#other things that happened at this party:

[moonstruckme]

Hey angel!! hope ur doing well!!

i was wondering if I could request roommate!marauders where they have crushes on reader buttt she already has a bf but he's just a total jerk.... and u sorta get the idea?? (if u haven't done one like this already)

much love!!! <3333

Thank you for requesting lovely <3

cw: douchebag boyfriend, marauders fancy reader but don't genuinely want her to cheat or end her relationship for them

(poly)roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It’s heartbreaking how lovely you look first thing in the morning. Sweet, rumpled pajamas, plodding gait, sunlight stretching over features still soft with sleep. You raise your hand to cover a yawn as you enter the kitchen, eyelashes still drooping like they’ve weights sewn into them. 

“Morning,” you say on the tail end. 

“Morning.” James opens one arm to you. You step into the hug automatically, and he drops a kiss to your head, his own private indulgence. You’re eyeing the omelet he’s frying up with his other hand. “Want one?” 

“Mm, wish I could,” your voice is a somnolent mumble, “but Dale’s taking me to breakfast in a bit.” 

James tries not to react, but his hold on you stiffens some. From the living room, he hears Sirius scoff. “Oh.” 

“I’m sure your omelet would be better.” You pat his side, moving out from under his arm to go to the coffee pot. “We’re going to this cafe he likes, and they never have anything I want. Still, I can hardly show up full.” 

James feels himself frown. Typical of your boyfriend to take you somewhere you don’t even like. Perhaps he’s a tad biased, but James thinks you should eat one of his omelets and show up full just to teach him a lesson. 

He plates up the one he’s just finished. You tail him into the living room as he delivers it to Sirius, curling your feet up underneath you on the couch. Remus is sitting in the armchair reading the paper. He and James have already had their breakfasts, but you and Sirius are always the last up on weekends.

“Are you finished with the funnies?” you ask Remus. 

He looks up at you with a tenderness James doesn’t know how you can’t see. “Yeah,” he says, shaking out a page. “Here.” 

Sirius snickers at your choice of reading material as you reach across him for it. You nudge his thigh with your knee. “Bite me.” 

“Anywhere you’d like me to, babe.” He winks. 

You roll your eyes and fold the page to read, well used to Sirius’ flirting. Similarly to how he’d done with Remus, Sirius’ ill-advised tactic for winning you over involves alternating between taunting you relentlessly and acting like his affection for you is all one big joke. It only barely worked on Remus—James’ interference had been required there, and that was before he’d admitted to himself his own feelings for either of the two boys—so James doesn’t understand why Sirius would give it another go with you. 

“Oh.” Remus closes his paper, seeming to remember something. “I was wondering if you might have time to go with me to the farmer’s market this morning. We’re out of eggs, but I can’t haggle with the woman like you do.” 

You give him a sorry sort of smile. “I would, but Dale’s meant to pick me up at ten.”

“Oh, well.” Sirius rolls his eyes, chewing malignantly on a bite of omelet. “If Dale said he’ll be here at ten, then surely that’s what’s happening.” 

You bump his thigh again good naturedly. “Be nice.” 

James bites his tongue, and even Remus reopens his newspaper with a tad more vigor than necessary. Sirius is by far the most vocal with you about your boyfriend’s flaws, but your roommates all hate him. The guy’s a prick. James would never in a million years try to convince you to leave your partner for them—and despite Sirius’ joking, he knows neither of the other boys would want that either—but if you broke up with Dale, he would be very tempted to throw a party. 

James really doesn’t understand how someone like you could end up with someone so holistically unpleasant as your boyfriend. He’s rude, inconsiderate, he doesn’t express any gratitude for the sweet things you do for him, and he is never where he says he’s going to be when he says he’s going to be there. He shows so little regard for anyone but himself. If he told you he was going to pick you up at ten in the morning, he’s just as likely to arrive at three in the afternoon. Even for your half-hearted defense of him, it’s nearly ten and you’ve made no move to change out of your pajamas or get ready, because you know he won’t be here on time. It irks your roommates to no end to see you tolerate such poor treatment. 

“Maybe you can go with Remus to the farmer’s market,” you tell Sirius. “You seem like you could negotiate.” 

“Sirius doesn’t know how much eggs are supposed to cost,” Remus says idly. 

“Oi!” Sirius objects through a mouthful of omelet. “I do so.” 

James smiles at him. “Really. How much do you think eggs cost, love?” 

Sirius manages to take another bite while James is asking, so his mouth is conveniently too full to answer. 

“I can manage it on my own,” Remus says with indulgent fondness. “Dove, do me one favor, though?” 

You lift your coffee. “Sure.” 

“Don’t let him summon you outside with his horn again.” 

There’s a brief but thick silence while you finish swallowing your coffee and all three boys try not to look too obviously judgmental (Sirius trying the least, naturally). The purse of your lips reveals some embarrassment. 

Still, your voice comes out unconcerned. “It’s not a big deal to me. It’s not like we’re in school and I need him to come to the door and meet my parents. It’s a time saver.” 

“It’s rude,” says Remus gently. “You deserve someone who will come to the door for you.” 

James’ thoughts exactly. 

“Sure you don’t want some toast or something while you wait?” James asks, partly to dispel the tension and partly because he really does think you should eat something if Dale isn’t likely to be here until the afternoon. “You could call it an appetizer.” 

You stand with your emptied coffee mug, passing an affectionate hand over James’ hair as you move between his legs and the coffee table. “Thanks,” you say genuinely, “but I’m alright. I’m going to go get ready.” 

However eager James is to avoid the tension that comes from insulting (or, really, just speaking frankly about) your boyfriend, Sirius has no such concerns. “While we’re telling Dale things,” he says after you, “be sure to remind him that our flat has a three-strike roommate tears policy. Next time you come home crying, Jamie and I get to make a house call.” 

Your laughter echoes down the hallway. “Sure, I’ll let him know.” 

Sirius looks at James, perplexed. “Did I sound like I was joking? I was not using my joking voice.” 

James pats his leg consolingly.

[00kittenz]

── homie hoppin’ ( lhs, pjs, sjy, psh ) ּ 𓂅⋆ 📙

๑ Heeseung never wanted to believe the rumors about you around campus, to him you could never do wrong and he sees you as nothing less than an angel. But when his friends begin telling him about their nightly escapades with some “mystery girl” that sounds awfully familiar, he grows more suspicious of your true intentions you’ve been hiding all along.

pair: hyung line ㅊ f!reader, college au | warnings: pwp, smut, angst (kinda ??), hook-up culture, yn is the biggest fuckgirl omg (but she’s sooo cuntyy), humour, slut-shaming (not from the boys), daddy kink, oral (m + f. rec), mentions of running a train but it doesn’t happen lol, lots of s.x flashbacks, yn is so unbothered by everything 😴, unprotected s.x (yikes !!!) | teaser wc: 857

thanks to @leeechin & @pshbites for enabling this idea LOL, couldn’t have done it without them frfr. also here’s a silly little preview of what’s to come (it gets real MESSY in this sfdsfsd)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

heeseung was never really the type to ever engage in gossip or drama going around campus. he’d rather simply mind his business and keep it moving, it was useless to entertain it anyway— most of the rumors held zero truth or any proof to back them up. what does seem to grab his attention however, is your name being constantly brought up in almost everyone’s mouths. you were the talk of the whole school and it wasn’t anything good that was being said about the girl he’s been sleeping around with on and off for the past few months or so.

“oh you know about y/n? isn’t she the one who’s always bouncing from one friend group to the next ? i wouldn’t trust her around my man even for a second..”

“didn’t she let leehan hit it at that party last night ? that girl needs to be stopped, she’s always messing around with different guys..”

“wasn’t she just with eunseok last week ? he was telling me all about how him and sungchan took turns on her.”

he couldn’t believe half the stuff that was being said about you. not only was it just plain disrespectful, but it was also disgusting how some people could spew such fabricated nonsense as if you weren’t a real human being with feelings. heeseung knew you two weren’t exclusive but you’ve been seeing each other more frequently, which made him think he might have a chance to make things official. at least he thought so, until he saw you talking with one of his close friends, jaeyun in the library. you both were way too close for comfort and the way you were giving him those same bedroom eyes that you’d always flash at heeseung, made his whole body fill up with an unimaginable amount of rage.

you were quite popular and well known around campus, your charming persona and pretty face was the perfect combo to get anyone to fall head over heels for you. everywhere you went you’d turn heads, all the boys would be breaking their necks just to get a glimpse of you. the tiny skirts you’d always wear had their eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, which only made the other girls seethe in utter jealousy. the way you could command an entire room without even trying was a superpower in itself, you didn’t need to put in the extra work to get all the attention on you because everyone gave it to you automatically.

it wasn’t until heeseung began hearing more about his friend’s sex lives that he’d grow more suspicious of what’s really going on. he usually zones out and doesn’t really listen much whenever they talked about it, but since the movie they were watching wasn’t all that interesting, he began shifting his attention to his friends. jaeyun and jongseong were always bragging about how much pussy they’d get but they seemed to hyperfocus on one particular girl that seems to get brought up a lot in their conversations. jaeyun would say how she gave him the ‘most life changing head’ he’s ever received, meanwhile jongseong was describing how some girl he fucked a few days ago rode his dick like a grade A pornstar.

heeseung wasn’t adding much of his input into the conversation, and neither was sunghoon as he tends to keep that part of his life more private. but, what made him suddenly wanna jump up in his seat was when jaeyun was telling them how hot the girl looked when he fucked her from behind, she had a back tattoo and he thought that was the sexiest shit ever. he never specified exactly what the tattoo was, but he remembers that you also had one too. maybe he’s just reading too much into it ? could it really be you they were talking about ? nah.. there’s no way. he’s sure there’s plenty other women with back tattoos walking around campus, it simply could be an eerie coincidence. he knows he isn’t the only one that you’re sleeping with, but to mess around with his friends would be a new low for him. he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he were to find out that happened..

his worries would only worsen when he catches sunghoon smiling and faintly giggling at his phone about something, to which jongseong asks him what’s so funny. sunghoon simply shrugs it off and says it’s nothing, quickly locking his phone before he lifts up from the couch to announce that he’s going back to his dorm. they all exchange their goodbyes and wish him a safe walk back to his place. but when he left, he was walking in the direction completely opposite of his dorm, he was heading the exact same way it took to get to your building instead. now he’s really starting to overthink at this point. there’s absolutely no way you’re actually fucking all of his friends and he doesn’t have a single clue about it. heeseung may be quite oblivious at times but he isn’t that stupid. he’s probably overreacting. again, could just be a very weird coincidence… right ?

just leave a comment if you wanna be added to the taglist ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

[ybklix]

the touch

PART THREE OF THE PROJECT 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ part one 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ part two ★ pairing: dom!bangchan x inexperiencedfem!reader

✦summary: Every time you and Chan meet again, you explore a new world of experiences, and this is especially true when he is very needy but shows it in his own way.

♡ genre - warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, college au, grinding, spanking, pet names (dreg too), dirty talk, teasing, clitplay, oral sex, face fucking, cum shoot, cum eating, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, slight breeding, aftercare!

word count: 10.3k

masterlist - taglist

♡ songs: railway by bang chan / everyday by ariana grande / nothing without you by the weeknd

wen’s note: tysm for +3k notes in the first part, that’s insane i luv yaa; edit: I lost all the written smut I had to rewrite it all, I was crying (real) edit two: im vibing now lmao

Everything looked better in Chan’s mind, after he had touched you twice which each time outweighed more and more the other, he believed for a moment that he would have it all, that everything would be from then on all about your sweet smell, nice dates, more quality time and just two stupidly tender people holding hands while walking around the campus, it was perfect, so perfect to be true that in reality it never happened that way.

After he dropped you off at your apartment, after the party and you tenderly and sweetly rested in his arms like he adored and wished it would happen every day, every day became hell for him, and he wasn’t exaggerating-or maybe a little, but he needed you, now, like never before, and not just sexually, he wanted to be genuinely close to you, to hear you talk and see you smile next to him; Chan thought that after the party would be the perfect time to ask you out, so he foolishly waited for the most fitting and cute moment he would treasure forever, but that didn't happen.

You just said:

“See you soon. Thanks.”

And you leaned in to give him a quick, shy kiss on the lips that fascinated him and took him by surprise, because if he had expected it he would have taken you more passionately and tenderly in a real kiss, and you just said goodbye to him like that before walking into your apartment and leaving him rambling in the hallway. Chan had to visit his family because it was Sunday so you understood perfectly and offered to let him drop you off at your apartment, but he didn’t want to leave you alone and if it were up to him he would already take you to meet his parents, he was feeling kind of intense with you, truly believing there was a huge fire between you, but decided to give you your space since you wanted to relax after your first club experience. Chan couldn’t believe that maybe it was your first experience at all and he was giving it to you, it was driving him crazy. You talked by text, but he refused to ask you out via text having the opportunity to tell you in person while seeing your sweet face. But did he really have that chance?

Unfortunately that see you soon wasn’t so soon. Chan was losing his mind, the first week he took it lightly, he had forgotten one thing you were very serious about, weeks of exams and heavier work, so he understood your aloofness, every time he approached you after class was over it was the same. “Oh, I’ll go study with Sam, do you want to come?” “I’ll be busy studying,” “I have a project due.”

Chan would reject the offer to go with your friends because he felt shy. He wished that somehow it could just be him and you, together. But he finally got up the courage to meet your friend, and one thing he noticed was that you really took college seriously. You ended up exhausted and quiet, and he could only see you and have you from afar because, due to his bad luck, he never found time alone with you.

He was fine. He was trying to convince himself of that, that soon you could be together and he would not distract you in something he knows is very important for you just because of his silly dream of living a romance with you, of being able to kiss you and touch you, he was not a high school kid anymore, he understood perfectly that both of you were studying your professional career for your future.

But weeks went by and he was getting crazy and tedious, he needed you, it was enough just to try you twice, now you were a drug for him and he couldn't do anything, he couldn’t take you by the arm and take you to a place alone, separating you from your friend because he wanted to look like the sweet boy who was worth it when she was around.

At first it was sweet, when he sat next to you to supposedly study but didn’t memorize a single term for thinking about you, Chan would play with his pencil, watching you deftly type on your laptop and gently rub the bridge of your nose freeing them for a few seconds from the grip of your glasses, while he imagined a lot of cheesy things, like those married couples who usually say they met in college, taking you shopping, walking on the beach with you, to take your mind off all the work you were doing and de-stress a little.

However, something in him changed slightly, his looks were heavier and more penetrating, almost eating you with his eyes because it was evident that you were awakening even his greatest fantasies. He wondered how you didn't notice.

You were doing so well, you were so focused on your studies that sometimes you forgot the presence of those around you, that you almost forgot Chan. After that encounter you didn’t know what the next move was, you were a little scared so one of the perfect excuses was to always be busy, when in reality you cared so much about having so little experience. On the lonely nights, you wondered what if he wanted more -which you also wanted so badly- but he caught you being once again inexperienced, so besides physics you tried to study the great world of sex, reading and watching on the internet the perfect techniques, feeling insecure that maybe another college girl had already given him the best oral sex of his life and you were still scared.

Not only were the heavy and hectic exam weeks approaching, but Chan was starting to get busier with his soccer training so it wasn’t now possible to see you as often, even though he was losing his mind, you both had to get on with your lives.

Chan was so desperate, that like a man in distress, he asked for advice from one of his best friends who he knew would take him seriously on the matter of being genuinely interested in you.

“You fucked her and you haven’t asked her out on a date? Fuck off man, maybe she’ll think you definitely didn’t take her seriously.”

“Okay, you were supposed to help me Changbin, what the fuck was that?”

“I’m just telling the truth. Why did you wait so long? Even a simple dinner after your study sessions or something.”

“But I want it to be cuter and more perfect than that, plus I still keep her close and text her every day, she should know I’m serious.”

His friend softly shook his head.

“And why do you keep your distance, huh? Even the smallest, most improvised thing will be the most romantic thing when there’s something between you, stop being controlling for a moment.”

Chan laughed softly, continuing his walk around the campus.

“Seo Changbin, quite the romantic” Chan joked looking at him with a mischievous smile, “Since when are you an expert? Last I heard you are absolutely bitchless.”

Changbin raised his shoulders first feeling a compliment and then an attack, “Hey! fuck you, man, I’ll make my move with Chaeryeong soon, I swear” he joked, taking a drink of his water and suddenly pointing to the front. “Hey, isn’t that Y/n?” Chan looked at once to where his friend pointed, “Who’s she with?”

Chan’s smile collapsed in seconds and his mature ideology of leaving you and giving you your space ended when he saw you in the distance smiling shyly at a boy as you both sat on the grass under a tree.

“I’ll go talk to her. I’ll see you back at the house” Chan coldly warned Changbin to approach you without taking his eyes off you for a second.

Chan’s thoughts began to cloud over… why was a guy out of nowhere approaching you? Almost a month of not being able to be alone with you because you were creating excuses of which didn’t discourage him for a moment because Chan felt and saw in you that you still wanted to have him around… for a stranger to be sweetly sitting next to you as if you were about to have a nice picnic. Please be a gay guy, Chan thought internally.

You both immediately felt Chan’s presence in front of you, you felt something tender and sweet knowing it was him, you smiled being happy to see him…. but it was inevitable not to see him completely from that angle, you were sitting on the floor and he was in front of you, wearing comfortable and sporty clothes, from head to toe, every garment was black, sneakers, socks, his shorts and his black sleeveless shirt tight to his muscular body, his arms looked more toned, with his visible veins and his pale shoulders and neck shined slightly covered in his sweat; his big pectorals stood out as he had across his body his backpack. You tried to hide with a tender smile how incredibly turned on you were getting watching him from below with his perfect body and handsome sweaty face. You knew his schedule perfectly, he had just left the gym.

“Hey, Chan.”

“Hey,” he waved his hand in a fake high-pitched tone, “I was already on my way home so I was passing by the campus but I saw you.”

You let out a nervous giggle, quickly glancing back at his body, he looked so good. He put his hands on his hips and you appreciated his arms and fingers more…. his long veiny fingers, you needed him all of a sudden, watching porn at night trying to study a little about sex, which you knew wasn’t the most viable and the most true, it only made you arouse your sexual desire more, and more towards Chan, one of the best-looking guys in college and you could have him to yourself, you hadn’t been touched in weeks, you hadn’t had a nice interaction with him in a while, you needed him and missed him, you thought about it all the time but seeing him just like this unleashed in you a voracious appetite to have him.

“Ah, you just got out of the gym, right?”

He nodded, “And Sam?”

“Ah, she’s not here because I’m on my tutoring time.”

Chan ran his tongue along his cavity, annoyed. Thinking it was unbelievable that every time he was with you your friend was there but just now she was letting you have alone time but with another guy.

“Oh, I see. We haven’t met… I’m Bang Chan, by the way,” Chan addressed the guy to the side of you.

Chan got angrier that he couldn’t say anything else, that he couldn’t assert authority by introducing himself since there was nothing else to say, you and him were still friends and he couldn’t claim you as his girlfriend. He was jealous. Besides that the guy was an attractive guy, with straight black hair, a manly young face, pretty eyes, and a pronounced cute nose.

“Yang Jeongin.”

Jeongin watched Chan, intimidated and was surprised to see the confidence in which a very popular guy in a fraternity would approach you as he never believed you had that kind of friendships, he thought you were a pretty, sweet and tender girl studying physics, shy and nerdy.

“Oh, he’s a year younger than us, I’m teaching him a little.”

“Outside, like having a picnic? Why not in the study hall?” interrupted Chan, obviously annoyed.

His tone of voice shook you, he looked so attractive when it was obvious he was jealous. It was obvious that the two of you wanted each other intensely, why wait so long to meet again?

“Jeongin suggested lying in the grass for a bit, breathe some air…” you said somewhat shyly, looking into his dark, narrowed eyes.

You needed to touch that grass, how horny you were getting just looking at him wasn’t healthy. You wanted his cock in your mouth, you thought it must feel so good there.

“Oh, so you do whatever Jeongin suggests now?” he mumbled to himself, “I’ll see you later, okay? Don’t go home so late and anything, call me, please. Let me know when you’re home.”

Chan gave you a tender smile and delicately untangled your hair by passing it amicably over your head. You turned your head to watch him leave and hoped he wasn’t angry… besides one thing he would do would be to stay with you until Jeongin left. You sighed, you needed him and that friendly gesture only confused you more.

[…]

And without realizing it, time passed incredibly fast. A month had passed since the last time Chan had touched you, the last time the two of you shared something as intimate as a kiss or a hug. You were coping well, as you remembered him when you came home tired to your apartment and faintly thought about him until you fell asleep, but he was getting more and more desperate, he was finally dying to talk to you but somehow you were appearing less and less in his life.

You were still tutoring Jeongin two days a week - and earning money for it. Still Chan kept a close eye on him, as it was obvious that the boy was showing signs of a crush on you.

And you knew exactly that it had been a month because you were so preciously treasuring the date when you finally had sex. So for the first time you got a little distracted from class and saw him in the distance, his manly presence and beautifully sculpted side profile, you bit your lip, thinking that you should be the one to approach him now because you needed him and you couldn’t wait any longer.

When the class was over you wanted to go after him right away with no plan other than to talk to him, but he had already gone ahead in leaving the place, losing sight of him and leaving you with a strange feeling. Still, that didn’t discourage you, you would go looking for him later, so you had a plan. Finally the afternoon came, you knew the time when he finished his soccer practice, so you decided to surprise him by showing up there.

You felt strange, alone near the bleachers in the soccer field area, you bit your lip looking for Chan, and doubted if it would have been better to send him a message to know if he would be there.

Chan was just finishing his practice when he spotted you in the distance, a huge smile forming on his face. You felt strange, like all the little things you didn't experience in high school you were doing it now, like waiting for the cute guy after his soccer practice, but it was a thousand times better, at least now because the heavy projects, exams, and stressful life of a college student is not ideal, but it was better because you were both adults, Chan was all man who knew exactly what to do and the best part, you lived all alone, you had all the autonomy of your place, so that was exactly your plan, to invite him to your apartment to have some alone time again.

You saw him approach you and for a second you never thought you would be that kind of girl… but you were for Chan and it was worth it, he was cute with you by message and in real life.

“Hey there” Chan greeted you, surprising you and putting you in a good mood.

Once again, he was slightly drenched in sweat, making you nervous at how good he looked even like that, with his forehead vein popping. He was pleased and surprised to see you there, you wore a tender smile and shy presence so he deduced that it was a good thing, that the idea made him blush.

“Hey, Chan… what are you doing tomorrow?”

He was slightly out of breath, “You came all this way to find out?” he played a little, “Tomorrow? I’ll have the game, you have to come, remember?” he said without thinking and then he read your expression and how your slight intentions were off, so now he said more concerned, “Oh, but why? What's wrong?”

He suddenly feared that he had made a mistake, for the first time you showed up there near his space and he was not available, Chan reproached himself for his answer, but it was true that he could not miss the game, but if it was that you wanted to see him then he could dedicate the day before and after the event to you.

You didn’t want it to end like that, not all of a sudden, just resigning yourself. After all, you and Chan needed a very good reward for all the time you didn’t get to spend together, feeling each other’s touch, it was time to help each other and release the stress of the frustrating past weeks.

“Ah, yes yes yes. The game, I’ll be there. And what are you doing today…? Do you want to see a movie, have dinner, and stay at my place?” you mentioned the last sentence looking him in the eyes and almost seductively whispering the invitation.

It was Friday. For the first time, you postponed a project, all to spend more time with him. Chan raised his eyebrows and his smile widened. Wanting to think that there was a hidden message there and he just deciphered it. He was going to have you tonight and every hair on him rose in excitement.

“Aw… you’re inviting me to a sleepover?” he played, flirtatiously, slowly moving closer to you.

You nodded, shyly, “But bring your pajamas.”

He snickered.

“I will,” he replied, taking you after so long, by your waist, raising Chan's mood inexplicably at finally having you close, “Do you want me to pick up dinner when I go?”

He didn’t even know what he was talking about, he just wanted to have excuses to create time and hold your waist longer.

You shook your head, “No, let’s order when you’re at my place” you whispered, lost in him, you wanted to kiss him, so, so, so bad.

“It’s okay. How about if,” Chan checked his Apple watch for a second, “I get to your house at 7? I’ll go take a shower and be on my way.”

You nodded, humming in approval.

“Okay, baby… I see you, then” he whispered to you, both of you without the slightest intention of separating and creating tension.

But you played with him a little, waving goodbye and breaking the tension, you'd be about to see him.

For him, every second together, even with people around, was special, and he treasured it. But nothing compared to finally having your alone time, just you and him and whatever the night brings.

[…]

You were almost wandering around your apartment, thinking that everything is in order and you just kept wandering with uncertainty if what you had planned would work out or if it was a good thing to do, you looked down at your outfit, biting your lips a little nervously and before you could change your mind absolutely, the loud knock on your door almost startled you. Yes, you had given Chan absolute access to your apartment and yes, your plan was to act a little differently.

You mentally braced yourself before opening the door and just as you grabbed for your doorknob, you felt a little itch on the bridge of your nose, completely remembering that you were still wearing your glasses with your whole face with makeup on, you were supposed to wear your contacts but you were so used to the feeling of glasses in your eyes that you sometimes forgot they were there.

Finally, you opened it, leaving Chan breathless just like the last time, a little over a month ago, when he saw you wearing that tight black dress exactly standing behind your door frame, but this time you were wearing a tight and cute pink corset with a tight and tiny miniskirt and, your dirty little secret, was that you weren’t wearing anything underneath this one.

“Wow, you look… beautiful. What’s the occasion? Were you expecting us to go out somewhere?” he spoke, engrossed, looking you up and down.

You looked at Chan, you had no words to describe how much you liked him and how great he looked.

“Not really… I just wanted to dress like this” you replied letting it go, “Do you like it? Make yourself comfortable, do you want anything?”

“I love it” he replied, licking his lips and taking shy steps to the couch in your living room, “Mmm… a coke, it’s okay if you have any or just water.”

Chan left his bag in your foyer. You blushed. You could see his face and hear his soft tone perfectly as he complimented you. Chan almost trembled in nervousness. Seeing you like that just made him shy somehow. Finally being alone, not having touched you, and seeing you wearing something so sexy and provocative that he wasn’t even remotely used to seeing you wear didn’t help him much. He was getting more and more unhinged, but he had to play it cool.

He followed your walk to the kitchen with his gaze, looking slightly cheeky at your silhouette until he lost sight of you and he came across something so dazzling that he let out a soft sigh, the small sight of your bare bottom that barely covered that skirt as you swayed your hips. Chan stretched his arms out towards the couch, licking his lips again this time biting his tongue a little and returning his gaze to the front… thinking that seeing you like this could only have one reason - or at least he was looking forward to it - you were looking to seduce him that night, you were looking for his touch and for more sweet sex after so much; plus his dirty, dark thoughts were triggered by visualizing the image of you wearing tiny panties, a thong, or not wearing anything… or why your ass was exquisitely exposed, at least a small part of it. Chan loved it, loved the little seconds he saw of your ass that drove him crazy, he wanted to aggressively squeeze your skin with passion, making it red.

While you were only focused on one thing, act bolder, bolder, bolder, you wanted to drop the shyness for once and for all, you wanted to take Chan and have him do it too, you wanted to feel that spark between the two of you again and have him give you constant affirmation that what you feel is mutual and exclusive, you wanted him for yourself, you couldn’t take it anymore.

Walking without your panties on and approaching him to initiate something obviously more risqué, hot and sexual, was one of the bold moves you could think of, besides putting on a tight top that accentuated your figure, you wanted to be obvious, but none too much, but you hoped he would understand within seconds. You felt your folds slightly damp with every step you took and it was all thanks to Chan, who looked exquisite in his jeans, white shirt and thin denim jacket.

You bit your lip and gently plopped down on your couch dangerously close to him, handed him the can drink and turned your body, leaning your arm on the couch back and your bare thighs brushing against his, almost with your knees on top of them.

“So… any chance you can win the game tomorrow?” you commented somewhat amused to break the silence and the obvious sexual tension.

Chan’s gaze traveled from your thighs to your notorious chest through the corset to come to a fixed point on your face, killing him with tenderness as your radiant, sweet face, still wearing your glasses, made you look like a tender, sexy smart girl, which he was sure couldn’t be more true.

“Of course, we will win! Why do you say that? Hey, you’ll be there” he jokingly replied.

You laughed softly and watched his long fingers open the can, holding it up to take a sip of his soda. His strong neck—you needed him.

“Mmm… it’s just that we haven’t seen each other in so long," you added somewhat detachedly, engrossed in Chan. “well, we’ve seen each other often, but I guess it wasn’t the same, you know?”

Chan pressed his lips together, wiping any trace of the fizzy drink from his lips, and stared at you, his right hand held the can and with the fingertips of his other hand he began to gently trace random shapes on your thigh, delighting himself with your smooth texture.

“I understand perfectly…. we haven’t had this time alone, but all because of exam week, I know. How did it go, sweetheart?” he whispered, almost breathless and beginning to seduce you with every part of him, his voice, his gaze, everything.

You let yourself be carried away seconds by his touch before responding the same way he did.

“Ah, you know, I’ve been doing well, but it’s kind of stressful.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard, honey…”

You blushed again, more so when he spoke to you like that, seductively but with slight concern, over all.

“I know” you continued speaking softly, tilting your head and looking into his dark brown eyes. “But I need the scholarship, living alone near the college area is expensive.”

Chan gave you a half smile, slowly bringing his fine brushes up.

“Aw, baby, that thing about you not having a roommate doesn’t sit well with me. Let me be your roommate…”

You laughed, “You’re crazy” you lifted your arm to play a little with his jacket on his shoulder. “I’d love to, but my dad would kill me, plus you have to give up your fraternity, aren’t you the leader and you have a pact or something?”

He smiled and set the can down on the coffee table.

“Would you like me to live with you?” you nodded not thinking clearly, just thinking that having him around every day would be a dream. “So…? I can quit, they’ll put Hyunjin in my place” he played a little, still taking full advantage of the tension created.

You made an amused expression.

“Hyunjin? He’s not frat boy material, he’ll die on day one.”

The distance was getting closer and closer between the two of you, and you could feel the breathing of both. Chan ran his tongue around the inside of his lips in amusement.

“Huh, what does that mean? That I’m just a frat boy to you?”

You looked at him for a few seconds that seemed long, you analyzed every part of his face and being inches away from each other didn’t help anything but create more tension. You knew he was only joking with you, still, you replied seriously as you were seriously admiring him.

“No… of course you’re not just that. You’re much more than that… I’m sorry… that I’ve strayed a bit…”

He sighed, losing his sanity with every passing second, turned his body a little and put his arm gently over yours to play with your loose hair.

“It’s okay, I understand, honey, college is very important for you.”

But so was he and you couldn’t believe you completely brushed him aside. It was your time to remedy that.

“So... how about you, how were the exam weeks?”

“Good,” he replied simply. “Tired, stressful. I may need a little help for the next exams.”

Now he dropped his hand all the way down to your thigh, stroking it almost to your area, putting it under your tiny garment and squeezing your skin.

You both couldn’t stand it a second longer.

It was your chance to step up and act bolder.

“Mmm... you know I can help you...”

You whispered, his gentle hand squeezing your thigh and seeking even deeper into your sensitive spot. But in one deft movement, you sat gently on his lap, surprising him completely. Chan watched your expression, still with a hint of shyness on your characteristically tender face... but he noticed that there was something completely noticeably different about you, a soft, mischievous smile, beautifully heavy breathing and a lustful gaze begging for more and more.

When his confusion vanished from him, a smile formed and he enjoyed the weight of your body on his lap and began to caress your body.

“Of course, you know how to help me. Smart girl” he murmured close to your lips.

You felt his fresh breath and his big hands run over your waist all the way down to your thighs.

He knew then that you were the mastermind of this little plan, of summoning him there, of dressing provocatively to drive him crazy and of being the one to approach him. He loved it, found it adorable and so damn hot he was still softly hard.

“I missed you, hun” he whispered, taking you by the chin.

You smiled at him and enjoyed every second of what you anticipated the obvious that your heart began to race.

You thought a soft ‘me too’ but couldn’t say it out loud and just leaned in to kiss him.

Chan was surprised each time but accepted it and received your lips sweetly. Finally, after so long, you were enjoying each other.

Your lips met softly, in a delicate act of delighting in the sensation and movements of each other’s mouth, as if you were trying to remember every particle of that soft and delicate muscle. You adored Chan’s lips and kisses. You loved having him close, as did he, in which he enjoyed the warmth of your body on his and your velvety lips painted in soft lipstick.

Chan held your face and squeezed your thigh letting himself go, lost in the sensation of something he longed for and desired so much.

Your hands also went to his face, letting your fingers rest on his soft jaw that moved as he kissed you.

And being out of breath, you parted only short seconds, almost nonexistent centimeters only for you to whisper between his lips in amusement:

“This is the kind of help you need?”

Chan laughed softly, squeezed your thigh tighter, and moved further across to take your lips again, this time faster, frantic and desperate, his restless tongue struggling to find yours, his soft, fluffy lips sensually sucking at your mouth, you kept pace with him and you both released that deep frustration in your being, the abstinence, and desperation for both of you.

You both needed each other, the connection was irremediable. You were making him more and more excited and for you, having his strong and big body close to yours was making you crazy, his hands on you, his nose bumping against your face, your glasses slipping off, you were getting that aching and throbbing sensation in your sensitive clit that only Chan could achieve in you, your folds were wet, sticky, you were making a mess with only his passionate kisses.

It was inevitable for Chan not to start getting completely hard as he was feeling the intensity with which you were responding to him and he was understanding perfectly the situation that you both would let something sexual happen. You, on the other hand, felt his erection bump against your ass as you were sitting right on top of him, you wanted him so badly that almost by reflex you began to move gently to feel his hard cock between the denim of his jeans, causing a soft gasp to come from his lips in between the kiss. Chan continued to stroke your thigh until he reached under your tiny skirt looking to play with your panties, but to his surprise, he found the fine touch of only your skin, you were not wearing panties and the thought made his cock throb.

“Mmm, fuck baby, you’re not wearing panties” he murmured sultrily between your lips, finding a way to abruptly spread your legs apart to pinch and rub your clit. “Like you’re getting your little pussy ready for me to play with.”

You blushed and yet you didn’t stop moving gently on him, you parted but were still with your faces pressed together, feeling each other’s agitated breathing, Chan bit his lip, running his fingers over your soft vaginal lips, letting them enfold your wetness without abandoning the tantalizing movements on your clit with his thumb.

You were so aroused, moaning softly at finally being touched in your much-needed area, you turned your face letting your cheek brush against his nose, and admired his strong veiny arm getting lost in your core; you were flailing and increasingly making a mess but you wanted to act bolder, you wanted to make up for all the times you couldn’t do it and felt you were pushing him away, so you wanted to be the one to take a little initiative and not get completely carried away with something Chan was starting.

“Ch-chan, I want to make you feel good…” you whimpered.

“And you do honey, don’t you? I love playing with your pussy” he whispered in your ear, this time with his fingertips superficially teasing your entrance. “Don’t you like it? God, you’re so fucking wet already.”

“Yes-yes, I do like it.”

“You’ve been stressed, let me take care of you, sweetie.”

Chan was beginning to tease you, his fingers not fully entering all the way to your sweet spot, his thumb tantalizing your clit, you were hopelessly desperate for something stronger, but you didn’t want him to do all the work.

You turned to see him again, his face was focused, his gaze dark and bright with desire; this was your chance, you had to act and stop being shy, do exactly what you wanted and what you wanted was also to provoke him a little. You smiled at him shyly but mischievously, you stirred and found a way to get out of his touch to quickly turn your body, turning your back to him, you held onto his knees and with your red face covered in slight embarrassment but lost in sexual desire, you began to move your hips, slowly and sensually over his crotch. Chan was completely surprised, but he let himself go, realizing your little attempts driving him crazy. Something in him was starting to take over, he found it so hot but tender the way you were surprising him more and more, and suddenly the immense and incredible desire to possess your body, to have you panting and exhausted asking for more.

Chan caressed your back, enjoying the pornographic sight of having your appetizing ass, half-visible through your short skirt, grinding on his cock; he bit his lip and in a desperate move roughly lifted your entire skirt to leave visible your ass and a small part of your exposed labia brushing against the rough denim of his jeans. You gasped, shaking your head and getting impatient, the rough fabric put a tingle in your core and every inch of you that was hard to breathe, you felt the stays of your corset tighten your skin, you longed to fuck him all at once.

“Aw, baby girl’s putting on a show, look at you, like a big girl, fuck, yes, keep doing it, baby” Chan moaned smugly with a rough voice and a cocky grin on his face that you couldn’t appreciate, ”You want to make me cum like this, don’t you, baby doll?”

You didn’t answer, your mind was occupied with the friction in your pussy that lightly battered your core. Your body burned with pleasure and slight embarrassment, you were adjusting to this new version of you but it was comforting to hear Chan's soft gasps and grunts indicating he was enjoying it. Grinding, a tiny lap dance, it was all new to you but you were making your mess in his cloth, pressing your pussy hard on him, managing to stimulate yourself more and more as Chan was having the fucking time of his life. He pulled his hands away from you for a second and watched your hips and ass move, fantasizing about having your pussy around his cock and you riding him exactly with that delicious sequence of movements.

Chan caressed your ass, going to his mind how beautiful it looked, so docile and submissive going in back and forth over his crotch, he squeezed your skin and the incredible desire to dominate you came back to him, like a strong, desperate charge in him. Chan held your hips tightly, lifting your body and forcing you to stop.

“Stay still” he ordered in his harsh voice, he delicately ran a finger between your folds drawing a sigh from you and began to caress your buttocks, “Your skin is so soft, princess…” he squeezed your ass, ”I love your ass, it's so cute… and easy to mark….. I know you're a good girl and can take them all.”

And unexpectedly, your first spanking, made you squeal and flinch in shock.

“You like it don't you, huh? Who knew that the smartest little girl of the class is actually a little whore who enjoys being spanked.”

And Chan continued, spanking you 10 times in all, fascinated with the idea of being the only one who could fucked you up like that, from the sight of your red ass with his hand imprinted on your skin. You whimpered in pain and pleasure, clutching at his knees, you couldn't even stop him, you had loved it, your whimpers and the sound of your skin being pounded filling your apartment, but your ass burned in pain, each spanking had been more intense than the other that you began to tear up slightly, almost like your pussy, wetting the inside of your thighs.

Chan grabbed your hips again, pulling you roughly against his lap again, you moaned at the friction on your ass. You whimpered a soft fuck.

“Keep grinding my cock, baby girl, give me a little show with your beautiful red ass.”

You kept doing it, not sure who could cum first, you wanted to but you were only overstimulating yourself and making your labia more sensitive with the constant friction. You adjusted your glasses and thought about how desperately you needed him so in one swift movement you turned your body, bringing your hands to the buttons of his pants, taking him by surprise.

“What are you doing, princess? Who let you boss yourself around?”

You looked into his eyes and he managed to intimidate you, something about him was so different from the last few times you'd done it, he was making you nervously excited, making your legs tremble. Chan leaned his body, getting closer to you and a smug smile formed on his face as your eyes looked shiny, your cheeks red and your makeup a little messed up. Messed up just how he wanted to have you tonight. You stood still, your hands in the waistband of his jeans; you swallowed nervously and with some embarrassment, you wanted to express your whole truth:

“I want to… feel you” you said in a trembling voice and retracted in seconds, remembering that you were going to leave your shyness behind, “I need you, Chan. I want to feel your cock, I want to fuck you.”

You sounded not needy but sincere and excited, your voice deepening, surprising your lover. Chan bit his lip, never believing you would say that sort of thing, as if the words cock and fuck were taboo coming out of your mouth, dirty and improper; his cock throbbed hard again, finding your dark lustful gaze behind your glasses fucking hot, making him uncontrollably horny to hear you talk like that no matter how immature it sounded… you were his sweet, tender, studious girl, now talking about how much you wanted his cock. It was one of his dirty dreams.

“Then come and get exactly what you want like a bad girl getting away with it.”

You blinked somewhat uncertainly, but with a mischievous smile you pulled down his pants and underwear with a little of his help until they were down to his calves. Your eyes sparkled at the sight of his well-erect cock, twitching as if it had a life of its own, you were scared and excited, thinking it even looked bigger since the last time you fucked. Chan groaned, feeling the release of his aching cock and the sound of him made you look into his eyes, his perfect slitted eyes radiating desire and his countenance and complexion exuding dominance and control. Before you could act, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back onto his lap.

“Make you cum on my cock, princess” his cock lightly pressed against his abdomen, throbbing in pleasure, you looked up at him, accepting your fate and thinking you were going to fuck him like that so you took his length, settling him at your entrance, but he stopped you, “Not like that, not yet, grind on it until you cum like the little slut you're behaving.”

You watched him from the arc of your glasses and positioned his thick cock between your folds, filling them completely, finally bringing the two warm sexes together which caused more than one sigh from both of you.

“Oh Chan” you whimpered and held onto his strong, broad shoulders.

You felt his length on your slick labia, opening your folds wide and rubbing your clit, grinding your wet sex hard against his until you felt every pulsation, it felt so good sliding in that you were making a mess again, this time you were more breathless, panting and feeling your orgasm close. You were eager, agitated and beginning to see stars; you looked down, your pussy hugging his veiny cock, playing with the sensitivity of his skin, his handsome manly face in pleasure as he babbled leaning back on the couch, his hands were on your hips, and you closed your eyes every now and then pushing yourself over the edge.

“Aw, baby, come on, you're going to cum on my cock? Do you like it? Tell me when you're about to cum.”

You gasped loudly in response, it was more than obvious, that what started as slow, sensual movements enjoying every second of the act turned into something faster, frantic, and desperate, looking for the release of your orgasm. Chan felt close as you began to move rapidly into him.

“Ch-channie, I'm about to, to… ah.”

“C'mon you can do it, hun, fuck, I'm close too.”

You panted, burying your hands in his shoulders, sighing heavily until you puffed out your chest and pressed them against your tight corset, when then you felt the intense release that made you embrace him, breathing in his scent as your lower half reacted violently making a mess and twitching its muscles in desperation. Chan cum almost at the same time as you did, making it filthy poetic, covering your folds and your couch in his semen, you experienced his restless cock collapsing in you and Chan cursing as he painfully felt each release spurting out of him after he had held it long enough.

You were both agitated, you were recovering but you were sure that your night was not going to end there. While you were still with your body leaning on his, Chan suddenly unzipped your corset, you pulled away from him to look at him and he was already sliding the garment down your arms to remove it and you let him do it, leaving you with your hard nipples and bare breast. He bit his lower lip beginning to caress them again entering your endless cycle of pleasure, it had been so long without having each other that you were both aware that your first orgasm was just almost a little warm-up, but you were so aroused by the intensity of it even though it wasn't the main act. Chan leaned close to your ear, whispering:

“Stand up, now.”

Tired, you obeyed him without a second thought, Chan did the same; you smiled happily at him, finding him adorable, despite being in the dirty act, his countenance and the fact that you were together enjoying each other was lovely, so you impulsively sought his lips, wanting to feel him again, you did so for a few short seconds but he didn't follow your act and instead surprised you with his hand on the back of your neck tugging your hair slightly to pull you away from him.

“You think I haven't noticed how much of a whore you've been acting… from the moment I got here… walking around with no underwear on… I think you've been a very, very bad girl.”

You watched him, his arm holding your hair looked so appealing and his kind of behavior excited every part of you, as if he wanted to assert authority and you were about to give in completely. You liked this Chan and you were just hoping for more intense sex by continuing to be treated like this.

“I just… wanted to stop being shy, like you said. Being a bad girl is asking for your cock?” you played, looking at him with big, bright eyes in false innocence.

His cock throbbed again, you were hitting him right in his most sensitive spot, your sweet naivety and innocence, it was obvious now you wanted to experience something harder and he was about to give it to you.

“I hope you know how bad girls are treated, provocative little sluts like you… they are treated for exactly what they are. On your knees now.”

Chan had fantasized about his cock in your mouth so many times that today was the perfect occasion when you were both needy and open to so many things because of the abstinence you had. Just when it was obvious you wanted to be used and he couldn't miss the opportunity.

You played with his shirt before getting on your knees, indicating that you wanted him to remove his clothes and he understood your subtle message, taking off his jacket and shirt, leaving you drooling at the sight of his muscular abdomen and erect cock in front of your face once you were on your knees. Your heart pounded.

“Take it all, little slut, use it like you know how, I want to fill your whole mouth with me” Chan moaned, watching you from above, taking your hair in a fist.

You had stopped being brave for a second and rose to look at him as you held his erection. He read your docile expression, your bright eyes in a gaze he knew well and adored with a mad passion, your look of uncertainty and innocence.

“Take it, baby girl, use your mouth and hands. You'll do fine.”

Chan smiled, grabbing his erection and running it down your cheek and around your lips. You stuck out your tongue, tasting his pink glans, running your tongue around his opening to taste every drop of his previous cum and his oozing pre cum, as if you were scooping a delicious ice cream. His taste and sensation filled every inch of you and with a little more confidence, you licked his entire warm, pulsating, wet length, still having room to feel him between your hands and stroke his cock. You were so excited and thrilled to explore absolutely everything about oral sex that you did your best to wrap your lips over his member to have absolutely the whole experience, you licked and licked, following his veins around it, reveling in the pulsing sensation of his needy sex and the gasps of an also needy Chan.

“That's right, baby, you're doing great, fu-fuck, play with my balls a little too” Chan whimpered.

Your ears twitched, almost thinking, oh, I'd forgotten and your hands massaged his sensitive soft testicles, not sure what you were doing but you licked them a little as you'd seen it was something that could be done, earning you from Chan a muffled moan and throwing his head back.

“Fuck, you're a naughty girl. Now put it in your mouth, come on, baby girl. Open your mouth.”

You salivated at his thick, raspy voice and did just as he commanded, his length filling your cavity and rubbing against the inside of your cheeks. You gasped with your mouth full, it felt so good in a way. In and out of you, enveloping your tongue and lips. Chan watched you, your gaze behind those glasses, your delicate mouth filled with his member were taking him to heaven, like never before, in a way it looked so dirty coming from you, on your knees with your breasts exposed and your mouth drooling and hands occupied with his big cock, Chan wanted to treasure the moment forever, besides the sensation that rocked the deepest in him, it was the best oral sex he had ever had and all because it was you giving it to him. You held onto his thighs, caressed his pubic skin and brought your hand up to touch his abs a little. Chan guided you gently, pushing your head and you found the perfect rhythm, bobbing your head, it was hot the first few moments, but desperately hot the next, your nose and eyes started to get sensitive, your jaw ached but it was worth every second.

Chan loved the slight imperfection of your act, but stopped being soft and tender as he said to you:

“I'm going to fuck your throat until it hurts to talk, baby girl.”

He started thrusting, you didn't even get a chance to whine fighting that it was too big, when he answered himself.

“You can take it, you can do it-fuck.”

His erection was reaching further and further down your throat, it brushed your uvula and for a second you felt embarrassed for your gag reflex but he continued to thrust until he reached a point you didn't think possible in your throat. You watched him, your eyes begging for mercy but he took no pity on you and began to fuck your throat and mouth, ramming you until you were sore. You squeezed your legs together, feeling your fluids slipping from how uncontrollably aroused you were. It felt so good, so wrong, your poor mouth being abused your first time. Chan grunted and whimpered, turning him on the image of you struggling with his big cock.

“Fuck, you're taking it so good. I'm about to cum” a high pitched moan escaped his lips, “Yes, yes-yes-yes- fuck” he began to babble.

Tears began to flow out of you again… thinking if it was that desperate and hot your pussy felt on its own. You could taste his orgasm, his pumping cock getting closer and closer until he cummed in your mouth, choking you a little once again. Chan grunted loudly, putting his head back and returned to pull his cock out of your mouth and messily left shots of his cum on your face. You took a deep breath and not knowing what exactly to do you swallowed heavily his cum and smiled proudly.

“Fuck, baby girl, did you swallow it? Good girl. Look at you.”

Chan stroked your already tousled hair, pushing the stuck hair away from your forehead by your light layer of released sweat. He took his cock in his other hand and kept rubbing it on your face, proud to have left you in such a state. Needy, messed up with cum on your sweet face.

“Good girl. Come here, sit on the couch, it's your turn.”

You nodded and obeyed him with a silly, deluded smile on your face, you were happy to please him and felt the night had no end. Chan now undressed himself, freeing himself of his jeans and underwear and got down on his knees in front of you, he removed your skirt, leaving you vulnerable and naked, for the first time in front of him.

“You are beautiful. I want to make you mine” he whispered.

He moved closer to your face, you playfully bit your lip, from every angle and distance he was so attractive to you that, still delusional you held his face in your hands as he tentatively kissed you, his hand again playing with your pussy. His lips moved down and you caressed the curls of his hair as he did the same act he did the first time you were together, sizzling kisses down your body until he reached your sensitive cunt. He feasted on your breasts and nipples before he got down there and kissed your skin and clit, driving you wild.

“Use your words, little girl, what do you want now?” he asked, his hands squeezing your thigh, his breath on your pussy.

You didn't think about it, “Chan, please…eat my-pussy. I need it.”

“You need it?” he chuckled softly.

He admired the sight of your swollen, wet pussy, it was going to be a pleasure to taste you, and he adored it. He slapped moderately hard on your vulva making it more flushed, flinching you and finally, his lips encircled your pubis and part of your labia to suck exquisitely on your clit. You moaned, still stroking his hair.

“Mmm, Channie-”

You lost your mind as soon as he rubbed his face on your clit, shaking his head. This time he focused on your sensitive spot, playing with your folds, spreading and joining them in constant motion stimulating you while his mouth and tongue tortured your clit, biting, sucking, and teasing it with movements with the tip of his tongue, staring at you as he made you lose your mind.

You arched your back, Chan knew you were close, he stroked your clit with his finger and lowered his mouth to the rest of your vulva making you whimper, sloppy licks with his thick, warm, naughty tongue across your labia, sucking them until he reached your throbbing entrance. You were so close again and Chan began to penetrate you with his tongue, pressing his nose into another sweet spot of yours in the process. You babbled his name in a desperate search to climax your ecstasy.

“Cum in my mouth, cum in my mouth, baby-make a mess” his voice vibrated in your core and earned with it the intense mess of your orgasm.

Chan licked your orgasm, making you shudder. You were tired, your limbs trembling. The excitement was already a pleasurable burden on your body and with Chan, there was still no end to it.

“Your pussy is so swollen and beautiful baby girl, it's all ready for me to fuck you.”

You looked him in the eye and didn't protest, “Come on,” he gasped as he carried you and you let yourself be hold by him to your bed to lay your naked body on it.

You were hoping for the best, to finally be filled by him, even though you knew it was going to hurt because of his size, the feeling was hotly indescribable, it was what you wanted all along, to be fucked by him. The foreplay had been intense, your body was already tired but you thought you were ready for the last act. Chan positioned himself, stroking his erect cock and leaned down, his thumb wiping the rest of cum on your face, then sliding and inserting his finger into your mouth.

You needed him now. Your mind forgot about the existence of condoms in your drawer, you wanted Chan to fuck you at once. Chan smiled, his lips glistening for your orgasm.

He pulled his finger away from your mouth and sweetly took your lips, tasting a bit of the other and gradually raised the tone of the kiss until he left you breathless with your lips swollen, begging for more of the feel of his lips with yours.

“I'll make you mine, my cum in your mouth and everywhere. I'm going to fill your tight little pussy up, baby.”

Your body trembled in excitement, you couldn't resist it anymore, and you almost begged in supplication, following his game.

“Chan, please fuck me I want your cum inside me. I need your cum inside me so bad.”

He went back to playing with his thumb around your mouth.

“Look at you, baby girl, begging and saying please when I'm going to fuck you hard. Break you in two. I won't be gentle.”

He sentenced, fulfilling his words and ramming his cock violently into your pussy, opening wide your entrance and causing you to scream. Chan admired the bulge formed in your belly, running his thumb finely over your skin. He was deep inside you, ramming into your cervix, filling every space of your walls. You whimpered but his pumping sex had never felt better, pulsing, warm and wet, living the full experience of his veins being squeezed through your walls. Chan first used you, to you adjust to his size, taking you by the waist and using your body, manipulating it with ease and roughness sliding on his cock.

He admired his member being consumed by your entrance, your tightness choking him and his tip pounding to your limit.

“Cha-channie, please” you whimpered in pain and pleasure, still wanting to make a mess of his cock. “God, you feel so good.”

Sounds of your soaked pussy colliding with his dick began to make themselves present.

“So-fucking tight, baby girl, fuck, fuck.”

When Chan sensed that you were adjusting, which wasn't quite true, he began to move, ramming you bestially, moving his hips in a rhythm, bumping your skin, and releasing every frustration in you. You whimpered and embraced him as soon as he leaned into you, his skin rubbing and teasing your clit with each deep thrust. You dug your nails into his back and clamped your legs closely together to his body, once again apart from the sizzling pain in your pussy, the burning pain in your belly indicated another successful and intense orgasm with Chan appeared.

Chan cursed at the feel of it, the muscles of your spongy walls clenching him and your grip on him growing tight, your nails marking his pale skin and broad back, never ceasing to pound into you and babbling in the stars, close to your ear.

“Cha-chan, please, I'm gonna cum...”

“Do it, baby, fuck, cum.”

You arched your back in pain, rolled your eyes because he was hitting your sweet spot before climaxing, squealed getting restless, and collapsed under his body with every muscle in your vagina acting on his constantly moving cock. Chan moaned and did not stop thrusting you until he reached his orgasm. After short moments you again climaxed more gently, but intensely for him.

“Fuck-mmm, baby, fuck, I'm gonna fill you up. I'm gonna make you mine forever ahh-”

He grabbed your neck without choking you and cum intensely deep inside your core, leaving his member sensitive, satisfied, and used. Chan slid his cock out of you, leaving you with the sensation of a huge emptiness combined with the tingle of your muscles collapsing and his cum spurting out of your hole. He rested his cock on your belly, still climaxing loudly, rubbing his aching cock with his hand and leaving more cum on your skin. His orgasm was long and wonderful and managed to make him exhausted and shaken.

Chan dropped his body to the side of yours, seeking your closeness and comfort, hugging you and hiding his face in your chest.

“Holy shit, baby, that was amazing. Did you like it? I'm tired, but I can fuck you like that every fucking day.”

You were surprised that he was with his face tenderly hidden in your chest, hugging you, but you accepted it with a smile and started stroking his hair. Both of you breathing heavily.

“I loved it, Chan.”

“Me, too, sweetheart” he lifted his face to look at you, his tone was softer and his sweet gaze now reflected sweetness and almost seeking affection, you were impressed by the incredible change. “I hope I wasn't so hard on you, next time we can change, you can tell me anything...”

“I loved it” you interrupted him.

“Doesn't your cute ass hurt anymore?” he pouted adorably, his hands traveling to your butt to caress it.

You shook your head, laughing softly. He looked so tender as if he hadn't moved your guts less than five minutes ago. His eyes sparkled and he looked so soft with his curly hair falling down his forehead.

“Okay” he smiled, “I needed this. I needed you” he caressed your waist. “Can I ask you one thing now?”

Post sex was making you drowsy, you were tired and the warmth of Chan's body felt so good.

“Mmm?” you hummed.

“Let's go out... on dates, let me get to know you more and more. I want to make you my girlfriend, y/n. I want to be your boyfriend” Chan spoke, sweet and needy.

Sleepiness left your body and your heart raced as it was everything you had dreamed of all along... you finally knew he meant it. You looked at him, blinking softly.

“And I want to be your girlfriend, Chan.”

————————

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[liberalsarecool]

From Professor Christopher Robichaud, Senior Lecturer in Ethics and Public Policy, Harvard:

“I'll say this, and then I likely won't be saying much more on here for quite some time, to the relief of some, I'm sure. But my farewell warning is this.

Everyone in the days and weeks ahead will use this loss as an opportunity to seek validation for their own hobby horse complaint. Harris lost because she campaigned with Liz Cheney. Harris lost because she didn't embrace Gaza. Harris lost because she didn't choose Shapiro. Harris lost because she wasn't progressive enough (possibly my favorite one).

Take a good, hard look at the map, my friends. Trump has won the popular vote. Trump ran the table. Explaining that with your hobby horse issue isn't going to cut it, tempting and consoling as it may be. The problem isn't the electoral college. The problem isn't that we didn't have a full primary. The problem isn't Harris. The problem isn't that Dems didn't have the right message. The problem isn't even inflation or the border.

The problem is so much worse than any of those things. Those are all technical problems, with straightforward expertise fixes. If only it were so! No, our problem is not technical. It's very much adaptive. A party that embraced the Big Lie, supported an insurrection, and has been selling conspiracy-addled madness for years, [which] was widely and enthusiastically embraced. Voter turnout was profound! People didn't sit this out.

Simply put, the problem--as some of you have rightly posted--is cultural. America, culturally, has completely abandoned a politics of decency and respect and has embraced instead a politics of resentment, revenge, false nostalgia, and bullying. And if you look at the demographics, you also won't be able to comfort yourself that it's just a white thing, or a working class thing, or an education thing. It's multi-class, multi-gender, multi-educational, and multi-racial. That's what winning the popular vote means. That's what running the table amounts to.

A culture that has descended to this level of debasement is not easily fixed. In fact it may not ever be fixed. The timeline for changing something like this is decades--at best--not two-to-four year election cycles. You can extend that in this case, because with the GOP likely controlling all branches of federal government and the courts, they will ensure that mechanisms are in place to keep them in power long after their popularity has waned. You can count on that.

The GOP evolved into a party of rage, lies, and revenge--and it correctly diagnosed that there was and is a large appetite for that. That's what the country wants. At least enough of the country wants it to ensure broad appeal and widespread electoral success. The old GOP will never return, and the Dems have nothing to say to American culture at the moment. Nothing. They've been speaking to a country that's gone, like dust in the wind.

And that's my final thought, which my posts last night alluded to. The America I knew and loved is gone. This new America--nah, I won't even bother. I will say that cultural change is less likely to occur in politics or in the academy. You're not going to get people to see how vulgar they've become through a clever argument or a nice campaign speech, that's for sure.

This would be time for the arts, broadly understood, to step in. The arts can change hearts and minds. Too bad the arts have been systematically dismantled in education in this country, and on the other end, the tech industry's assault on the arts through AI is sure to hollow out any good-faith efforts that might emerge.

And for the rest of the world, America's rightward lurch is, I'm afraid, bad news for you too. I know you know this. Because it's not isolated, is it? It's just at the moment the most prominent example of a burgeoning trend. And this will embolden others in other countries, to be sure. We need not speculate what happens when countries become mired in lies, embrace resentment, and savor bullying. We know exactly what happens. Bloody conflict and global destabilization.

The first quarter of the 21st century will, therefore, in hindsight, be viewed as the seed-planting stage for the absolute shit show that's about to unfold globally over the next two and a half decades. Count on it.

Adopt whatever coping and endurance strategies you have available. You're going to need it.

I think that's all I've left to say.”

The least evolved. The most paternalistic.

The bully. The liar. The most resentful.

This is the reality we are in. FOX and Republicans have been repeating the script for decades.

The Dark Ages are conservative aspirations.

The abdication of values/principles is complete.

'Good faith' no longer exists on the Right. The more reprehensible the action/person, the bigger the addiction. Trump proves this.

Anti-paternalism, anti-fascism and anti-bullying are my paths forward. Join me.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Brother's Best Friend - Part 14

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: swearing, a smidge of angst, and some good ol' fluff because that's what BBF is all about!

WC: 2900+

Part 1 | Masterlist

You look up as the door creaks open, your hand sweating against Jake’s palm. Your chest tightens and your head swims. Suddenly, your vision blurs.

…

You hear your name, but it’s muted, like someone is saying it underwater. You open your eyes and see two anxious faces hovering over you. You try to sit up, but your head is heavy and your limbs are weak and you’re disoriented because Jake and Bradley’s voices are getting louder and more overwhelming with every second. You want to tell them to be quiet but the words can’t seem to form in your mouth, or, rather, you’re far too exhausted to make the effort to speak.

Slowly, you sit up, blinking into your lap as Jake says something about an ambulance. You pass a hand over your brow, noting the sweat that’s gathered there, as Bradley starts listing off the various nutrient deficiencies that you may or may not possess. You glance up at the two of them feebly.

Both enormous, grown-ass men are crouched before you, staring at you in terror.

“What happened?” Jake asks and you blink at him slowly, wondering the same thing.

“Are you okay?” Bradley says, tilting his head to the side so he could catch your gaze.

You nod uncertainly, because you’re not a hundred percent sure that you are. You look around unhurriedly, taking in your surroundings. You’re on the porch of your house in a cute little dress, and the porchlight is on because it’s dark out. And then it hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re still on the porch. Has Bradley been informed of the relationship? Or did he already know? Was he angry? Did you get caught in the crossfire and get knocked out?

You blink anxiously – and more alertly – between Jake and Bradley, trying to assess the situation. Neither of them seems to be paying any attention to one another; only to you. “What…” you start, but your voice croaks and you bring a hand up to your throat self-consciously. You clear your throat and start again. “What’s going on?” you ask casually, as though you’re not sitting unsteadily on the ground with no recollection of the last god knows how many minutes.

Bradley’s eyes widen in outrage. “What’s going on is you fucking fainted!”

You look at him with soaring eyebrows. “I did?”

“Right before Bradley came out to take out the trash,” Jake says, giving you a meaningful look.

“Ohhh,” you reply, dragging out the word. “The trash.” You nod again, trying to organize all of the information in your presently scrambled brain. “The trash,” you repeat.

“It’s garbage day tomorrow,” Bradley clarifies.

“Right.” You rub your sweaty palms on your thighs. “Garbage day.”

“And then you just” – Bradley makes a motion with his arm to indicate that you toppled over like a tree might fall when it’s chopped down, and you eye him thoughtfully, doubting your collapse was that dramatic. “You're lucky Seresin was here to catch you. You could have cracked your head open on the concrete.”

You glance over at Jake who’s keeping an unusually straight face. “So lucky,” you mutter without a hint of sarcasm because you don’t think you’re quite capable of that just yet. Nonetheless, Jake throws you a pointed look.

“You’re home late,” Bradley says casually, but you could tell that he’s concerned. “Did you party a little too hard?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. “Me?” you ask, amused that he’s the one asking you this question and not the other way around.

“Did you take something?” he asks. “Not judging,” he adds. “Just need to tell the ambulance what you’re on.”

Jake briefly drops his head into his hand, but recovers just as quickly. “I don’t think she’s on anything,” he says quietly.

You give Jake a sour look because the only thing you’re on is four vintage cocktails and an espresso, and he knows it.

Bradley sighs. “Where were you, anyway?” he asks. “That Jake had to go pick you up?”

You narrow your eyes at your brother and then at your boyfriend, who is expertly avoiding your gaze. Clearly, he’s decided that Bradley is not equipped to handle two calamities in the same evening. “I was on a date,” you state contemptuously.

Jake stares at you rigidly while Bradley cringes. “I'm guessing it didn’t end well?”

You press your lips together irritably. “You could say that.”

Jake rolls his eyes and stands up. “Ambulance is here,” he says just as the ambulance pulls up and two paramedics rush up your driveway.

“Fuck,” you mutter. “You guys actually called an ambulance?”

“We thought you died,” Jake replies curtly.

You look up at the back of his head as he waves over the medics. “Maybe check for a pulse next time,” you say, your ability to utilize sarcasm apparently restored.

…

After you are thoroughly checked out and given the okay to stay home for the night, you trudge tiredly to the living room couch, Jake and Bradley hot on your heels.

“You should go to bed,” Jake says as you plop down into the cushions. “You need to rest.”

You close your eyes, sinking further into the cushions with a groan. “I won’t make it,” you respond, feeling the exhaustion as if it were a physical thing weighing you down.

Bradley places his hands on his hips. “Jake’s right, you need to get some sleep.”

“I am,” you whisper, your eyelids heavier than they've ever been.

“I’ve got an early day,” Bradley says apprehensively, as though he doesn’t want to leave.

“Go on, I’ll stay with her,” Jake says.

Bradley waits a beat, considering the offer, and then turns to look at his friend. “Thanks, man.” Bradley replies, giving Jake a pat on the shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

Jake nods without looking him in the eye and, once Bradley is upstairs, he approaches you slowly. He takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch.

You open your eyes about halfway, watching him warily. “I don’t think it’s contagious,” you murmur.

Jake doesn’t laugh. Instead, he eyes you grimly from his corner of the couch.

“Why aren’t you talking?” you ask, getting a little nervous because Jake isn’t normally the quiet type.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes and then squeezes his eyes shut and brings his hands up to his face. He pulls in a lungful of air, and then another. And then he lets out a sob.

You open your eyes all the way and even lift your head up off the cushion slightly. “Are you crying?”

Jake inhales sharply again and then releases an unsteady breath. He rubs the moisture from his eyes away roughly and lets out another sigh. “You scared the shit out of me,” he mutters, his voice just barely above a whisper. His glistening eyes finally meet yours.

You stare at him. “Did you actually think I died?”

“I’ve never seen anybody faint before,” he admits.

“You’ve seen planes being shot out of the sky,” you remind him. Surely this can’t have been more traumatic than his job.

Jake gapes at you. “Your eyes rolled to the back of your head.”

You grimace. “Eww. You don’t have to be so graphic.”

Jake chuckles and sniffles. “I’ve never been more terrified in my life.”

You drop your gaze into your lap. “Is that why you didn’t tell him?”

Jake sighs and brings a fist to his mouth. “What would I say, Baby B? ‘Hey, by the way, I’m dating your sister and she’s so stressed out about it that she’s fallen unconscious on the doorstep?’ Sorry, bro?”

You pout sullenly. “That’s not why I passed out.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Because if I’m the reason –”

“You’re not the reason,” you assure him, although you’re fairly certain he hit the nail right on the head.

Jake releases another heavy sigh. “I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

You close your eyes and rest the back of your head on the cushion once more. “Okay, Seresin,” you respond calmly. “But, if you don’t, I will.”

Jake slides closer to you on the couch and puts his arm above your head. You lift it slightly so that he could tuck his arm underneath, and then you let him pull you in. Falling asleep in this kind of embrace is all you’ve ever wanted since you met him but, alas, this moment feels less than magical.

…

The following morning, you’re startled awake by an obnoxious grinding sound that gradually turns to a sort of whirring. Bradley is in the kitchen making his morning shake. You glance around the room because you’re alone on the couch.

“Is Jake gone?” you call out to your brother.

“Good morning to you too,” Bradley calls back and then walks into the living room holding two shakes. “Made you breakfast.”

You cringe at the green liquid in the glass. “I prefer to chew my food.”

“Well, you’re in luck then,” he says. “Because the blender’s busted so this might be a little chunky.”

You hold back a gag. “Thanks,” you croak, taking the glass from Bradley’s hand as he sits on the couch at your feet.

“Sleep well?” he asks, taking a large gulp of his shake.

“I think so,” you respond, propping yourself up on a throw pillow and taking a sip. “This isn’t so bad, actually.”

Bradley shoots you a self-satisfied look. “I put Nutella in yours.”

You smile at him. “Sorry for the scare.”

Bradley watches you silently for a moment before taking another swig of his breakfast. “I’m concerned, Y/N.”

You sit up straighter. “I’m fine now.”

Bradley shakes his head. “I’m talking about Jake.”

You blink at him innocently while your guts twist in on themselves with dread. “What about Jake?”

“Have you noticed anything off about him lately?” he asks.

“Uh.” You gulp, stalling. “Not really. Have you?”

Bradley sighs. “He’s just been sort of…I dunno. Weird.”

“How so?” you ask, even though you know exactly how so. No doubt Bradley has taken note of Jake’s sudden disinterest in women and it strikes him as odd, considering his history.

“That chick he was dating, remember the one we teased him about? I’m pretty sure he’s still with her,” he says.

You take a long sip of your drink before responding. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I just have a bad feeling about it.”

You glance up at him nervously. “Why?”

Bradley meets your gaze with a defeated expression. “She’s changing him.”

You are far too guilt-ridden to keep looking your brother in the eye, so you drop your gaze to instead study the puke-green color of your shake. “For the worse?” you ask quietly.

Bradley sighs. “I can’t tell.”

You bite your lip, trying not to frown too hard. “He shouldn’t have to change,” you say.

Bradley nods slowly. “That’s what I was thinking.” You swallow another chunky mouthful of your breakfast shake as Bradley rises from the couch. “You should get some more sleep,” he says. “I’ll see you after work.”

As Bradley shuffles about the kitchen, you contemplate your relationship with Jake, wondering if Bradley might be right. You fell for Jake long before he became boyfriend material and there are qualities about him you wouldn’t change for the world. But have there been things that you’ve tried to correct? Have you been unwittingly changing him? Shaping him into something he was never meant to be?

As you sit there in thought, Jake walks through the front door with a paper bag and a tray of coffees. “I brought breakfast!” he calls when Bradley peeks his head out of the kitchen.

“Thank god,” you mutter, setting down your half-drunk shake.

Bradley gives you a look. “I heard that.”

You purse your lips to hide a grin. “I’m hungry!”

“I fed you!” Bradley exclaims.

“I’m hungry for real food, not plants,” you whine.

Jake enters the living room proudly. “Real food, coming right up,” he declares.

“Oh my god, I love you!” you exclaim.

Jake’s hand freezes in midair as he’s about to set down his offering on the coffee table. You meet his gaze in alarm, realizing what you’d just said. What you’d just admitted. Meanwhile, Bradley strolls into the living room, humming a tune, as oblivious as ever.

Your heart pounds in your chest as Jake slowly lowers the bag onto the table, his eyes still locked on yours. “I made you breakfast,” Bradley says, sticking his hand into the bag to retrieve a wrapped bagel. “But him, you love.” Bradley proceeds to unwrap his bagel. “I see how it is,” he says after taking a bite.

You swallow around a giant lump in your throat, suddenly not remotely hungry. “I…” you start, your voice wavering uncontrollably. “I… love food,” you conclude.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “You were talking to the bagels?”

You notice Jake suck in his cheeks as he tries not to laugh.

You nod vehemently, feeling like you might just faint again. “Can you pass me one?” You reach your hand out, ignoring Jake’s face completely as he hands you a bagel.

“Alright, kids,” Bradley says. “I’m out.” He starts for the door but, just before leaving, he calls out, “Behave.”

The sound of the door closing behind him makes you severely nauseated, because it directly precedes the moment you have to face Jake. You glance up at him slowly as he digs his own bagel out of the bag. Finally, his eyes meet yours. “’Sup, Baby B?” he says nonchalantly, and you can tell that he’s prepared to overlook the slip if you are. For all he knows, it was a completely innocent statement and meant nothing at all.

But you know otherwise. And perhaps it’s the residual stress or the lack of sleep, or perhaps it’s the fear that your brother might be right about your influence over Jake, but you suddenly feel compelled to tell him. You suddenly feel like he has a right know. “I wasn’t talking to the bagels,” you blurt out.

Jake glances up at you in surprise. He gives you a small smile. “You don’t say,” he responds wryly.

You let out an impatient sigh, annoyed that he’s being so flippant. “I’m being serious.”

Jake nods. “Oh, I know. You were talking to the coffee, obviously.” He tries to hand you a cup.

“Jake!” you exclaim. “Stop being an idiot! I’m telling you I love you!”

Jake sets the cup down and blinks at you with a small, wonderstruck smile, like he can’t quite believe that you’ve said it again. “You mean it?” he asks.

You stare at him wide-eyed, alarmed that that’s all he’s got to say. But it’s not as if you can take it back now. You nod hesitantly.

Jake straightens his back and grimaces, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

You watch him in outrage. His reluctance to engage on account of your brother is no longer cute. You attempt to compose yourself, to hide the pain your face might otherwise betray. You rise from the couch in silence and begin to walk away.

“No” – Jake starts, catching you by the arm before you’ve even cleared the coffee table – “that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.”

You yank your arm out of his grasp, but he just takes your waist instead. “Let go!” you shout, twisting away, and Jake immediately releases you, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Wait,” he pleads desperately.

“Wait for what?” you yell. “For you to finish freaking out?”

Jake looks like he might be on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“I wasn’t looking for you to say it back,” you declare. “But I admit that I was hoping for a more considerate acknowledgement.”

Jake takes a step toward you. “Can I touch you again?” he asks, holding his hands about six inches away from either of your arms.

“No,” you respond stubbornly, not looking him in the eye.

Jake sighs, bringing his hands up to his eyes and sliding them bleakly down his face. “Do you really think I would have ever done this if I wasn’t already in love with you?”

You glance up at him, still frowning. “Done what?” you ask quietly.

Jake furrows his eyebrows. “Can I please touch you?”

You press your lips together to keep them from quivering and nod your head.

Jake put his palms on either side of your face and takes another step toward you so that he could rest his forehead over yours. “I’m sorry I’m an idiot,” he says.

You let out a shallow sigh, wondering if perhaps you’ve overreacted. “You don’t have to apologize for being yourself,” you respond glumly.

Jake snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, feeling your mouth stretch into a tiny smile despite your irritation.

Jake brushes his thumbs across your cheeks. “I loved you before I even realized I liked you.”

You meet his gaze skeptically. “That seems improbable.”

Jake grins. “Ever the romantic.”

You roll your eyes as his hands fall to your shoulders.

“I never would’ve gone there with you – kissed you, lied to Bradley” – Jake frowns slightly. “Never in a million years, Baby B. If I didn’t know without a shadow of a doubt that I was in love with you.”

You gaze up at him, justifiably speechless. The fact that he didn’t make a move until he was absolutely certain sets your heart aflutter. You squeeze yourself into him and mutter sheepishly, “So, you love me back, then?”

Jake chuckles and wraps his arms around you tightly. “You’re unbelievable,” he says. “Of course I fucking love you back.”

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A/N: The rest of the list will be in the comments. As always, let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore.

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[toxicanonymity]

Hello sweet toxic! May I pretty please have an age gap fic or drabble with game version of Jackson Joel ( my favorite long and grey haired man )!

Maybe something where in the beginning Joel comes off as shy and nervous and sweet but once he and reader get together he’s got the nastiest fucking mouth she’s ever heard once he’s confident that she likes him as a love interest

parts

JOEL x f!READER | 1.8k

"He scanned you head to toe, then let out an alright fine sigh. 'Tonight, ya can leave any time. Ya’ain’t mine yet, so ya don’t gotta do anything I say...'"

NOTES: Hi sweet nonnie ❤️ I watched some tlou 2 gameplay for this, so I hope it helped. idk if I met the "love" interest part but she makes her interest known. Joel is quiet, then dom / dirty

WARNINGS: 18+ Age gap (Joel 60s/reader 20s-40s), objectification of reader, slutty descriptions of men as usual. Joel calls her "honey" and one time, "little girl" (condescending). Beginnings of D/s dynamic, no arrangement, no consummation. Joel holds out, a little grumpy/mean. talk of being owned. degradation, praise, body/pussy inspection.

He stood like a man who no one could bother. Stone cold and solid, with a face that always meant business. His clothes were rugged and worn-in like a cowboy, and the obscenity of his tight jeans left nothing to the imagination, from the back or the front.

The first time you became aware of him, it was from behind, and you did a double take. He ran a hand down the back of his head, smoothing his shoulder-length mane with his other hands on his hip. He was talking to Tommy, and when you heard his voice, the twang put you at ease. He sounded like a nice guy, nicer than he looked.

Your first time at the mess hall, he was kind enough to show you around. You took that as a go-ahead to follow him around anywhere. You began to watch him around Jackson. Not exactly stalking him, but you didn't have anyone else to latch onto. You learned where he went, and you happened to go there too. You were full of questions about how things worked. He always took it seriously. He was a good teacher and didn’t seem interested in anything but helping you when you wanted help.

He taught you how to ride a horse—he must not have noticed you arrived on one. Your loins buzzed as he demonstrated how to sit. His big hands on the reins and the horn were enough to make you wet, but the bulge of his jeans and the way it shifted as he started off at a slow walk. “Now look close, okay? See how I hold it?” You were looking very close.

He taught you how to shoot. Stood behind you and you never felt more safe than holding a pistol with his arms around yours, his chest against your back.

“Attagirl,” he said when you shot the glass bottle target. “Look at that,” he marveled.

To be fair, you weren’t (just) trying to get him in bed. You had lost your traveling party and you joined another one but you felt like the odd one out. It never felt like you had someone to look out for you, specifically you. You hadn’t felt the affection or encouragement of a big, capable man in a long time.

Still, there was no denying you had a crush on him. It felt like a shock that he didn’t have women following him around in droves, until you got to know him and found out he was pretty shy. He didnt't seem to have much interest in anything but practicalities and survival. He was sweet, but never crossed a line.

Even when you started crossing some yourself. He took you on an errand one day, and he was buckling in your seatbelt, and you stopped is hand. You put his hand on your thigh, and watched his face. He kept the same, composed expression, but he couldn’t hide the blush that rose to his cheeks. He left his hand there on your thigh for a moment, then pulled away without acknowledging your move. The time it took him to move his hand made you think he liked it there. It was as though he didn’t want to take it the wrong way, wasn't sure your intentions. He cleared his throat, finished buckling you in, and ran his hand over his smooth, gray hair. It was always so well-kept. You had to wonder what it’d look like first thing in the morning,

One night, at the tipsy bison, you came in by yourself in a short dress. He looked you up and down and gave you a curious look, but didn’t acknowledge you. He was talking to Tommy. Tommy craned his neck to get a look, raised his eyebrows, and gave you a nod before grinning at his brother and resuming their conversation. Tommy was hot, too, but he was taken. Otherwise you’d love to see him in nothing but that ponytail. You sat at the other end of the bar and Joel tried not to look at you, but Tommy gave you a wink.

Another night, you showed up to the mess hall too late for dinner, and he was on his way out. He lived close enough and offered to make you something at his place, no problem.

When you came inside, you took off your boots, he took your coat, and when he finished hanging it up, he looked back to see you in a thin, low cut shirt and no bra. His mouth hung open and you gave him a flirtatious smile, as though to say, what?

“Ya’ain’t cold, are ya?” He asked with a pink hue creeping up his neck. He rubbed his beard.

“No, are you?” You asked.

“No,” he muttered, then composed himself and went to the kitchen alone.

When he came to serve dinner, your eyes were on his jeans. The heft of his manhood was always apparent, but there seemed to have been some growth in the time since you’d been at his house. You leaned over the table as you ate your meal, and he tried to keep his eyes off your chest. It was a small, round table, and there wasn’t much of anywhere else to look. He looked at his meal as he ate. You looked at his forearms.

After he finished eating, he dabbed each corner of his mouth with his napkin, folded it, dabbed his beard, and cleared his throat. Meanwhile, your foot nudged his ankle. His face darkened. Your foot moved up his pants, and reached the seat of his chair. He didn’t bat your foot away, but he didn’t look at you until your foot slid right up his thigh and gently nudged the hard bulge in his jeans.

His strong chest heaved, and he didn’t make a move, but his face was reddening as he cleaned his hands with the same napkin.

He looked up as he finished wiping his hands. “Think I’m your plaything, little girl?” He harshly smacked the cloth napkin down on the table, then his strong hand wrapped around your entire foot in his lap. His eyes darkened with a forward tilt of his head, and his voice took on an edge. “Or you tryin’ to be mine?”

You rubbed your lips together and looked at him fondly. He raised his eyebrow to prod for a response.

“Wanna be yours,” you answered matter-of-factly.

“You dunno what you want, girl.” He pushed your foot away, then adjusted himself.

When he stood up to take the dirty dishes, the silhouette in his jeans made you throb. He did the dishes, and when he was finished, he opened a beer.

He walked through the dining area on his way to the living room. “Still here,” he muttered, but didn’t stop to talk. He sat down on the sofa and turned on the radio, not inviting you to join him.

You joined him anyway.

You sat on the sofa, not too close, with your hands folded in your lap.

“You wanna know what it means to be mine?” Joel asked.

“Yes, please,” you answered.

“It means I own you,” he said.

“Okay,” you agreed. “I’m yours.”

He looked at you skeptically. "I’ain’t agreed to own ya yet,” he clarified. "Ain't just something ya do. Takes work from both'a us."

"of course," you acknowledged.

“Gotta know it’s somethin’ ya really want, and if it is, we’ll agree on some rules, safe words and shit.”

“Okay,” you agreed excitedly.

He scanned you head to toe, then let out an alright fine sigh. “Tonight, ya can leave any time. Ya’ain’t mine yet, so ya don’t gotta do anything I say, okay?”

You nodded.

“But later on if ya *are* mine, you do what I say, when I say it.”

He was so serious and official about this, it sounded like he was briefing his men for some kind of operation.

“Okay” you agreed.

"so what's it mean to be mine?" He asked.

you shrugged. "You do what you want with me."

He nodded hesitantly.

“It means I take care'a ya, protect ya, and I own your body. it ain’t yours anymore,” he looked you up and down. “It’s mine,” he stated emphatically. “*if* I decide I want it.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” You asked.

He blew out air through puffed cheeks as if there was a long list.

“Ain’t got patience for brats.”

”I can be good,” you promised.

”Ain’t got patience for tears either. Too distracting out here, still gotta focus on survivin'.'

You tried not to show your worry.

”Ain’t sure ya can handle it,” he admitted

"Ain’t lookin to break in some tight little pussy while she cries and bleeds, either.” he cocked an eyebrow at you, and grabbed the massive protrusion in his jeans. “This ain’t no joke, honey. I don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“I’m not a virgin,” you insisted.

“Yeah? Well ya better fit four fingers 'fore ya 'spect me to try it."

“And I promise I’ll do what you say.”

Joel sighed. “Alright, take your clothes off.." He held up his hands to acknowledge your freedom "OR leave, and we’ll forget this ever happened”

You obediently stripped.

He took sips of his beer as he watched your body emerge from your clothes. “Alright,” he nodded. “Good girl.”

Once you were bare naked, he instructed you to turn around. You did just as he asked.

“God damn,” he whispered. “Now, c’mere.”

With him manspreading on the sofa, he made you stand between his knees and bend over.

“Spread your pussy for me,” he demanded.

You hesitated.

“Don’t have to,” he reminded you.

You reached back and tried to do it with one hand, one finger on each side of the lips. “Like this?”

”Both hands, darlin’. “

You spread your pussy lips for him with both hands.

”Good girl,” he said. “Wide as ya can. Wanna see your parts if they’re gonna be mine.”

You pulled wider

He let out a low whistle. “Juicy little thing. Sure would like to use it...But I’m thinkin’ it might not fit, honey.”

“Why don’t you try it?” You asked.

You turned around and tried to straddle him. He visibly tensed. You reached for the bulge in his jeans.

He snatched your wrist to stop you. “You don’t get to touch me without askin’,” he admonished you. “Notice I didn’t touch you that whole time?”

Your face heated in shame, and his hand loosened. You got off of him.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll think about it? ‘

“I’ll think about it.”

Your eyes were tearing up.

“Ya did good, honey, it’s okay,” he promised. He picked up your clothes and helped dress you. “Just ain’t the kinda choice ya make on the fly. You gotta think about it too, okay?”

You finished getting dressed and nodded.

“I’ll think about it too,” you agreed.

“Good girl,” he answered, rose to his feet, and gave you a kiss on the forehead. Then he got your coat and opened the door. As you began to leave, he stopped you, “Hey,” he lowered his voice. “Ya got a beautiful body. Anyone’d be lucky to own it.”

---

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Thank you for reading 🖤🖤

[shoezuki]

hi hello so for any people curious bout the dream beef i am talking about im gon chronicle it all here in a hopefully fully contextual way for both longterm weirdos and new people who dont know bout my parasocial beef w dream. ill try to keep my biases out of it somewhat but anyways,

this began with a podcast Tommyinnit and Jack Manifold have together in which they had philza as a guest. Episode 9 is currently behind a paywall on their patreon but they have a youtube channel where they post them publically as well. Not sure if they make all their episodes public eventually or not but i digress.

Twitter user _constel_ has posted 5 clips from the podcast in question that contain their discussion about dream. I have downloaded the videos but tumblr doesnt want me to put them in this post so i will try and sum up each clip as I go.

Clip 1: Phil starts talking about how once the dsmp was done people would joke about how their 'contracts' would be over and they would be allowed to talk about things behind the scenes. philza mentions the infamous philza tweet in response to dream.

for context, the main discussion is around this exchange from around february 2021, where dream 'jokingly' argues that he is responsible to tommy's high viewership on youtube:

Most of it the tweets are deleted by both parties but it was very much a whole thing. Phil has apparently joked about revealing the context of his reply 'when he retires' (mentioned clip 1).

Jack Manifold had apparently been in a call with tommyinnit when the exchange was happening and recalls tommy being extremely stressed. The context philza gives is that he was texted by tommy to look at the thread while he was going on a walk and tommy was panicking over if dream was genuine (mentioned clip 2). Philza says "I'll find out if he's fucking joking' and that he essentially vibe checked dream. Tommy also states that after the twitter exchange he legitimately wrote in his diary to never be rude to dream: "never be horrible to dream. It's not worth it. It makes me too sad". Additionally jack manifold establishes that he hated dream from the beginning, they hate each other, and that, although he acknowledges dream aided him through the dream smp, he hates how dream 'takes ownership of other people and their accomplishments because he was a guiding hand' (mentioned clip 3).

Jack manifold mentions that tommy was 16 during this exchange and philza additionally says it was out of line (Clip 4). Philza more openly talks about there being 'reds flag after red flags' with dream in clip 5.

OKAY thats honestly a vague description and theres a LOT more so watch the clips if u want. Heres another tweet 'summarizing' it as well. But anyways this of course had people talking about dream again, some people (accidentally?) acting like this is about dream smp lore, and a lot of people concerned about how tommy was afraid to upset dream and would blame himself when dream picked fights with him.

Dream's response on dreamwastaken was to tweet about how he appreciated everyone who was on the server dispite differences, as well as a zip file to download the dsmp server/world file.

Worth noting there is a limitation on how many people can download the file within 24 hours so now people are only getting an error message when trying to access it which is fucking funny. On his private he also tweeted "love and appreciate you guys <3 very happy to be uploading again :) hope to keep it rolling" (Im not cropping out the reply its funny)

Thats all hes said so far, I havent seen tommy or jack manifold talking about it either. technically it isnt outright in response to their podcast but obviously everyone is taking it as such.

final stuff/my thoughts: dream has obviously had a tendency to kinda 'take credit' for 'making' the streamers who were on the dsmp and its notable that in his tweet he still acts like his server was the reason for people's fame and relationships. Saying 'a group of creators most of which would never have collaborated under any other circumstance got together and made something really cool' is just his thinly veiled way of still taking credit for tommy's fame and the relationships he and others have made and its moronic. Not to mention dsmp was very much NOT the server that got these specific people together, i mean techno and phil met through minecraft mondays, tommy and jack manifold met both of them through smp earth i believe. Even if the dsmp wasnt a thing they probably would have collaborated with other members through mcc eventually. the idea that the dsmp was what brought them together and a bunch of minecraft clowns would 'never have collaborated under any other circumstance' is stupid.

anyways sorry this is long as shit. im going to pray dream doesnt let this go for at least 3 to 5 business days as per usual

[impactrueno]

Beetlejuice clearly wasn't interested in Lydia when they met, so when do you think he actually fell for her? Was he so impressed by Lydia defeating him that he developed a little crush?

i think this might be the biggest thing i've been turning around in my head since the sequel dropped. how did bro get to this point. i need to know. you weren't like this where we left off, what happened during that huge time gap????

this is where canon ends and conjecture begins, you just have to theorize and fill in the gaps yourself with whatever makes the most sense to you, which is what i've been trying to do this whole time. so please bear with me here.

i don't know how much i want share or save for my comics because i don't know how much he would actually reveal about this but whatever we ball

edit: ok so i scrolled back up to this after finishing writing this and as it turns out i have no self control and i ended up sharing everything that crossed my mind. craziest stream of consciousness i've ever written down. strap on and keep your limbs inside the ride at all times. whatever. we BALL.

let's review their first encounter from his point of view:

you're hired to scare the deetzes, right? so you do just that. excellently you might add. just when you're about to terrorize their teenage daughter, barbara banishes you and the party is over. what fucking losers right? you get the sense that adam and barbara care about this girl so you make some remark about her and it pisses them off. haha. also whoa where did this place come from? damn adam, who could've guessed he had it in him. you forget about everything else and dance your way to dante's inferno room.

after spending a respectably tasteful evening with those ladies, you're chill now. relaxing under your little sun lamp to work on your tan.

someone walks in looking for adam and barbara. don't they know they're dead?

"are you a ghost too?"

"i'm the ghost with the most, babe."

hold on a sec, who's even—

...well hey. it's the girl.

the girl who can see ghosts, and she's talking to you.

target acquired. this one's your ticket out of this hellhole.

"you look like somebody i can relate to," you tell her. relate how? doesn't matter. you're ensnaring her with your affable demeanor like you always do, make people feel like you're pals with them first and foremost. she seems like a nice girl, so this should be easy. you tell her upfront that you want to get out of there and you need her help to do so.

"i want to get in," she says.

whoa there.

what? she wants to get in? she says that in response to you saying that you wanted out. she really has no idea what it's like on the other side, huh. but shit, that kinda stops you in your tracks a bit. this girl wants to die. this young? that's not right. makes no sense.

"...why?"

she just looks at you and says nothing. jesus. ok maybe it's none of your business so let's back it up. you're losing control of the conversation and you're on a mission here. you figure if she helps you get out, you might as well talk her off that ledge or show her how shitty it is on the other side or somethin'. frankly, you can't afford to care right now. you're not entirely sure why she thinks things would be better on the side you're so desperate to get out of, but alright. doesn't matter, right now you gotta get her to summon you. so you begin your little game of charades.

after she correctly guesses your name and almost says it a third time, she recognizes you as the snake that terrorized her family. god fucking dammit. you're losing her. you're getting impatient. your affable act is over. "nah...i want to talk to barbara," she says and now she's REALLY getting on your nerves because fuck barbara, fuck adam, you're SO CLOSE to getting out and you're not gonna let this go now, go go GO GO SAY IIIIIIITTTTTTT

adam and barbara walk in because of course they do. womp womp

ok well that didn't work, but you're not gonna give up so easily. sooner or later another opportunity will come and soon you will be free.

wait why are they moving the model— where are they taking it—

ooohhhhh. business meeting. get a load of these yuppies, trying to turn winter river into a town-sized Ripley's Believe it or Not. a talking marcel marceau statue? and you thought you were a con man. no wonder the deetz girl wants to die, it's bleak as hell here too. but if you get out...you can fix that. hell, you can fix anything.

these bozos are here to see some ghosts, but the girl says they're not going to show up unless the fleshbags stop making a mockery out of the whole thing and that maybe they can all live happy together in the house. ain't that sweet.

of course no one's taking her seriously. she's a kid, what does she know, right? they'd rather listen to the most obnoxious guy in the room (besides yourself) who has no idea what the fuck he's talking about, but somehow, he's got his hands on the handbook.

the girl panics, then immediately says completely deadpan "wait, what am i even worried about, otho, you can't even change a tire" and you're surprised they didn't hear how hard you cackled at that.

despite all that, they seem to have started a séance with their old wedding clothes. bad news for the maitlands. they're about to be dead-dead. the girl cries for them to stop, and these guys are just sitting there scared shitless. you're hearing everything. you knew a new opportunity would arise, so you wait, because this is the part where people remember how good at your job you are. they always do.

she knows you can help. you're the only one who can help. so here she comes. those wedding clothes give you an idea. plan B is now in motion.

well well well.

look who came crawling back.

she asks for your help, and you're happy to oblige, under one condition of course. after all, you don't do anything for free, and she's the only one who can help you with your problem. how serendipitous.

once again, you lay it on her, straight up. you want out. and a way to do it (thanks adam and barbara for the reminder) is through marriage with a fleshbag. you need to get married. a green card marriage, if you will.

she's immediately disgusted by the idea. you don't take that personally, of course, because it doesn't matter. she's just a kid and it's not a real marriage. she just happens to be unlucky enough to be the only one around who can assist you with this, the poor girl. it's a marriage of convenience—or rather, inconvenience—and you're not planning on sticking around because you will get the hell out of there as soon as you can. so there shouldn't be a problem, right? besides, does she know how many women would kill to be in that position? she gets to brag about it to her friends, what's not to like? it's a totally even deal.

the clock is ticking and the maitlands aren't getting any younger. she agrees to the deal. you win, at last.

she already knows what to do, so you sit there patiently with a shit-eating grin on your face, awaiting the three little B words. gloating.

Beetlejuice........Beetlejuice...........Beetlejuice.

it's showtime.

this is your favorite part. you love a dramatic entrance. you decide to show the deetzes and their greedy friends the circus they so wanted to turn this town into. horrible as you are, you're also pretty damn good at calling out other people's horribleness, and you do love an ironic karmic way of dealing with someone. for example tubby here thinks he can escape, but not before you change his sleek black suit into a tacky white leisure suit. the horror! this is why you're a professional at this.

you effortlessly end the exorcism and the maitlands are saved. a little pruney right now but they'll be fine. everything is taken care of, you have fulfilled your end of the deal like you promised. only one thing left to do.

"shall we?"

there's really no need to make a whole show out of this, but you're a showman first and foremost and as a 𝒥𝓊𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓊𝓂 you'll be damned if you're not gonna let yourself have a little fun with this. everyone looks terrified. this is why you're a professional at this.

witnesses and reverend in place, you can finally begin the ceremony. you're having fun, yes, but let's try to pick up the pace a bit, okay? the closer you get to your goal, the more impatient you get. the girl isn't finding any of this very funny at all and she protests. the maitlands butt in and are now kind of twisting your arm a bit, but you deal with them harmlessly, until they get on your last nerve so you send adam to the model and barbara to saturn. all of this after you honorably fulfilled your end of the bargain and saved the day. jesus christ, are you the only one with some integrity around here or what.

you forget the stupid ring. shit. you're pretty sure you have it on you somewhere, ever since you chopped up delores into pieces for poisoning you. you kept her ring finger as a trophy and as a reminder to never get married again, and yet here you are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. finally, you find the ring (still on her severed finger) and hastily tell your new bride-to-be that delores meant nothing to you. in case she even cares. she doesn't seem to. not even a chuckle? oh well.

almost done with the ceremony. almost there. you're holding the girl's hand with an iron grip to keep her in place as you're about to put that ring on her finger. "i now pronounce you, man and—"

a tiny car crashes against your foot and it catches on fire. you scream. a fucking sandworm crashes into the room through the ceiling. everyone screams. you scream LOUDER.

you're sent back to the afterlife waiting room.

not your first rodeo with a sandworm, but that doesn't make the experience any less shitty. the real annoying part is being in the waiting room again. this could take ages. you're number 9,998,383,750,000 and they're serving number 3 right now. you trick the guy next to you and steal his ticket (number 4) but he's not too pleased about that, so that didn't work.

a long time sitting here it is, then.

movie ends, credits roll.

for reference, that was 1988. winona ryder was 15 when they were filming in 1987 so while lydia doesn't have a confirmed age, i think we can safely assume that she was the same age as winona at the time.

36 years later, it's 2024. or 34 years later, it's 2022. we don't know the exact year because while bob's in memoriam credits scene says 2024 and all the interviews talk about how 36 years have passed in universe as well, there's this other one tiny detail.

jeremy's death passport says he died on march 11, 1999. jane butterfield says he died "23 years ago," putting the movie in 2022. they did film it in 2022 so the math is mathing correctly there. given that the in memoriam scene was more of a joke and jeremy's passport is a canon prop in the movie, i'd say 2022 is the canon year the movie is set in. (small sidenote; the passport also has the roman numerals DCLXVI which is 666. cute detail i loved it)

in the sequel, beetlejuice says lydia has been ignoring him for 30 years. i always thought that was curious because outside of this claim, they always specify how many years exactly have passed since. he doesn't say 34 or 36, he says 30. and for his degree of obsession (and the fact that he remembers exactly how many times he's watched The Exorcist) i think he would be counting even the days so i think he did really mean 30 years. so this would mean at least 4 years passed between getting sent back to the waiting room and the beginning of his stalking.

AND NOW that we established all that, we are finally getting to the answer to the question, "when and how did this all start?"

so okay, he spent a while in the waiting room. a lot of time to think. probably replaying the events at the deetzes' in his head over and over, how he got here, where he fucked up, what's he gonna do once he gets out. cursing the maitlands for ruining his plan when he was soooo fucking close. wondering what ever happened to lydia deetz.

lydia deetz, the young girl who told him she wanted to die.

...

is she alright?

i don't think he's capable of feeling guilt, but we can probably argue that he's not entirely heartless. what she said about how she wanted to "get in" must've stuck with him from the way he reacted when she dropped that bomb. she never showed up in the waiting room so he knows she didn't follow through with that. still, he used a vulnerable young girl for his own selfish gain. ironically enough, he knows exactly how that feels, because he also got tricked into marriage and got used for someone else's gain. the difference being that he dealt with that shit with an axe.

much much much to think about for mr. juice.

after years of ruminating in that waiting room, he's finally out and back to the regular day to day afterlife. definitely gets chewed out by juno, maybe forced to do community service or labor or what have you, he basically just needs to clean up his act now. this freelancing shit is becoming more trouble than it's worth anyway.

he's still wondering about lydia deetz. should he check in on her? maybe he should, he's too curious now.

at this point, lydia is now about 19-21 and in college. maybe he manages to sneak into the model one time she's back home for the holidays or something. and oh my god would you look at that, what a beautiful young woman she's grown into. she's radiant. she's happy. she's no longer that gloomy suicidal kid he met in the attic. seems like what she said about the deetzes and the maitlands sharing the house did come true after all.

that's nice. very sweet. good to know.

maybe he wonders if she remembers him and tries to get her attention somehow, give her a little scare for old times sake or whatever. for a brief moment it seems like she saw something and her expression changes, but she shrugs it off and continues on chatting with her two sets of parents. no such luck.

oh well. curiosity sated! and beetlejuice goes back home and doesn't return.

until the next time he returns.

and he keeps coming back to check in on her, telling himself he's just making sure that she hasn't killed herself or something. and he's not above admitting that with every year that passes, she keeps getting more beautiful. and to think they almost got married, huh.

he constantly tries to get her to notice him somehow, and sometimes she almost does, but ultimately he never really succeeds beyond making her do a double take. very rarely she does catch a glimpse of him. he's seen her mutter to herself that she's just seeing things and she seems a bit frightened every time this happens, but there's nothing to fear, honey, it's just good ol' beetlejuice. he won't lie, he gets a bit of a rush every time and it makes his dead heart beat faintly. he's gotten this far, he can't just stop now. in his mind, this has become their little private game of cat and mouse, where the mouse ignores the cat. but aren't they cute? he thinks they're cute. this is not creepy at all!

before he realizes, he's already learned everything about her. he knows about richard and even watched their wedding from afar like a loser. he knows she gave birth to a healthy baby girl named astrid. he knows they have a blast on halloween. halloween is lydia's favorite holiday, and his too. sometimes he can't help but see the three of them happy together and think it could've totally been him. even if he and richard are nothing alike (in fact could not be more opposite) and the circumstances of their unholy wedding were nothing short of grim and a farce. but in his mind, he's starting to convince himself otherwise.

maybe it's his jealousy speaking, but lydia doesn't seem to be that happy with richard despite everything. even though richard is like, the perfect guy. then one day his suspicions are proven correct: neither of them knows why it happened, but after having a long and emotional talk (that he watched with a bucket of popcorn) they decide to get a divorce. he pumps his fist, feeling victorious for some reason. sure he's a little sadistic at times, but why is this giving him so much glee?

the divorce is hard on lydia's kid, who was always more attached to her father, but they still spend a lot of time together. sometimes the three of them, since richard and lydia kept things amicable after the divorce. lydia tries to move on and see other people, but each relationship fails before it even starts. mostly because she keeps holding back and so fails to connect with anyone else, but also sometimes because, well, he can't help himself but to scare them away from her from time to time. it's fun. in his mind, he's just being protective of her, as a gentleman should for a lady.

then richard dies. fell into a piranha infested river from the looks of it (he saw him at immigration one day, don't ask what he was doing around there, force of habit after constantly making sure lydia hasn't killed herself yet.) it's devastating for both lydia and astrid, straining their relationship even more for the next few years as they both try to cope with the loss. the shock proves to be too much for lydia, so she goes to a survivors retreat to work through her trauma, both from richard's death and "unresolved feelings."

then lydia, at her most vulnerable, meets rory.

beetlejuice was able to clock him immediately. a textbook manipulative opportunist, he himself knows the tactics very well. swoop in to "help" someone in a vulnerable position, pull the wool over their eyes and begin taking control so you can get what you want out of that person.

he wouldn't admit it, but this really irks beetlejuice. you know when you see someone who reminds you of the worst parts of yourself, so you despise them? yeah. he's been there, and he's also been him.

but rory is somehow even worse than beetlejuice. see, rory is her manager, and boy does he manage to get on his nerves. he takes her phone. he controls what medication she takes. he blames and guilt trips her about every mishap that HE causes, making himself look like her benevolent savior and making her feel like she would be lost without him, confusing her with his psychobabble. on top of all that, he's forcing her to do this hacky show called Ghost House where she "hunts ghosts" or whatever. the houses he's been helping newly-deads with in his day job as a bio-exorcist (now with a fleet of employees,) she's "hunting" those ghosts now. it's so dumb. it never works. beetlejuice doesn't even know what the hell she's doing, she's phoning it in most of the time and she knows she's become a sellout. what happened to that "strange and unusual" girl who stood up for her ghost friends when those suits wanted to profit off of them back in winter river?

he needs to bring that back. he's the only one who can.

in his mind, beetlejuice has already rewritten the events that transpired. in his mind, lydia has been his wife this entire time, it's just, y'know, one of those open long distance relationships and she doesn't always remember him, but that's okay. in his mind, they share a psychic bond that allows her to sense his presence or see him in her dreams from time to time. he's got nothing to be jealous about, because other men can't compare. no one else can match what they have.

sure, part of him knows he's lying to himself a little bit. but he's already clung to this idea; these past 30 years wouldn't make sense otherwise. he's in love with lydia deetz. this isn't insane of him to say at all. and if it is, well, you know what they say, love makes you do batshit crazy things.

it's not that complicated, no matter what they say you'll never meet another me it's not that difficult to get my head around i'll never meet another you

the end

don't trick me into writing a fanfic again

[brazenautomaton]

going from "the gullibility and stupidity of half the country" to "lack of empathy" gave me whiplash so bad I'm going to sue OP for soft tissue damage

the reason people vote against the Democratic party is that it's full of people like you, people that hate them and regard them with nothing but contempt. you will never "address" this issue without fucking listening to people instead of making up things you want them to believe. you will never understand other people until you can realize that other people don't believe the same things that you believe about what their best interests are and what things need to happen to meet them.

things we need to address:

gen z men getting pulled into alt-right pipelines through andrew tate, joe rogan, elon musk, jordan peterson etc

the gullibility and stupidity of half the country voting against our collective best interests

the broad effect social media has on public and common good

lazy minds and lack of empathy

outside-country interference (trump and elon’s connections to russia and the amount of bots from other countries spreading misinformation)

the long-term effects of AI and rampant disinformation

[yuanist]

kuroo texts you at 3:52 am, almost three months after you broke up.

admittedly, you probably should've silenced notifications from him by now, but when you roll over—eyes barely open, a little headache from the light—you know you're much, much too late.

a text, from your ex-boyfriend, the big, blue bubble stretched across your phone.

i just moaned your name during sex.

you blink at the screen.

you what?

moaned your name, he sends. totally ruined the moment.

you look up, and then down, and then up one more time to make sure what you’re looking it is real and not some strange, midnight hallucination before typing again.

you’re fucking with me, right?

dead serious, he replies. worst moment of my life.

you can hear his voice in the text, and if you weren’t so caught up in thinking about the poor girl who probably just had the worst sexual experience of her life, you would laugh.

you need to find a hobby or something, tetsurou. you send. and preferably one that doesn't involve tinder.

i have hobbies!

non-sexual ones?

he types for a while before a short, little totally! pops up on his side of the conversation.

and you hate that this is the part of him that’s most intriguing. the unintentional charm, too weird for his own good part that keeps you texting him at four in the morning.

yeah, you send, quicker than you intended. totally.

and suddenly, you're really considering something you shouldn't. before tonight, you hadn't heard from in a while—at least not enough to be thinking about him. you'd resigned yourself to your little, single life and you figured boyfriends might be more harm than they're worth (at least for a while, anyway), but now you have a new little do you wanna come over? typed out into your messaging app, finger hovering over the send button.

you take a minute, trying to rationalize.

the responsible part of you thinks it's way too late to be asking for anything good. you have class in the morning, and you're all tucked into bed, and bringing him here would really stir up some old feelings you weren't looking to bring back right now.

the other part of you—the more fun of the two, you'll admit—knows that you're thinking about him and he's... definitely thinking of you, so what's the harm in indulging a little bit? maybe nothing would happen anyway and you'd just end up staring at each other for a while, but sitting in your bed alone, staring doesn't sound like the worst thing in the world.

you send the text.

there's radio silence for a moment, and you think you might have just fucked the whole we can be exes and friends! thing up, but after a moment or two, he replies.

really?

and you sigh, don't make me change my mind.

he sends an immediate be there in 10, and you flop yourself back into the pillows.

now, okay, you'd be lying if you said you haven't been in this situation before. you and kuroo have always had a strange habit of—gravitating towards each other, to put it politely. it doesn't matter how many times you guys swear each other off, there's always going to be a party, or a text, or a run-in at the grocery store that brings you together (in more ways than one).

the whole i just moaned your name thing, though, that one's new.

your eyes flicker up to the ceiling, then down to your feet, and then, finally, your phone—the reality of this whole thing sinking in a little.

are you supposed to—shave your legs for this? put on your good pajamas: the ones that ride up a little when you bend over? is that where this is going? you're pretty sure it is, but every time this has happened before, it's been a little more spontaneous than this. right now, you have time to prepare and time to think, which you're now realizing is something you really did not want.

you sit there for a minute, coming to the conclusion that this is kuroo. you dated for two years, and you shared a bed at night for more of that time than you'd care to admit, so what does it matter how prepared you are?

you hear a key turn in the front door (the one from under the mat; you took away his actual key you think) and, all of a sudden, you're kind of nervous.

you haven't felt this way in a while, especially when it comes to him. you think you might hate it.

nevertheless, your feet hit the floor and you let yourself pad your way into the entryway, just in time to see someone sliding his shoes into the gap between the doorway and the wall.

you flick the light on, and he jumps a little.

a beat of silence, and then, "hi."

that's all you can come up with right now, truly, and you blame half of it on the time and the other half on the fact that kuroo looks like that.

he's always been pretty, no doubt about that, but right now he looks a little beat up in a way that you have to admit you're kind of into.

his hair's messed up: half of it shifted more left than right, with a little curl to it that he doesn't normally have. his cheeks are red, and he's a sort of out of breath and—did he run here?

"hi," he says, smiling, heaving out a breath.

(oh, he totally did. maybe you're a little more alluring than you thought).

you chuckle out one more, final hi, before he steps towards you.

he smells good—not that that's something you focus on, obviously—but he's still wearing that cologne you bought him last christmas and there's a little tinge of sweat to him that suits him so much better than you'd think.

he has a t-shirt on—one you got from a concert a couple years ago; you can't remember exactly when anymore, but it's clear that the thing has gotten its wear. the hole in the left shoulder is glaring at you from here and you kind of want to poke it.

"i have your key, by the way," he says then, dangling the little thing between his fingers. "did you ask for it back?"

oops.

"i—meant to." you snatch it from him, tossing it onto one of the side tables. "definitely meant to."

his hand lingers there for a second, a big, toothy smile spread across his face. "oh, sure you did."

and you eye him, a short what's that supposed to mean? rolling out of your lips.

he shakes his head, moving closer again—so much so that you can feel the cast of his breath along your cheeks.

"you still like me," he says, and you swear you can see his vocal cords bob in his throat.

"pardon?"

"you think i'm fun—and endearing, and still worthy of a house key."

"i think you're nuts." you say, fluttering your lashes a little. "and really not in the position to be making these accusations."

"you really think so?" he leans in one more time, close enough that his lips brush that arch between your jaw and your neck. "go ahead—tell me all about how crazy i am."

you feel something inside you quiver.

this right here, this is the whole game between the two of you. some sick little cat-and-mouse thing that always leads to something that you regret in the morning and—inevitably—repeat next week.

truthfully, though, you're getting kind of sick of fighting it.

"god, i can't stand you." you back away, edging towards the hallway that leads to your room. "are you coming with me or what?"

and he grins, because of course he is.

reblogs are appreciated! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you. 

Part 7 of 12

Synopsis: Kissing butt and moving forward

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

Warnings: sleazy old men being creepy, mild mentions of SA

Before you start this chapter, please listen to this song, this is pivotal to understanding y/n’s thoughts during the last scene. https://open.spotify.com/track/4zXuYQNDmw3dlauyc8q3Kd?si=646c78b4897948b6 

masterlist

—------

The country club was alive with the usual hum of polished interactions: the soft clinking of glasses, the shuffle of wait staff in black and white uniforms, and the low murmur of conversation filling the grand, gilded ballroom. Y/N moved through the space, her tray steady in her hands as she refilled water glasses and delivered drinks with practiced ease. Her eyes darted from task to task, trying to stay focused, but something gnawed at her.

She could feel the weight of JJ’s breath on her lips, the sting of his casual response when she’d told him how she felt. The memory of his pity-kiss made her stomach turn even now. It was hard to escape the feeling that something had irrevocably shifted between them. She didn’t want to think about it—not today. Today, she wanted answers, or at least a sign that things hadn’t fallen apart entirely.

She caught sight of him across the room, missing the usual smirk as he wiped down a table, leaning over to clear away dirty glasses. She walked toward him with a steadiness she didn’t feel. A few steps from his table, she hesitated, unsure what to say, but the chance to confront him felt too important to waste. Her heart was already racing before she even spoke his name.

"JJ."

He looked up, his blue eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment, but something in his expression shifted immediately. There was no warmth, no recognition of the awkwardness between them. He glanced over her shoulder, then back at her. “Not now, Y/N. I’m busy.”

The dismissal was swift, practiced. He didn’t even try to hide the way his gaze flitted away, settling on the next table with a customer’s request. As if she wasn’t there at all.

Y/N stood still for a moment, her breath caught in her throat. His back was already turned before she could say anything more. She swallowed hard, forcing her feet to move, the space between them suddenly feeling vast.

Before she could retreat further into herself, her manager appeared in her line of sight, his face set in the familiar, detached mask he wore when he had work for her.

“Y/N,” he called sharply, already holding out a clipboard. “You’re on for the private event tonight. Bikini server.”

The words hit her like a punch in the gut. She didn’t need to hear anything else. She knew exactly what that meant. A private party—one of those parties. The kind that everyone whispered about in the break room, and which most staff avoided at all costs. But there was no avoiding it when it was assigned.

Her stomach sank, and her mouth went dry as she reached for the clipboard without a word.

“Get dressed and head to the back. The event’s starting soon.”

She nodded mechanically, but inside, her pulse was already hammering. She had never done this before, however she heard about it from the other servers. the uncomfortable leers, the condescending smiles, the silent assessment of her in a bikini by a room full of men who didn’t care who she was as long as she was serving drinks. It was part of the job. She didn’t have a choice.

As the manager walked away, a memory crept into her mind. The last time she’d been assigned to a private event like this, JJ had intervened. She remembered him, laughing loudly and knocking over a tray of glasses in a clumsy but deliberate mess. His excuse to their boss had been thin, but it had worked—he’d saved her from being part of that atmosphere.

“If it ever happens again, just call me,” his words echoed in her mind. “I’ll have your back.”

She was grateful then. Grateful for the distraction, the sudden sense of safety, the way he’d made sure she didn’t have to endure the sleazy men and their eyes. But now, as she stood in the hallway, her phone gripped tightly in her hand, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was on her own this time.

Y/N’s fingers trembled as she pulled out her phone and unlocked it. She scrolled through her contacts until JJ’s name appeared. The hope that maybe—just maybe—he would come through for her again flashed in her chest. He promised she thought, swallowing hard.

She hit the call button, and the phone rang once. Then again.

With every passing second, her heart beat harder against her chest. The ringing seemed to stretch on forever, her breath quickening as the screen flashed with each new ring.

"Come on, JJ," she whispered, tapping the phone to her ear again.

The voicemail kicked in before she could brace herself. The robotic voice was the final blow.

She let out a shaky breath, her thumb hovering over the screen. Then, without thinking, she recorded a message, her voice quieter than she meant it to be.

“Hey, JJ… it’s Y/N. I, uh, I just wanted to remind you of what you said last time. You know, if something like this happens again, you’d have my back? Well, I’m going to that party tonight. And I could really use you here. But, you know, whatever. If you’re busy...”

Her voice cracked as she tried to finish, but the words stopped. She felt ridiculous, desperate. It wasn’t supposed to sound like this.

She cleared her throat and ended the message, but the silence afterward felt deafening. She hit “send” and stared at the screen, willing him to call her back.

When it went to voicemail, she just stood there for a moment, her heart sinking deeper. Her thumb hovered over the phone, but she didn’t press anything.

He's not coming.

She shoved the phone back into her pocket, the weight of it dragging her down. A last, fleeting sense of hope ebbed away, and she squared her shoulders. She wasn’t going to let it stop her. She couldn’t.

Her mind whirled, her thoughts a whirlwind of frustration and disappointment. She stuffed the phone into her pocket, straightened her shoulders, and forced her feet to move.

She passed by the staff locker rooms, the faint chatter of colleagues filtering out as they prepped for their own assignments. She moved past them with her head down, barely noticing the stares, her mind consumed by the scene ahead.

The ballroom loomed before her, its golden chandeliers gleaming in the dim light, the sound of clinking glasses and muted conversations pressing against her. She could already feel it—the weight of the men’s eyes, the way they would look at her like she was nothing more than the drinks she was about to serve.

But she kept walking, one foot in front of the other. It was just another job. She had to do this.

She could almost feel the eyes on her as she entered the ballroom. The air felt thick, heavy with expectation. She could already imagine the looks she would get, the comments they would make, the way her stomach would twist every time a man would glance at her with that knowing look.

Just get through it, she told herself. Just get through it.

–

The sound of clinking glasses and low conversation buzzed around Y/N as she awkwardly navigated through the crowd of older men in dark suits, her tray trembling slightly in her hands. She hated the smell of expensive cologne mixing with the stale air of the country club’s ballroom, and even more, she hated the way they looked at her—like she was nothing more than a decoration in a bikini, a piece of scenery for their business deals.

Y/N had been coerced into working this private event by her boss, who couldn’t care less that she was underage and shouldn't be serving drinks to these men. It was a way to make quick cash, and as usual, she had little choice. The job wasn’t worth the pit in her stomach, though. She could feel the eyes on her, too many stares lingering longer than they should. The glances from the men made her skin crawl.

Then, a hand gripped her wrist.

Y/N’s head snapped around to see a man, probably in his sixties, staring at her with a smug grin. The warmth of his hand made her skin crawl as he tugged her closer. 

"Hey, sweetheart," he slurred, his breath smelling of whiskey. "Can I get another drink over here?" His eyes lingered too long, the leer obvious.

She tried to pull away, her heart racing. "Please, let go," she said firmly, but he didn’t budge. 

The man’s grip tightened as his eyes roved over her body. "You don’t need to be shy, darling."

Without warning, he slapped her hard—his hand making a sickening smack as it landed on her bare skin. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as the shock rippled through her, and she stumbled back, barely managing to steady herself. A sting bloomed across her backside, where his hand had landed.

She couldn’t stop the hot wave of humiliation that flooded over her. Her mind screamed for escape, and she bolted, running away from the man and the crowd of leering faces. 

Y/N didn’t even know where she was going until she found herself outside, standing in the dark, hands shaking. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she wiped them away quickly. She needed to get out. 

"Hey!" A voice called out from behind her, and she turned, startled.

Rafe Cameron stood in the doorway, looking out of place in his designer clothes amidst the worn-out, sea-washed buildings of the country club’s back lot. He must’ve been checking out his yacht nearby. His eyes softened when they landed on her, and it was the first time she noticed how different he looked, how much the usually cocky and aloof guy seemed almost… concerned.

"What happened?" Rafe asked, his voice low and serious, and it took her a moment to realize he wasn’t mocking her.

Y/N’s heart pounded. "I’m fine. Just—just go back inside." She tried to sound confident, but it came out more like a plea.

Rafe stepped closer, his gaze flicking over her. "Don’t bullshit me. You’re not fine." His eyes flickered to her side, where the imprint of the slap was already beginning to show a bruise that would likely darken by morning.

Without thinking, Rafe reached out, his thumb brushing over the mark. His touch was gentle, almost tender, and the contrast between his usual arrogant demeanor and this softness caught her off guard. He leaned down slowly, pressing a kiss to the bruise—just the slightest brush of his lips against her skin.

It wasn’t anything like what the men had done. It was nothing like the way they touched her.

Y/N froze. It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the kindness, the way he seemed to care, the way he wasn’t treating her like an object. For the first time in forever, she felt like someone actually saw her.

Rafe pulled back, his eyes searching hers. There was a moment of silence where neither of them knew quite what to say. His eyes softened, but then, Y/N’s voice cracked the tension in the air.

“You kissed my butt.” Y/N blinked, her brows knitting in confusion as she looked at him.

“I—I kissed your bruise. Not your—your butt!” Rafe stammered, his face flushing an almost comical shade of red. “Look, it was an accident, okay? I just saw the bruise, and I wanted to… you know, I don’t know… make it better?”

She fought a smile as she crossed her arms, feeling a mix of disbelief and amusement. “You kissed my butt.”

“No! I—well, I didn’t—okay, I did, but it wasn’t like that,” Rafe blurted out, his hands flying up in a panic as if he could somehow reverse the ridiculousness of the situation. “It was just a reflex, alright? You looked like you were in pain, and I—ugh, God, this is coming out so wrong.”

Y/N couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled up, escaping before she could even stop it. The sheer awkwardness of the moment was too much, and she felt the tension break in a way she hadn’t expected.

“You kissed my butt,” she said again, this time with a grin that reached her eyes.

Rafe groaned, his hands rubbing his face in frustration. “Please, don’t tell anyone about this. I swear, I’ve never been this embarrassed in my life.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening to his rambling. She was still laughing, and somehow, it made her feel lighter, like the weight of the world inside her chest wasn’t so suffocating anymore.

Rafe stood there, frozen and awkward, clearly unsure if he should laugh along or hide from the humiliation. But as the moment stretched on, his gaze softened. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against hers.

"You’re not alone, Y/N," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, his usual bravado gone for a second. “I’ve got you.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him. She didn’t feel like a piece of the scenery anymore, didn’t feel like she was something to be discarded or objectified. Rafe had done something stupid, sure, but it was more than that. He hadn’t treated her like a thing; he’d treated her like a person. And despite the chaos, despite the awkward kiss on her backside, for the first time in a long while, she felt seen.

And in that quiet, vulnerable moment, she didn’t hold back. Her heart thumped in her chest as she reached up, pulling him toward her and pressing her lips to his. It was desperate and unguarded, the kind of kiss that said everything they hadn’t said yet.

Rafe’s hands found her waist instantly, his grip firm but gentle, pulling her closer. It wasn’t about the kiss anymore. It wasn’t about the confusion or the embarrassment. For once, Y/N didn’t feel like she was something to be pitied or tolerated. She felt wanted. She felt enough.

When they finally pulled apart, the world felt different, as if everything had shifted on its axis.

Rafe was still watching her, his gaze full of something she couldn’t quite place. But there was one thing she knew for sure now.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, his voice soft but sure.

And in that moment, she knew she wasn’t alone anymore.

---

Bonus

---

A week passed, and life seemed to go back to normal—sort of. Y/N tried to bury the memory of the country club party, but it lingered in the back of her mind, along with Rafe’s unexpected tenderness. The days since have been nothing but amazing. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was everything he’d done. It was like he saw her, really saw her, for the first time.

She was walking to the market when she passed by the country club, feeling the familiar weight of the place she had hoped to forget. Her steps faltered when she saw the manager standing outside, suitcase in hand, looking disgraced.

She blinked, then did a double take. The manager was leaving. Wasn’t he supposed to be working tonight? And wasn’t it just a few days ago that she’d overheard him muttering about having another event to handle?

Curiosity gnawed at her. She approached one of the other servers, trying to sound casual. "Hey, what happened to the manager? He looks... well, he looks like he’s not coming back."

The server looked around nervously before shrugging. “You didn’t hear? He got fired, like, out of nowhere. No one knows why. They said it’s something to do with his behavior at the last event. Real bad stuff.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She felt the adrenaline start to pump through her veins as the pieces began to click together.

---

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and Rafe showed up at her house unannounced, she felt the need to ask. They were sitting on the porch, sharing a silence that felt strangely comfortable, the air still warm from the day’s heat.

She finally broke the quiet. “Rafe… about the manager at the country club.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into that cocky grin that always made her stomach flip. “Yeah?”

Y/N hesitated, watching him closely. “Did you have anything to do with him getting fired?”

Rafe didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at her, just took a slow sip of his drink, exhaling with a lazy grin, fully relaxed. “What, you think I got him fired?”

Y/N studied him, her pulse quickening. She could read him well enough now—he was hiding something, but whether it was guilt or pride, she couldn’t tell. “Did you?”

Rafe's eyes locked onto hers, the usual playful spark in his gaze replaced with something deeper. He shrugged like he was too cool to care, but there was a quiet intensity in his gaze. “Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Y/N’s stomach did a flip. There was no regret in his voice—just that casual, confident air that made her feel both at ease and a little... nervous. But it wasn’t just the words; it was the way he said them. Rafe didn’t do things by half-measures, especially not when it came to her.

“I don’t want to be your charity case, Rafe,” she said, her voice steady despite the tightening in her chest. “I don’t want you doing things like that for me.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, the air around him thick with the kind of confidence that made everything else fade into the background. His eyes never left hers. “You’re not a charity case, Y/N.” He set his drink down slowly, his voice dropping an octave, and she felt it in her bones. “I’m not doing anything for you that I wouldn’t do for anyone I care about. But if you think this is me doing you some big favor, you’ve got it all wrong, it's just how I handle things.”

He let the words hang there for a moment, like he was giving her space to process, but the message was clear. He wasn’t some guy looking for recognition, and he wasn’t going to apologize for taking care of things in his own way.

“You’re not weak,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “You don’t need anyone to fix things for you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna sit back and let people treat you like shit.”

His gaze softened, his tone just a little more intense, and Y/N felt a rush of something—relief? Gratitude? Maybe a little something else she wasn’t ready to admit.

Rafe wasn’t looking for credit. He wasn’t trying to be her knight in shining armor. He was just doing what came naturally to him: protecting the people he cared about, even if it meant taking down someone who’d crossed the line.

He didn’t say more, but the quiet confidence in his words was enough to make Y/N realize that he had her back—whether she liked it or not. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

-----

Next up: happy times

-----

Taglist:

@hockeybabe87 , @idiotussupremus , @certifiedhaters , @oatmealisweird, @sluggmuffin , @maybankslover , @ren-ni, @wh0reforbucknasty

-----

a/n :)

[rafesapologist]

the setback ─ rafe cameron; part seventeen

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: angst, swearing, fluff

author's note: this series has been a long time coming and i am so happy it has taken off the way it has. i appreciate all the love and support you all have given this story, but we have reached the end. i do not want to overkill this story or beat a dead horse, because the longer it goes on it leaves room for more to happen than i planned for. i plan on pursuing other stories from here but this one will always have my heart because it was my first ever on tumblr. <3

Sofia’s admission hit Rafe like ice water on a fevered brow, jolting him out of his haze with a suddenness that nearly knocked the air from his lungs. The dim, pulsing lights of the club blurred as he shoved through the writhing crowd, his mind teetering on the edge of panic. Every step felt like wading through quicksand, the noise of laughing strangers and the thrum of bass only deepening his disorientation. His chest tightened, his breaths coming short and rapid as the realization of your danger tunneled his vision, choking his throat with an unfamiliar dread.

By the time Rafe burst through the doors and into the humid night air, he was gasping. His hands gripped his knees, his body doubled over as he fought for control, the sharp sting of fear pumping through his veins like a poison. The streetlights cast jagged shadows across the cracked pavement beneath him, their orange glow flickering with every unsteady breath he drew. His heart hammered against his ribs as if it were trying to tear free, every pulse of it screaming a warning that reverberated through his entire being.

His thoughts came in fragmented bursts, spiraling—she’s in danger—a relentless echo. He pictured you, vulnerable, caught in some trap his father had set. His mind spun with worst-case scenarios, each more terrifying than the last, while the terror of losing you drove him to the brink of collapse. A wave of nausea hit him, but he forced it back, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing down the panic threatening to unravel him.

He couldn’t lose you. Not now. Not like this.

Standing upright, Rafe ran a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, the night air doing nothing to cool the heat surging beneath his skin. The world outside the club seemed to spin in slow motion, people passing by oblivious to the storm raging within him. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus, adrenaline igniting something feral and primal in his chest. He knew only one thing: he had to find you, and there wasn’t a second to waste.

Rafe’s eyes darted wildly around the street as he paced, his mind racing with chaotic thoughts that he struggled to piece together. His fingers raked through his dirty blond hair, pulling at the strands in frustration, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribcage. Every muscle in his body was tight with anxiety, and he could feel his pulse throbbing in his temples. He had to calm down—he knew that. But the fear gnawed at him, relentless, pulling him deeper into a spiral.

Get it together. Focus. He whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the rush of his own breathing. The thought of you being in danger sent another wave of panic through him, but he forced himself to push it down. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. He couldn’t afford to. Not with you on the line.

The idea of getting in his truck crossed his mind, but the very notion of driving in the state he was in felt like a death sentence. His body still buzzed with the remnants of coke and alcohol, the drugs pulsing through his bloodstream, clouding his judgment. If he got behind the wheel now, it would be reckless, maybe even fatal. And then there was Topper—no help at all, slumped somewhere back in the club, likely even more wasted than Rafe was. No, he was on his own. Or at least he thought he was.

Then it hit him like a bolt of clarity: Barry.

He grimaced at the thought, but desperation left him with no other choice. Barry was the last person he wanted to rely on, the kind of person you only called when things were far past the point of no return. But that’s exactly where he was now—past the point of no return. If anyone had the connections, the means to track down his father or whatever shady plot Ward had concocted, it would be Barry.

Rafe’s phone trembled in his hand as he pulled it out of his pocket, the screen blurry as he scrolled through his contacts. His fingers hesitated above Barry’s name, but he took a breath and tapped the call button. The dial tone seemed to stretch on forever, each ring tightening the knot of anxiety in his stomach.

Finally, a gravelly voice answered on the other end. “Rafe? The hell you callin’ me for at this hour?”

Rafe swallowed hard, his voice strained as he spoke. “I need your help, Barry. It’s… it’s about my dad. And it’s about her.”

There was a pause on the line, a low chuckle from Barry that sent a chill down Rafe’s spine. “This better be worth my time, Cameron. You know how I work.”

“I know,” Rafe gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of the situation settle even heavier on his shoulders. “Just meet me at the docks. I’ll explain everything.”

With that, he hung up, his jaw clenched as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket. His hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t just from fear—it was anger. Anger at his father, anger at Sofia, anger at the world for putting you in this mess.

Rafe’s feet pounded against the pavement, the night air sharp against his flushed skin. His vision tunneled once again, the world around him reduced to nothing but a blur of shadows and streetlights. His breath came in ragged gasps, the sting of adrenaline burning in his lungs, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. His legs carried him forward with reckless speed, driven by the sheer force of desperation.

The dock wasn’t far, but it felt like miles as he sprinted down the road, heart hammering in his chest. Maybe it was the cocktail of substances still coursing through his veins, or maybe it was the raw fear gnawing at him, but he ran like his life depended on it.

No, not his life—yours.

Every thought, every heartbeat, was consumed by the image of you in danger, your face flashing before his eyes as he pushed himself harder. The world around him felt surreal, distorted, like a fever dream where time slowed and sped up at random. The night sky seemed to tilt above him, the ground swaying beneath his feet, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t.

The familiar smell of saltwater hit his nose as he neared the dock, the wooden structure looming ahead, dimly lit by a few flickering lamps. His steps faltered for just a second as he spotted a figure leaning against one of the posts, the outline unmistakable even from a distance. Barry.

Rafe forced himself to slow down, his heart still racing as he approached. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a vice, but there was no turning back now. He needed answers. He needed you safe.

Barry lifted his head as Rafe came into view, his smirk visible even in the low light. “You look like shit, Cameron.”

Rafe's words came out in a frantic rush, barely coherent as his panic clawed its way to the surface. His breath was uneven, and his eyes, wild with desperation, darted toward Barry with an intensity that made it clear how urgent this was. “We have to find Y/N. I need you to help me find her, please, I—”

Barry narrowed his eyes, exhaling another lazy stream of smoke, clearly enjoying watching Rafe unravel. "Whoa, slow down," he said, his voice thick with amusement, like he was savoring Rafe's desperation. "You're all worked up for what? A girl? I thought you'd grown a spine by now."

Rafe took a step closer, fists clenched at his sides, his voice strained as he tried to steady himself. “This isn’t a joke, Barry. My dad’s involved. Sofia’s involved. They’re coming after her, and I can’t—” his voice broke for a moment, "I can’t let them hurt her."

Barry tilted his head, flicking the cigarette butt onto the ground and grinding it under his heel. “Ward’s always got his hands in some deep shit, doesn’t he?” His smirk widened, but his eyes sharpened with interest. “So, you’re saying there’s trouble. Sounds like a dangerous game, Rafe. How do I know your daddy won't turn around and fuck me over next?"

Rafe’s jaw tightened as Barry’s smirk deepened, the question lingering like a taunt. He knew Barry wasn’t the type to jump into anything without weighing the risks—especially when it involved the Camerons. Taking a shaky breath, Rafe tried to steady himself, to present some semblance of control. "Because I’ll make sure it doesn’t. This is on me, not you. I just need your help."

Barry let out a low chuckle, amused by Rafe's desperation. "Oh, so now you're the hero? What makes you think you can keep me out of the crossfire when your whole family’s knee-deep in it?"

Rafe ran a trembling hand through his dirty blond hair, feeling the weight of the substances in his system pulling him down. "You won't be on the radar. My dad won’t even know you're involved. This is between me and him. Sofia’s already in, so you’ve got leverage."

Barry’s expression shifted, the smirk fading as he considered the offer. His fingers drummed against his side, eyes studying Rafe. “Leverage, huh? Sounds like you’re neck-deep in something nasty. And if it backfires...”

“It won’t,” Rafe interrupted, his voice sharp and pleading all at once. "I’ll make sure it doesn’t."

Barry stared him down for a long moment, weighing his options. Finally, he flicked a glance at Rafe, sizing him up. “Alright,” he said, his voice slow, calculating. “But if this does turn sideways, I’ll bury you before Ward even gets a chance. You hear me?”

Rafe nodded quickly, the words slicing through his panic. "Yeah, I hear you. Just help me find her."

"Well alright," Barry sighed almost in defeat, his shoulders slumping as he turned his heel, motioning Rafe to follow, "let's get goin'."

Rafe let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his pulse still racing but with a flicker of hope now threaded through the fear. He quickly followed Barry to the beat-up truck, the gravel crunching under their feet. The night air felt heavy, thick with the tension of what they were about to do.

Barry opened the driver’s side door, glancing back at Rafe with a half-smirk. “Get in. And try not to puke in my truck, yeah?”

Rafe ignored the jab, climbing into the passenger seat as Barry started the engine. The old truck roared to life, and they took off down the road, the headlights slicing through the dark.

As they sped away from the dock, the inside of the truck was filled with the low hum of the engine and the rattling of loose parts. Rafe stared out the window, his mind spinning with thoughts of you. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, the knot in his stomach tightening with every mile. He couldn’t stop imagining what his father might do, or what Sofia’s resentment might lead to.

Barry, sensing Rafe’s silence, glanced over, his eyes flicking between the road and his passenger. “So, what exactly does your daddy have planned this time?” he asked, voice casual, but there was a sharpness behind it.

Rafe didn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching as he replayed the chaotic events of the past few days. Ward’s betrayal, Sofia’s confession, the looming threat that seemed to press down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

“I don’t know all the details,” Rafe finally muttered, his voice tight with frustration. “But it’s bad. Real bad.”

Barry raised an eyebrow, his hands steady on the wheel as they sped down the dimly lit road. “Define ‘bad,’ Rafe. You’re talkin’ like your old man’s about to blow up the island or somethin’.”

Rafe shook his head, running his hand through his disheveled hair. “He put a hit out on her. On y/n.” His voice cracked slightly, as if saying it out loud made the threat even more real. “He thinks she’s tied up with John B and the Pogues, thinks she’s some kind of liability. But she’s not, Barry. She’s innocent.”

Barry let out a low whistle, shaking his head slowly. “Ward Cameron never could tell the difference between business and personal, could he?”

The truck hit a bump in the road, but neither of them flinched. The silence stretched, the gravity of the situation settling between them like a storm cloud.

“So, you’re up against Ward now,” Barry said, glancing sideways at Rafe again. “Man, you’ve got balls. Most people would’ve run for the hills by now.”

“I’m not running,” Rafe snapped, his anger flaring up again. “I’m not letting him ruin her life like he’s ruined mine.”

Barry grinned, the corners of his mouth tugging up in that familiar, crooked way. “Alright, man. I’m in. But just know, whatever comes next—it’s gonna get ugly.”

Barry's truck roared down the deserted streets, the engine's growl a constant, urgent reminder of the time slipping away. Rafe sat in the passenger seat, his fingers gripping the edge of his seat, knuckles white and strained. The road stretched out before them like an unending ribbon of asphalt, the dim streetlights casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to dance with his growing panic.

Every minute felt like an eternity as they drove through familiar yet alien landscapes. They passed by the docks, the bars, and the places you’d once frequented. Rafe's eyes darted around, desperately scanning for any sign of you, but the night remained stubbornly indifferent. The neon signs of local bars blurred into a chaotic smear of color, each one a reminder of how many places he had searched and how many hours had slipped by.

“Damn it!” Rafe yelled, his voice cracking with frustration. He punched the dashboard with a force that made the truck’s interior shudder but didn’t quite break anything. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as he tried to keep himself calm, but the fear that something terrible might happen to you was relentless.

Barry's eyes flickered over to Rafe, a mix of concern and impatience etched on his face. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, the knuckles on his hands turning a stark white. “Look, we’ve been driving around for half an hour, hitting all your usual spots. There’s no sign of her,” Barry said, his voice steady but edged with frustration. He glanced at Rafe, who was staring out the window with a look of desolation.

Barry’s gaze shifted back to the road, then to Rafe. “Alright, look, why don’t we just show up at John B’s and ask ‘em where she’s at? I mean, it won’t hurt to check. We might find something there.”

Defeat etched over Rafe's features as he slumped down into the passenger's seat, momentarily peering over at Barry as if he was contemplating his suggestion. Everywhere else seemed to be a bust, therefor it was the only option left for him to go. "Alright," he sighed, throwing his hands up, "let's go."

Barry's eyes softened with a hint of empathy as he observed Rafe's expression. The stark contrast between Rafe's usually confident demeanor and the current look of defeat was jarring. Without a word, Barry turned the truck around, the vehicle's headlights slicing through the night, leading them back toward familiar terrain.

The road felt endless under the truck’s tires, each mile stretching out with agonizing slowness. The lights of bars and shops, once vibrant and promising, now seemed to mock Rafe’s anxiety with their indifferent glow. He sat in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on the window, eyes following the blur of passing streetlights and shadows.

As they approached the chateau, Rafe’s mind raced. The enormity of the situation pressed down on him, the fear for your safety overwhelming every other thought. Barry parked the truck outside John B’s place, the vehicle’s engine rumbling to a stop. The street was quiet, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of a late-night radio.

Rafe glanced over at Barry, his face drawn and weary. “Thanks for doing this,” he said, his voice heavy with gratitude and exhaustion. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before they approached the front door.

Barry nodded, giving Rafe a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping out of the truck. They walked up the path to the house, the porch light casting long shadows that danced with their footsteps. The door loomed ahead, a barrier to answers and perhaps, hope.

Rafe hesitated for a moment, then raised his hand and knocked. The sound of the knuckles hitting the wood was sharp and clear, breaking the silence of the night. The minutes felt like hours as they waited, the anticipation almost unbearable. Rafe shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mind replaying every possible scenario.

Finally, the door creaked open, revealing a groggy John B with disheveled hair and a puzzled expression. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of Rafe and Barry standing on the doorstep.

“Rafe?” John B’s voice was a mix of confusion and concern. "What are you doing here?"

Rafe’s voice trembled with urgency as he stepped into John B’s living room, his eyes scanning the space frantically. His gaze darted around, searching for any sign of you. “I need to find y/n. Is she here?” he asked, his voice laced with desperation and a tinge of fear.

John B’s expression shifted from surprise to a mixture of concern and secrecy. “No, she’s not here.” He swallowed thickly, his gaze darting away briefly as if grappling with something unspoken. His demeanor was tense, a stark contrast to his usual easygoing nature.

Rafe’s pulse quickened. “What do you mean? Where is she? John B, I need to know.”

John B hesitated, his face a mask of conflicted emotions. “Look, Rafe, there’s more to this than you realize. We’re trying to protect her. Ward’s threats— they’re serious. If we don’t keep her hidden, things could get worse.”

Rafe’s eyes widened, panic and anger mixing in his gaze. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re hiding her? Why wouldn’t you tell me? She’s in danger, and I need to find her!”

John B’s face hardened with resolve. “We’re hiding her because it’s the safest place for her right now. Ward’s dangerous, and if he gets a whiff of where she is, it could end badly. I know you’re desperate, but honestly, you’re the last person who should see her right now. You’re the reason she and all of us are in this.”

Rafe’s eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. “Don’t you dare say I did this to her.” His voice cracked with a mixture of outrage and anguish.

John B’s expression softened for a moment, but his resolve remained firm. “He’s your dad, Rafe.”

The words hung heavily in the air, cutting through the tension like a knife. Rafe’s face contorted with a mix of pain and frustration. “What does that have to do with anything? You think I’m just going to sit back and let him hurt her? I don’t care who he is—he’s not going to touch her.”

John B’s gaze was steady, though there was an undercurrent of sorrow. “It’s not about who he is. It’s about what he’s capable of. He’s dangerous, and you’re right in the middle of it. That makes it harder for us to protect her if you’re involved.”

Rafe’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. “So, what am I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait? I can’t do that. I need to find her.”

John B stepped closer, his tone firm yet sympathetic. “I get that you want to help, but right now, the best thing you can do is stay away. We’ve got a plan to keep her safe, and bringing you into it could complicate things further. You need to focus on dealing with Ward.”

Rafe wasn't simply going to let it go, not when it involved your wellbeing. His frustration began bubbling higher and higher, his anticipation eating away at him as time passed. John B's refusal to give up your whereabouts only complicated things for Rafe further, leaving him to feel like he was backed into a corner waiting for a war to erupt. He knew John B was not one to back down when he stood his ground, but neither was Rafe.

"Look John B, I know we have never gotten along and probably never will, but for just this instance can you please just put that aside and at least give me a clue to where she could be? I've looked at every corner of the Cut and you guys are my only chance to figure out where she is."

John B's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he considered Rafe’s plea. "You think I’m just going to give her up? After everything?" His voice was sharp, defensive.

Rafe stepped closer, his frustration boiling over. "I’m not asking you to trust me, or even forgive me. I just need to know that she’s safe. Ward’s not going to stop, John B. And if I can’t find her, he will."

John B's hardened expression faltered for a moment. He could see the desperation in Rafe's eyes—the desperation of someone who was genuinely afraid for you. Still, he shook his head, taking a breath as he crossed his arms. "Rafe, I don’t trust you. And I don’t trust that you won't lead your dad straight to her, even if you don’t mean to."

Rafe’s shoulders slumped in defeat, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I would never let him touch her. I’m trying to protect her—same as you. I just—" His voice wavered, barely a whisper. "I can't lose her."

John B hesitated, his brow furrowing as he watched Rafe. There was something different in his voice, something more genuine than he’d expected. He wasn’t used to seeing Rafe like this—vulnerable, pleading. It made him hesitate.

"She’s safe," John B finally said, his tone quieter now. "But that’s all you need to know. You need to back off. The more you push, the more danger you put her in."

Rafe’s frustration flared again, but he swallowed it, knowing that arguing more would get him nowhere. He stared at John B for a moment longer, feeling the helplessness creeping up on him. "Just… just tell her I’m trying to help. Please." His voice broke on the last word.

John B nodded stiffly, his expression unreadable. "We’ll make sure she knows," he said, turning to walk back toward the house. "But you need to leave this alone, Rafe. For her sake."

Rafe swallowed hard, the fear and frustration mixing with a sense of helplessness he hadn’t felt in years. "I don’t know how to walk away from this," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I can’t just leave her in danger."

John B’s gaze softened, and he took a step closer, lowering his voice. “You love her, don’t you?”

Rafe’s throat tightened, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He looked away, staring at the floor as he nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

A silence settled over the room, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, John B placed a hand on Rafe’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Then trust us,” he said quietly. “Trust me. We’re on the same side here.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Rafe had never been good at handling silence, and the last three weeks had felt like an eternity. He’d made it through plenty of rough patches before, but this time was different. There was an emptiness he couldn’t shake—a nagging, constant fear gnawing at him from the inside out. The usual distraction tactics weren’t working anymore.

He'd spend hours at the golf course with Topper and Kelce, making small talk about future trips and complaining about the latest club drama. But every time he lined up a shot, his mind wandered back to you. He could see you in his peripheral vision, your smile, your laugh—always just out of reach. Even at the Pelican Yacht Club, with its sun-drenched decks and cool sea breeze, he found no comfort. He'd sit there with a drink in hand, zoning out as his friends talked about plans for the next regatta. It felt like they were in another world, one he couldn’t access.

Rafe had told himself you were with the Pogues, hiding out, and that they were probably getting into their usual reckless trouble. At least if you were with them, you weren’t alone. It should’ve been enough to reassure him, but it wasn’t. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he knew that if Ward had any idea where you were, he’d already have made a move. The thought made him nauseous. Ward was gone too—radio silent. It wasn’t like his father to stay off the grid this long, and the eerie stillness around his disappearance made Rafe’s skin crawl.

Every time his phone buzzed, his heart would leap into his throat. He'd drop whatever he was doing, half expecting your name to light up his screen. But it never was. It was always Topper asking about plans for the night, Kelce wanting to hit the links again, or one of the Kook girls trying to make conversation. He was slipping—losing his grip on his usual cool demeanor. His patience had worn thin, and the smallest annoyances set him off. He could feel his friends’ stares when they thought he wasn’t looking, exchanging concerned glances behind his back.

“What’s with you, man?” Topper had asked him last night, standing on the deck of the club, his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “You’ve been out of it lately.”

Rafe had forced a smile, brushing it off with a shrug. “Just family stuff,” he’d said, offering no further explanation. Topper didn’t press, but the worry in his eyes lingered, as if he could see the cracks forming in Rafe’s facade.

In moments of quiet, when the noise of the club died down and the laughter from the other tables faded into background chatter, Rafe felt the crushing weight of his own powerlessness. He didn’t know where you were, if you were safe, or if you were thinking about him at all. And the thought of you being hurt—or worse, alone and afraid—made him want to tear apart the entire island until he found you.

It had never been like this before. He’d never cared so deeply for someone that their absence felt like a physical wound. And now, with both you and his father missing, Rafe felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath his feet.

He pulled out his phone again, his fingers hesitating over your contact. He hadn’t called you in weeks, not since the last time you’d spoken—the argument you’d had before you disappeared. He wanted to hear your voice, to know that you were okay, but he was afraid you wouldn’t pick up. Afraid you would, and he wouldn’t know what to say.

In the end, he just stared at your name on the screen, his thumb hovering over the call button. He hated how weak he felt, how much he needed you. With a frustrated sigh, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and ran a hand through his hair, staring out at the horizon.

Rafe couldn’t stand the noise anymore. The laughter, the clinking glasses, the mindless chatter—it all grated on him like nails on a chalkboard. He clenched his jaw, feeling the tension building in his chest, and before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed back his chair and stood up abruptly.

"I'll catch you guys later," he said, his voice flat.

Topper and Kelce exchanged puzzled looks, caught off guard by his sudden departure. "You good, man?" Kelce called after him, but Rafe didn’t even bother to turn around. He gave a half-hearted wave over his shoulder as he made his way out of the club, ignoring the murmurs of confusion from the group behind him.

He needed to be alone, away from the forced smiles and meaningless conversations. He needed to escape the pressure building inside him like a storm ready to break. His feet carried him quickly to his truck, his hands already fumbling for his keys as he approached. The second he got inside, he slammed the door shut and let out a long, shaky breath.

For the first time all day, he felt a sliver of relief. The silence of the truck enveloped him, offering a brief respite from the chaos swirling in his mind. He leaned back against the seat, staring at the steering wheel as he tried to gather his thoughts. It was the first quiet moment he’d had in weeks, and he felt like he could finally breathe.

He pressed his palms to his eyes, as if the pressure could somehow force the pain out of his head. The knot in his chest tightened when he thought of you—where you were, if you were safe, if you even missed him. He was used to feeling in control, to having answers, but right now, he felt like he was spiraling, clutching at straws to make sense of it all. And then there was Ward's disappearance, which left an eerie silence hanging over his life, amplifying his uncertainty tenfold.

After a few minutes, he exhaled deeply, starting the truck. The engine’s rumble filled the air, grounding him in the moment. He pulled out of the lot and headed back home, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He needed to get away from it all, to shut the world out until he could figure out how to mend the mess inside him.

As he drove, the familiar scenery of Figure Eight blurred past him, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows on the road. It was a drive he’d made a thousand times, but today it felt different. The wind blowing through the open windows didn’t bring its usual comfort; it only reminded him of how empty everything felt without you by his side.

When he pulled into the long driveway of his family’s estate, the house loomed before him, its white facade glowing in the fading light. It was eerily quiet. He cut the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the mansion he’d grown up in. It was supposed to feel like home, but right now, it felt like a prison—a stark reminder of everything that was slipping through his fingers.

He made his way inside, letting the door click shut behind him. The silence of the house was suffocating. Rafe threw his keys on the table and headed up the stairs to his room. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it as he took in the familiar sight of his space. It felt just as empty as everything else.

He sank down onto the edge of his bed, dropping his head into his hands. For once, he didn’t try to push the feelings away. He let them wash over him—the fear, the frustration, the longing. He knew he couldn’t hide from it anymore. You were gone, his father was missing, and everything was falling apart.

He squeezed his eyes shut, whispering into the darkness of his room, “Where are you?” The words were a plea, a question directed at you, even though he knew you couldn’t hear him. He just hoped that, wherever you were, you were thinking of him too.

Rafe's chest tightened, and the room seemed to shrink around him as his emotions threatened to boil over. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears, but they welled up regardless, turning his vision blurry. His eyes became red and glossy, the ache in his heart growing unbearable with every passing second. It was like a ghost of you lingered in the room, haunting him with memories he couldn’t escape—your laugh, the way you’d look at him, the feel of your hand in his. Now, all he felt was emptiness.

He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that this was his fault. He had made a grave mistake, he was sure of it. If only he had kept a closer watch, if only he had been more careful, maybe you wouldn’t be in danger now. The thought of you being out there, vulnerable and alone, tore him apart. He could almost see you, scared and needing him, but no matter how hard he tried to reach out, you slipped further away from his grasp.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, his voice cracking as he bit down on the words. The apology felt hollow, echoing back at him in the empty room. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to make the pain stop—but he was trapped in this limbo of not knowing, of being helpless. And for someone like Rafe, who thrived on control, the helplessness was its own special kind of torture.

His hand tightened around his phone, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it like it was the source of all his pain. In a sudden burst of frustration and grief, he hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp crack, then fell to the floor, the screen shattering into pieces. For a moment, the silence after the impact felt almost comforting. He stared at the wreckage, chest heaving, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

But the brief satisfaction faded quickly, replaced by a hollow ache. He started pacing, the walls closing in on him as his thoughts spiraled out of control. His mind raced with all the worst-case scenarios, images of you hurt or scared flashing in his head. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it as if the pain could snap him out of this nightmare.

“Dammit!” he shouted, his voice breaking with a mixture of anger and desperation. He felt like he was losing it. He needed to do something—anything—but there was nowhere to go, no one to fight, and no way to find you. He was stuck, and it felt like drowning in quicksand.

Rafe stopped pacing, leaning against the wall as his body sagged under the weight of it all. His fingers dug into the plaster as he tried to ground himself, taking deep, shuddering breaths to calm the storm raging inside. The tears he had been holding back spilled over, streaking down his cheeks. He wasn’t used to this—crying, feeling this vulnerable. It made him feel weak, and he hated it. But right now, he couldn’t help it. He felt broken, shattered like the phone on the ground, and the pieces were too scattered to put back together.

He slid down the wall, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. He couldn’t escape the thought of you—your smile, the way you’d look at him like he was more than just a Cameron, more than just the troubled son of Ward. He hadn’t realized how much he needed you until you were gone. And now, he was left with nothing but the crushing guilt that he had failed to protect you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as he heard the knock echo through the house, slicing through the heavy silence. He froze, wiping his tears quickly and forcing himself to compose. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in hours, and he certainly wasn’t expecting company. The confusion quickly morphed into paranoia. He clenched his jaw, his eyes darting to the front door. His mind raced, imagining who it could be. His father? Back from wherever he’d disappeared to, ready to follow through on his threats? The thought alone sent a chill down his spine.

He needed to be ready.

Rafe’s gaze shifted to his bedside table, where the knife gleamed under the dim light. He reached for it, gripping it tightly in his hand, finding some comfort in the cold metal pressing into his palm. He moved cautiously, his steps light and silent, like a predator stalking prey. As he descended the stairs, every creak of the old wood sounded like a gunshot in his ears, making his heart hammer against his ribs. He held his breath, trying to keep quiet as he approached the door, his pulse throbbing in his throat.

He reached the bottom of the steps, his eyes locked on the door. It was slightly ajar, as if whoever was outside had hesitated, not yet willing to push their way in. Rafe moved closer, his back pressed against the wall, knife held at the ready. He strained to listen, trying to pick up any hint of who it might be on the other side. He didn’t hear much—just the faint sound of someone shifting their weight, maybe a shaky breath. His grip on the knife tightened, his knuckles turning white as he mentally prepared himself for an attack.

With a deep, steadying breath, he reached for the doorknob. His fingers trembled as they wrapped around the cool metal, twisting it slowly. He pulled the door open just a crack, peeking through the small sliver to catch a glimpse of whoever was on the other side. He gulped, his throat dry, as he took in the figure standing in the dim porch light.

Rafe's breath hitched as he stared at you, feeling a wave of emotions he couldn't quite place. Relief, disbelief, anger, and something else he couldn’t name all swirled together, leaving him speechless for a moment. His hand trembled, the knife still held in a death grip at his side. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He just stood there, taking you in like he was trying to convince himself you were real and not some figment of his imagination.

"Y/N?" he whispered, voice cracking. It was as if saying your name aloud might break the fragile spell of the moment. He’d pictured this reunion a thousand times—what he’d say, how he’d react—but now that you were actually here, all those plans evaporated. He felt paralyzed, his eyes scanning you up and down, searching for any sign of harm.

But you looked...fine. Unscathed. Healthier than he'd expected. It threw him off completely. He’d been imagining the worst for weeks, thinking you were in danger, or worse—hurt. Yet here you were, standing on his porch, seemingly calm and collected.

Rafe’s shoulders slumped, his posture collapsing under the weight of all the worry he'd carried. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, feeling the knife slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor. He didn’t even care. He just took a step closer, his eyes fixed on yours, desperate to make sense of what was happening.

“What the hell, Y/N?” he croaked out, his voice breaking. “Where have you been? Why—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as he raked a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were okay?”

“I’m tired of hiding, Rafe,” you said flatly, your voice carrying a strange calmness in the chaos of his thoughts. “Nobody else knows that I’m here. I left without telling them.”

Rafe’s brow furrowed in confusion, his mind trying to connect the dots. His heart still pounded in his chest, the weight of everything he’d been through over the past few weeks making it hard to focus. “I... I don’t get it. I thought you hated me because of all of this. I don’t get why—why you’re here.” His voice was shaky, filled with uncertainty as his gaze darted between you and the ground, as if the truth might be hiding in the space between.

"I never hated you," you said, your voice surprisingly steady. You met his gaze head-on, your eyes unflinching, though there was an underlying tension in your shoulders. "I did what I had to do to stay safe."

Rafe's brows furrowed as he processed your words, a painful confusion swirling inside him. "Why didn’t you call me? Why did you disappear without telling me where you were?" His voice cracked with the strain of his emotions. Every inch of his body screamed for answers, for the clarity he'd been missing for weeks.

You stood there, taking a deep breath before answering, the calmness in your voice betraying the storm brewing in your chest. "Because I didn’t want you to come looking for me. Ward knew you would be wherever I was, and I couldn’t risk it."

The words hit Rafe like a punch to the gut, and he felt his world tilt for a second, the weight of your actions now making sense, but only in the way that left him struggling to breathe. He didn’t know how to feel. His hands tightened at his sides, fists clenching as the frustration built up inside him.

"Of course I would look for you, Y/N," Rafe finally choked out, his voice rough with emotion. "I had to make sure you were safe, and it was killing me having to just sit here and hope you were protected."

Your gaze softened, the conflict in your eyes clear as you watched him struggle with the words. You could see the hurt, the years of worry in his eyes, and it made your heart ache in return. But there was something else there too—something you couldn't ignore any longer.

"I know, and I’m sorry." Your voice came out quieter, more fragile, as if it hurt you just as much to say those words. "But I don’t want to do this anymore. No more games, no more hiding, no more danger."

Rafe’s breath caught in his throat as he took in your words, his chest tightening. His first instinct was to reach for you, to pull you into his arms and keep you safe, to make up for the weeks of fear and confusion. But there was something else behind your words, a finality that stopped him in his tracks. He stared at you, disbelief and pain mixing together.

"What do you mean, Y/N?" His voice cracked again, and he fought to steady himself. "What do you mean, 'no more hiding'?"

You took a deep breath, stepping forward slightly, your posture firm but vulnerable. "I mean I want to stop running. I want to stop being afraid. I’ve been through enough, Rafe. And I don’t want to keep living in the shadows, waiting for the next threat to come."

Rafe’s eyes softened, a mix of guilt and understanding crossing his features. He wanted so badly to fix things, to make everything right, but the weight of what you were asking him to do loomed heavy between you both. The past few weeks, the pain, the fear—it was all more than he knew how to handle. But looking at you, standing there, finally free of the fear that had controlled you, he knew what he had to do.

Rafe’s heart hammered in his chest as he processed your words. His mind raced, but the ache in his chest intensified. "What do you want to do, Y/N?" he asked, the rawness in his voice betraying the vulnerability he couldn’t hide.

You didn’t hesitate. Your expression was steady, determined. “I want to leave this place,” you said softly, but with the weight of everything behind it. “I want to go somewhere nobody can find us. Somewhere we can live a normal life, without the constant fear. I can’t take this anymore, Rafe. I need out.”

His breath caught in his throat as you stepped closer. “I want a new life," you continued, your eyes locked on his. "A life where it’s just us, without all the chaos.”

The words hit Rafe like a storm. For a second, he couldn’t find his voice, too overwhelmed by the possibility of a life with you that didn’t have to be defined by the fear and danger that had haunted him for so long.

“You… you really mean that?” he choked out, the doubt evident in his voice. “You want to leave all this behind? For real?”

You nodded. “Yes, Rafe. I’m tired of running, tired of being afraid. I want to build something different. With you.”

Rafe’s chest tightened at the sincerity in your words. He had always known you were strong, but this—this was something different. The weight of what you were asking, what you were willing to risk for the two of you, settled in the pit of his stomach. It was overwhelming, but it also felt like the right kind of overwhelming.

“You’d really leave it all behind? You’d trust me with that?” His voice cracked on the last word, the depth of his feelings for you surfacing in a way he hadn’t expected.

You took another step forward, closing the distance between you. “I trust you, Rafe,” you said, your voice unwavering. “And I’m done with this life. I want more than this. I want a future. With you.”

Rafe stood there for a moment, his mind scrambling to catch up with the magnitude of what you were saying. The idea of a life without his father’s control, without the constant tension, without all the chaos—it was almost too much to comprehend. But the one thing that stood out, clearer than anything, was you. You were standing there, offering him everything.

He stepped forward, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as if trying to ground himself in the reality of what was happening. “Then let’s do it,” he said, his voice fierce with determination. “Let’s leave this place behind, together.”

The words hit you like a breath of fresh air, lifting the heaviness that had been suffocating you. You didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to hide behind walls of fear or uncertainty. You could finally see a future, a future with him, far away from the chaos and the danger. Your heart swelled in your chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a genuine smile spread across your face.

Rafe noticed it instantly—how your eyes softened, how the sadness and strain seemed to melt away. The corners of your lips curled upward, and without thinking, you stepped into him, closing the space between you. His hand tightened around yours, but before he could say anything, your lips found his.

It was sudden, but it was everything. The kiss was deep, urgent, and filled with the unspoken promises you both had carried in silence. Rafe responded instinctively, pulling you closer, his hand sliding to the small of your back as if to hold you in place, as if he could anchor you to him, keep you safe, keep you close.

In one swift motion, Rafe lifted you off the ground, his arms strong around you, as if he could carry all of your burdens with the ease of holding you in his arms. You let out a soft, surprised laugh as he kicked the door shut behind him, still holding you against him, your lips still locked in a kiss that spoke louder than any words could.

Once he gently set you back on your feet, he didn’t immediately pull away. Instead, he carefully brushed a lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering on your skin. His eyes softened as he looked at you, a mixture of love, relief, and something deeper—something raw that he couldn’t hide even if he tried.

“I’m gonna give you the life you deserve,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up at him, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the conviction in his expression. This was no longer about survival or fear—it was about a future that was finally within reach.

You smiled, your heart full, your gaze unwavering as you met his. “You already are,” you whispered back, your voice barely above a breath, but it was enough. “Just being here with you... that’s all I ever wanted.”

Rafe’s expression softened further, a slow smile spreading across his face, and in that moment, you saw the man he could be—strong, protective, and driven by love rather than chaos.

"I love you, Y/N." The words hung between you like a promise, deep and unwavering. Rafe's breath caught for just a moment, the weight of what he'd just said settling in. He'd said it before, in fleeting moments, but now, in this moment, it felt different. There was no fear of loss, no uncertainty clouding his mind. It was just the raw truth.

"I love you, too, Rafe," you whispered back, your voice steady and sure. This time, you didn’t have to doubt it. It wasn’t just about the words—it was the way you felt in this moment, with him. Your pulse quickened, not from fear, but from the certainty of what was to come.

He pulled you closer, his arms strong around you as if to keep you tethered to him, to the life you were about to build. His lips brushed over your forehead, and then he pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze unwavering, filled with all the raw emotion you’d both buried for too long.

With a soft smile, Rafe leaned down to kiss you again, this time more tender, slower, as if savoring the moment, cherishing the bond that had been built through all the chaos and uncertainty. This kiss was a promise—one of protection, of understanding, and above all, of love.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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[prisonhannibal]

Today (November 12th 2024), the Norwegian parliament voted on which actions will be taken as a result of the Truth and Reconciliation Commision’s report on fornorskningen (translated “the norwegianization”, referring to the official policies for the forced assimilation of sámi people up until the 1980s, for example by sending the children to boarding schools to separate them from the culture.) which was handed in in June of 2023. They’ve voted to issue an official and historic apology for the irreparable harm done to our communities, languages and culture and the trauma to individuals affected, with only one party voting against it. Which, of course is FrP, the most right wing mainstream political party. Not ONLY do they not want to apologize, they want to shut down the Sámi Parliament and pull Norway out of the ILO convention on the rights of indigenous people. This comes right after massive civil disobedience actions in 2022-23 against the norwegian government continuing a human rights violation for years after the supreme court of Norway ruled it a human rights violation according to conventions on indigenous peoples human rights. Anyway, this is a win for us and the other minority cultures affected by these policies. Still, I have complicated feelings around an apology because I truly just don’t know what kind of apology could ever make up for the damage. But it’s definitely a start and things could start happening from here. I’m hopeful. they’ve also passed multiple things they will do to follow up on the report and help our communities

as always, fuck FrP

[jasontoddscigarette]

guys… Christmas Gala with Jason Todd 🎄🌃

Just imagine going to The Gotham Annual Christmas Benefit Ball on Jason’s arm? Hosted by Bruce Wayne, of course. The two of you stepping out of the sleek black Tahoe Bruce had sent to your shared apartment to make sure Jason brought his ass over for at least one gala this before it was over.

The sight of the two of you walking into the warmth of the Gotham City Hall ballroom captured in a time capsule by the paparazzi as they snapped hundreds of photos of the attractive couple. Knowing you’d end up in tabloids along with all the other clippings about Bruce Wayne and his elegant parties that some could only dream of. Snow falling into both of your hair peppering it as the streets were painted with a fresh fall of it for the approaching Christmas morning.

Jason for once cleaning up to the nines, a tux and his white-swirled raven hair gelled back as he held you close to him, using the warmth of his body to keep you toasty. A red backless dress with a bow on the base beautiful against your smooth skin. Hugging your body on all the ways it needed to, Jason unable to keep his hands off you, claiming it was because he just liked the shiny bow but you knew the second you got home he was taking that dress off and unwrapping you like his early Christmas present to ravish you.

The scent of pine from the fresh Christmas trees all over the venue, trays of cookies from the finest bakeries in Gotham, only the best for Bruce Waynes guest. The warmth of the white glow of fairy-strung Christmas and snowflake lights all over. The hum of Michael Bublé could be heard as Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) mixed in with the chatter of people and the clanking of wine glasses. Laughter and conversations filling the atmosphere, your annual Christmas Eve tradition, even if Jason pretended he hated it every single year. But, watching you surrounded by Christmas decorations, the glow of lights and tree-toppers on your gorgeous face? Made you look like the damn prettiest thing alive and he couldn’t pass that up. A angel amongst sinners.

Bonus if you can convince him to at least dance with you for one song, holding your soft body up against his hard muscled one, hands sliding up and down your sides, exposed back via your dress and of course just so happening to grab your ass at some points which you’d slap his arm playfully in reaction. Even though you both knew you loved it, his attention to you. His adoration. His worship. You both could’ve stayed home in your pajamas, cuddled up on the couch watching National Lampoons Christmas Vacation with whip-cream topped cocoa and he’d still think it was perfect. As long as you were there. As long as he had you.

He never really cared for holidays from his childhood until you stumbled along into his life unexpectedly, but now there was you. And he did everything he could to make them perfect for his girl. His girl. His perfect girl.

[loycos]

what did you make of the scene where caitlyn hits vi ? the timing of the blow was so unexpected to me…she was kinda steadying herself and then WHAM. What was going through her head ? Was she making some kind of decision ? Mind still reeling that she chose (?) to gut punch Vi to signal the end of their relationship.

well, i dont exactly know what made her make this decision. it looks like a momentary lashout based on rage. i think her rage comes from a place of betrayal, so she wants to make vi as hurt as that betrayal feels.

i actually think the "misunderstanding" thats happening here is very well written. clearly we as the audience see that caitlyn is becoming more and more unhinged. vi sees it as well. caitlyn might have missed the shot and killed a kid- her composure at that moment was very much shaken. most people, given this scenario, would choose to opt out. so to us, caitlyn being so insistent feels callous and irretional. which, it is. but lets look at it from caitlyn's perspective.

so, caitlyn feels a lot of guilt about the fact she didnt shoot jinx back at the dinner table. its very well established. she mainly blames herself, but i think a small subconscious part of her also blames vi- vi is the one who got her to hesitate, after all. the fact that she "messed up" last time and that caused so much grief and pain not only to herself, but to the 2 cities, makes her EXTREMELY determined to NEVER make that mistake again.

vi told caitlyn to not bring back up, so basically, theyre each other's only support. caitlyn agreed, that means that to her she put 100% of her trust in vi to help here and to have her back. vi told her, my sister is gone. when u have the chance, take the shot. caitlyn is convinced theyre on the same page here. so when vi turns on her, shes in utter disbelief, and she starts questioning whenever vi ever had HER best interest in mind.

thats why i think caitlyn is so obsessed with bringing up the idea of who's "side" vi is on. you could read it as "piltover vs zaun" but i think what she means is "me vs jinx". at the dinner party caitlyn didnt shoot because of vi, and she wonders whether or not the girl she sacrificed everything for would do the same for her.

and at that moment, after she missed her shots, again, because of vi, she comes to the realization that vi would never choose her over jinx. and she flips out.

now. thats how CAITLYN sees it, im pretty sure. we know there are other things at play that have affected vi's decision, and that caitlyn currently is not seeing the bigger picture. but that's what i think she felt that drew this severe of a reaction from her.

[akapen011]

This is happening in South America too. Trump inspired the republican party to be founded here in Chile (in 2019) by a guy who's pretty much a nazi and who was a finalist in the last presidential election.

Not to say conservatives didn't exist here before, but they have gotten so much more vicious and bold after Trump.

They have adopted his talking points and ideas, parroting them to people who are too tired to fact check, and looking for someone to blame for their misery. And it's WORKING.

The guy I talked about who founded the Chilean republican party? He went to fucking CPAC (the Conservative Political Action Conference, for those who don't know). The Brazilian ex-president, Jair Bolsonaro, went to that conference too and gave a speech that's pretty much a Trump talking point copypasta, transphobia and all. Not only that, but the current Agentinian president, Javier Milei, went too.

And those are only the ones that I know of! I can speak only for Latin America since I live here, but the rise of conservatism is extremely evident and people everywhere are getting radicalized by them.

Please, I know these are terrible times, but if you think you can change someone you know's mind about going full conservative by explaining and showing evidence to them, then PLEASE try.

It's not always going to work, but there's many people who can still become allies. It's okay to be angry, and it's true that some people are too far into it, yes. But if you can change even one person's mind about this, you might be saving someone that person knows' life or even their own.

Being kind and patient can go a long way, I have done this for other people and it can work. It's hard work, but if no one does it then people are just going to continue to be radicalized to the far right, because they're not going to stop, and if there's no one to counter their misinformation and propaganda, it will just keep spreading.

And this is not the only way to help of course! Volunteer, donate, talk to friends and help them, build community, organize get-togethers with marginalized people around you to trade and get to know each other so you can help if needed.

If you can't do any of that? Learn about politics and post information in a way that's easily digestible by people who are too tired to do their own research, encourage them to get involved, research ways to help others and spread this information, it doesn't matter how many people see it, if you can help even one person you're already doing so much good to the world.

Push for change where you can, don't waste energy, don't waste water, recycle if you can. Even doing one of any of the things I wrote about helps more than you can imagine.

To OP, I'm sorry for hijacking your post, I'm just very worried and I want people to know these things.}

Keep fighting however you can, for your sake, and for the sake of the future, we can't let them win.

thats the thing thats missing from america-centric discussion of fascism: this shit is global. every country in “the west” is seeing the same rise of fascism in real time, all of it focused on murdering migrants. like giorgia meloni is campaigning to deport people to “migrant camps” in albania. last year the greek coast guard outright drowned a boat of 500 asylum seekers. and as that last post said im not dismissing the suffering of people within the US, i’m just saying its so supremely frustrating that every conversation is about the minutiae of american domestic policy and not the horrifying ultranationalist global trend scapegoating arabs and africans.