it between the warm pocket of breast to bicep, crossing your arms.

You.

You– are what's gotten into her. Two horny adults unchaperoned, in the convenience of privacy, sub rosa, a smidgeon apart, lusting with their parts of lechery, staring down at sorely empty hands that could be full of each other's flesh, it doesn't fare well. Emptiness, a sphere of it, sleeping in palms where it is an unwelcome voyeur– snoring, vibrating. Dormant touch never falls short of pulsation, like a magnet, it reaches for her. 

Stroking the shovel rod as she does, with those knobby fingers of hers, twining the length, was patently suggestive. Soft rings resonate with each tug of her clewed hand, rubbing up and down, slow and thorough, what the fuck. 

And worst–best of all? Eyes. Her sooty, pebble blown pupils thinning the evergreen in her eyes, pierced yours. Forbidding ones. 

God, wary of reality or not– admit this, it was definitely hot. Hot, how her ashen lids embrace the snow and veins, a human cadre of gossamery skin. Hot, because they read debaucherous– and could carbonize a bible to cinders with a single glance, sacrilege to poetry, ergo; ‘Fuck me’ eyes. And lastly, hot, as they sat a throne upon a wicked smile, exposing her front teeth lightly, spit line attached top to bottom. In short, breathing you in, made her high off lust.

Asudden, the bow indenting her mouth is backwashed in a swallow, and her eyes disappear beyond the hood of her brow bone, captivating her soul upon a sigh. A sigh she breaks contact for, a sigh she must take, in lieu of composure– when all she perceived of you was a temptation.

A bastion of forced air swells up her cheeks, lukewarm on the gums, pouty of the lips, “Fffffffuck–” mouthed she full of that exhale, shaking her head to a low duck.

“Fuuck, what?” a mimic of her quiet curse befell your lips, curving tone and brow in confusion.

That's when her head perked, an inch, a slanted inch, bedeviled eyes divided by the drop of a short russet strand, mouth pursing to vowel out, “You.” hoarsely.

“Like ‘Fuck you bitch’ or in a ‘I'm gonna fuck you’ typa’ way?” you undulate your head cartoonishly, heightening the emphasis of both those options, cause both appeared likely.

Fluff of her brows crooking weirdly, she gawks with an inlay of temptations, bought, “That is the dumbest fuckin’–” she chuckles dryly, nose facing heavenward as she spins the shovel, going clockwise ‘round you, “–question, I've ever heard.”

Step by step, on beat, you slowly spun with her encirclement, noticing now that you're inclined to back up into the wall as she kitty–corners you, idle mitt pressing finger wads to textured wood, laying spread.The scratch of it smooches your shoulder blades as you smush plane on the wall, calves ghosting wales of wood coarse enough to leave blushy marks, and yet you rely on it to camouflage from her intimidating gaze.

A heartbeat hastens, brimming your throat with a blockage capable of consuming the words before ears could, tethering a timid gasp out instead.

Ellie rasped deep, “Cat got your tongue, hmm? Don't back down ‘n me now..” the heat of her face hovers close, cocking her head laterally to fit perfectly in your headspace, air blown from every syllable fanning your sutured mouth.

The weight her stare threw upon you was, probing, and direful. Every attempted scape–glance was a gut instinct, a reflex when shagged to a set of human bars. Flesh of bone, bone in flesh, arm to arm, what a bloody mess.

You curl your shoulders inwards, pressing folded elbows skin–tight to your ribs, “Dumbest question?” a gulp cuts the sentence, “you didn't even answer.”

“Want me to?”

“Yeah,” in defense, you tested her, “I do.”

“Ohhaha– okay..” Els’ cadence rose to amused laughter, shifting on her feet slightly, “We can fuck.” but she spoke it like you requested of it, although, did you?

Fuck.

A bulbous mass pushed your legs clean apart, trampiling the dress to a tight pull around your thighs. Confounded, you drop sights, sinking your chin in towards your neck and realizing– it was her knee.

Rough denim rustles clemently, a whisper of two fabrics meeting, between your quads. A friction so faint, so hush, begins to purr more acutely when a– ahh, pressure. A carnal pressure is given, given with urge, urging on your barely confined clit.

It stings as she drives her knee in, getting  you to clench your insides, to seize up.

A juxtaposition doomed to interblend skin.

You impel up on the wall, heel sloping to rest on the flat trim. It smashed your pussy lips, causing a chafe, ramming fabric inside the rim of your hole, a velvety draw of sleek depressing on the cotton tongue of your panties makes it stay there. Thereupon, her groin grinds a roll, nudging your pussy on top of her knee.

“Remember this, babe?” Ellie gives thrall to the dense steel in her vocals, ticking her head aside more to pass that breath firmly on your ear, “–‘member how good my knee felt? Mhm? ‘So fuckin’ good’, you said?”

A diabolical coo, she's trying to get under your skin figuratively– and literally further.

But it surfaced that memory like a buoy, erecting ayond the navy sea line with its eye–catching signal. In you, it materializes. Last night, came a blanket of umbra, yawning its penumbra in the horizon. Witching hour, obscene–eyed, gloaming your senses and eating away at deceit. Deceived? Yeah, that's how you felt, daylight by day bright, a misinterpreter.

All throughout the day, she would ghost right past you en route to Dina, much like earlier– and love up on her. Spread her taint of arousal between you, her, and you, then her again. Leading on last night, where she stowed her knee, just like now, affirming how mortally she may succumb to madness without your vulnerable phasing unto her, except, in a casual way, short of poetry. On top of that continuous grind she gave on your groin, she marked you with a claim so bold,

So freakish, so outré.

Dirty with her perverted thoughts.

You remember it, hard.

‘You love me just as much as your pussy does, face it.’ 

Hence, her knee felt as fucking liberating as it did that stone stark night. Your clit throbs with an ache, coiling your womb in moreish begs, more, moree.. please more. 

“I remember.” uttered softly, throat shutting on the words as you choke up in sensation.

A cordial chuckle blows summery hot on your ear, “Hehe, good,” and is soaked deeper in with a puckered kiss, popping quietly, “Good girl.”

That made you shiver, in a growing delight. A heat seeping between your folds, has you bearing down on her knee, slopping that raw precum all over the ruined seams of your underwear. In bodily reaction, your cunt shriveled in on itself, squelching a drop on barely–there textile– glossing a wet patch on the knoll of her knee.

Ellie espied that moistness saturating through her jeans and spreading warm on flesh when it seeps, slinking her leg a wimp inch out to gauge the spot, a fucking masterpiece, smack dab on her knee, “Fuck,” she spews, pinning teeth to lip, “for me?” she questions, even with an obvious ass answer staring her in the eyes.

Forget Dina, this felt right– too right.

“For you.” 

Her teeth bare vast in a smirk, doubling up her cheeks, “God, I love you.” because finally, fucking finally, she will have her cake and eat it too.

But first, eat the space before you.

And so she does, tucking the wad of her nose squashed in the crevice of your nostril and cheek, brushing of her mildly cracked lips greet yours to part, a balmy ask of entrance. Wagging against, the skin barely hugs with cushy compress, then she nips your bottom lip and wedges her own between, indulging the bump of your cupid's bow to cradle a whisker inside her suckled hold– her humid realm of fog. Buds connected, she felt like butter searing, softness melting, disintegration inside your clasp of a satiny hole, and she was pungent of farmland, muck sweat, everything you could have prest for. Ellie pushes passion in the form of little spit bubbles down your throat– ingesting your voice, your taste, your brain, essence in whole. Taking each other in your own two gullets, bolts of song, and long gaping moans– and even longer pants of make–out exhaustion.

“Mhhh,” she shoves another groan to rattle your teeth, hopping over cloud nine with each moan you reciprocated– like music in a fairytale, a ballad, or of a siren song, splendidly spellbinding, yes? “–fhhck yeshh–” She hums, forwarding a buck of her knee fiendishly.

You yelped, and she liked that, an impish grizzle pushing past the swollen smile and drags saliva across yours.

But.

Those hands once empty, cannot lie powerless to being so. Hers, fly from the wall behind your head and trace down your biceps, buckling unfurled over the bulge of your loose breasts and cup them tender, giving a squeeze that dimples flesh above the neckline of your dress. Not a complaint rose from you, you liked it, yearned hard of it– loved it.

She could tell by the mere movement of your back, arching into her grasp, getting her fingers to squish them even flatter, laughing the kiss to a pause, “Look at you–” she hinds back to look at you, taking your eager rush to follow her lips into regard, “fucking cutie.”

“Don't call me cutie.” you astern.

“Why noott–”

“No.”

A grin enlightens her anyways, “Got it,” and slides her lip back between yours, suckling the plump of your upper, “Mhmm..” hummed so gravelly, so good on your ears, yummy.

This girl will be the first suspect of your murder. Murder of love.. in spring.

Adjourning the freshly–sown kiss with a sloppy smack, you interrupt, “Y'know–” mhhp, a quick peck, “–think I love you too.”

“Think?” she knits her brows together dumb on your featherly melded foreheads, squishing the grooves that form in–between, “could already tell from last night,” her rasp makes it sound of a patent fact, chuckling like an asshole when you whine amid her tease, “hmm–hm, sorry babe.”

“God, you're such a dick,” you bind your head lower and ghost your barren lips over her chin, smiling amongst your dim shadow.

Index and thumb of her hand thaw ripely of your chin, exerting under the bone and beckoning you up with a kind pull, “Would a dick do this–” she twines you to the left, “Mmph,” pasting a kiss beneath one eye, “or this,” twines you to the right, pasting another peck, “or even this?” and lastly, twines you faceward.

Patent of her pattern, you expect a delicate pair of those blood swell, pouty lips to spare something planets away from porny lust– a promise, that none of this was bad. However, hopes are dashed like a racehorse when your chin rears free and a blur of her auburn head plunges out of sight, and under the hood. 

“Els’, where are you–”

Oh.

A gale of air spills up the gap of your thighs, sought upon by the whipping of your sundress’ hem up crinkled in her dual grasps, pushed against your hip bones. Knees grind in shallow dust, planting just next to your parked feet with a soft rub between the four, the perfect position, an orgasmic view. Ellie lets a gasp free upon eyeing the fat blotch soaked thoroughly to a glisten, fabric eased in your labia, showing her the shape of it. God, ‘think she saw you clench just now.

She balls the fabric to one hand, dropping her other and husking dry, “There she is– fuck, missed me?” a waggy finger rises to your clit, toying it in meager flicks– almost as to pet it.

A wince cries from you, “Ahh–” and you perk on your toes, inching away from her fingertip now padded in your sodden arousal.

Yet that fucking finger follows, pressing a hiemal print to flatten your bloated clit, clothed labia hugging the willowy knuckle. Cocky chuckle– likeness of her unabashed assholery and spilt through grit teeth, she muses in your clamping pussy lips, “Hehe, yeah? Need my fuckin’ fingers, huh?” and those damned coos, that tender tune, gosh– you can't get enough of it.

But you've had your fill of plaguing rumination.

Dina's away, nay a breath of her lingers here, not a peep of her can disrupt you, disrupt what you feel– how Els’ makes you feel. It's not wrong, if you're not the one suggesting it. It's not immoral, if it was never held in the hands of your intention. It's not your fault, if you let it transpire. Nothing to rue, not your sin, not your wrongdoing. 

So you pluck the apple.

An ease of your quads down pricks your clit with the poke of her finger, cushing the delicate flesh, “Mhm– yes, yess.” whined you, nigh on breathless.

“That's right,” thick is her voice– like a coddling of wood thicket, pushing past the devout lips that embed themselves in the chub pliancy of your belly, lain of a smooch to your womb, a quiet one, “thaat's fuckin’ right.” and jerking your clit measured with tease, idly rubbing.

The gentle marrow of that contact with your belly and your clit, sent you aquiver. Your abdomen, shaking lightly against her mouth with a breath in, lading your stomach with a rise, high–strung by that simple kiss. Too sweet, you thought, sweetly toxified of honey, unorthodox to how hoggish she usually strikes as– you expected her usual playfulness.

Softness can be addictive, and her version of soft, definitely was.

“Soo fuckin’ good t'me..” her lips detach only to press back in, multiple times, same exact spot. She wouldn't dare budge, not when it was deemed her duty to kiss you there by some unknown force, or her own accord. Ellie whispers, lugging those honey–drug lips over the pouch of your belly, “need that good fucking pussy n’ my mouth.”

A tilt, a modest slant of your hips projecting your crotch against her collarbone was your ask of entrance, and she gave her answer so fast.

“Hold this,” she cranes the clump of skirt to one of your paws, letting go when you meet fingers over fingers with her and hold your skirt to your ribs. She stops playing with your clit completely, tracing said finger up your groin and under your pantyline, pleating the band in on itself as she journeys it to your knees– letting it freefall from there.

Despite the milk–warm weather lambent to your forehead when settled under the sun, meant zilch to the cooler world inside the barn. Not wintry, but a tangible change sensed in your bare pussy. That's why you fastened your quads to a clench, nearly sucking in your cunt– oh, and the fact that two olive fern eyes are bluntly viewing it. Stage fright, much?

 A fried gasp of, “Ohh, shit–” chills it further with exhalation upon discovering the raw truth to your aroused pussy, engorged in size and pinkish in sex irritation. Ellie was drunken in that eyeshot of serumy precum wetting a film between your slit, drawing gluey webs over your hole, barely open for full study. She needs you open, she longs to see, gulping a horny thought audibly before speaking, “spread them pretty legs for me, hmm? C'mon, it's just me–” she assures, donning that calming placidity whilst palming the round of your knees apart to guide you, “–there we go, uh'huh, fuck..” departed of her voice, husky as she studied the open spread of your filthy hole, dripping for her like it fucking knew she was looking at it.

All you could engage was a tunneled stare down of your protruding crotch and her reddish–brown dusted crown, the slump your knees took clung on the flank of her biceps– plowing with an indent in her bare sun–baked skin. Els’ face so sanguine compared to the paler pigment of her fingers, which now push your thighs uncomfortably agape to the extent of bulging fat between her knuckles. Eyes bark, luring under lids so heavy and lashes like a vignette– they bark and say, ‘Keep your fucking legs open.’

Say no less.

Taken in awe, “She's so fucking pretty–” she curses with meaning, a means to make it known, licking up a river between your folds upon seeing that exhilarating view, cupping a glob of slick in her pink muscle.

“Shit..” 

Withdrawing her tongue, she swallows the creamy delight, “Prettiest pussy ever, ‘uh'huh, that's right.” Ellie being Ellie, she slaps it, eyeballing the spongy skin recoiling.

“Ah!” 

“Yeah..”

Your nude cunt was honeydew heaven in her eyes, gleaming wet like grapefruit, that's why her tongue was already slipping out on open air. Head inching to intimacy, the button of her nose dovetails seamlessly between the tippity top of your folds, and your clit, kissed with a hot spell. That bud, it fit perfectly in the wrapping of her lips, straightaway suctioned further into the gummy pucker of her mouth.

An ache zaps that little bouquet of nerves and coerces you to nearly swoon over it, yelp hitching, “Ha– aah,” and shudder teething, “Ellie..” with a hump of your glutes butting her head back, only stirring that hungry mouth of hers to pop off and swaddle it back in, tongue flicking.

Her nostrils sunk deeper in, airflow turning muffled in your crotch– yet her moans remained, abounding, vibrating on your sensitive pearl, “Mhhhh, mhmm.” rumbling deep under the soft squelching her moving jaw brought to fruition. 

Ellie, you fucking god, giving those plumate licks that are barely there, but scarily paired with deftness, getting you to squirm and squeal, “Yess– baby, yess..” That pink muscle snagging under the hood sometimes, smacking that pretty tiny clit of yours around with foams of flavor whisking onto her taste buds, humming in the notes of sex.

“Mhhh, fhhck.” her lips sever an inch, mumbling into your clit, “fuck you and your pretty little hole, god, fuck you.” she curses, cause how dare you let her impulses conquer, returning a trio of digits along your legs and swiftly finding your pussyhole, dilating the lips apart and shoving all three inside. How dare you, engross her ears in your moans echoing akin of a cathedral in her skull, ushering her to fuck you unholy.

“Ellie!” you wail, hoisting on your toes a second and clutching her in those slobbering walls– which only gushed a leak of arousal on her digits, and blocked her from further thrusting slightly, taken aback by the sudden stretch.

Her lips pop off again, slurping up the wet laces strung to her pout from your fattened labia, “Schlp– jesus, you are fucking tight,” the deepness rippled in her voice, groggy from the moist caking her gob, “let me in, don't push me out.. c'mon..” she coos gently, eyeballing the swallow her fingers took past your soaked lips, knuckles disappearing.

“O–ohh,” you tried to mouth ‘okay’, but the word just didn't fit the part.

“Just like that..” Ellie cools a fresh sigh, praising with a proud curl on her face, “Good fuckin’ pussy..” 

Letting go, your gut loosens and heightens the sensation of her skinny fingers bottoming soundly inside your vagina, feeling the callouses rub as they curl and tickle your angelsent spot, airing lips find purchase behind her fingers– and a pointy nose bumps your clit pervaded with purpose.

Spry is the moan, moaning over ‘spilled milk’, “Oh my g– uhnn..” woe is you, clawing phantomly at the spring that coils inside your womb, unknowingly providing Ellie's eager mouth with your precum.

The physical reality around you, suddenly only consisted of you, her, the barrier that stills your back, and a void inside you– being filled.

Literally.

And figuratively? Cause jeez, you must give sanctuary to a sin–eating, fleshoid beast inside your bone prison of a body, coming back here for seconds like that.

Might you be the dirty.. dirty dog instead?

Rivers of filth, she pumps those glossy droplets out of you, leathery scars caressing your ribbed canal with each pleasuring undo of your senses, she steals them like they are impartial to your bliss– bliss is all she needed you to feel for her. Fuck the worry, trash the heartache, yank the anxiety out, and soften into a pretty blob atop her fingers.

Her sultry blessing sitting upon those fingers, that's how she deems you– you do well to remember that. Her, willing frame of hips thrusting back down on the friction she gives, burrowing her nose a scent so naturally seducing, a pheromone, fucking elates her own throbbing pussy. Nothing sugary, nothing stomach–churning, just the taint of you. The threading of her jean's crotch was enough of a brute, bullying her egged clit by driving a split in it, flattening the fleshy hood everytime she shifted weight from knee to abdomen, poor her. 

“Huhnn– shit,” heaved grizzlier in her carp of stimulation decay, lack thereof rubbing one out herself and watching your delicate skin expand and crease. How could you blame her– her hand looked so right plugging your hole.

You suck your belly in, drawing tense on that thickset motion playing with your g–spot, whimpering, “Els’, please.. I can't..” a well floods in your waterline, searing with tears of crystalline iodine.

You really can't.

That scruffy mullet hides most of her big cranium, but, it was so fucking hot seeing the nominal stroke of her face, blushing strawberries betwixt your butter–spread legs. Her nose bobs north and south, dragging the bulb of cartilage over that nippy rosebud she happily exhales onto, pushing you over the earthly edge born of paltry touching. Ellie cognizes the slick–clear gospel that you were pending climax, manifesting as your needy bear downs into her slopping mouth practically lactating your pussy juices deep in the pit of her stomach, and the swelling of your wooed clit led on by her tongue, growing big and reddish on her nose to where it clasps the tip in a pillowy fashion, dabbing a glob of creamy sap. 

A mouthquake splutters wetness mixed with her spit across your inner–thighs abd vibrates your folds, betrothal of her voice waking back up, sourly muted, “She's– suh good.. mhphh– to me..” 

“Ellie..” you falter on breath, leavening in pitch.

“Phh–” a frothy sound garbled in your pussy lips, pushing her spit bubbles inside your gaping hole and traveling deeper with her fingering you, “makin’ this pushhy’ mine..” flubbed she, lapping up her cupid's bow of smeared sleek.

Your hole clamps her in as the pang begins to tick its patchy count of time, wearing the glass knot of your womb to a cracking, and troubling the base of her digits.

“Fuck, you wanna’ make this harder?” she sterned to the velvety rim of you locking on her triple shafts, porking webs of your pre–finish to teardrop down your walls as her palm splashes against your loch–sodden slit and mashes your g–spot repeatedly, plush of your labia bouncing in ripples. The noises were abundant, and pornographic, mushy as she fixes so much of your arousal on the pads of her fingers, hormones spiking at the lewd noises, “you hear that baby, ooh, fuck.” foxily ‘ooed’ that foxy–maned girl, beguiled in how your pussy spurts for her.

It wept in slaps, eliciting a palping squelch to bang, bang– bang– pound, brandishing a chilly tempest through and through your bloating labia, quivering as it readies to release. The stuffing was intimate– like a punch inside your spirit, coaxing the fragile glass to a rend, ergo, pushing out every lash of pure lucid squirt.

On the beat of your hole gushing, yelps batting you shut in the plain intensity such an orgasm brought forth, tore Ellie from simply just watching– to drinking every drop. Her voice, dusky in the backdrop of your wails sounded, “Yes– yess, babe fuckk that's it.. mhm, all over my fuckin–” her words wane as her lips clock in, a sudden rush of void fleets with her fingers sheathing out, drawing a long lubricous bunch of webbing only to be nourished in the warmth of her mouth– pursing into your labia and shaking about as you squirt.

Ellie has no shame in getting soiled of you, even the devil himself blushed at the linkness of her mid–face pancaking your lissom skin apart, spewing you wide.

“Ah! Nuh– nonono, t'much, too– uhhnn..” your throat fails you, clumping wads of words that wanted to breach, but her mouth was too good, and it's fucking obvious that she wouldn't stop, not when she can have you like this, bucking onto her flat tongue. Sinfully good, disgusting in the rawest fashion, making your crotch burn with ecstasy more than it already did.

Water upon the push of her mouth, blowing in and slopping noisily at the meat of your pussy lost it's carry to your ears. A biome of shadow, veils your vision and a pressure rains less than tender between your eyes, blurring everything before you, ebbing the grasp of your skirt to an impossible job, hands ashake. All you could gauge above the hood was fiery sweat, hot, steaming– taunting sweat, licking at your forehead.

Her nose headbutts into your vagina, slinking languidly as her head finally smacks off your numb folds, laughing, “Holy fuck– y'taste so good,” the air windy to your soaked entrance, convulsing in front of her barren eye, “shoulda’ let me lick you sooner.”

Huff, and puff, until the binds of your chest blow down, sprouting with an entire current of air, panting more than dramatic as you dwindle down like a bird's plume, “Too.. huh– haah, bad.”

A new kiss is savored to your clit, absorbing the snift her snort gave, “Haha– yeah yeah, n'you liked it, don't lie.”

No lie was home to call. You’ve a truthful virtuality.

You truly did like it, love it, cave obsession over that moment– for now it passes, and not a peck of guilt ran prickly on your arm hairs, saving your gullet free of a stony gulp. No crows died in the revelation of your scandal, only doves, encirclement in a trance chirping nuptials to be had.

I really do love you, Ellie.

Is that so bad?

“I can’t catch my– oof,” you grab sudden air with your fructifying lungs, “–can’t catch my fuckin’ breath.” and the struggle was visible, muscles like puppet strings to your fingers losing proper grasp and billowing the skirt plop on her head.

The rotund shape of it wiggles from the draping hem, continuing to laugh when her wet–handed fingertips poked thin on your ankle, bulging on both sides as she drew your panties back up all the way, slithering under your skirt’s canopy and stretching the band to a snap on your hips, skin tiding, jerking you off warning, which for sure winded the breath back in ya.

“Sheesh, no care for my panties at all?” remarked you of fun wit, gliding your thumb apart to rub the bend of your hip crest.

“You literally ruined them before–”

“And whose fault is that?” you winched from the barn wall and met pupil–to–pupil with her rising figure, revealing how slick–fucked her face really is, glossing with evidence of your cunt.

“Mine..” proudly, guilt was basal to her tone, nonexistent, inching closer to you with a slight wobble swaying on her heels.

You hark the crunch of gravel below, but keep your gaze airborne, Ellie–borne, “Exactly.”

“Cause m'hot?”

“No,” you rock your head, evil smirk deepening the corners of your lips to your gums, “that's a dumb question.”

Her arms begin to slink at fore, elbows chafing her flank, “Wow, stole my line.”

“Still dumb.” you pinch the neckline of her tank, straining it up to wipe her mouth clean.

“Coulda’ just used my hand.” she still does, the dork, purging any excess to the hill of her bent wrist.

You scrunch your nose fakely, “Uck,” and express, mumbling, “Bring a rag next time.” 

Her hands then drop, creeping towards your sides, “Didn't think we were gonna–”

“Liar.”

Those strapping hands bend with wrinkles in her knuckles as they plant pleasantly on your hips, fingernails curling with lustier keys, tugging you plane on her body, “You're so fucking cute,” is all she could say, because there was no stem of denial baying for a different answer,

Doing this was always lingering a tail on her thoughts.

“And such a bitch, fuuck– want you so bad,” complained she, pushing the last of her grizzled groans past her blood–swell lips, which now dive in the sweaty nook of your swan neck– bespattering the sensitivity, “–need y’so bad..”

You comb a paw of fingers through her honey–cresten mane, dividing strands apart and giving a fond press to her scalp, whispering upon her pale–rosen ear, “Then have me–”

“I can’t,” her crumbled lips fail to cling, dragging dry beneath your ear, “I fucking can’t.” wearily said, wearing her voice to nothing.

Infidelity.

Wasn't nice at all, on both sidewalks.

A purer bid of tears wet her cheek, drenching into the flesh of your neck as she pushes into you, holding you dear, vast afar from intentions to let go.

“I know..” was a rare comfort, and wasn't one to you right now– for plucking that apple, ripped you of innocence. A blind eye you turn when sensuality is awake. Enrapture chokes your senses, sweeps you in the moment, clouds your memory of those ugly, nasty etceteras– those facets that deplore it. Even now, when Ellie collapses weight onto her ankles, pressing you into that same wall you saw heaven on, touching heartbeats incandescent for each other's total consumption, weeping wet on your bare shoulder– it hurts, aches you to say, “But I don't want to know.”

Clutch of your neckline, she bruises her knuckles tight in it, spiteful almost– gagging on tears that roll the wrong road, “Guh– fucking hell, don't say that..” 

“Ellie, it's–”

“Don't.”

“Not your fault.” you flap your fingers up, palm still glued, patting her head.

She doesn't belong to you.

Yet you act like she does.

Pity.

A sniffle is the intake of air you feel before her nose skims off, craning her neck to an angle where she can gaze adjacent to your cheek, for beholding may prove a demise. But she can't forgo this one ask, this dream perched upon her brain, “Babe..” she purrs, dead of cadence.

“Hmm?” a whirl invites your nose to her cheekbone, offering you the picture of her side–profile. Oh, those lashes so dashing, they curl, darken her snow of eye, and trap tears.

Why, it's as if a rainbow overcasts those auburn reeds.

Ellie's capsized tune finds its stream back to that scratchy rasp, silkenly intoning on your earlobe, “Can you sleep with me tonight?” her buds ghost the rim, popping on the syllables.

Is that even possible? 

You debate with the figments in your mind, casting doubt over your facial muscles, knitting, “Ellie, you know–”

“I don't.”

“Els.” 

Long forked strokes of her fingers run up your jaw, scrolling you to then focus on her face cocooning your entire sight, and a husk enlaces you, “Forget about Dina,” a glimmer summons her lips to curl once again, “just tonight, fucking please?”

Fucking please.

A silence rots in the cordial space sparsely separating you, wrenching her brows with a ravine indenting between them– the serious look you love. And her hold of hands appear to deepen in your cheeks, claiming your skin as one, melting into her prints, squeezing a reply from you.

“Please?”

Odds may dote on you, think about this.

“Okay.”

(couldn't tag everyone who wanted to be)

taglist; @whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @slynxs @maleelee @savannahsdeath @beforeimdeceased @fleshunger @williamellieslilho @mcqueeferson @pretty-prrincess-13 @naomis-daydream @weridcatttyy @gold-dustwomxn @evera-era @criminallydownbad @yohibmbi @ang3licpretty

[vii-doodles]

He is my everything

Hey everyone, I just wanted to take a moment to share something personal with you all. There was a time when I felt completely lost, my passion for drawing buried under layers of doubt and darkness. Then, out of nowhere, this incredible green little musician Käärijä, came into my life. His music was like a lifeline, pulling me out of the shadows and filling my world with color again. His songs sparked something in me, reigniting my love for art. I started drawing again, inspired by him (and Joker Out) and the emotions he stirred in me. With this little messy artwork, I tried to capture everything I feel about his music. Free for interpretation but I have mine and maybe it comes across to some of you. Through his music, I didn’t just find my way back to art; I found a community. My followers and fellow artists, have been such an amazing support system. We’ve shared so much—joy, struggles, creativity. It’s been a journey and a rollercoaster, and I’m so grateful for each and every one of you.

That said, I need to be honest about something. While I still love Käärijä SO MUCH, I think I need to stop pushing myself to draw him. There’s this heavy guilt hanging over me for not creating Käärijä art for so long, and I feel obligated to keep drawing him for those who came here specifically for that. But the pressure is just too much. I want to feel free in what I draw, not tied down by what I think I have to create to keep everyone happy. I’ve been defining myself too much by numbers, and that needs to stop. Drawing is and always has been my passion. So, I’m stepping back from drawing Käärijä. Maybe not forever—I still want to do the DTIYS by Lemon.h4, for example—but for now, I think I’m good. To everyone who has followed my stuff, encouraged me, and stood by me—thank you. Your support means the world to me. It’s because of you that I’ve been able to keep going, to keep creating. I might be taking a step back, but this isn’t goodbye. I think I’ll be back eventually, and I hope when I return, we’ll pick up right where we left off. So… Thanks for being here, for believing in me, and for sharing this wild ride. We’ll meet again, maybe at a concert, maybe here who knows really. With all my love, Vii

[thecameronchronicles]

Spite

TW: Loss of virginity (female), smut. Language. Public sex. Cheating. 

SUMMARY: After learning Rafe is using you, you option to give yourself to his enemy simply out of spite…

WORD COUNT: 2300

REQUESTED:

Anonymous asked:

what if reader is a virgin and she’s dating Rafe and he’s always trying to make her lose it with him but she always says she’s not ready (but the thing is she’s not sure about him because she feels he’s hiding something) until one day she finds out he’s only dating her to take her virginity so when JJ is at her house fixing something or whatever she tells him about the whole rafe thing and asks him if he would fuck her because rafe hates him and he hates rafe and it will make him mad

OR they’re not dating but she doesn’t like him because he’s always bragging about how he’s going to be her first and the same ending

Of course you can change it as much as you like it’s just and idea 💘

Spite

You shouldn't be relieved. Believe it, you were still pissed, but you weren't able to deny the breath of ease that came when hearing him tell Topper it was just sex. The sex you refused to give him as you wanted it to be special. Even if it didn't have to be a rented out hotel room from a five star resort adorned with rose petals and champagne, you at least wanted to have that feeling of certainty you never quite had with Rafe. He was too impatient, a kiss quickly turned French and a series of hands always searching beneath your clothes. And the guilt of how patient he had been and how he had earned this had weighed you down to such a degree that you couldn't even find enjoyment for the rare moments of kindness he showed in your makeout sessions. But now, you were free in a sense. Able to allow the pressures of giving your virginity to Rafe to fall silent as you decided he wouldn't get to touch you, let alone fuck you. 

But the same couldn't be said for JJ Maybank, a hired hand by Ward, who was currently half bent over the engine of The My Druthers as it had begun sputtering. With his usual deck hand, John B, having having been established elsewhere, his trusted friend had taken his place. And it was the sight of him kissed by beads of sweat and straining as he struggled to adjust the choke as the mechanics beneath had somehow become jammed that made you bite your bottom lip. 

This was mainly because JJ Maybank had a reputation. He was the life of the party, a fighter for those he cared deepest for, and a nocturnal lover. All hours spent devoted to his partner. Care and selflessness allowing him a reputation that even if he had ended on horrid terms with the girls, they couldn't lie about how he was in bed. And you saw this even now as he became frustrated with the mechanics of the boat. Where you knew Rafe would tear the thing directly in two or maybe even shoot it, you saw JJ try to almost nurse it beneath his submission. A guide of his fingers on everything he acted on having allowed you mind to conjure them on your body... 

"Babe!" Rafe called from the patio. "You're gonna make me late!" 

"I'll meet you there." You lied, with no intention of going anywhere with him as you could barely stand to look at him let alone feign being happy as he attended yet another narcissistic event on behalf of his father. And without a care to see if he had actually left the property, you advanced towards JJ. 

"Hey there, princess. Mind handing me that?" He asked while pointing to some pliers as you obliged. You and JJ were cordial, but not extremely close. And yet, effortless, whenever a conversation would be produced between you. It happened enough times to know his preference of beer and yours of weather, but nothing deep enough to warrant the confession you were about to make. 

"I guess Rafe had a bet with Topper that he could fuck me before the end of the summer..." JJ slipped, his finger becoming jammed in some gear-type mechanism as you watched the pain absent and replaced with intrigue. 

"I guess if he did, it was a grand, and if he brought proof, it would have been twenty five hundred..." You kicked your toes softly against the side of the engine. 

"That's all my virginity is worth...Two thousand and five hundred dollars." 

"You're a..." He became nervous standing before you. Those very nerves were palpable and almost shameless as you had intrigued him, "I would have thought Rafe had-" 

"It never felt right. It always felt like he was hiding something from me...And guess now I know..." 

He slowly nodded as you saw the light tint of red forming on his hand from the unkind slid made against his skin. Giving you an idea and prompting you to act. Call it curiosity or desperation for revenge, but either way, you optioned for JJ and made these intentions known. 

"I don't want Rafe to be the one to fuck me for the first time." JJ's jaw clenched as you set his hand to your lips, a delicate kiss making his mouth part as his eyes darted to Tannyhill. 

"I want to feel good about who gets to feel me for the first time JJ...You don't have to love me or anything...I just want you to make me feel good..." 

He scoffed. "I uh..." 

"And I'll be sure he knows exactly how good you made me feel when I let him take off all of my clothes..." You pushed him back into the captain's chair as he was helpless against you. You were beautiful. Eager. And instigating every second of this. And he was a glutton for all things to do with you. Even if it was a recent revelation, he was consumed by it entirely. 

"He will get to touch me...but he'll only taste you on me...a pogue's cum staining his girlfriend's ruined mouth-" He suddenly brought you over him in a straddle. 

"This is your first time, and as pretty and dirty as that little mouth is, I'm not gonna come in it." He lifted you onto the captain's chair as he moved onto his knees, rising up to ghost your lips and descend back to the bends of his legs before he spoke. 

"I have to get you as wet as possible so if doesn't hurt-" 

"Not a problem..." You breathed as he pulled apart your suit to find you already saturated. 

"Shit, sweetheart. Is this all for me?" You nodded as he bit his bottom lip. "You been watching me all afternoon and it's gotten you all worked up, hasn't it?" You nodded again. 

"Show me. Take your time and show me so I can see just how you like to be touched..." He sat in analysis, watching you for a second before taking over. A set of fingers seemingly trained for your pleasure made circuits around your clit until submitting one to your sex itself. 

"Faster-" 

"No, sweetheart. I know you're gonna be tight and it's gonna hurt...so I need to stretch you as much as I can-" 

"But it feels so good, JJ...plesse..." 

"I will in time, baby...just get used to my fingers-" 

"Fingers?" You questioned the plural as he set a second adjacent to the first, searching for the most sensitive zone within your wall before massaging thay exclusively. 

"Ever had him go down on you?" 

"He's too fast." 

JJ smirked. "Then consider this a replacement..." He spoke with a grin before pulling your legs over his shoulders and now exchanging his fingers with his tongue. 

"So sweet." He growled, leading you closer to the edge of the chair as he led you even closer to him. You were unabashed with your moans, almost hoping wherever Rafe was he could hear how JJ made you feel. Without a need to embellish, the blonde pogue made your back arch and your legs shake in a way you'd never felt before, all while you called out for him. Nameless moans and whimpers drawing you to an edge as his tongue suddenly withdrew. 

"I want you to be as wet as you can be so I want you to come on my face. Think you can do that for me, sweetheart?" You nodded. 

"I'm close." 

"I know..." He kissed your clit softly before alternating your pleasure between his tongue and his fingers as you shook. 

"Come for me, princess...." He endorsed, that rush of a contradicting icy heat broadcast between your thighs having left you in tremors over him. But as he expected you to need a moment to recover, you stood and pushed him to the other side of the boat. Straddling over him, you dig your nails into his shoulders. 

"Put it in-" 

"Sweetheart-" 

"Fuck me, JJ. I want it to be you...Please, before I change my mind-" He was hesitant as he knew it would hurt. 

"I need some-" He explained as you took only a second to spit on his cock, handling him on perfect corkscrew motions as he moaned beneath you. Your thumb brushed over his tip to luxuriate himself in the precum you'd earned, before you climbed from him and onto your knees. 

"Leincess, I-" You took him into your mouth without a second thought. Sucking in your cheeks and producing tears immediately as you showed how you earned this discarding of your innocence. 

"How the fuck do you do that so good?!" He cursed as you grinned, a tight grip through your hair having guided you in a slow consumption of his cock to keep the pleasure but to keep him from coming prematurely. 

"You get on your knees like this for him?" 

You nodded, having done everything under the sun to keep Rafe happy but also at bay. Only to know have ventured to the far side of the moon for your own pressures. 

"He doesn't deserve that mouth...To bruise this throat..." He set you back to your feet, "And certainly not your virtue." 

"Please, JJ...I'm dripping." His fingers traced between your folds. 

"Poor little princess. You are, aren't you?" 

"Please, JJ...Please..." 

"It's going to hurt." 

"I trust you..." You were guided back over him in a straddle. 

"Slowly." He explained with one hand wrapped around your lower back and the other aligning him inside of you. 

"Slowly- '' He spoke more as a reminder for himself as you took his tip. Your mouth pulled open immediately to the stretch as he continued still. Even though he had been above average, he seemed endless until you'd felt him bottom out. But by the time he had, tears formed in your eyes from the burn of your relinquished virginity. 

"You moved me how-" He tried to offer as you set him into the back of the couch set up the side of the boat, wincing through each thrust. 

"We can stop-" 

"Dont!" You spoke desperately. "Don't...don't stop..." 

"You need to relax then princess, you're gonna make me come, you're you're tight around me." You tried to relax and when he sensed you couldn't, he would make you. With a hand to your neck, almost to cradle you, he spun you around your back, thrusts slow but more shallow as hisbhands came to your breasts. The sensation of his teeth and lips manipulating your nipple made you forget of the pain until only pleasure remained, something he noticed as he no longer heard those wincing wisps of discomfort. And yet, he still called for validation. 

"You alright, princess?" 

"Keep...go-going, JJ...please-" 

"Fuck..." He groaned, fingers eating into the fabric of the leather behind you as he had gripped it tighter as he quickened his motions. 

"I want you to come again-" 

"With me-" 

"Baby-" 

"With. Me." You spoke in finality as he nodded, head at rest into your neck and shoulder as he led you closer into him. A hand to the back of your neck and another keeping himself from crushing you and you were wrapped around him as he accelerated his speed. And even if you expected it to be swift, he would alternate from fast to slow, deep and shallow, until finally pulling your leg over his shoulder and returning it back down over his hip as he had you bent for him so he could see you entirely exposed for him. 

A hand beneath your bikini top would loosen to free and his hands would be quick to amend the chill of the sudden reveal as you groaned beneath him. 

"You feel so good...knowing I'm the first is making me need to come for you..." 

"Then come for me..." He moved deeper and harder, but kept his consistent speed as you were only able to sound in simple pleas as his sweat dripped onto your own. 

"Princess, you're gonna come, I can feel it...And I don't want you to hold back. Scream. Pull my hair. Scratch me until I bleed. I don't fucking care. Just feel good for me and let me make you come. Make me come..." 

"JJ!" You belted, drawing lines of desire into his skin before trembling as you created your edge. 

"Keep going baby, you're doing so good. Taking such good  care of me...shit!" 

"JJ!" 

"Not gonna last long, baby. You feel too good. Sound too good..." You felt him pull you even tighter. 

"Does it hurt this way?" Be asked while leading his hand to your clit. The way your expression deepened into ecstasy prompted your silent response. 

"I'm gonna come baby...you can use your hand if you don't want-" 

"I want you to drip out of me, JJ...I want to have red marks on my ass from your hand, and swollen lips from your kiss. I want you to have every part of me i have left..." 

"Then let me." He groaned, leading you both to that feverish edge until you were climbing down from that second orgasm as he'd basked in that first. But as you moved to adjust, knocking you both off of the west, a series of chuckles would silence as you straddled him on the floor. 

“You’re so beautiful…” He explained how you looked so perfect breathless and perspiring at the end of his fingertips. “But definitely worth more than twenty five hundred…and I stole every piece…”

"Do It again." 

"I'm gonna need a minute, sweetheart, you nearly sucked me dry..." 

"Nearly means you've still got something left-" You led him back between your thighs. 

"Oh fuck..." He breathed. 

"I want you to take everything JJ…everywhere…" You teased your ass with the soaked head of his cock.

"Everywhere."

"You're gonna be so sore, princess…"

"Good. I want to remember all of this…"

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @bethoconnor @pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection

[larrythefloridaman]

I am not a prismdani guy in the sense that I dont think that could ever have a happy ending even in theory without altering or disrespecting their characters in some essential way and i dont think a fully tragic and fucked up ending for a character like dani with no light at the end of the tunnel really suits cpuk's tone or themes in the grand scheme of things

but i am in the sense that i understand and am compelled by it in like a horror movie way.

In a 'dear god dani get the hell out of there' way.

In a 'hey that scene in orange looked almost like a date before the arm thing, (the most flagrantly horrifying red flag yet at that point and what made most of us fully turn on her after some hesitation about fully condemning her when she gave cobalt a crisis instead of advice and shoved folk and treuse around before the Kicker that was her killing crimson onstage) that, as a flashback, was immediately preceded by Crimson (literally a walking red flag that somethings deeply wrong in Prism's metaphorical house, Noone Really Acts Like That For No Reason,) asking what Prism's been doing and saying and followed within said flashback by Quadratic (Mr. Character Arc Revolves Around Healing From A Relationship With A Character He Goes On To Explicitly Compare Prism To) carefully soft-confronting Prism so as not to make a scene while checking in with Dani to make sure shes okay and to let Prism know he has his eyes on her and isnt afraid to bluntly and unambiguously leak information to the audience she wants to keep secret while theyre on camera so she better not pull any shit' way.

In a 'the butchest girl twitter can handle without getting scared and me, the sunshiney eccentric femme she serves and obeys onesidedly like a dog, her own character subsumed into an aesthetically cute complimentary nonthreatening opposition to mine :) (dani cannot bring herself to admit shes grown afraid of setting her off or disappointing her or disobeying and being made to feel that oppressive crush of obligation as Prism manipulates her, struggling to realize and process the idea that Prism is a threat to her because an Abuser™️ (as per popular cultural portrayal) is supposed to be an obviously evil physically threatening bastard mcbadguy not a 5'0" nothing bible camp counselor that uses pressure, guilt, information control and other such tactics to creep into your thoughts to rewire your behavior to her liking if you don't have the means to reject what she imposes on you.) look at us we share a character flaw we're foils arent we charming :)' kinda way.

[b3rriebliss]

“Don’t Tell a Soul” is a 2020 film starring Jack Dylan Grazer as Joey, Fionn Whitehead as Matt, and Rainn Wilson as Dave Hamby. The movie is about a security guard who falls into a well after chasing two teenage boys who stole $12,000 from a home. Trapped in the well, Hamby tries to convince one of the siblings to help him out and save his life. To me, the movie is about guilt. When humans mess up, they feel obligated to make it right, but they can sometimes feel conflicted between doing the right thing and avoiding trouble. This film is also about regret. When Hamby fell into the well, Joey felt responsible for his fall and wanted to save him. On the other hand, Matt felt that Hamby falling into the well was necessary for them to avoid getting caught. The film effectively explores the moral dilemmas faced by the characters. Joey's internal struggle between his conscience and his fear of repercussions is palpable. This tension drives much of the film's emotional depth and keeps the audience engaged. The relationship between the brothers adds another layer of complexity, highlighting themes of loyalty, protection, and sibling dynamics under pressure. Matt is a bully to Joey, coercing him into silence and preventing him from helping Hamby, which adds to Joey's sense of guilt and helplessness. The performances are outstanding. Jack Dylan Grazer captures Joey's vulnerability and moral confusion, while Fionn Whitehead portrays Matt’s hardened exterior and pragmatic, if not ruthless, mindset. Rainn Wilson, as Dave Hamby, brings a mix of desperation and cunning that keeps viewers guessing about his true intentions. Visually, the film makes effective use of its confined setting. The well becomes a symbol of the psychological traps the characters find themselves in, adding to the film's tension. The direction by Alex McAulay ensures that even with its relatively simple premise, the narrative remains gripping. I rate this film a 10/10. It is one of my favorite movies I’ve seen this year. The acting, the message, and the plot twists are all amazing. "Don’t Tell a Soul" is a thought-provoking thriller that delves into the complexities of human nature, making it a must-watch.

AN : Hey Guys! I know I don’t really get a lot of attention on my blog but I appreciate anyone who likes, comments , shares or even follows me it means the absolute world to me. I recently haven’t been posting much because I have been having some personal matters to tend to but I really hope to get back into it and start reviewing more movies!! 🍿 🎥

[darlingsart]

Genuine question, what's it like running an askblog? I kinda wanna start one up as I used to run one in 2022 but it never really went anywhere

Hey! So I’ll be honest, there are definitely pros and cons to running an ask blog in my opinion.

I love info dumping all of the lore I have for these characters and it’s nice to know people genuinely enjoy the story I have in my head and the art that I’m putting out there (I didn’t think anyone would like either lmao). I also think that it’s been super helpful for my art, I used to run an ask blog a few years ago too and one thing about them is that they allow you to practice more and improve your art very quickly which is always nice! So it’s been a great way to practice and try things out.

Now on to the nitty gritty, running an ask blog can definitely be overwhelming at times. Sometimes if I haven’t posted for a while, I feel like a soul crushing guilt which I know is silly but in my experience, I tend to feel obligated to post even when I have a lot of stuff going on irl. So, it’s important for me to take a step back and remind myself that this is just a hobby! I shouldn’t push myself to make art or posts if I’m not feeling it or if I’m busy irl so I think this is definitely a good reminder for anyone who runs an ask blog.

Some tips I have:

Make a detailed FAQ/info post! It’s a great way to have your audience know more about your characters or AU and will prompt them into asking questions and interacting with your blog. I think it’s important to share your lore without giving away too much, it encourages people to be curious about your story.

If you’re going to be making art for this blog, do a nice mix of art and text responses. I think it helps balance things out and takes the pressure off of having to make art every single time you get an ask, which I know can be a lot (I’m a slow artist so it sometimes takes me hours to draw out one ask!)

With that said, specify in your FAQ how you’ll be answering questions too!

Set up a queue!!!!!!! I cannot stress this enough BUT I’m currently in the process of setting up a queue for my ask blog and I used to do it for my old ask blog, it’s a life saver! It’ll definitely take some of the pressure off of creating things while also keeping your blog active.

Overall, I think running an ask blog is fun but can definitely be challenging at times. I think it’s worth trying out again if you really want to, it’s rewarding to go back through all the posts on my ask blog and see the slight improvement in my art and seeing how much other people are having fun with it too. But again, always remember that this is a hobby and you should be enjoying yourself while answering questions! Wishing you lots of luck if you do start one up again, and my ask box is always open for any questions you might have! 😊

[whisky-tango-foxtrot-biteme]

Healing

To me, healing is an odd thing when you've experienced verbal, emotional, or psychological abuse. Trust in others has been broken, your abuser will go to some extreme lengths to protect himself, and you can lose relationships in the process. People you felt were your family, friends, or "tribe" walk away in silence because either they have something in their relationship to your abuser that is rewarding to them. or they don't want to rock the boat, or they themselves may fear the abuser.

So a victim of this kind of abuse has no physical wounds to say "hey, look at what happened to me." It's difficult to prove. Your abuse may have occurred privately. Your tribe may silently ignore the situation. One key idea to keep in mind is trauma is anything that makes you feel unsafe--physically, emotionally, or psychologically. Emotional abuse is also closely linked to complex PTSD.

There is a large number of folks out there who believe "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me." That is false. Verbal abuse is aggression and it is emotional violence. It is often hidden in the shadows, where your abuser wants you. It can cause you to self-gaslight. When you have been gaslighted, you are put in a position where you question your own reality. You will ask yourself if "was what happened to me really that bad?", "am I really a bad person?", "did I exaggerate?" This is self-gaslighting. The answer to all of these questions is NO. If your abuser was actually concerned about you as a person, you would have been treated with respect, honesty, and without humiliation or deceit. Abusers do not care about their victims.

Healing is not easy. It requires that you acknowledge to yourself it happened. You need to validate yourself and use positive self-talk and make your well-being a priority. Document your abuse. Write about it. Be specific. That way, you are less likely to doubt yourself.

Remember that words DO have a physical effect on us. Words have specific meaning and they convey thoughts that can be absolutely cruel and demeaning. Words that are intended to harm you will cause a fight or flight response in you. Cortisol levels rise. Anxiety will rise. This causes real physical issues: migraines, increased blood pressure, digestive issues. It also causes further psychological issues: you are unable to recall details, you may ruminate, you are much more likely to experience depression.

Do not blame yourself. You likely absorbed an untrue message from your abuser or maybe his flying monkeys from a smear campaign that you are a bad person or that you deserved the abuse. That is absolutely 100% false. It is not about you, but about your abuser's need to control you. Do not engage with your abuser if they ever reach out and do not respond to any flying monkeys. You are not under any obligation to justify yourself. What your abuser wants is to trigger any response out of you for their own egotistical purposes. They desire the attention brought to them. Again, this is a tactic to shield themselves, to prevent the sunlight placed on their malicious behaviors.

In my situation, my abuser absolutely hated that I grey rocked his ass. It made him increasingly angrier. It made him lash out at the end with a humongous smear campaign and a string of viciously insulting texts. If you cannot remove the abuser from your life completely, be aware that this type of behavior will continue until you can. Find someone who can help, someone you can talk to, someone who appreciates you. I was fortunate. I had a sister who saw through all of this and was there to witness some of this behavior and who supported me both in person and via text and phone. I understand finding that person may be difficult. Call 988 or get therapy ASAP. You need to process this emotional trauma and understand it was never about you and it was not your fault.

Healing is not easy. You will feel anger, resentment, loneliness, guilt, lack of self-esteem, shame, a ton of negative emotions. This is EXACTLY what your abuser wants to you experience. These are emotions that can isolate you, break you mentally, and cause you depression and anxiety. Your abuser wants to 100% break you. Do not let them do that. Reach out, ask for help and support. It is a form of self-love. There is no shame in letting the world know you need help and letting the world know your truth. Develop a powerful compassion for yourself by kicking your abuser out of your life and out of your mind. Communicate and connect with others who will model love, wisdom, compassion, and acceptance to you and reflect that back out into the word. Do not let an abuser put you in a place where you are in a place of hate, fear, and anger.

[wonder-in-wings]

How does your character react when they’re embarrassed?

//META

[TL;DR] He cries. And that makes him more embarrassed, etc.

Oh hey speaking of! Parker doesn't wear embarrassment well at all and it's mostly because it's incredibly hard to embarrass him - he's normally very easygoing (if you could believe it) when there's something he doesn't know because most things he doesn't know don't matter in the long run. As such, it's difficult for him to feel truly foolish when someone tries to pull a 'gotcha' or treat him like he's stupid for not knowing something.

He also doesn't take barbs about his appearance personally - he looks how he looks and no one else is obligated to like how he looks.

Parker spends a lot of time carefully curating and crafting a persona, which he probably doesn't consider it as such but it's there. That persona is one of calm, collected control and he has such a large, well-constructed wall around his nerves that he's never aware of where the miniscule weaknesses are - primarily, he gets incredibly embarrassed when someone catches him outside of that persona, when that lack of control slips through and people can see the nerves underneath whether its an influx of (what he considers to be) unwarranted kindness, emotionally overreacting to something that's not a big deal or something outside of his control affecting him. Also meltdowns.

Embarrassment is emotionally overwhelming to him and he's so unused to it that he reacts the only way he knows how from when he was a child; it takes him everything in his power not to cry. And crying just makes him more embarrassed and it just keeps repeating the cycle. His father taught him from a very young age that if Parker was embarrassed, he needed to imagine how Osborne felt because it was amplified through his father's eyes. It creates this immense weight and pressure that's unintentionally expounded upon and once he's buried underneath the shame and guilt, he has no idea how to get out of it - these are the rare periods that he wishes he would disappear rather than deal with whatever is embarrassing him, which is normally himself for reacting the way he did etc. etc.

(sorry if NONE of this makes sense or is contradictory. i never said i was smart lol)

[iwanttobepersephone]

Hey, I saw your post about shutting down and how someone said you should take a break, and idk if this helps/maybe feels super invasive (I am so sorry) but something that helps for me is giving myself the day off. Not trying to do the chores anymore and just making my day as fun as I can (reading a book or drawing are my personal favorites) and because I accepted earlier that it's going to be a break day, I don't feel the pressure of obligation or guilt of procrastination. Idk if that makes sense? Anyways, that's how I understood the break thing, I hope today treats you nicer:)

Oh, thank you!!! This isn't invasive at all!!!

Sadly I can't really do that because I live with my family still and they insist on chores getting done on time, but thank you for the suggestion ^^

[x-authorship-x]

Hi, I don't know if you're okay with asks like this and if you don't want it then just delete but I wanted to ask how do you come back from breaks in writing? You've had a few and you don't seem (I'm so sorry to assume) bothered by unfinished works but I've been on a medical break for a year and i can't face going back to my abandoned stuff because what if people don't care anymore or what if they're angry? I felt like no one was reading and that was part of why I had to stop in the first place...

Hey, Anon!

You can absolutely ask me about more general things, it doesn't have to be just about certain characters or my fics themselves ☺️ idle chitchat, advice, telling me a story, deeper topics, it's all okay~

As for your actual ask... taking a break is always hard. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that! God knows I work myself into knots about coming back from breaks, I feel like I lose readers with every gap, but... from my own experiences...

You've got to be shameless with your own work - you're writing it for you! Make friends, treat your fics like you're rolling around in your favourite dessert, talk about them and connect with your regulars. You have to enjoy the writing process in itself, because if you depend entirely on what others will say then you'll always be disappointed. This is why I think a sense of community is so important with fandom, because we have to uplift each other and cheer each other on!

I know it's easier said than done, I've taken so many breaks from writing over the years. I'm in a break right now, every Friday that goes past surprises me, and previous times have been for a medley of reasons, fandom and mental health included! Every and any reason is valid, you do you!

If you feel distressed to go back to posting your writing, maybe it's a sign that you're not ready to come back and that's totally okay! If you do feel ready but you're nervous about the reception... Just think about your own favourite authors, how do you feel when they start posting again? What about fics that have had a break? I don't know about you but I'd be delighted!

As for unfinished work... I feel frustrated and disappointed as a reader when fics are left hanging, yeah, but it's a reality of fanfic that the author has no obligation to the audience and vice versa and it's something we should all be keeping in mind.

And writing? I figure if I didn't post WIPs then I wouldn't post at all. I would rather readers saw something of my work than never considering anything but the finished piece to be worth showing people. Maybe that's an unpopular opinion but I'd like to think my readers know what they're getting into with me 🤭

So long as you feel the drive to create, you should absolutely create (without guilt or pressure). It is a gift that you share your work with others, it's not an obligation 🤗

I hope you feel better, Anon, and I hope that you feel valued too, regardless of whether you post or finish any work ever again

Have a good day/night, Anon ❤️✨

[ourladyofomega]

I had periods during this year when I haven't consistently worked out. I noticed I gained weight, so I asked the location manager why that was. She did a few tests and got to know me, opened up about my depression, family suicides, drug-addicted girlfriends, the toxicity around me, et cetera. She charged me up by calling me a survivor, and said some glowing things about me. Almost no one does that for me. Then came the pitch for me to join a six-month fitness program.

Knowing the costs, I was reluctant to sign up, and told her I really wanted to consider it. But, she kept on pushing me. I tapped out in the end and agreed to go onboard, still feeling funny about what just happened as I calculated costs in my head. But, I was mentally getting used to it, thinking this could help me and other things I'm dealing with.

I returned one week later and started my training with someone else. My first session was already over in only 30 minutes. I questioned it, because the manager never mentioned that to me. Who does half-hour sessions these days? I was expecting a hour with the money I'm spending. That killed it. I had my arm pulled to sign the dotted line when I made it obvious that I wasn't ready just yet. She should've accepted it and moved on. She saw it in my eyes, but wouldn't take "no" for an answer. Not good.

I've been upset about not going out like I should, and I was raging to get back into it. Now, I'm already disappointed that it's come to a sudden halt. This felt promising to me, given that my anxious high-functioning mind is constantly on fucking overdrive. On the other side of the coin, asking questions shouldn't make me pay out of pocket and end up in this situation. I texted my trainer what happened and that I won't move forward with our sessions. Sunday arrived. Here's my written cancellation. Have a good one.

I inconvenience myself to drive double the distance to another location to work out; just to avoid future awkward interactions. A week goes by and my trainer texted me to wish me well. She was sad to hear about it, but she understood and accepted it. I thought I was done and move on. No dice! The location manager texted me two days later.

"Hey. This is [redacted] from [redacted]. I just wanted to reach out and offer you an opportunity to come in for a complimentary session with one of our fitness professionals. What day and times work best for you? AM or PM?"

No no no no no. That didn't feel genuine. Not at all. She didn't message me to apologize, ask how I was feeling, or what went wrong. None of that. In fact, this wasn't from her directly. It was a formatted text message. It all went over my head and right into another session I now had no interest in. How tacky is it when you establish any sort of one-on-one interaction with someone, that maybe they should reach out to you with their own words, instead of sending out pre-made d.m.'s. That was just so lazy.

"STOP", I texted, and unsubscribed from future messages from that number.

We used to have some positive client / manager niceties with each other before; up until that moment. I stopped being a person to her. I became a contract in her eyes. It's always a problem when you're being pressured, forced into situations never asked for, or obligated to do things you don't want to. Apply that to other situations you can think of. It's the umbrella principal of it. Family members constantly boxed me in on the daily to get what they want until the next. Undesirables-slash-hopeful potentials sweetened me to be their friend or to "sit next to them" when they didn't get it or flat out denied them. Best "friends" who guilt-tripped me into handing it over when it was mine, or else. Or, other "friends" of mine and customers who called me dirty names to my face when I said "no" to them. Just fucking stop. Take the "L" and hang your head in shame.

I work in retail. Our name always taught us to never pressure customers to buy things they don't want. I adhere to that everyday, 100%. Guess what? I was the location's top performer for five of my ten years there, because we have better ways of making it happen and meet clients halfway instead of boxing them into an uncomfortable situation. Any reasonable business would understand that you'll be fine if you fall a little sort of your goals. That's called good karma on my end. I still have my position and she'll still have hers. She has a '-1' this month because of me. I'm sure she'll live.

By the way, I realized my new anti-depressants were the culprit to my weight gain. I switched back to my old ones and my average weight lowered. Problem solved.

[thcophagy]

kitty was good at her job, they wouldn't have hired her if she wasn't. she was caring, soft with their daughter but stern when she needed to be, providing her with the love and attention she needed while the couple were busy. they'd gone through countless applicants on their quest to find someone who could offer exactly what they were looking for, their priority had been their daughter but the state of their relationship had also been lingering on their minds. once they decided bringing someone else into their dynamic would fix it, there was little to do to try and change that opinion. kitty's upset was a mere bump in the road, they'd soon bring her back down to earth at which point, they could show her just how much they'd enjoyed reading all her dirty little fantasies. "we know that, but you can't help what you think about." eleanore murmured softly as kitty moved closer to her, inadvertently pressing herself up against the older woman's breast through the fabric of her thin blouse. "we don't want to punish you for something natural, kitty. it's like you said, you wouldn't do anything... you haven't acted on them, what's there to be upset about, hm?" plenty, if you were the young girl, but eleanore found the whole thing highly amusing, especially as burnie drew closer and applied his own pressure.

"it's very good." he insisted, if it wasn't the case he wouldn't have brought up the quality in the first place but he did genuinely have talent there waiting to be nurtured. there was so much they were capable of providing her with if she only let them, if they were able to show her that they didn't care about what was the right thing to do, all that mattered was feeling good and letting go of guilt. if they'd been worried about the opinions of other people, their relationship would've never lasted thanks to rumours of their unconventional ways, freedom from obligations and conformity. "hey, listen to me. we're not going to fire you over this, okay? where would we find someone else as good as you?" despite brushing her hair away, burnie's fingers lingered by her cheek after the gesture, rough fingertips brushing against her baby-soft skin as his eyes flickered up to meet his wife's. "i won't say that this won't change anything between us, you know it has to but that doesn't have to be a bad thing... " in fear of overwhelming her, he withdrew his hand and rested it back against his thigh. "we can be more honest with each other now, no more secrets. does that sound alright?"

the initial shock and panic of learning that the couple had found her blog was slowly fading to something more complicated, a strange sort of fluttering in her gut that she could only compare to excitement, or anticipation of sorts. kitty no longer wanted to flee their home and never come back, but she still felt a slight level of unease. it seemed too good to be true, their instant forgiveness— there must’ve been some sort of trick she was missing, a trap they were setting for her to fall into. she found it difficult to think of much else when eleanore was cupping her cheek so sweetly, murmuring gentle words of comfort, affirming kitty’s feelings while insisting she’d done nothing wrong. it wasn’t just the embarrassment of having her raunchiest, most dirty thoughts discovered by the very stars of them, but the fear of losing her job that had her trembling like a wet kitten, struggling to calm herself down after such a powerful influx of emotions. “i… i don’t usually… i know it’s wrong, to think those things. especially about your employer… i promise i would never… do anything…” it wasn’t in her nature to make a move like that, anyway. she had her fantasies, like everyone else, but they were meant to stay confined in her head, never to see the light of day lest someone realize what kind of a person she really was. no matter what it was about, receiving compliments of any sort from burnie never failed to make all warm inside, shifting slightly where she sat on the couch as a result. “y-you think so? it’s good?” writing had always been nothing more than a hobby for her, a way to escape the mundanity of her normal life and create a world where anything was possible, never seriously pursuing it because she didn’t believe she had any real talent. if burnie thought it was good, though, that must’ve meant something. it’s like she could physically feel his presence in her proximity once he sat himself on the arm of the couch, instinctively shifting closer to eleanore for some form of reprieve, though being so close to her did nothing to calm kitty down either. her breath caught in her throat once his fingers made contact with her skin, just barely brushing against her cheek on his way to tuck her hair away from her face. “but i… it’s wrong,” she repeated, feeling as though they must’ve been missing just how inappropriate it all was. “i shouldn’t be thinking those things about you, it… it doesn’t matter if it was well written or not, and i know that... i just really don’t wanna lose this job, mr. mclaughlin.”

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hey, I just read your Levi alphabet headcanons and they were so good!! So in relationship to that I was wondering if you could write a sub! Levi fic with a humiliation kink. No pressure, and I love your writing :)

A/N: ah thank you so much! I'm really happy that you like my stuff!! ok sorry this has taken a while but I didn't want to mess this up, I've had so much fun writing this one and it turned out way longer than I expected :) hope you enjoy it!! sub levi is my fav so :P

warnings: nsfw content, d/s dynamic, dom reader, use of 'mistress' but aside from that reader's gender isn't specified, light bondage, crying, humiliation kink :)

You always seemed to know.

You could read him like an open book, and it surprised him every single time. You knew him better than anyone, sometimes better than himself. You could see straight through him, and there was no hiding from that.

Today was no different. It was written in his stiff demeanor, his unusually icy glare, the harsh bite of his words, everything about him expressing that he was on edge much more so than normal. Although he could always relax slightly more when it was just the two of you, today he hadn't yet dropped his cold facade for even a second.

Having had some free time for once in your busy life, you were sat in the armchair in the comfort of your bedroom, nestled in the corner with a book in your hands. Levi had unfortunately been called into a last-minute meeting, much to your dismay, so you waited patiently until he got back.

You heard the slam of the door shutting as he got in and looked up to see him enter, but it was a shock to see the scowl on his face. On any other day the smile you greeted him with would be reciprocated (even if it was only subtle), however that seemed beyond reach considering his bad mood. Your book was quickly discarded.

"Levi? What's wrong?"

Not bothering to look up at you as he roughly tugged his shoes off, he muttered, "Got given a fuck ton of paperwork to finish by the end of the week, plus I've got to watch over the shitty brats from the 104th tomorrow."

You gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry sweetheart. You still have today off though, don't you?"

"Yeah, but if I don't start this work now it won't get finished on time."

"You're going to overwork yourself. Take some time off."

He glared at you, anger smothering his features. "You think it's that easy? You think I don't want a day off? I've got shit to do, I can't just take breaks when I feel like it! Just fuck off and let me work!"

The second the words left his mouth and he saw the way you were looking at him, a wave of guilt washed over him.

"I...I..." He looked away. "Shit..."

Standing from the chair and walking in front of him, you gently took his hand, causing his eyes to flicker up and meet yours. "Levi, look at me. I understand that you're stressed, believe me, but I'm just wary of your wellbeing. You're human too, and even Humanity's Strongest needs a break sometimes." You pressed a finger to his lips when he went to protest. "Think about this logically. If you work non-stop, then you won't be able to concentrate as well, will you? Plus, if you fall behind a little with paperwork, I'm always here to help. I don't mind doing extra if it helps you out. Do you understand?"

"I... don't want to be a burden on you."

"You aren't burdening me if I'm offering."

He nodded, then looked down. "I didn't mean to yell at you." His voice grew smaller, a telltale sign he was nervous. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Levi. I know it wasn't intentional."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, though quickly suppressed it.

"What is it?" You had a vague idea, since the same thing happened quite a lot when he was pent-up, but you wanted to be sure.

"It's nothing."

"Tell me."

"I just thought..." His cheeks got warmer and he mumbled, "Maybe we could try that thing we talked about?"

You cupped his face in your hand. "Are you sure you're up for it at the minute?"

"I need to... I need you to help me let go... just for a bit..."

"Ok then, if you're certain." You kissed his cheek. "I'm going to go and fetch a couple of things, stay put."

Levi stood in the middle of your shared bedroom, hands fidgeting in anticipation as he waited for you to return. This was a jump from what your dynamic usually was, but he desperately wanted to try it and you had happily obliged.

You soon returned, locking the door behind you, holding a neat coil of rope and something else that Levi couldn't quite see.

"This is new for us, so I'm not going to go overboard right away. Is that ok?"

Levi took a deep breath. "Mhm..."

"Remind me what your safe words are."

"Amber to slow down, red to stop everything, and hum the melody if I can't speak."

You smiled. "Good boy."

Placing your equipment on the table beside you, you sat down in the armchair and watched him for a moment, still fidgeting and not quite sure what to do with himself.

"Strip," you commanded, lacing dominance into your tone.

Levi blushed and began taking his clothes off, laying each article on the bed until he was completely naked. He stood before you, feeling incredibly exposed and subtly trying to cover himself.

You shook your head in disapproval. "You know better than that. Hands behind your back."

He hesitantly complied, now unable to hide his rapidly growing arousal, and his face flushed a deeper shade of red.

"Kneel." You gestured to the space in front of you and he followed. "Tell me why we're doing this."

He swallowed nervously. "Because I was mean to you."

"That's right. You took your feelings out on me, so we're going to fix that, hm?"

He nodded.

"Use your words."

"Yes mistress..."

"Good boy." You leaned closer, picking up the thing that Levi hadn't yet seen. "Open your mouth."

He did as you asked and soon found out what the object was. You fastened the ball gag securely and looked down at Levi, smirking at the sight. His eyes were wide as he grew accustomed to the foreign feeling, but he couldn't conceal the interested twitch of his cock in response to it.

"You're so pretty like this. Stand up, turn around, and keep your hands behind your back."

Once again following your directions ever so obediently, you picked up the coil of rope and bound his wrists together, before trailing your fingers over his hips. Levi shivered in arousal and tried not to lean into the touch. You knew how sensitive he was, particularly around that area, so you continued to focus your attention to his hips and his inner thighs; all too soon he was tense and shaking, and the second you pulled away he whined from the loss of contact.

"Patience." You turned him around to face you and leant back in the chair, patting your thigh in invitation. "Come here." He stepped closer, unsure of how to proceed, so you gripped his hips and pulled him down to straddle your leg. He whimpered at the sudden pressure on his cock.

"Do you want to cum tonight, sweetheart?"

Levi nodded eagerly.

"After your behavior today, you're going to have to earn it."

Seeing Levi's curious expression, you stroked one finger up his length, making him buck forwards into your touch.

"You're going to get yourself off on my leg, and I'm going to watch, understood?"

He nodded again, whining as you pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"Good. Don't keep me waiting."

Levi wasted no time in grinding down against your thigh, immediately moaning around the gag at the feel of your rough denim jeans against his sensitive cock. It seemed that just having him in such a position was more than enough to get him worked up - your dynamic before had been rather gentle, with only a small power imbalance, so it was a sudden shift to now be in this position, with yourself fully clothed but with Levi naked, bound, and entirely at your disposal.

As you watched Levi rut desperately against you, you thought back to the moment he asked to try this. He told you that he wanted to be used, helpless, humiliated, although he had been rather shy about it to begin with. With the words almost failing to come out, he blushed deeply when you suggested trying it for the first time. You promised it would be a surprise, to keep him on edge with the anticipation and add to the experience when it finally happened, and you certainly hadn't disappointed him if his moans were any indication.

Every thrust of his hips teased him closer to the edge, and as much as you loved to touch Levi usually, this had to be something he did on his own. Knowing that this was all because of his own intense desire, that it wasn't you controlling his movements, that it was his decision to act like a bitch in heat, would only make his feelings of shame more pressing.

You never took your eyes off him for one second, content in the knowledge that it made him feel just that bit more vulnerable, until you glanced at the mirror mounted on the adjacent wall. Levi had clearly forgotten it was there in his pleasure-induced stupor, so you decided that it wouldn't hurt to remind him.

Gripping his chin carefully, you tilted his head to the side so he could see exactly what he looked like in that moment; the mirror was at the perfect angle to reflect every single thing he was doing, all his wanton desperation captured in that perfect image. Although he flushed red in humiliation, he couldn't bring himself to stop his actions, being forced to look himself in the eyes as he rode your leg, and he whimpered in embarrassment as he drooled around the ball gag.

"Look at you, Levi. You're pathetic, aren't you?"

His movements never faltered, but tears began to well up in his eyes as you kept him facing the mirror.

"Imagine if everyone else could see this, hm? Their mighty captain reduced to a needy little slut..."

He sobbed, droplets rolling down his face, and sped up, nearing his high.

"Do you need to cum, Levi?"

A frantic nod in response.

"Do you deserve it? Do you think you've earned it?"

More nodding.

"And you've learnt your lesson?"

A nod and a pitiful whine.

"Very good. Cum for me, Levi."

Tears streaming down his face, Levi moaned as he reached his peak and came with a sharp cry, the sensations all becoming too much for him to bear. He trembled as he came down again, panting and leaning forward to rest his head on your shoulder.

"You've done so well for me, sweetheart," You cooed, reaching behind him to unfasten the gag and untie the rope, putting them both back on the table and taking Levi's hands. He looked up at you and you wiped his tears. "How are you feeling?"

Still catching his breath, he nodded, pressing his forehead against yours. "It... it was really good."

"Not too much?" you questioned, stroking his hair.

"It was perfect... thank you mistress..."

"I'm glad. Now let's get cleaned up, then we can rest. Does that sound alright?"

"Mhm..." Levi smiled lazily and nuzzled against your neck. "As long as I'm with you."

[fruitcoops]

Hey Eve! I had a request for a fic where Remus has these really distant relatives and they're not the nicest people you could say, just maybe a few levels better than Sirius' family. So anyway Sirius and Remus are forced into having dinner with them and it's unpleasant to say the least, they ask awkward questions about Sirius' family and Remus tries to intervene when he can but overall it goes horribly. And after it's finally over, Remus just apologizes profusely and Sirius is a little shaken up but overall fine enough to assure Remus that it happens, everyone has a few shitty family members that they wish they weren't related to. If you'd like, you can skip the dinner altogether and just write about the conversation between S and R afterward? Or if you don't vibe with this idea, feel free to ignore it too :) No pressure! Thank you, have a nice day <3

For everyone dealing with shitty family this Thanksgiving: you are not alone and I love all of you so much. Hope this gives you some catharsis. This was combined with asks for the fine vs. okay talk and Coops angst where one feels guilty/ blames themselves. Big hugs all around, y'all <3 SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for family fighting, homophobia (mild), infuriating relatives, minor injury (no violence), mentioned past abuse, cutting contact from relatives

The guilt was eating Remus alive, and anger was cauterizing the edges. Forks clinked on fine china plates; he shoved another mouthful of soggy, bland pumpkin pie in his mouth and tried not to scowl too hard.

“So, Remus!” His ground his teeth and forced an interested look as Aunt Carol’s chipper voice broke the tension. “How are you enjoying the NHL so far?”

“It’s great being able to play again,” he answered.

Uncle Chuck snorted. “Be a helluva lot more fun if you scored a goal, eh champ?”

In his periphery, Remus saw his father go rigid and his mother’s knuckles go white on her fork. Beside him, Sirius’ face darkened, and he forced himself to speak before anyone else said anything to ruin the already-awful evening. “Not for lack of trying, that’s for sure.”

“Come on, kiddo, we need something to tell the association!” he chuckled, like it was funny. Aunt Carol hooted with laughter behind her napkin. “Got all that attention and nothing to show for it!”

“It’s a good thing I wasn’t after attention in the first place,” he gritted out. It was a bad night, just as he anticipated when he first got the call from his parents that the annual Black Friday dinner invitation had arrived in the mail. Carol was his mother’s last living relative—there was a sense of obligation in going, though none of them ever truly wanted to. Remus suddenly found himself wishing his great-aunt would start going off on yet another vaccine tangent he could safely tune out rather than…well, everything that had been said so far.

Carol turned a bright smile on Sirius, like a bird of prey zeroing in on a rabbit. “So, Sirius, have you been seeing anyone lately?”

Remus choked on his pie—Sirius nearly coughed up a lung around the mouthful of water he had just tipped back. “Pardon?”

“Are you seeing anyone?” she repeated, innocent as could be.

Remus glanced to his mother, who mirrored his confusion and sense of impending doom. “Yes?” Sirius said after a moment, chancing a look at Remus. “I’m—Remus and I have been together for over a year.”

She waved a hand as if batting a fly with a playful scoff. “Oh, honey, you can drop all that here. Do you have a girlfriend yet?”

Remus stared at her, struck speechless. Of everything he had expected, that certainly wasn’t on the list. “Aunt Carol, we’re engaged.”

“I’m gay,” Sirius said at the same time.

That brought a chortle out of Uncle Chuck as he raised his wine glass again. “Come on, you two, let loose a little! There’s no reporters here! Just family and a nice meal where we can be free of all the theatrics and have a good time. You might have been able to fool the paps, but my wife and I saw right through the whole thing.”

Slow, terrible realization began to settle in Remus’ gut. Sirius blinked at the couple before turning to him with a lost expression. “It’s not an act,” Remus said as clearly as he could manage around the scream of frustration building in his lungs. “We’re really getting married next summer.”

Chuck frowned. “What about that nice girl, Lily Whatserface?”

“She’s my best friend’s wife,” Sirius said, one hand gripping the edge of his seat.

“Damn, I always thought you two would be cute together,” Chuck tsked, sipping his drink. “But really, Remus, you ought to settle down with someone soon and start having—”

“They are settling down, Chuck,” his father interrupted, colder than Remus had ever heard before; he tried not to let his surprise show. “Together. As a family.”

Carol sent his mother a wide-eyed look. “Does he speak to you like that?” she murmured out of the side of her mouth. Remus watched her lips press into a thin line before she silently shook her head, more out of disgust than anything else. He glanced at the clock—barely an hour had passed since their arrival. Usually they made it at least 90 minutes before he felt like throwing up.

“Now—” Chuck paused to clear his throat and take another drink before leaning toward Sirius, who visibly moved back. “What do your parents think about this whole thing, young man? Are they in on it, too?”

Fuck. Remus took a deep breath in and watched the side of Sirius’ jaw tick. “No,” he answered with a great deal more calm than the situation called for. “No, my parents unfortunately don’t approve of my upcoming marriage to your nephew. We’ve cut contact since I was outed.”

Genuine bewilderment crossed Chuck’s angular face. “You didn’t tell them your plan?”

Remus’ fork squeaked on his plate. “It’s not a plan, it’s a—”

“I never intended for them to find out,” Sirius snapped.

“But if you explained your strategy—”

“It’s not a strategy!” Everyone turned to look at Remus and he took a deep breath, setting his fork down with a shaking hand. “Uncle Chuck, Aunt Carol, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but the engagement isn’t fake, we’re actually gay, and if you have some pipe dream about me or my fiancé having a straight American life you can shove it up your ass.”

“Remus,” Carol gasped.

Chuck frowned. “Listen here, young man, I’ve been trying to have a conversation with Sirius—”

“You’ve been fucking rude—”

“—because his parents deserve to know the truth—”

“My parents don’t deserve shit—”

“They’re your parents!”

“They’re abusive and homophobic.”

“This whole thing has gone on far too—”

“Carol, if you say one more word—”

“That’s enough out of you, Hope, I’m trying to make sure your son doesn’t throw away his future—”

“It’s my future and my husband and you have no right to—"

“I don’t know where you two went wrong as parents but—”

-----------------

Eerie quiet filled the two-story house. Hope glared at the pineapple wallpaper Carol had happily informed her had come straight from their Florida condo as she scrubbed at the burnt remains of the forgotten sweet potatoes. She heard a hiss of pain down the hall and a low murmur—she wanted to be upset with Remus for overreacting, but slamming his glass down hard enough that it shattered was an entirely justifiable reaction after the shitshow that came from her uncle’s mouth.

Carol primly cleared her throat as she took a casserole dish from the drying rack and began dabbing it with an embroidered kitchen towel. “I hope Remus is alright,” she said after a few seconds of silence. Hope hummed in agreement. “You know how Chuck is, love. Sometimes he doesn’t know when to stop.”

Hope focused her attention on a stubborn grease stain, blood thundering in her ears. There had been many Black Friday dinners where she wanted to crawl into a hole or burn the house down, but none quite as explosively bad as that one. They hadn’t even made it through dessert.

“If Remus needed money, he could have just asked.”

Something distressed laced Carol’s voice; Hope finally looked up, baffled. “What?”

“This whole…” Carol trailed off with a sympathetic smile and a wave of her hand. “Thing could have been avoided if he just said he needed a hand. I know Chuck and I struggled with money at his age, but this whole fiasco is so much more complicated than it had to be. We would have happily helped him out instead of letting him make a fool of himself like this.”

For a moment, Hope wondered if her aunt was speaking a foreign language. “I’m sorry?”

Carol blinked at her. “I mean, being with Sirius Black must be a nice lifestyle, but was this whole thing worth it to keep living in some fancy city?”

-----------------------

There was a knock on the doorframe. Sirius glanced up from the framed photo of a younger Chuck and Carol and felt his mood dim, but moved aside all the same.

“Thank you, Sirius,” Chuck said, smiling regretfully as he settled down next to him on the couch with two bottles. “Want a beer?”

“I’m good.”

He set one aside and cracked the other open. “I’m sorry for raising my voice earlier.”

Sirius waited for him to continue; when it became clear he wouldn’t, he closed his eyes and stifled a sigh. “Thanks.”

“It’s just that the Lupins, they’re family, you know? Between you and me, I’ve never been a big fan of Lyall—” I think everyone on the Eastern seaboard knows that, actually, Sirius thought. “—but Hope’s my only niece, and Remus is…Remus, so I was just trying to look out for them. I want them to be happy, you know?”

A latent tongue of fury spiked up Sirius’ spine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I want Remus to live a good life, and I want Hope to have the joy of a few grandbabies running around—”

“What do you mean, Remus is Remus?” His pulse picked up as he looked to Chuck, who shifted uncomfortably. The mood in the room tilted on its axis; Sirius felt a familiar tang in the back of his throat, like he did before a fight on the ice.

Finally, Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose with a slow exhale. “He’s just sensitive, always has been. I could never figure him out. He was a sweet kid, clumsy, but he didn’t get into scraps with other boys or roughhouse with his cousins. Kid never took a hit in pickup games. And then this whole thing happened and I’m just worried he’ll pull you into it.”

Sirius’ jaw was starting to hurt from clenching it so tight. “Go on.”

Chuck reached out and put a friendly hand on his shoulder, giving him a light pat. “If he starts to get all clingy and needy, don’t feel bad about doing what’s best for you, Sirius. We’ll be there for him to make sure he can pick himself up and move forward.”

A lot of things ran through Sirius’ head in that moment. Curse words, mostly, mixed with questions and possibly a phone call to the higher power that forgot to put braincells in this man. None of those were what came out of his mouth. “Why is it so hard for you to believe I love him?”

Chuck’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then settled into confusion. “Because you’re you, and he’s him.”

“D’accord, I want you to listen to me very carefully,” Sirius said, mustering all his therapy techniques for a calm mind. “I am gay. Remus is the love of my life and has been for over a year. We are getting married because we honestly love each other, and you are not invited. Do not ever—ever—insult my fiancé to my face again.”

Something shattered in the other room before Chuck had a chance to respond; they both stood as Hope stormed out of the kitchen, snatching her coat off the hook with so much anger flowing off her Sirius could practically feel it burning his skin. “What happened?” he asked, helping her gather their winter layers from the hall closet.

Carol hurried from the kitchen half a second later. “Hope—”

“No!” Hope snapped, whirling to face her. “Absolutely not! I have put up with your bigotry since I was six years old and I am done putting my family through it from some misplaced sense of duty! Carol, I have given you so many chances, but as of tonight you can rest assured I will never contact you or your husband ever again. Lyall?”

Lyall half-jogged down from the hall bathroom with Remus hot on his heels, bypassing Carol without so much as a glance her way. Sirius didn’t know what to do, so he wrapped his scarf around his neck and prayed for a quick exit.

“You ruined everything tonight,” Hope continued, her eyes shining with tears. Chuck and Carol stood side-by-side in utter shock as she smudged the first one off her cheek. “Everything. I thought that maybe you would put aside our differences to celebrate my son’s good news because for all your faults you’ve never been outwardly homophobic, but you have been nothing but disrespectful to him and his fiancé and my husband and me, and I am tired of it. I’m sorry you can’t look past your blinders and I’m sorry it had to end like this. We’re leaving. Goodbye.”

Sirius pulled the door open for her, then followed Remus out with a light touch to his lower back. It was a cold night. His bones were colder. The whiplash change between wanting to throttle Chuck and then watching as Hope flew off the handle left him floundering for some idea of what to feel. It was too much all at once.

Lyall was holding Hope on the front lawn as she sobbed into the front of his jacket. A warm hand, the one not covered in bandages, slipped into his own. “Dad?” Remus said quietly.

“Go on, bud.” Lyall tilted his head toward their car. “We’ll meet you at the house.”

“You’re sure?”

A single nod was all the answer they needed. Sirius gave his hand a squeeze and they walked to the car together; he didn’t even flinch at the cold interior as they shut the doors. Silence fell in a heavy blanket.

Remus leaned his forehead on the dashboard and let out a long breath. “I am so sorry.”

“Holy shit,” was all Sirius could think to say.

“This is all my fault.” Remus shook his head, shoulders slumping. “Jesus, this is all my fault, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“It’s not your—”

“They’ve always been a nightmare,” he said miserably. “Every year. Mom doesn’t have anyone else and they don’t have anyone come over for Thanksgiving because they are such shitty people and I know I told you they’re awful but—but fuck, Sirius, the things they said to you.”

There had been a point, just before Remus’ glass broke and blood stained Carol’s lacey tablecloth, where all six of them were shouting at each other; nobody was saying anything, but that didn’t matter. Sirius’ blood had boiled as he watched the love of his life get berated by the people that were supposed to be family. He regretted not taking seriously the earlier warnings about Chuck and Carol’s less-than-stellar views and the sour grimace on Remus’ face when they drove up.

It wasn’t right. He was the one with the bad family, and Remus was never supposed to go through that horror show.

Remus straightened up in the passenger seat and turned with a guilty look. “I shouldn’t have brought you with me. We should have stayed home and had a nice time and I—I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say to you right now. I’m sorry. I fucked up so bad and I hope you can forgive me for putting you in that situation.”

“You’re forgiven.” It was the easiest thing Sirius had ever said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask if you were fine, I asked if you were okay.”

Something in his face cracked; he reached out and Sirius pulled him in for a hug without hesitation, soothing the tremors under his palms with gentle circles. “I hate hearing people say bad things about you,” Remus said hoarsely, pressing a hard kiss to his cheek. “I love you too much for that. I had no idea how awful it would feel to hear it coming from my family.”

“I love you, too.”

Remus sat back again, cupping Sirius’ face in his palms until they made eye contact. “I love you,” he repeated, fierce and unyielding. “I love you and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. Not for your money, not for your looks, not for attention. You. I would wait a hundred years if it meant I still got to love you, so don’t ever listen to anyone who tells you I wouldn’t.”

Sirius reached up and swiped away the tears on his cheeks with his thumbs, then drew him in for another hug and closed his eyes. The knot of hurt and indignance and shock was beginning to unravel. He loved his fiancé and he loved his in-laws and that was all that mattered, now.

“They’re not your family if you don’t want them to be,” he said. It had taken him a long time to learn that fact, and yet it remained the most important one in his life. “Don’t feel guilty for their choices, Re. I’m not angry with you. I’m just sorry you had to do that.”

Sirius could count on one hand the number of words they said to each other on the drive home; he didn’t let go of Remus’ hand the whole time. Hope and Lyall were still out when they arrived and Jules would be with a friend until the next morning, so they entered the house and shed their layers in relative quiet, then headed to the bathroom and stripped out of their nice clothes. The hot water blasted the last of the intense emotions from Sirius, leaving him tired and drained—he carefully redressed the cuts on Remus’ hand and sealed each Band-Aid with a kiss.

They didn’t bother with anything but pajama pants despite the snow outside, curling up as tight as they could under the thick comforter and soft flannel sheets. Wordlessly, Remus turned them so he could be the big spoon, and Sirius fell asleep to the steady beat of his heart on the back of his shoulder. The night was almost over. The morning would be kinder.

[alexlwrites]

Idol AU one-shot where soulmates can feel each other's pain after they... ahem ahem... make their bond official.

Cut to the boys leaving you, their soulmate, alone at home while you were having the Godzilla of periods, soon to find out the absolute shit of a mistake they made leaving the dorms that day.

I started writing these months ago and just found the doc... Should I finish it? Here's what i got:

---

Men are useless, you concluded while dragging yourself from the big kitchen to an even bigger living room, a blanket thrown around your shoulders and an ostensibly big tub of ice cream in your hands.

You had seven soulmates. Seven. Seven men who were supposed to be there for you and love you unconditionally. And yet not a single one of them managed to be home to support you while going through what could only be described as the world’s worst period.

You would’ve understood if it was a comeback week - having only officiated your soulmate bond a few weeks before, you had yet to experience those but you could only imagine how brutal they would be. But at that moment, their schedule was sparse and they still chose to spend their free time at the studio due to a burst of creativity on Yoongi’s part instead of staying with you in what you considered a desperate time of need.

One of them would do, you thought to yourself while you lied down on the sofa and turned on the TV. You didn’t need all seven of them to take care of you, although that was the ideal scenario. One of them to give you a back rub would suffice. A soothing hand placed on your lower abdomen would do. Instead, you had to resign to your hand pressing down on your skin and a marathon of couple goals videos on Youtube.

“Oh my god, imagine having an idol as your soulmate?” you mock exclaimed to the empty room “What a dream!” you waved the spoon at the couple with matching outfits on the screen “A dream, my ass. Gonna find myself another soulmate and then what? They are going to regret the day they left me home alone! I might even get a song after this…”

You mumbling was interrupted by the sound of your phone, the screen lighting up with a notification from the group chat you had with the boys.

Yoongi [2:00pm]: hey babe, are you feeling any better?

You [2:01pm]: I hope you lost all inspiration and I hope all your verses only rhyme with the word “farts”

Seokjin [2:02pm]: quick game change a word in a song title for “farts”

Jungkook [2:02pm]: war of farts

Seokjin [2:03pm]: magic farts

You [2:04pm]: seokjin farts

Seokjin [2:04pm]: okay your judgement is clouded by anger so I’m gonna let that one slide

You [2:04pm]: your face is clouded by anger

Seokjin [2:05pm]: that doesn’t even make sense. Cmon honey you cant be that mad

You [2:05pm]: yes i can im cutting the nipples out of all your shirts fuck off

[Y/N left the chat]

You were aware that you were being the slightest bit unreasonable. But your awareness did not mean you cared, so you threw your phone back onto the couch, screen down you wouldn’t see any upcoming massages. Curling into a ball, you felt the pain on you lower back fluctuate between bearable and absurd as you allowed yourself a moment of self pity and loneliness.

---

“We’re fucked” Yoogi announced to the room, Seokjin wincing by his side.

When they left earlier in the morning, they didn’t think you would be upset. Generally speaking, you were very understanding and reasonable, always sending them off to work with a kiss and a smile, always being there to comfort them when they came home exhausted. They should’ve known today was not going to be like that when you woke up with a scowl, hands clutching your tummy as you made your way to the kitchen to inhale an atrocious amount of food. When you didn’t say good morning, just sighed a breathless “yeah” when Jimin asked if you were okay.

They should’ve known you would be upset when they started getting ready and you looked up with big, glassy eyes and asked why they were leaving. Yoongi explained how they had some recordings to do and your bottom lip started trembling.

“Can’t you stay with me just for today? Please?” you begged, but they were already half the door, too focused on their obligations as artists and not enough on their duties as soulmates.

“Sorry, baby. We’ll be home later, okay?”

They should’ve known they were fucked when you frowned, eyes quickly becoming stormy as you dodged Taehyung’s kiss. “Whatever” you murmured, walking back into the bedroom and slamming the door.

There was no explanation for how oblivious they were to your state when you made your discountent clear as day, so there was no one to blame for the unsettling feeling of guilt they shared but themselves.

“Do you think she’s really mad?” Jungkook asked, nervously biting his nails.

“Maybe she’s just joking?” added Jimin, ever the hopeful.

Taehyung shook his head “She seemed really off this morning, I don’t think she’s joking” he said, still upset about how you stepped away from him.

Hoseok stood up, clapping his hands together as he started giving out orders “Well, then let’s wrap up as quick as possible so we can go home and try to save the situation as best as we c-WOAH”

Suddenly he was on his knees, clutching his stomach like his life depended on it. “Hobi!” Namjoon called, quickly kneeling beside his friend “Are you okay?”

“No!” wailed the other “What the hell is going on?”

Yoongi got up to call a staff member when his body decided to rebel against him, sending him stumbling back his steps back onto his chair, his abdomen on fire “Ow, ow, ow, what is this? What’s going on?”

One by one, the member started to feel it, an insistent pressure on their just under the bellybutton that expanded to their lower back. It didn’t give, simultaneously feeling like someone was pressing down on them or something was clawing its way out.