#salt yells at cloud

[3000-200-grains-of-salt]

AU where Gem is a serial killer with a day job at an aquarium and she keeps feeding the corpses to the unusually clever leviathan/siren/mermaid/eldritch sea horror (Pearl)

[3000-200-grains-of-salt]

Theres an old Jewish proverb:

A few men are traveling in a small boat together, and each man has his own cabin/separate room to himself.

One man takes a saw and cuts a hole in the bottom of his cabin, and the boat immediately starts filling with water.

When the others start yelling at him for cutting a hole in the boat, the man says,"Why are you angry? It was my room!"

i hate you private jets i hate you bitcoin i hate you cars that go 200 mph i hate you golf parks i hate you yachts i hate you huge mansions with a pool i hate you luxery resorts i hate you exessive wealth causally killing the planet and using up ressources we all need

[3000-200-grains-of-salt]

modern day icarus making his wings from empty caprisun pouches and babybel cheese wax

[himboskywalker]

Tag what is your opinion on fandom cliches and hierarchies? There’s been talk on Twitter about how hard it is to break into the obikin community (which I disagree wkth) but I wondered if you had saw this going on and what your thoughts are as someone who’s been here longer than me

*sighs for a solid 10 minutes* I’m going to sound extremely grumpy answering this and it’s because seeing this kind of stuff pisses me off like nothing else in fandom. I wholeheartedly disagree,as I’m sure you guessed I would,and I have seen similar arguments on tumblr,as I avoid fandom Twitter like the plague. I’ve never seen a more welcoming,friendly,community driven fandom space as I have in the obikin community,and I’ve been in a lot of fandom spaces for a long freaking time. Back in 2019/early 2020 when I made my existence known in obikin,I felt like I was welcomed with open arms and a heartwarming level of love. For the vast majority I’ve found this space to be extremely uplifting,supportive,and positive. And I’m not saying this now as a creator who’s well known in some circles, I’m saying this as the nobody who everyone was extremely kind to when I wasn’t known from Adam,I have been treated the same way from my first chapter to now in regards to peoples’ welcoming kindness.

I’ve seen a couple people on tumblr complain about how hard it is to break into the obikin space and how they feel like nobody cares about them or what they create,and that they feel there’s cliques guarding the supposed gates of…obikin success? I don’t even know. But in my opinion that’s folks waltzing into fandom with an agenda and need that just isn’t compatible with the community spaces of fandom. If you come into a space with the expectation of accolades and popularity you’re not here to actually make friends and have fun,you’re here as a popularity contest.

And I think the fundamental misconception people have is that they are inherently deserving of space and attention just for them coming in and existing. And like, I’m sorry but you have to put in the groundwork to make friends and connections and to find a place you feel you belong. It goes both ways, you have to reach out to people and be friendly and chat,don’t just expect people who have been in this space to magically be your friend and know you when you’re brand new and haven’t made an effort to flag you exist. And that’s what people call “it being hard to break into the space and it’s cliquey.” Because no,that’s how socializing works, you introduce yourself and you chat and you get to know people and you put yourself out there and engage with others. Sometimes you create art and people engage with you over that,sometimes you have funny things to say and people can laugh and bond over that,or sometimes you let other artists know you love what they’ve created. Imagine it as going to a cocktail mixer at an art gallery, you can’t just stand in a freaking corner staring at everyone talking and interacting and then get mad and storm out like “those people are such a clique and not welcoming!!!!” Like bro did you make an effort?

And if you’re coming into fandom as an artist or writer or gif maker or whatever,not everyone is going to like or engage or interact with you and what you create. People in your fandom space are not obligated to reblog your posts or comment on your fics. Especially a space like tumblr,it can take a while for people to notice you and start interacting with you,it’s how algorithms work and is just one of the pitfalls of an online community space. If you make a fandom tumblr I think it’s extremely conceited,self-centered,and like weird to expect to be a popular creator instantly. I’m sure there are people who think I ignore them or am cliquey and barring the door for them when in fact it just takes me a while to notice people. I’m not going to magically remember your username,but what I will notice is you making posts and tagging it in my ship tag, I’ll notice you systematically engaging with people and creating stuff,and l’ll notice if you engage with me. It takes time to build connections,and it takes work.Friendship and community is not owed to you, you must be the second half of the bridge and you must build those relationships and that space for yourself.

We’re a small community, this isn’t a huge popular ship. And it always boggles my mind when people are like iTs sO hArD tO bE iN oBiKiN. Like I notice new artists and writers and gif makers after they’ve made a couple things. We don’t ignore new people but on the flip side it’s not a popularity contest and you’re not owed fame and worship because you were popular in another fandom or because you create art. If you’re here for those reasons then you’re not going to be happy in fandom,especially a small niche part of it where you’re not going to get anywhere near as much attention as you would in a big popular ship.

And I don’t completely buy into the write for yourself mindset and ignore all else. I get what it’s like to want people to enjoy the art you pour yourself into,that’s not a crime. The very act of putting something on tumblr or ao3 means you’re not just creating for yourself. But the key it not to just “create for yourself�� but to create what you love. We’re here because we love the same characters and the same world,we want to share that love! And be excited over pouring our love into our art and sharing it with other people who feel the same way!Create and engage in fandom not for popularity or attention,but because you love this thing and it’s inherent human connection with other people who feel the same way. That’s how you build friendships and a community. That’s what fandom is,connection with others over shared love. So engage and create and participate and laugh and chat and cry and connect through shared love. It’s not about our differences,or how we sometimes like different things or find different meanings,that’s what makes these spaces eclectic and fun,it’s not about liking the wrong thing or liking it in a wrong way. If fandom isn’t fun for you because you can’t stand people loving what you love in a different way,or not giving you the attention and praise you want for creating what you love,then that’s a you problem that you should self examine about.

We’re treated like lepers in a lot of spaces for liking the “wrong” thing,and we’re tight knit because of that. Which just means all the more that we can’t afford to be cliquey snobs about “allowing” new people into our space. From every avenue I’ve seen obikin fans are ecstatic to welcome new faces in,it’s just more friends to connect over what we love. Sometimes you like parts of this world or dynamic others don’t,sometimes you create art that means a lot to you that doesn’t mean a lot to everyone else and that’s okay. We’re allowed to have our personal preferences and our likes and our dislikes. But when you start treating other people in the same community like they’re bullying you for not liking the same thing as you and engaging with your content simply because they don’t vibe with it and then accuse the entire fandom of being a gatekeepimg snobby clique,then that’s you just being a whiny baby and I’ll say it to their faces. Your are not oppressed or being bullied because people in obikin don’t like what you do and you’re the one creating divisiveness by saying it’s a problem,no one is obligated to love what you do. And for those who are saying their content isn’t welcome,we’ll that’s just a further cry for attention because there will ALWAYS be someone who will enjoy the dynamic you do,and just because everyone doesn’t,it doesn’t make you a martyr.

So create what you love,put forth a fucking effort to connect with people who like the same shit you do,and don’t push half your fandom away by being a negative black hole in the tags and acting like everyone is out to get you and being mean.

[shoutoramaru]

straight up "jerkyimg" it. and by it. haha. lets jsut say. my peanits

[3000-200-grains-of-salt]

Also:

YES, you still need to wear sunscreen if it's cloudy

REAPPLY IT

Use waterproof stuff if necessary

Some places people miss: The top of your ears, your eyelids, beneath your eyes, the part in your hair, your neck and collarbone

If sunscreen is sensory bad for you:

try using a different form. Usually it comes in spray, lotion, and a stick for your face

Wear more covering (preferably darker) clothing instead, with longer sleeves

Stay in the shade or inside

Have someone else help you

Yeah, putting on sunscreen sucks, but it sucks 100x more to have a sunburn, ESPECIALLY a bad one. Like, seriously it sucks so much. I won't go into detail but I've had terrible sunburns before and in both pain and discomfort, they are hell.

Yeah, putting on sunscreen sucks, and yeah, some people are immune to sunburns, but having skin cancer sucks probably 10000x more than having a sunburn.

Use sunscreen guys <3

Hello everybody with summer fast approaching here is your regular reminder that:

Everyone needs to wear sunscreen

SPF 50 is pretty much the best protection you can get, an SPF higher than that will have the same effect

Melanin does not protect you from skin cancer

Tanning is caused by exposure to ultraviolet radiation

Spending the majority of your life receiving regular large doses of UV radiation without any skin protection is a good way to get skin cancer

Don't use tanning beds, and don't go sun tanning

Wear your fucking sunscreen

[mataglap]

I am once again begging people not to quote entire source dialogues in their fic. are you writing a fic or making a youtube transcription

[3000-200-grains-of-salt]

This is the portrait for anyone looking

the thing is the king charles portrait is genuinely incredible and exactly how I would execute a portrait of a member of the british royal family but also I literally cannot fathom why the british royal family would have it made

[notquiteaghost]

love being the kind of sick that makes me go no fuck modern medicine. what were we doing six millennia ago that we're still doing today

[mapleborealis]

choose violence ask game: 4, 5, 12

4. what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

tbh i that doesn’t usually happen a lot, i slow to follow someone and largely follow leftists when i do. the times i have i think usually have been antisemitism that they refuse to back down from when asked about. like bro cmon you’re a leftist have a little self reflection and thoughtful listening and research like when you listen to every other minority group

5. worst discord server and why

the server where i was told when i was exploring an au where i made a canon cis male character into a trans butch woman and was told that cis male and trans butch lesbian genders are the same type of masculinity and thus i was perpetuating toxic masculinity 😎 it was a hot fucking mess and stupid as hell i left like two weeks later and found my people elsewhere

second place goes to the server that needed you to go to a secondary verification server to show your real government id and face on the internet to prove that you were 18+ that’s sketchy as hell on several levels, but mostly i feel sad for the people who are so paranoid about accusations of pedophilia they’re going to let their name, address and real photo on the internet to avoid the toxic & paranoid environment antis have created. just make a private server and limit who joins so you can all share brain rot in peace and happiness not every server needs to have thousands of members and BNF mods.

also i think it imploded for unrelated reasons a few days ago.

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

MIRAGE MIRAGE MIRAGE i mean mirage isn’t actually that obscure in the transformers fandom there’s just so many other characters that it’s easy to get lost. hes shitty old money but also lost all his family’s status and doesn’t know anything but also the autobots second best spy and !!!! i have so many thoughts about him and jazz, him and prowl, mirage and the cybertronian religion, how the old money of cybertron worked

second place mikhail from sirius the jeager, sad abused vampire son boy who lost his people and cut off from his culture but knew his younger brother was alive and just needed to stick around long enough to know that yuliy could continue their culture on <3 im not crying you’re crying

[3000-200-grains-of-salt]

if there's one thing about jimmy solidarity its that he's the friend that always feels like he walks behind the main group on the sidewalk.

if there's one thing about jimmy solidarity its that he's gotten the short end of the stick and been the butt of the joke so many times he just expects it at this point.

if there's one thing about jimmy solidarity its that he craves love and affection and genuine positive attention and he craves it so much it's painful, and if there's one thing about him its that he can't ask for it ever no matter how much it hurts to be alone, can't ask can't satisfy that hungry thing inside him that begs to yell, to scream i'm here, i'm here, i'm not a joke, please look at me, please love me, please tell me i matter, please tell me you care, please, please, please.

if there's one thing about jimmy its that he makes himself the joke, the court jester, the punching bag, the receiving end of the slapstick comedy; its that he's always the one to slip on the banana peel, to fall on his face, to say oops silly me again, always the one to be picked on, always telling everybody to look at him, point at him, laugh at him, because if he closes his eyes and bites his tongue it almost feels like love.

and nobody notices the pain behind his smile because he's jimmy and jimmy's always positive and nobody sees him grit his teeth and steel his nerves from where he's faceplanted into the mud because he's jimmy and jimmy always gets back up again, and nobody sees past his reassurances that its fine im really ok because it's jimmy and jimmy's always doing good, and nobody ever stops laughing to remind him that they're joking because it's jimmy and jimmy doesn't mind.

if there's one thing about jimmy solidarity its that he'll say he doesn't want anything for his birthday, and he doesn't even expect anything for his birthday but he still counts on his fingers beneath the table how many people give him well wishes cause he's so so scared that the number will be less than last year and when he wakes up every year he can't help but hope that maybe his friends will see past his facade and say "hey i know you said not to get you a gift but here's a little something i got for you" and "why don't we grab a cake on the way home" and  even just a simple "happy birthday", and maybe he prays again and again to hear those words every year because if he listens hard enough he can almost hear i love you, i love you echoing through the syllables.

if there's one thing about jimmy solidarity it's that every time he falls (and he'll fall and fall and fall alright) he throws his eyes open wide as the ground rushes up to meet him because if he spreads his wings and reaches out his arms it almost feels like flying.

if there's one thing about jimmy solidarity its that he'll never ever stop fighting for his friends and he'll never ever stand in silence if somebody hurts them and that red in his eyes will never ever lessen til his friends are safe and if there's one thing about jimmy solidarity its that giving the same courtesy to himself makes him feel like throwing up so he just averts his eyes and knits his fists a bit tighter, because if he chokes back his tears and pushes down his hurt it almost feels like strength.

[3000-200-grains-of-salt]

de-cocc'd

I saw this question posed on tiktok, but I think Tumblr would really enjoy it too.

If a fae creature offered to give one million dollars for a bone chosen at random, how many bones would you allow them to take?

Light clarifications; The fae is not the one choosing the bones. The bone is taken at random. Each bone, no matter the size or importance, is worth a full million dollars. You must also declare the exact number first, you can't go bone-by-bone. You either say 2 or you say 10, you can't work your way up to a higher number. The bones are removed instantaneously, and the money is given immediately as well. You will not get in government trouble for acquiring the money.

Tell me in the tags/replies how many bones you'd let the fae take. And as always, reblog for bigger sample size.

[chronologicalimplosion]

I get so frustrated by the fact that transmasc fic focuses so heavily on the same transition milestones (or on sex that doesn't feel meaningfully different from cis genderswap fic) and I just like. Do not know how to talk about it without sounding like a grumpy old man.

There are just SO MANY weird and specific parts of everyone's trans experience. I get so tired of the endless arguments about "happens to be trans" vs "about being trans" representation. It's not binary like that!! Pausing the narrative to mention that a character wears a binder, adding blorbo names to a textbook coming out, and fucking sloppy style are not the only options!!

I'm not mad that those fics exist, I want every scared trans teen who hasn't come out yet to have that safe haven on ao3, but also. Like.

Where are my trans fics about awkward packer slip-ups? About re-meeting someone who only knew you pre-transition? About travel difficulties and paperwork hell? About healthcare fuckups and deciding to come out to soften the "no" when you get invited to a pool party and picking your hobbies to avoid gendered spaces and the first time your voice cracks at the knitting circle? About gifts of clothes and learning to shave?

I want stories where the characters have specific trans struggles and joys that are unique to the circumstances of the rest of their lives. I want stories that are in medias trans, focusing on the middle bits and not just the big milestones of starting t/getting surgery/coming out. I want stories where trans people get help, even from people who aren't doing it perfectly, even from people they're not fucking or related to. Hell, I want more stories that actually engage with bottom dysphoria. I want comings-out that work the way real ones do, over multiple conversations to hash out the specifics of what "I'm trans" actually means for how you, specifically, want to be treated.

I want trans headcanons that feel the same way it does to BE trans: trans, and many other things that have nothing to do with being trans, simultaneously and inextricably. Trans stories that couldn't be told about any other character because they're grounded in the minutia of that specific character's life.

[alnilaem]

a more fleshed-out version from the third prompt of this post of mine.

cw for emotional manipulation, breaking in, stalking, smut, babytrapping, and dubcon to be safe

simon riley/reader

-

Something is wrong. 

Your suitcase is halfway past the threshold of your front door, halfway past your new grave, when you notice the hum of salt and tobacco in the air. Discomfort licks your insides and binds to your skin so heavily that you begin to sweat. A tinny sound peals out as you rearrange your keys between your knuckles, clenching it, and step inside your flat. 

Your heels are at the foot of your shoe rack. Your coat isn’t where it’s supposed to be, crimped in a pool on the floor. Your framed photographs are all inched to the left—you know this because you committed their placement to your memory—because you feared this would happen.

Something is seriously, gravely wrong. 

You feel like you’re lost at sea. Dull-headed and impaired under the alluring melody of a blood-thirsty siren. Walking towards their call, your legs moving before your mind can, spit in the presentiment of fear the same way insects get caught in spiderwebs. Stuck, and about to be eaten.  

You trek further into your flat, following the telltale signs that someone has been here—is here. A general shift in air. The stench of stale herbs and metal. A trail of silt on your hardwood floors, that of which could only be caused by certain mud-clogged boots tracking into your flat.

Here, you pause. On the threshold of your kitchen. Your stomach turns inside out and if it weren’t for your ribs, your heart would have burst out of your chest. 

It’s like you’re walking on glass. Every thin sliver that pokes your skin, invading you, is a splinter of fear. And it also makes it so that you can’t walk away—you’re frozen in place, watching him above your stove, setting a kettle to boil. 

He hears your squeak. Simon turns around, cotton-plated in his civvies, and hums. 

“Welcome home, Love.” 

The moisture leaves your mouth and rushes to your eyes. A film of dew materialises on top of your waterline. It’s thick and pearlescent and clouds your vision, turns Simon into an incorporeal blob in your vision, turning him into a trick of your eyes that you hope will go away after you blink.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Simon rests himself against your kitchen counter. He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, tilting his head, and bends his lips into an unseemly smile.

“How was your friend’s place?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?” You try getting your anger across, but your voice betrays your emotions. It’s heavily distorted by fear, waning, so much so that it makes him blandly chuckle. Like he can smell the terror roiling off of you. Like he feeds from it.

“How did you get in?”

Simon shrugs. “I’ve got a copy of the key.” 

“I changed the damn locks.”

“I got new ones,” he says.

“We broke up.”

“You broke up with me,” Simon snarls. “When I was at my fuckin’ lowest. You broke up with me and I didn’t agree to tha’ shit.”

“Simon–” a gust of disbelief cuts your sentence short. You grip your hair at its roots, tugging it, twisting it, coiling your face in frustration. “Simon, you need to leave.”

“You’re talkin’ like that ‘cause you’re mad at me. Give it a few minutes, and you won’t be.”

“Are you fucking insane!?” You yell. You draw towards him and slam the kettle off the stove. “You broke into my flat!”

“I had a key,” Simon says. He steps towards you, bullying you backwards until the hind of your spine catches on the cold granite of your countertop. Until your back bends over it, Simon, looming over you. “I’ve always told you to use the deadbolt.”

You bite your lip. The blood sticking to the roof of your mouth isn’t as bitter as Simon’s eyes. His are cold, depthless. 

“Fuck off.”

Then, Simon flips. His expression shifts in a whirlwind of seconds. Now, his brunette eyebrows are pursed and his lips are pointed down. His head is ensconced on your neck, his shoulder suddenly laden with an invisible weight as he kittens into you.

“Just came ‘cause I wanted to talk…” he mumbles. “One a’ my men died on me yesterday. Got early R&R for it. Thought you’d be happy to see me...”

You’re motionless as Simon clemently begins kissing your neck. You split your hands on his chest and try shoving him away, but he doesn’t move. He’s as solid as rock. Pushing himself into you, grovelling into your sleek skin. 

A phantom chain is tightening around your throat. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you can say. You feel that with any words that poise themselves on your tongue, Simon won’t take kindly to. 

“Simon… I’m sorry for you. I really am,” you slip out from under him and step back. “But this isn’t the way to go about it. We’re adults. And I’m asking you to leave.”

Simon raises his head, lukewarm. He stares at you through his half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily, clenching his fist around the lip of your countertop. Thickly, you swallow. You fidget with your cardigan and hope it will offset the discomfort hanging in the air. Simon takes a deep breath, sucking it all up—the discomfort, the presentiment—and you expect his huffing to precede an explosive reaction, but it doesn’t come. He just slips himself off the island and turns around, quiet when he speaks.

“Yeah,” he hums. “My old man didn’t want anythin’ to do with me, so why should you?” 

Your eyes widen. Though you’ve spent so much time trying to bury it, trying to familiarise yourself with Simon’s sick gambits, a pang of guilt hits you hard.

“Don’t say things like that,” you point an accusing finger to his chest, “it isn’t fair.” 

“No, no,” he grumbles. “Makes sense, does’n’it? My old man walked out on me, so I should handle you walking out on me, too.”

Simon shudders with a long breath. He slaps his face into his hands, and it’s at this point, does your knee-jerk impulse to comfort him take hold of you. The last of your even-tempered brain screams at you—he’s trying to ply you with a humanised side of him, but that side died a long time ago—but you press forward and awkwardly bring him into your arms, patting him on the back. 

“Simon, I’m… sorry, okay?” He buries his head in your neck, nips at your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you jus’ yell at me tomorrow?” He asks. Simon slips his hands into the depression of your waist, pulling you against his chest. Against the ever-rising tent of his jeans. 

Your mind protests, but Simon keeps you close. He stinks of sweat, impairing you with it, spinning you around and pushing you against the counter. 

“Simon–”

“Shhh,” he hums, catching his fingers on the hem of your leggings. “Y’said we can talk later. ’m tired, Love. Just need you right now.” 

Any protests rot on your tongue because the wind is knocked out of you as you’re folded over the counter. Simon’s hands travel, gripping every part of you, rekindling old bruises left behind and making space for new ones. 

He ruts into you, cock fattening in his boxers and stressing against his jeans. He slides a hand over the divots of your spine and bends it around your neck, hoisting your head back, huffing into your ear. 

“You’ve no idea how much I missed y’Love,” Simon’s humping you now. Rutting himself against your ass with unrestrained vigour. He bites the husk of your ear, flattens you against the counter, and sinks a hand below your waistband. He spreads your pussy open like the shell of a fruit, pushing his thick fingers into its flesh, knuckle-deep and kneading you. 

“How’s here?” He grumbles. You whine, and he twists himself deeper. “What about there?” 

Your mind and body wrestle between pushing him away and yielding under his touch. Simon fucks his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner, into you, and chuckles when you squeal. 

He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you see a sliver of bared teeth as his lips hitch up into a gnarled smile. “Ah, so that’s the spot, innit?”

You’re dew-skinned and fuzzy when Simon throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to your bedroom. Your tongue is heavy and numb and bootless against any objections as he throws you on the mattress, standing balefully at the foot of the bed. 

If you were a child, you’d hide under your sheets until he disappeared. But you’re not a child, and Simon doesn’t disappear. He sinks his knees into your bed and swipes his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt in one slick motion. 

He unzips his jeans and doesn’t even pull his balls out, just cups the gauze of his boxers beneath it and leans onto his hands.

A pearlescent bead of precum slips down the slit of Simon’s dick and drools onto your comforter. He wraps his hand around it, slips his palm up and down, tugging down your pants.

Your legs kick into a paltry complaint, but Simon pins your legs down. 

“No reason in fighting,” he says, rubbing his cockhead against your clit, “You’re so wet, Love.”

Simon nudges your panties to the side and thumbs your clit. Leans in for a biting kiss and swallows your moans, slapping his fat cock against your puffy, wet cunt. 

“Missed me just as bad, eh?” He huffs, setting his dick against your winking hole, pushing past your first ring of muscle and rolling at the sticky sound of your cunt spreading open.

“Simon–” you hic, latching onto his forearms. Trying to offset his bruising grip on your hips as he falls into a steady, deep rhythm. “At least wear a condom.”

He’s so thick, so heavy between your legs. Hoisting you onto his thighs and leaning over you, snapping his cock into you. He screws his face tight, pellets of sweat running down his marred collarbone. Congealing into the spindly, blonde threads of hair on his chest. Down to the wire of steel wool that thickens on his pelvis, pinching your clit each time he slams into you.

“You’re stayin’ with me, Pup,” he pants, kissing a stripe up your neck, suckling on your pebbled nipple. “Gonna gimme a litter, ain’t you? Just like we talked about?”

A little, lone tear slips down your hot cheek. Simon leans in and licks it off. He stuffs himself to the hilt, shuddering with abrupt pleasure as he skips to his feet and folds you in half, pounding into you, biting down on your shoulder.

It hits you like whiplash when Simon pushes himself so deep that you feel him swelling under your skin. He gives you no warning before emptying his balls inside you, flooding you with a white-hot come, clutching your jaw into a wet, messy kiss.

You’re blinded and eclipsed by pain as your orgasm shoots through you. The pleasure is numbing and makes you quiver, tremble, until you’re gushing around Simon’s cock and swivelling your hips to get away.

You’re shaking when he pulls back, giving your pussy no time to soften. Simon gives it a swat and flays himself off of you, heading to the bathroom. You hear the cellophane of your birth control peeling open, and the successive thunk as Simon tosses it into the bin. 

You try getting up but Simon flattens you back as he crawls in bed next to you. There’s a hand of his on your waist, seemingly benign, but tightens itself each time you try slipping away. Your sniffles are piercing and Simon pulls you close. Brushes your tears away, kisses your eyelids. 

“You’re not gonna leave me now, eh? You can’t,” he whispers, “you’re all I’ve got. You and our baby. You can’t leave me now.”

A pitiful cry escapes you. Simon takes that as agreement.

[chrollogy]

EIGHTEEN THOUSAND KILOMETRES

— oikawa tōru x f! reader

syn: Your high school lover suddenly breaks up with you to chase his career in another continent. Ten years later, you unexpectedly bump into him, and feelings that were once buried with time resurface once again but you know better than to let it consume you.

18+ MDNI; timeskip!oikawa, angst, hurt/no comfort (gets a bit better towards the end, trust), light smut, implied sex, brief mention of oral (f receiving), not-so-happy ending (sorry lol), iwaizumi being a good friend. divider: cafekitsune.

word count: 4.9k

notes: sorry i suck at writing the synopsis lmaoo pls trust me on this one. i may or may not have cried while writing this aaaaa i live for oikawa angst sm. feedback is more than welcome!

A few hours.

It took 18-year-old Tōru Oikawa a few hours to intricately gather his thoughts and tell you his plans regarding his future. His future. You always took that with a grain of salt because deep down there’s an impending fear that you weren’t always going to be a part of that, especially with how passionate Tōru was with volleyball—you just didn’t think it would come this soon.

Standing at the doorway to your boyfriend’s room, your clouded gaze followed each hesitant step taken as he quietly packed his clothes. Back and forth, back and forth, Tōru grabbed a handful of clothes from his closet and tossed it into an opened suitcase that lay on the floor. The tension in the room grew heavy with each passing second as his suitcase became evidently packed; your solemn gaze locked on his figure, his back remained facing you.

The silence was deafening, your neck burned with a searing blaze, all the things you wanted to scream at him were stuck in your throat. You’ve been standing on the same spot for more than half an hour now, you couldn’t feel the soles of your feet at all but that didn’t compare to the unbearable pain that weaved its way into your heart. Occasional sniffles and sighs escaped you both but nothing more, no one dared to address the elephant in the room right now. That in less than a day, Tōru was going to be eighteen thousand kilometres away from you. For good.

”We can make it work. .” A shaky sigh left your lips, voice hoarse despite not having the heart to yell and argue with him. Tōru gripped the fabrics in his hand, nails digging into the softness of the textiles, he mirrored your sigh and finally faced you. Eyes slightly red from holding his tears back, Tōru’s brows furrowed, “We’re going to be in two different continents. The time zone would be too much of a difference.”

You don���t have to remind me.

Biting your tongue in frustration, you stared at him. His eyes, his nose, his lips, anything and everything that would help you sear his appearance in your mind. “So you’re just going to let all this go? As easy as that?” Nothing in this is easy for me. For the first time in a few hours, Tōru inched closer to your unmoving figure. He’s been keeping a clear distance as if holding you tight against him would cause you to disappear in a flash despite his heart practically aching to be near you at this very moment.

It took all of Tōru’s willpower not to wrap his arms around you, and whisper into your ear over and over again how much he loves you; how scared he was that in less than a day, you weren’t going to be by his side anymore. He was a coward. He knew that doing so would only worsen the situation at hand.

“You and I have futures to pursue, you of all people should know that.” The wooden frame of his bed creaked as he plopped down with another sigh. “B-but you don’t have to end our relationship like this . . ! Maybe I can go to Argentina with you and—” Your boyfriend waved a dismissive hand and let out an empty chuckle, “Don’t be so irrational.” “You’re the irrational one here, Oikawa!” You raised your voice at him, tone trembling with anger and fear as your nails painfully dug into the plushness of your palms.

Your chest rapidly rose and fell with each heavy breath taken, unshed tears threatening to fall from your eyes. Why did he have to do this? Ever since entering a relationship with Tōru, you’ve always known that you only came second to volleyball but you didn’t know it’d hurt this much. Despite having no intentions of holding him back from the future he has worked hard to carve, you couldn’t help but become a little selfish on your end. Why did Tōru have the need to feel that breaking up with you was the best solution?

As mentioned earlier, you’d do anything and everything to make it work. You were hoping. Hoping that your boyfriend would at least reconsider breaking off the relationship but knowing him, once he had set his mind straight, there was no turning back.

“Do you not love me anymore?” You whispered into the silent room. Tōru looked away as he caught a glimpse of your deflated expression, shutting his eyes as he tried not to think of that specific expression in his mind. All he could muster was a weak rebuttal but he dared not to explain further, even if he wanted, he couldn’t bring himself to. Not when the situation was already taking a toll on both of you. He spoke again, voice threatening to waver,

“Will you come see me off tomorrow?”

You didn’t go despite Iwaizumi’s pleas to see Tōru off with him. You couldn’t. The least you could give yourself right now was space, and seeing your boyfriend off to another country would do more harm than good, especially knowing that he wasn’t yours anymore nor you were his. It took Iwaizumi more than thirty texts to finally give up, it was a rare occurrence as it wasn’t in your friend’s nature to be persistent like that.

You’re thankful that he cares for you a lot because for the first few weeks without Tōru’s presence, both of you confided in each other. There were occurrences where you had to turn down his requests on joining him for a weekly video call with Tōru who still had a hard time settling down in a foreign country; in your mind, you had no business communicating with your ex-boyfriend anymore—he broke off the relationship and that was that.

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. As you moved on with life and focused on your career ahead, naturally, you found yourself burying the painful past behind. Not to mention how you deleted Tōru’s number—after painfully reminiscing old texts with him—and blocked him from all your social media accounts. It’s been ten years now and Oikawa was the least of your concern, he was just a person from the past that you’re thankful to have met.

After all, if it wasn’t for what he did, you wouldn’t have learned to grow as an individual and truly seek what you wanted. During the course of your relationship with Oikawa, you were more than content supporting him in his volleyball career, standing at the sidelines and cheering him on but you didn’t know what you wanted for yourself then, and maybe Oikawa saw that earlier on. That breaking up was a way for you to flourish as your own person, not someone who stood amongst the crowd.

It was a peaceful weekend afternoon, passing time at the local convenience store to buy whatever snack you felt like eating before heading home to retire for the day and possibly binge a series you’ve been meaning to watch. Walking down the bread aisle, you caught a glimpse of a very familiar sight. Milk bread. Chuckling, you found yourself reminiscing about the old high school days where you and Oikawa would stop by to buy a pack of milk bread whenever he ran out. You haven’t eaten one since the day he left you.

It wouldn’t hurt to try one now, you thought to yourself. Reaching for the closest pack, another hand suddenly reached out to the one you had set your eyes onto. Both yours and the stranger’s arms retracted back in embarrassment, “S-sorry! You can go ahead and grab it.” You profusely apologised, not noticing the expression the stranger wore. Upon their silence, you drew your attention to the man standing beside you and blinked twice.

It seemed like the only option when the stranger before you was not just any shopper, it was none other than Tōru Oikawa. If you were to tell your 18-year-old self that ten years later, you’d be face to face with your ex-boyfriend, you wouldn’t have believed it. Everything felt strange—from the way the ambience of the store faded into white nothingness, to the way Oikawa felt painfully familiar yet different; he wore the same genuine shock plastered on your face—eyes wide, brows sky high, and lips slightly parted. You wondered if his ears were ringing too or if his heart threatened to leap from his chest. Oikawa was the first to break his trance, searching his mind high and low to find something, anything to say to you.

He was speaking yet nothing was heard on your end, only your own storm of thoughts. All you could muster was to really take him in. His hazel eyes shone beneath the harsh ivory lights of the store—everything about him was the same but unfamiliar; his hair was styled the same way ten years ago but a little shorter, his evident athletic build, his sun kissed skin, his aura. It was your turn to finally return to reality as Oikawa warily waved a slender hand inches from your face, “O-Oikawa. . ?” was all you could come up with, tone airy yet just above a whisper for him to hear. Oikawa greeted your unreadable expression with a familiar warm smile as if the two of you were ten years back in time, hearts beating for one another.

“It’s been a while, huh?” He hummed.

Everything was a blur—from the painfully awkward start of the conversation, to brazenly inviting him back to your apartment to prolong the spontaneous catch up. You were surprised because you both managed to flow into a smooth conversation where no one had to think of anything and everything just to keep the impending silence away. It was weird, you’ve always imagined that seeing Oikawa once again would reel you back in the most unpleasant way; the deepest memories you’ve sworn to reject resurfacing.

But the whole situation before you was a damn far cry from the scenarios in your mind—Oikawa had no hesitations telling you about his life for the past ten years, even going out of his way to inform you of his favourite local meals back in Argentina and how he applied for his citizenship, so you did the same thing. It was like being a teenager all over again, gushing to one another about your interests, and whatever else there was to talk about. You caught a glint in Oikawa’s hazel eyes as he spoke endlessly, almost as if he had been waiting ten whole years just to tell you everything that’s been going on in his life, like he knew the two of you were bound to meet again one way or another.

A solemn smile made its way to his face, the atmosphere in your apartment shifting with it. You held a breath, heart violently pounding against your chest possibly knowing where the conversation was going. “You were the only one I wanted to see, you know? Before I. .” Oikawa trailed off, looking down at his fingers. You nodded, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

It pained you to even imagine it: 18-year-old Tōru Oikawa restlessly scanning the bustling airport for your familiar figure, eyes darting between the ocean of people coming in and out of the terminal, heart sinking down to his stomach as each second passed without your presence. Despite the countless times Iwaizumi reminded him you weren’t coming, he waited. Oikawa waited and waited until he needed to proceed to the airport security, each heavy step further into the airport, he’d hoped you’d call out his name and give him one last hug before he left for Argentina but you never came. That night, Oikawa realised he’d left a piece of his heart back home.

”I’m sorry. .” Was all you could muster. In your defence, he wasn’t the only one hurting—you were torn between saving what’s left of your broken heart and giving in to your desires. Of course, you picked the former. That time, it seemed like the best idea, though, you’d be lying to yourself if you said there weren’t restless nights where you wish you’d gone to see Oikawa off. It plagued you for as long as your cruel mind wanted, scenarios of what could have been a proper goodbye seared into your brain—a one last hug before letting Oikawa chase his dreams, uncertain when you’d be able to see him again.

Oikawa let out a sigh, a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, “I missed you.” He took a small sip of his drink, letting the sweet taste linger on his tongue before nervously swallowing. It took all his willpower to avoid your gaze, staring at the ivory walls ahead, hoping you’d say something sooner or later instead of letting the small confession awkwardly linger in the air. You chuckled, a humourless one,

“You know, I’d be more upset if you didn’t.”

The man whipped his head to your direction, meeting that meaningful gaze of yours; he looked like a deer caught in the headlights—eyes wide and lips slightly parted. For the first time in a while, Tōru Oikawa felt his heart race; it wasn’t like any other, not like the adrenaline rush that took over his body before a match, not like the nervousness he felt when he boarded the plane to Argentina for the first time. It was unique. Uniquely yours. Only you made him feel this way. In the blink of an eye, Oikawa felt like he was pulled back in time, a teenager all over again, brimming with such emotions. If it weren’t for his quick senses, he wouldn’t have noticed the way your gaze subtly shifted downwards—to his lips—and then back up to his eyes.

Have you been on edge all this time, too? Filled with overwhelming emotions? He thought. Yes, it’s been ten long years but that doesn’t mean his heart did not beat for you anymore; it doesn’t mean that he has stopped thinking about you; it doesn’t mean that he did not want to kiss you the moment he laid his eyes on you back at the convenience store. Surely, you didn’t feel the same, right? But then again, it’s been a decade and Oikawa’s feelings remained indifferent to when he left.

A brush of gentle fingers against your cheek caused your eyes to instinctively close, knowing fully well what was about to happen next. A single click from the white clock that hung on your wall. A second. And then Oikawa’s lips were on yours. The kiss was anything but foreign—sure, it felt stiff at first, suddenly not knowing how to match your lips with his but it has been ten years. The kiss was meek but after a heartbeat, you and Oikawa moved in complete unison, falling into that specific pattern you both knew—how he moved his lips, how he let out gasps in between, how he eagerly prodded his tongue. Your head spun, hands exploring Oikawa’s built torso while his own focused on your head, tugging at the strands and gently rubbing your nape.

The atmosphere shifted with the newly found desire, small moans and gasps filled the walls of your apartment as Oikawa kissed you with hunger—as if he was a starved man. He didn’t hesitate to explore you with his tongue, groaning into your mouth before pulling away to take a breather—chests heaving as you both gasped for air, faces mere centimetres from each other, hot breaths intertwining. He looked at you with hooded eyes, gaze filled with carnal desire as he gave your swollen lips a small peck. “I want you so bad . .” Oikawa breathed out, eyes tracing every dip and curve of your features.

Cupping his crimson red cheeks, you gave him a small smile, “I’m all yours.” Always have been and always will be, you wanted to add but already you had an idea Oikawa knew that more than anyone else.

The short journey from the living room to your bedroom was a blur—it was messy, eager hands exploring each other’s body, hungry lips inseparable from one another, articles of clothing swiftly discarded along the path to your bedroom. Lying atop the sheets, your eyes wandered along Oikawa’s bare sun kissed torso—his physique was much bigger than you last remembered, muscles flexing with every movement that had you painfully clenching around nothing.

He stood at the foot of the bed, chestnut hair tousled from the work of your fingers, bare chest heaving from the kiss, and fingers working at the zip of his pants. You took the time to really drink him in—the entirety of him; reality settling on you how much he had grown as a man. Oikawa was no longer that naïve 18-year-old who swallowed all his fears and insecurities with a flirtatious façade.

He eagerly pulled down the remaining clothes he had on, swiftly crawling up the bed towards you, not giving any time to revel at the sight of his bare cock before kissing you again, his fingers intertwining with your own.

It felt surreal, from the way the heat of Oikawa’s naked body felt against your own to the way his kisses explored parts of you that he’s never seen before. He took his time, admiring every inch of your bare body, not hesitating to blurt out praises that came to his mind first thing. “You’re beautiful.” Oikawa whispers against the warmth of your skin followed by an open-mouthed kiss.

He held you gently, caressing and massaging every bit of skin he could get his hands on. He knew better than to rush such an intimate moment with you, especially when he’s been fantasizing about this for the past decade—fantasizing about how your skin would feel beneath his searing touch; how you’d sound when he stimulates the most sensitive parts of your body, how you’d look when pleasure is all you can think about. It drove him absolutely impatient but for you, he’s willing to slow down if it meant he could savour these moments with you—Oikawa has patiently waited for ten years, full of uncertainty. What more was a few minutes to bask in your beauty?

Attentive as ever, he scanned your face for any sign of discomfort, focusing on the way you moaned and scrunched your face in pleasure as he tasted you. God, you tasted like pure heaven—divine. Oikawa could get lost between your legs forever, everything about you drove him crazy. Not to mention how your scent had him completely whipped.

The night continued on like this, Oikawa eagerly exploring your body, pleasuring you in ways you didn’t know even existed—it was almost like he had a list of things at the back of his mind, neatly tucked away for when this specific moment comes. There was never a moment of uncertainty, his body swiftly moving into the next act, bringing you with him. Despite your own pleas to return the pleasure, Oikawa refused, even as his cock leaked with pre-cum, begging to be touched by you. He didn’t have to do all the work but he did, only because he wanted to. He wanted to show you how much his body yearned and desired to be close to yours; ten years was no easy wait. Sure, Oikawa had a fair share of mere hookups with other women but they weren’t you. They will never be you.

As the moon shone amongst the ebony skies, moonlight seeped through the window, casting a faint ethereal glow upon your sweat-coated bodies—skin shining like the stars above. You held onto Oikawa’s shoulders for dear life, ribbons of moans and curses tumbled past your lips and into the thick air of the room, travelling to the ceiling above.

He moved with fervour, hips relentlessly driving into your own as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Back and forth, back and forth, the steady rhythm of Oikawa’s hips, jolting your body along each forceful thrust. It was heaven on earth, naked bodies tangled amongst the ivory sheets as you lost yourselves in each other, one thing in mind. You both cared about nothing at this point, not even the fact that he still had to go back home—to Argentina; not even the fact that your hearts beat as one, interlacing with one another as buried feelings blossomed out in the open—the unsaid, the desire, everything came beautifully crashing down upon the two of you, unsure about what the future holds. That was a conversation for tomorrow, anyway.

Amidst the overwhelming pleasure, the creaking of the bed, and the lewd moans that filled your room, Oikawa found your hand once again, interlacing his damp fingers with yours. He gave it a small squeeze, moaning right into your ear before slipping out a confession, “I love you so much.” It caught you off guard, eyes fluttering open, returning his lustful gaze. “I—” “It’s okay. .” Oikawa cut you off, steadying his breath. He knew exactly what you’d say—that you love him, too—but somehow hearing those words from you after all these years was even more painful than rejecting him because at the end of the day he had to go home.

The night carried on with more and more pleasure, each orgasm becoming more intense than the previous, the movements of your bodies showed signs of exhaustion but none dared to stop—as if stopping was somewhat going to take one away from the other. You’ve never felt anything like this before, waves of pleasure rolling out and crashing into you repeatedly; all you could really do was hold Oikawa tightly, whispering sweet nothings against his neck. God, you could only wish for this to last forever.

As the morning rolled around, the sun shone brightly through your window, slowly burning your skin the longer you stayed in one position. Groaning, you stretched your naked body, muscles painfully crying out from overuse. Normally, you would have cared about it but the spot beside you was cold and empty, no sign of Oikawa. The realisation hit you, heart sinking to the depths of your stomach. Did he leave already? And not even saying goodbye? The loud sound coming from the kitchen pulled you out of the storm of unpleasant thoughts. Ignoring the weakness of your legs, you did your best to slip into a fresh pair of underwear before grabbing Oikawa’s shirt that lay at the entrance of your room to head to the kitchen.

You sucked in a breath. There he stood, only wearing pants from last night while navigating through the small space of your kitchen. He hummed a familiar tune, the saccharine sound of his voice mixing with the sizzling of the eggs he cooked. “Oikawa.” The man before you turned at the sound of your voice, pleasantly shocked, “Good morning, sleepyhead.” He greeted in a singsong voice. You would’ve called him ‘cute’ if it weren’t for the evident lovebites, hues of dark purple and red peppering his torso—it immediately reminded you of last night, cheeks heating up at the lewd memories. “Take a seat. This is done.” Oikawa skilfully plated the eggs, grabbing the freshly toasted bread before heading to the table where you now sat. It was weird yet nice to see him so domestic, something you never really experienced back then.

“Thank you.” You look up at him, a faint smile dancing upon your lips. Oikawa shook his head, “It’s nothing. Just a simple breakfast.” You weren’t talking about the breakfast, though, and he knew that as well but dared not to bring it up. It was bittersweet, really, how the two of you acted right now felt so right but so wrong at the same time—you both acted like a normal couple during a normal morning, as if there wasn’t a return ticket neatly tucked inside Oikawa’s passport that weighed his heart heavy with each passing second in your presence.

Thank you for showing me what could have been.

That was what you meant earlier. Getting the pleasure to look into the life of what could have been with Tōru Oikawa wasn’t much but it put your yearning heart at ease—that in another life, he’d be cooking eggs for you again without having to think about flying back home; that in another life, you ended up together. Maybe if you were still eighteen, you would have cried, screamed at him for getting your hopes up, for leaving you once again, for breaking your heart a second time, you weren’t a teenager anymore but that didn’t mean you were immune to seeing him leave you again—you just got older, and became better at swallowing unwanted emotions.

That’s right. You weren’t a teenager anymore. “You’re leaving tomorrow.” You bit the inside of your cheek, addressing the elephant in the room; you swore Oikawa flinched a little at your straightforwardness. It wasn’t pretty to hear but it also wasn’t a lie. He took a small bite, carefully swallowing the piece before meeting your gaze, “Yeah, Iwa is dropping me off at the airport in the afternoon. .” His sentence lingered in the air, it didn’t dissipate, it stayed there waiting to be finished. You remained silent despite having an idea of what was to come next, you wanted him to say it, just like he did ten years ago. Oikawa nervously cleared his throat,

“Will you come see me off tomorrow?”

Much to Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s surprise, you came to see the former off—a little breathless from jogging around the terminal but at least you were in one piece. You didn’t notice the way Iwaizumi’s eyes widened at the love bites on your neck matching his best friend’s one; he was well aware of what happened between you and Oikawa the other day but just didn’t expect the intensity of it, especially with the situation now, nonetheless, he remained silent. Iwaizumi figured he’d talk to you about it later.

Everything slowed down as Oikawa set his hazel eyes on you—the bustling of the airport, the time displayed on the large digital clock, his racing heart. What he felt right now was a far cry from that day when he left for the first time; ten years ago, everything felt like it was slipping past his fingers. Oikawa remembers pacing back and forth just outside the men’s toilet, Iwaizumi’s attempts to calm him down fell deaf on his ears—all the former could hear was the uncomfortable beat of his heart, and the buzz around him. He tried his best to calm down, he really did but to no avail because at the back of his mind, you were the remedy. If Oikawa told his 18-year-old self that he wouldn’t have to stress so much about flying back to Argentina anymore, his younger self would most likely not believe him—having permanently associated the airport with the dreadful feeling of missing something. Missing someone.

Ten years later, he knows not to worry anymore. “Tōru.” You called out, giving Iwaizumi a quick wave before walking towards the taller man. “You came.” He replied, breathless, not knowing whether to scream at the fact that you came to see him off or called him by his first name. Oh, how Oikawa endlessly prayed to the universe for the day his name rolls off your tongue once again. It was sweet—meant to be voiced by you and only you. The three of you exchanged casual conversation like it was back in high school all over again—small banters here and there between the two men, a little teasing on the side, and most importantly, the unsaid thoughts.

You didn’t want this to end, you didn’t want to let him go but you knew better. Oikawa gave his best friend a firm hug and turned to you, arms spread wide, a sad smile etched on his face. “I’ll miss you so so much.” You let out a sigh, inhaling his scent for one last time as he tightened his hold around you. Oikawa rested his chin on the crown of your head, a light chuckle escaping his lips, “I’d be more upset if you didn’t.” He pulled away, cupping your face and resting his forehead against your own,

“I love you so much. You know that, right?” “I love you too, Tōru.”

Who knew that ten years later you’d be watching the back of your ex lover’s figure walk away from you as he leaves the country—it was silly how the universe worked but you never once doubted it. Despite how cruel it was, you’d already come to terms with it; finally letting go of Tōru Oikawa. You both had different paths in life to pursue, and that was that. It just wasn’t meant to be.

Iwaizumi gave you a friendly pat on the back, noticing the way tears quickly formed as Oikawa faced the other way. Yes, you were older now, more mature but that meant nothing as the love of your life walked away from you once again. You didn’t want to admit it back then but ever since Oikawa left for Argentina, he had taken a piece of your heart with him. And maybe you’ll just have to live with the fact that your heart will stay incomplete—a piece of it remaining eighteen thousand kilometres away from you.

[3000-200-grains-of-salt]

"Yo, does that flower look, like... really tasty right now? Or am I making things up?"

"No, no; that flower is definitely edible-looking right now."

"Huh."

Technology has finally advanced to the point where humans can get surgery to see colors invisible to them before. However, this ends up letting them see things humans were never meant to comprehend…