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tfqstudios ¡ 3 days ago
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For those who CAN fight, keep fighting. Use your privilege for those who don't have any at the moment.
Protest. (France left truck loads of poop at their capital and blocked doorways.) Lets get creative.
Continue sharing on social media - don't discount the power of sharing!
Keep clogging up phone lines. Keep calling your representatives.
Don't comply.
Be UNGOVERNABLE.
Be a problem for the GOP in any way you can.
Egg Teslas. (It's not legally vandalism if no damage has been done to the item being tagged. Eggs can be cleaned off, and so can lipstick.)
Delete META.
Make redit groups to share what can't be shared on TikTok.
Get on Discord and do the same.
Make communities. Start trading and bartering to help others who are in need.
Troll news media sites and DEMAND they grow a backbone. (Media is beholden to advertising, and any bad PR and bad reviews of a news site WILL hurt them.)
Go after Amazon and robo troll the site reviews as a business.
Be a pirate. ☠️ You are not beholdent to a king in any form.
History is littered with battles being won by groups being loud and refusing to back down.
Civil disobedience isn't always violent.
Anonymous, now is your time to enter the chat.
For those outside of America going "why don't you fight back" or "don't you guys know what's going on?" let me explain something to you.
We know.
There is nothing a lot of us can do right now.
We are either minorities surrounded by Trump supporters or struggling to make ends meet or (most likely) both.
These first few days are designed to exhaust us. It's the same tactic he used during his first administration. Overwhelm the media and the masses so that the more sinister things he does gets swept under the rug.
And honestly, a lot of us are checked out because we spent the last four years warning people about a second term because our lives were on the line and those we thought cared about us proved they didn't.
And now we're just trying to find some sort of semblance of happiness in this joyless world we're now living in. We fight when we can, we bring attention to what we can, but a lot of us are just fucking exhausted.
So please, cut us some slack. We've been fighting for the last eight years, we still have to fight for the next four.
Right now, survival is the only rebellion we have.
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0wlettie ¡ 24 hours ago
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✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦
⏾⋆.˚─── caleb x fem!reader
⏾⋆.˚─── synopsis: you've been avoiding caleb recently because you've just realized how you truly feel about him, but when life hits you hard one day, you realize that you might need him more than you thought you would...
⏾⋆.˚─── tags: 16.9k, angst, hurt/comfort, pining, clingy, crybaby!reader, pet names (princess, good girl), light D/s dynamics, crying (but in sexy way), dirty talk, slight degradation/dumbification, possessive behavior, (because it wouldn't be a caleb fic if he wasn't at least a little bit possessive) fingerfucking, pussy eating, unprotected sex, subspace but it isn't really talked about, squirting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms
⏾⋆.˚─── ao3 if you want to read there ^^
⏾⋆.˚─── a/n: this is my first ever lads piece and i worked very hard on this absolute monster of a fic, so i hope whoever happens to come across this enjoys it; beta'd by me so any mistakes are my own; title comes from IKUK by ONEUS because i played the fuck outta that song writing this and it slaps ! as this is nsfw Minors Do Not Interact (ageless blogs will be blocked)
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Burying yourself further into the depths of your hoodie, you slowly make your way up to your apartment. The elevator is currently out of commission; some sort of mechanical error, the bright orange note taped to the cautioned off doors stated, so you’re forced to make the grueling journey to the seventh floor by stairs alone.
After an eight-hour long shift working at a department store nearly an hour away by bus, you’re maybe a little more than upset at the prospect of being on your feet longer than you really have to be. Unfortunately, you’re left with little other options at this point. It wasn’t like you could magically teleport to the seventh floor. Sighing long and loud, you rub your eyes.
“Fucking whatever, man.” You grumble to yourself, readjusting your bookbag before turning around and heading to the stairs. The sight of all those floors is intimidating, but you force your feet to move regardless. Even if the soles of your aching feet are screaming at you to stop, you continue on. Once or twice you lean against the wall for a bit of a breather, only moving again when you’re startled by the notifications of your socials on your phone.
You are so fucking tired.
But still, you take one more painful step. Then another. Then another. One by one by one until—
‘Home sweet home.’ You think a little hysterically, barely glancing at the shiny gold 713 before pushing your way through the door. After, of course, fumbling through your various pockets looking for your keys. Your fingers are shaking slightly, but that’s easily ignored once you finally make it inside. You inhale sharply, blindly feeling for the door behind you as you toss your bag to the floor. You take in your apartment as you close your door with your back, absently kicking off your shoes.
To your right is your bathroom, to your left is your ‘bedroom’ and straight ahead is the kitchenette. It's a cozy little thing, your place; a studio you found for cheap a few months after graduating highschool three years ago. It’s not the greatest place—there's water damage on various parts of the ceiling, a few moldy spots in the bathroom that refuse to leave, the a/c unit does shit all during the summer, there’s basically no insulation so it’s freezing during the winter and you can hear everything going on with your neighbors upstairs and downstairs. Oh, and the indoor washer-dryer unit never works so you have to haul your dirty laundry down the elevator once a week to the nearest laundromat if you don’t want to smell like ass.
This place is a dump, but it's your beloved dump—all the plushies, figures and books lining the shelves prove that fact. Even if it’s a little chillier now that the sun’s gone down, the familiarity would usually be enough to slow your heart rate and lower your defenses.
It’s not enough, though. That thrum of anxiety still runs through your veins, and you’re about three seconds away from hyperventilating. You’ve gone past the tired phase of your day, and are now verging onto the ‘mental breakdown’ part. Groaning and pretending like you don’t feel the familiar burn in the corners of your eyes, you turn towards your little kitchen area and shuffle in. It's pure muscle memory that has you reaching for the cabinet above the stove, pulling out the hot cocoa mix and your favorite mug in seconds. Your routine has been the same for months now—hot chocolate, some cookies, your favorite plush throw and a show you’ve already seen before to help numb the panic. It was the most effective method you’ve come up with, the only one to work long enough for you to get some sleep.
Well. It was the second most effective. The first was currently a two-hour drive away at college, studying for a career in the aerospace field.
You bite down on your lip hard when tears pool in your eyes, and unconsciously, your gaze is drawn to the cluster of polaroids pinned to the front of your refrigerator. Photos of various things cover the pale surface—the sky at dusk, a stray cat that occasionally shows up by the park down the street, fireworks from a festival you went to last year, a silly picture of you in the mirror that’s mostly the flash of a camera—but the one that stands out to you the most is underneath a cartoonish magnet of an airplane.
You’re pressed together cheek to cheek with a boy a few years older than you at the time. A huge grin splits your face, your eyes squinting closed from the glare of the camera. His smile is a little smaller, controlled. But there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he holds two fingers up behind your head, his other arm holding onto the camera off screen.
It’s you and Caleb Xia. Your best friend in the entire world. 
The man you’re deeply in love with.
Seeing his face after months of barely any contact is enough for the ache in your chest to fully affect you. Your hands shake so badly that you accidentally end up dropping your mug. You’re too slow to catch it, and you watch in numb detachment as it falls and shatters against your wooden floors, shards bouncing off the floor to land on the soft purple cotton of your kitty socks.
You promptly burst into tears, squatting down to cup your knees as you cry loudly into the space you’ve made.
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Thick, salty tears run warm tracks down your cheeks as you sob into the open air. You try to blink them away as fast as you can, and when that doesn’t work, you roughly scrub your face. You haven’t cried like this in a while, but it was a long time coming. You were on the verge of a meltdown—you could feel it as days passed you by. That doesn’t make you feel any better, though. Not when you’re kneeling on the ground trying to pick up shards of ceramic while blind from your tears. It’s a recipe for disaster, but nothing can really ruin your day more than this. You certainly don’t care if you accidentally cut yourself, not when it feels like your very world is ending.
“Shit!” You lose your grip on one of the shards you grab. You quickly yank your hand back to avoid getting cut as it falls back to the ground. It breaks even further upon impact, and a hysterical scream threatens to erupt from your mouth, but you hastily swallow it back down. The walls are thin and you don’t need a nosy neighbor to see you like this.
‘Can’t blame anyone but yourself, dumbass.’ The voice in your head berates you. No one told you to push away the one person who could make it all better—you were the one who decided that all on your own. It’s painful to admit, even to yourself, but it’s true. You’re trying your damnedest to avoid Caleb, and you’ve been doing so for a couple months by now.
It’s easy to blame conflicting schedules and the hours separating your homes for the distance. Easy to pin the blame on your exhaustion after long days, his work as a part-time mechanic, the fact that you’re an adult and you can’t keep going to him when you just feel like it. Waking him up at three in the morning because you suddenly feel lonely. Calling him during work or class because you have to tell him about this funny post you saw on one of your socials. Cuddling and hanging all over him because touching him makes you happy and warm and safe.
Kimberly—a coworker of yours—was right to low-key call you out on your seemingly unhealthy dependence on Caleb. As embarrassing as it is to admit, it was her offhand comment that got you to fully realize how you feel about him.
Wow, with how much you cling to the guy I was sure he was your boyfriend or something.
Except Caleb isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your best friend—the only friend you can confidently say you have.
But the thought of him becoming more than that was surprisingly…tempting. An idea you never dared to contemplate was suddenly brought to the forefront of your mind and now you couldn’t escape how right it would feel. But those thoughts were scary, and there were times where you almost slipped up and said something more than strictly platonic. You could only imagine the look on Caleb’s face as he’d let you down gently—because there was no way he’d ever consider you as a girlfriend, not when he still views you as nothing more than his childhood best friend, a little kid sister. It hurts, that realization; cuts deeply in a way you’ve never felt before and that’s when it truly clicks in your head.
Unconsciously, you think you always knew how you really felt about Caleb. It’s hard to pinpoint an exact time when you didn’t care deeply for him. A thousand little moments along the course of your lives together just eventually added up into something stronger than platonic affection; something that consumed your mind, body and soul until nothing was left for him to take. Not that you were trying to blame him for your own emotions, it’s just…hard to keep yourself out of his orbit. Harder still to try and live with these feelings of yours. So you took the coward’s way out and just…pushed them away.
You stopped calling so randomly. Stopped bothering him at work. Stopped sending him random links to nearby cafes where you could go together. Stopped inviting him over for sleepovers and movie nights. Started to decline his invitations out, his subtle questions of spending time together, his concerned texts until…
Until here you are; crying on the floor of your dumpy apartment, alone and cleaning up the broken shards of your favorite mug. A mug Caleb gave to you as a housewarming gift. It was one of the cutest little things you'd ever seen; stubby, round and in the shape of a panda bear, it fits your aesthetic to a T. It was large enough to carry at least two cups worth of tea or hot chocolate, and even though it was a bit bulky for your own smaller hands, it made your day whenever you did use it. And now it’s in a bunch of tiny pieces scattered along your wooden floors.
A fresh wave of tears fills your eyes as you stare down at one of the panda’s broken eyeballs. The furious churning in your gut makes you feel sick and more than anything you wish you weren’t here anymore. In this cold, lonely and broken apartment of yours. You wish you were with Caleb.
You miss him.
You miss his stupidly tall self. How safe and protected he makes you feel. How much he makes you laugh when you're sad. How comforting his hands are whenever you accidentally hurt yourself. You miss the gentle, teasing cadence of his voice; the depth of his pretty colored eyes; the security and warmth of his hugs. You miss him so fucking much.
“I’m such a mess.” You whisper roughly, trying to wipe away the tears as they fall, hoping they’ll stop soon. But they don’t, slowly but surely continuing to wet your flushed and puffy face. You groan and cover your eyes with your balled up fists, blindly sitting back on your ass and scooting along the floor until your back hits the nearest surface. You bring your knees up until they rest underneath your chin, wrapping your arms around them and squeezing.
There’s a brewing ache settling in your chest; a gaping hole where Caleb still sits despite everything. You were the one who viciously dug him out, but you still can’t help but feel sorry for yourself anyway. It’s not like he doesn’t still reach out, but you feel like there’s this wide canyon between the two of you now. You don’t know if you can even force yourself to reach out first, not when you feel so guilty for ignoring him in the first place. 
Unmoored and lost in waves of pain and loneliness, you sit there for what feels like an eternity, drowning over and over and over again. As time passes, though, that raging sea calms into something manageable. Your tears eventually dry up and your breathing evens out a bit, but you still feel like you’re on that precipice. Like one wrong move will have you slipping into a free fall, back into the angry, churning sea of your heartache.
RING! RING-RINNG!
An obnoxiously loud tone rings out from your stomach, and you just about jump ten feet into the air.
“Fuck!” You scream, accidentally hitting your head on the countertop above you. You yelp, squeezing your eyes shut as you fumble through your hoodie pocket for your phone with one hand, the other going to gingerly feel around the throbbing area of your skull. You recognize the familiar tone and it sends your slightly calmed heart back into overdrive; beating so fiercely that you’re afraid it’s going to burst through your ribcage. The pain immediately turns into something unimportant as you dig your phone out of your pocket.
Your eyes are locked onto a smiling photo of Caleb. It’s him in his mechanic’s uniform, unbuttoned halfway through and showing the white tank top underneath, grease smeared all over him and his clothes with his sleeves half rolled up. He’s unfairly and stupidly handsome and you hate that it’s the photo you have saved for him. You hesitate as the ringing continues. Should you pick it up? You’re still so hurt and lonely, but do you really have the courage to answer after you’ve been treating him so unfairly this entire time?
One more look at his smiling face has you immediately folding like a wet paper napkin, however, and you answer the call moments later.
Except that it’s a facetime rather than a phone call, a fact you realize once your face greets you after you pick up. Luckily, his eyes are drawn off to the side, so you quickly turn the camera around to face your socked feet. You frantically curse inside of your head, but there’s nothing to be done now. You don’t have the heart to hang up on him, not when you can see every little detail of his pretty face. The sight already has you feeling better, even when he hasn't even acknowledged you yet.
You’re a weak, weak person.
“You know, when someone facetimes you it's because they want to see your face.” The clear, teasing tone of his voice causes your cheeks to darken, his eyes flicking up and then down to lock onto your feet pointedly. The last time you two were speaking by voice was…maybe two and a half weeks ago? A far cry from how you used to call him at least twice a day. Despite the snark, you can’t help but savor the warmth in his words. Still, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t reply somehow.
“Fuck off, you know I don’t like facetimes, Caleb.” You grumble, attempting to be normal but you fail within seconds. Your voice cracks halfway through your sentence and there’s an audible stuffiness to your nose that carries over to your speech. It’s so painfully obvious that you’ve been crying.
That amiable cheer of his dissolves immediately, his eyes snapping to stare directly into the camera as his smile morphs into a noticeable frown.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His eyes dart over the screen frantically, like he can figure out the answer based on your socked feet and kitchen floor alone. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he somehow did—Caleb’s strangely good with small details and can tell your mood just by looking for your subtle microexpressions. While you know some others around him have found it a bit strange, you just think it's sweet how deeply he cares about things like that. It’s…cute, to you. You like that he pays so close attention.
You see some of that perceptiveness when Caleb zeroes in on something small near your feet. His eyes narrow slightly, but before you can even look to see what exactly he’s staring intently at, his eyes are raising up to stare back into the camera. Like he can see you even when it isn’t facing you directly.
“Turn your camera around.” 
You bite your bottom lip at the seriousness of his tone. The statement sounds more like an order and while normally you’d at least tease him for it, maybe even sass him back for the firmness of his words, you just can’t bring yourself to ignore him. Not when it feels like you can finally breathe after what feels like ages.
Still, you hesitate.
Rubbing your cheek, you look down at the ‘switch camera’ button. It would be so easy to just let Caleb in right now, to let him see just what a fucking mess you are so he can make everything be okay again. But your coworkers' words float through your mind—how strange it is to be so reliant on someone when you yourself are a grown ass adult. Nervously, you rub your feet together, taking a bit of comfort in the soft fabric rubbing against your skin. You don’t know what to do…both sides are warring within you and the more you try and decide, the harder it is to come to a decision.
That’s when Caleb speaks up, almost as if he can sense your indecision.
“Tell me what’s wrong, princess. You know I can make it feel better.” You breath hitches, your heart thumping so fast that all the blood rushes to your ears in an instant. Caleb’s voice is so soothing—so soft and sweet and comforting that tears prick the corners of your eyes. You want to be with him so badly that it makes your chest ache with longing. 
“Caleb..!” You sniffle out, hiding behind your hand when his gaze becomes too much for you. Your face feels so hot that you’re afraid of spontaneously combusting. God, he knows how to make you weak and you would be angry at him if it didn’t make you feel so small and safe.
“You don’t have to worry with me around—you know that I’ll take care of you, don’t you? C’mon, lemme help you out like you need me to.” You peek above your hand, shivering at the intensity of his stare. It’s in stark contrast with his softly murmured words, and your brain goes a little fuzzy the longer you meet his gaze.
Caleb has always taken care of you, even when you were nothing but the lonely, annoying little girl who lived next door. Three years his junior and acting like a crybaby at even the slightest of inconveniences, he should’ve naturally found you insufferable. But he never once turned you away, no matter how many times he had to dry your tears, play with you, help you study and so, so much more. He always made sure you were looked after when your parents were too busy to even care, bringing you over to dinner with his parents or even sharing some of his lunch with you when he knew you hadn’t eaten. Caleb has always been there to make it better, to take care of you and make all of your worries fade away. Why wouldn’t he do the same now? He’s completely right—you need him.
“You promise?’ You whisper, the tears pooling in your eyes overflowing as you hiccup.
“I promise.” He says solemnly. Silently, you reach out and press the reverse camera button.
His eyes track rapidly over your face once the camera switches, no doubt cataloging the very obvious evidence of your crying fest. The thickness of his brows furrow into slants as he takes in your face, a frown pulling the corners of his lips down as concern lights up his dusk-purple irises. You stare at each other for a few quiet beats, the only noise coming from Caleb’s end as he moves to somewhere a little quieter. The slight sounds of murmuring and laughter gradually fade away as he goes somewhere private, the lights casting a warm glow over his complexion as he sits down. 
‘Maybe he was at a party? Or a friend’s house?’
“...Bad day?” Clearly, he’s waiting for you to open up before he does anything else. You shy away from his knowing gaze, suddenly feeling embarrassed for your tears. You’re an adult who pays rent and taxes—you should be more than capable of handling these emotions on your own but…but you also can’t help but like that Caleb wants to help you too.
He’s obviously waiting patiently for you to reply, but you stall just a little longer. Tugging at a strand of your hair that fell out of your bun, chewing on your bottom lip as you count the handles on your cabinets, tugging at the loose thread of your hoodie pocket…the excuses continue until you have nothing else to do but stare at Caleb. It’s only then that you begin to tell him about your day, underneath the gentle patience of his warm gaze.
From your alarm going off a half hour late so you had to rush through your normal routine in order to catch the bus on time. To the older woman who yelled at you for not having the right dress size for her daughter’s baby shower and complaining to your manager. To the weird, creepy homeless man who harassed you at the bus stop and even followed you on until the bus driver noticed and kicked him off a few stops before yours. To then have to walk up seven flights of stairs because the elevator all of a sudden wanted to have a problem today of all days. And now, with your feet carefully tucked away from the mess you made earlier when you clumsily dropped your favorite mug ever and broke it into a million little pieces. It was all just too fucking much and you felt like you were going crazy because you should be able to handle these events but you just can’t—
“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Just breathe with me, okay?” Caleb’s voice is like a beacon in the night; a guiding light for you to follow to safety lost amongst the roaring, crashing waves of your turbulent emotions. Shakily, you inhale deep and slow breaths, following Caleb’s instructions as he continues to stare at you. You feel ridiculous crying again, and something on your face must show that because Caleb shoots you a look.
“Stop that already. There’s nothing wrong with feelin’ this deeply, princess. Especially since you've already had such a long day.” You toss him a pout, trying and failing to not let his kind words affect you. He sees through your attempt easily, a helplessly fond expression taking over the worry as he watches you wipe the remaining tear off your cheeks. A comfortable silence follows his words, and you take the time to compose yourself a little. As much as you hate to admit, talking to Caleb did wonders for your current mood. You feel a whole lot better than you did before.
“How we doin’? Better, now?”
You nod, rubbing away the last of your stray tears. He smiles softly, eyes taking in your calmed expression.
“Good, good.” He mumbles, and you finally notice a peculiar jangling sound emanate from his side of the phone. Tilting your head slightly, you focus your attention back on Caleb. Before, when he called, he was dressed in a casual graphic-muscle tee and the shining silver chain you had gifted him when he first went away to college. Now, there was a leather jacket tossed over the shirt, and judging from the echo and the faint ringing sound, it looked like he was in a…car?!
‘He wasn’t–!’
“Caleb…please tell me you aren’t coming over to my place now!?” He shoots you a cheeky smile in response—something that makes panic and delight swell within your lower belly so fast that you have no idea what you’re feeling more. Logic wins out, however, and you try to dissuade him as quickly as possible.
“Caleb, it’s 8:30 p.m. on a Friday night! With traffic it’ll be at least a three hour trip!”
“Mah, it’s no big deal at all. I only have one class tomorrow and even if I do miss it, it won’t be too much of a hit. No biggie.” He says flippantly, shrugging his shoulders with a half-smile. You suddenly want to reach through the camera to smack him on the back of his head. This is not a ‘no biggie’ matter! A five to six hour round trip is just ridiculous, even for your best friend.
“Caleb!”
“Princess!” He tosses back mockingly, and you fight back the urge to melt. He knows that little nickname of his is unfair—it’s why he’s abusing it so thoroughly now. But this just feels like way too much, especially since you’re feeling a lot better than before.
“I-I’m fine now, there’s no need for you to go out of your way like this…”
He pauses, and you can see in his hands are the keys to his car. He shoots you a look as he lowers his hand, one that sends a bolt of heat through your veins.
“Then tell me not to come.”
“Wh-what?”
“Tell me, then. If you really don’t want me to come over, then say it.” You open your mouth, ready to do just that but you falter at his expectant face. As much as you were protesting before, the thought of seeing him in person—of feeling his big, warm hands around you makes your chest squeeze painfully. You easily acquiesce after a few moments of staring into his eyes, groaning into the palm of your hand to avoid his smug expression. Though, when you glance back at him, that little curl to his lips is still there—prominent when combined with the bright and satisfied look in his eyes.
“That’s exactly what I thought. I’ll see you soon, then.”
You murmur out something vaguely coherent, but Caleb doesn’t let you go without one last goodbye.
“Bye, princess.’’
“...goodbye, Caleb.’’
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Freshly showered and an apartment as tidy as you can make it with thirty minutes left—glass cleaned up and everything—you anxiously wait on the futon that serves as your bed. Your skin is still a little dewy from the water, and your hair is a bit wet, but it’s safely twisted and pinned up into two buns on top of your head. Dressed in a soft and worn pair of grey sweats and an oversized maroon hoodie that you’re ninety percent sure is Caleb’s, you’re as comfortable you can possibly get at the moment. With a nest of plush and colorful throws as well as a few plushies to keep you company, you recline back on the futon, currently in its couch mode. You try to make yourself look as natural as possible, but an anxious tingle still remains low in your belly.
This will be the first time seeing Caleb in months and it’s nerve wracking.
You have no idea how to even act around him. Will he bring up the distance between you both? Will he avoid it? Or will he just wait for you to eventually tell him what’s wrong—something that you’ve done in the past on numerous occasions. Hiding things from Caleb never really is a thing you do; he’s just too good at figuring you out, and you have this compulsion to spill your guts whenever you stare at him too long.
But how would you even go about explaining it all? 
“Ugh, I hate this.” You groan, covering your face with one of your plushies as you curl up on the futon. Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel now. So much for trying to be self-sufficient. You ended up having to depend on Caleb yet again to help you. And he was driving all the way to Linkon! Three hours was a long time, and you know he’s had a full day of classes and work, so he was no doubt exhausted. Not to mention the stairs! Fuck, you really are the worst, aren’t you?
You curl up even tighter as the embarrassment blooms into bright and ugly shame. Tears push at the corners of your eyes again and you wish you could stop crying already, but you just can’t. Sniffling, you rub your cheek against the silky-smooth fur of your seal plush. Another gift from Caleb—a birthday one, actually. You both had spent the day at the mall where you two went around for hours. He won the little guy in a crane game that was outside of one of the cutesy stores you like to peek your head in occasionally. It had taken a few more tries than he would have liked—his words verbatim—but you eventually left the mall with one more plush heavier.
‘More evidence that I need to grow up.’ You puff out your cheeks before blowing out a loud breath. Yeah, you were never going to give up your collection of plushies. Childish or not, you deserve to have sweet, cute little guys you can cuddle up to when you need a bit of happiness. With one last cheek rub to your seal, you slowly sit up and pat your cheeks. Glancing at the clock, you realize that Caleb’s got about fifteen more minutes or so. 
“Maybe I can order something for us to eat? That fried chicken place that he likes so much should still be open now...” Opening up your phone, you’re about to tap the food delivery service app, but a knock at your door stops you. You blink, confused, before Caleb’s muffled voice comes from behind the heavy, brown wood.
“You mind gettin’ the door?” 
You scramble up from your seat, flailing a little when your feet get tangled up in your blankets. The struggle you go through is loud and obvious, so by the time you get the door open, Caleb’s smile is wide and amused.
“Doin’ alright there, princess?” You opt to ignore his rhetorical question, glancing down at the bulging white bag dangling from his left hand. Double bagged you can’t really tell what’s in it—just that it’s full and heavy looking, a logo of a nearby convenience store on the front. You glance back up at his smiling face. Normally, you’d have already jumped him, and your usual song and dance involves you hanging off of his neck like a monkey while he ushers his way inside; lightly bickering all the while. However…you’re trying to be considerate here. He’s likely tired from all the work he’s had today, so pouncing on him like some overexcited puppy wouldn’t be welcome, you’re sure. Instead, you opt for something a lot more toned down.
“Did you really buy snacks? I was gonna just order something for us. To, y’know, make up for all that gas you used.” You pout a little, pulling Caleb in by his wrist and kicking the door shut behind him. The warmth from his skin seeps into your hand, and you fight the urge to wrap yourself around him like a koala. Face feeling hot, you pretend like your thoughts aren’t totally embarrassing and pull him towards the futon. You carefully keep your eyes trained on the chains dangling from his jeans instead of meeting the stare you can feel boring through your forehead. 
Before you can get very far, though, he gently stops you by tugging his wrist back a little, mindful not to dislodge your own hold. He herdes you to your kitchenette with a little snort, depositing the bag in his hand onto the countertop with a muted ‘thump’.
“Why order out when I can just make you somethin’ instead?” He raises a brow, and you let go of his wrist so he can shrug out of his leather jacket. The thought of a home cooked meal sounds more than appealing at the moment, especially coming from Caleb. You swear that if he wasn’t so set on that aerospace engineering stuff that he’d be an amazing private chef. You tell him as much while he drapes his jacket over a metal hook drilled into the wall near the counter, belly growing warm at the sound of his laughter and the visual of his bare, muscled arms.
“That’s sweet of you to say, but I don’t think I’m that good.” His smile is a little lopsided once he turns back to you, but it’s the way he opens his arms that truly turns that warmth into something scorching.
“Before the food, though, I think there’s somethin’ you’re forgetting to give me, hm?”
You inhale sharply, your lower lip trembling as you look at his face. His expression is a mask of calm, but there’s an anticipatory sort of fire in his eyes, and you realize that he wants you to jump him like you would normally. Resolve cracking once again into pieces, you immediately jump into his spread arms. Your own limbs fly up to wrap around his neck, and you stand on your tippy toes for only a second before his arms surround you, lifting until your legs wrap around his waist. He squeezes you tightly, resting his chin on your shoulder while you hide away in the crook of his neck, your trembling hands fisting the fabric of his shirt.
The cologne he wears floods your nose—something deep and masculine that makes you think of late night drives, clear lakes and winter nights. That familiar scent instantly has you sagging in his hold, trusting that he’s strong enough to carry your body weight as you press even closer to him. His warmth, his scent, the strength in his arms and the low, soothing hum he starts when you inevitably let loose a few tears and sob a little; all of it causes you to feel human—something you haven’t been feeling in a long, long while. You vow to yourself to never avoid him ever again—you think you would actually just keel over and die if you have to live without his hugs.
“I missed you.” Your teary voice is muffled by his throat, but he understands you perfectly regardless.
“Missed you too, princess.” One of the hands supporting your waist slides up your spine, stopping when it reaches the nape of your neck. He rests his hand there, fingers absently playing with the baby hairs at the base as you rub your nose against his neck. Your face feels like it’s pure magma with the way it burns, and your heart is beating so fast that you’re positive Caleb can feel it, with how close you two are pressed together. As flustered as this is making you feel, however, there is a part of you that’s just melting into the easy affection between you two. A part that’s growing the longer you’re touching him.
It feels so good to be in his arms again, to feel him enveloping you, keeping you safe and protected. The slow rise and fall of his chest soothes you, and your slight sniffles calm down. Sleepily, you rub your nose against his throat again, the action surprising a low chuckle out of him that makes your brain go blank with contentment. Eventually, though, you have to part. So, with one last squeeze, Caleb pats your back and gently lowers you to the ground. You only realize you’re pouting when one of his large hands comes up to squish your cheeks together. You squawk in protest, using one of your own hands to swat at his hand before he lets you go. 
“Don’t do that!”
“Then don’t look like that. Makes me wanna bully you when you’re acting cute.” The smile on his face is teasing, but there’s something contemplative in his gaze as he regards you. 
Your face flushes a blazing red, that sleepy soft feeling evaporating in an instant. His voice echoes loudly in your head as your eyes widen. Did he just…call you cute? No, he said you were acting cute. But, doesn’t that mean the same thing? Doesn’t it? You feel like you’re about to go insane from his flippant words, and you bring your hands up to cover your hot face in embarrassment. This kind of banter is normal for you two—it’s supposed to be normal, but now it’s all too much. You can’t…you can’t deal with him talking like that, not when you’ve just noticed how you really feel about him!
A strange expression flits across his face after he takes stock of you, but before you can even think to ask, the look is gone and he slings an arm over your shoulder. He pulls you into his chest, the smile audible in his voice as he leads you into the kitchen.
“Alright, I’ve got a few options we can choose from…”
✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦
You end up choosing something simple but delicious—ramen! 
Your kitchen area is small, but composed of two separate counters; one connected to the wall in an L-shape with the sink, microwave and stove, the other splitting the area in half. Caleb is working near the sink and the stove, all of the ingredients spread out in an organized fashion. The water is set on the stove getting hot, the packs of noodles placed on the counter by it. Various toppings litter the surface of the counter—eggs, some seaweed, what looks like bok choy and pork belly. He knows it’s your absolute favorite and the thought of him specifically going out of his way to buy you something makes your heart thump inside of your chest painfully.
You’re sitting on top of the second counter, lighty swinging your feet back and forth as you watch him work. A heavy, almost burning feeling settles in your lower stomach as you do. He looks…at home, here, like he belongs in your kitchen. Moving about with an easy finesse that speaks of his intimate knowledge of your apartment.
How he only uses the first two burners because the back flames don’t get hot enough; how he knows exactly where you keep your pots and pans and other kitchen tools; how he knows that the cool water doesn’t flow from the faucet so he grabs one of the water bottles from out of the fridge; how he expertly maneuvers in your kind of cramped kitchenette despite his height, dodging around sharp corners and the hanging overhead lights like it’s instinct. It’s all too fucking much for you to take in. Like some sort of rom-com, domestic fantasy brought to life. The soft lofi station playing in the background of your apartment from your speaker only cements that fact. 
It should be nothing new to you—it is nothing new to you. Caleb and you have ended up in the kitchen together countless times before in the past. But you were ignorant back then. Now, you’re completely aware of how strongly you love Caleb, how deeply and wholly it consumes you, so all of the normal things you did together seem to carry a deeper meaning. But it has to be your imagination—it’s just all in your head. You can't believe that Caleb sees this any different than normal. Caleb is your best friend so he obviously loves you, just…not like how you love him.
It stings like a bitch to admit, but you have to come to terms with it. You won’t be avoiding him anymore, you’ve already decided that, so you need to be able to handle it when Caleb does something platonically affectionate. ‘You’re his best friend—like a little kid sister to him.’ You chant like a mantra inside of your head, trying to control the blush on your face when you watch his arms flex as he uses a knife. You can’t help but trace over his profile, lingering on the length of his eyelashes, the sharp just of his jawline, the soft furrow of his brow as he concentrates, the softened line of his pink lips. It’s kind of creepy how hard you stare, but there’s nothing you can do about it. Not when everything about him draws you in like a moth to a flame.
“You’re unusually quiet. What’s goin’ on in that big ole brain of yours?” Caleb keeps his eyes trained on the pork belly he’s cutting, but you still feel his attention zero in on you regardless. You fidget a little, expecting the question yet not at the same time. What should you even say?
What you can only say, you think. The truth.
“I guess I’m just…sorry?” Your quiet voice comes out more like a question, and you drop your eyes to your socked feet as they sway. You can’t bear to look at Caleb anymore, not when the shame and guilt from before start to come back.
“Sorry?” 
You shrink back at the sound of his confusion, and as much as you loathe to bring it up first, the instinct to spill your guts wins. You’ve always been an open book to him, and after years of that habit, you don’t have the strength to change that now. 
“I…I’ve been avoiding you–,” A lump forms in your throat halfway through your words, and the rhythmic cutting of the knife abruptly stops. You keep your gaze down, but Caleb’s focus goes from being present in the background to suddenly being there. You can literally feel his eyes bore into your forehead. You hunch further into the hoodie on you—Caleb’s hoodie—as if it can physically hide you away from your problems. Still, you continue to speak, absently noticing Caleb start to move in the background.
“And I’m so sorry about that. It wasn’t your fault at all, I promise you. I just…I just figured that maybe I was, um, bothering you too much? I mean, I know I can be pretty annoying and you’ve been sweet to actually try and tolerate it, but I’ve got to grow up sometime, right? I shouldn’t be constantly texting or calling you over silly, nonsensical things about my day. I’m an adult, so I can’t be so selfish with you all the time, not when we both have our own separate lives to live—” You hiccup, and it's only then that you realize you’re crying again. Your fingers are bunching up the fabric of the hoodie you’re wearing, your knuckles turning white from the strain. You sniffle, opening your mouth to continue, but another hiccup interrupts you as more tears blur your vision.
The abrupt sound of the sink turning on momentarily quiets your crying fit, and you snap your head up towards the sound. Caleb is furiously washing his hands, and you can only watch bewildered as he does so for the next thirty seconds. He whips back around after, absently drying his hands with a nearby towel before throwing it across the counter. His face is slightly pained as he stalkes towards you, and you’re suddenly aware of how big he is once he gets close.
His shoulders block out most of the overhead lights as he crowds into your personal space, his hands coming up to cup your flushed cheeks as he slides himself in between your legs. The stare he gives you is complicated; emotions flitting too fast for you to decipher with your obscured vision. Gently, he uses his thumbs to clean away the tears falling down your face, wiping away the ones in your eyes just a moment later. You sniffle a little, staring up at him with wide eyes as he slowly lowers his head to bump yours. 
“Where in the world did you get the idea that I wouldn’t always want you around?” There’s a genuine note of distress in voice, though it’s clear he tries his best to hide it.
You only cry harder, shaking your head as your hands go from clinging onto the hoodie you're wearing to his shirt. It feels so stupid to admit that someone else influenced you—to say out loud that you were being so cruel to someone so important and close to you because you were afraid. Afraid that your feelings would get the better of you. Afraid that you would drive Caleb away with your clinginess. Afraid that you’d crumble to pieces if he ever rejected you. Because you need him in your life like you need air to breathe.
The grip on your face tightens.
“You don’t have to be so quick to grow up without me, y’know? Who said you needed to do that?” He switches tactics a bit, injecting a lighter tone in his voice as he wipes away more of your tears. Your lower lip wobbles, but you do take his words to heart. A little bit, at least. You open and close your mouth, and it takes more than one try to speak past the lump in your throat, but you do after a few moments of patience.
“...You don’t think it’s immature? You don’t…you aren’t annoyed by me being so-so clingy?”
He shakes his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling faintly when he gives you a soft smile. You sniffle again, leaning into the warm palms holding your face. Your fingers loosen the death grip you have on his shirt. He moves a little closer in response, and you can feel the heat from his body seep through the fabric of your pants. Goosebumps rise across your skin when you realize how close Caleb is to your inner thighs. ‘Focus.’ You demand yourself, breath hitching when Caleb swipes his thumb underneath your eye.
“Of course not. I like it when you call me up the way you…used to.” Pain briefly flashes across his face before that gentle smile comes back. Your lip wobbles at the sight, but he quickly shushes you, lightly squeezing your face. You understand the silent message and swallow down a fresh wave of tears.
“You…you seriously don’t mind that I want to,” live underneath your skin 24/7 “be near you anyway I can? Even if it means that I’m bothering you when you’re busy?” Your inner thoughts mortify you, but the idea of being around Caleb all day, every day is so appealing to you that you feel insane with the way your entire being yearns for that to be the case.
“You never bother me. You have to know that, right, princess?” You bite your lip, one part of you disbelieving while the other half sings with delight at hearing those words come from Caleb. Kimberly meant no harm when she planted the idea, but you’ve had months to turn it over repeatedly in your head, and your insecurities have been louder than ever in your isolation.
“I’ll start trying to…at least.” 
Caleb sighs a little, eyes flickering down for a moment before they meet yours squarely.
“Baby steps then.” He knocks your heads together gently before easing up his hunched shoulders. The palms cupping your cheeks leave after a few more seconds and he gives you one of his usual warm smiles.
“No more ignorin’ me, alright?”
You tellingly don’t say anything right away. You know you’re not going to avoid him anymore, it’s just, making your voice work after all of that feels like a herculean endeavor. Sniffling, you slowly blink up at him. Your silence makes his smile grow wide enough for his eyes to close, but there’s a rigidness to his expression that makes your stomach swoop. He leans back down, one of his hands tucking underneath your chin to raise it, the other falls to rest next to one of your legs on the counter. The back of his knuckles brush against your skin and you feel your eyes widen at the sharp look he shoots your way when his eyes open, smile fixed in place.
“You won’t ignore me anymore, right.” The soft murmur sounds more like a threat than a question, and that swooping sensation returns. You realize that you’re getting excited by the look in his eyes, your flush only growing more prominent when you feel yourself get embarrassingly wet from the intensity. You instinctively move to cross your legs, but since he’s still in between them they only tighten around his waist. His eyes drop to look down before they raise back up, one of his eyebrows arched as searches your face. After he looks his fill, a slight smirk curls the side of his lips up, and his head tilts to the side in an almost sarcastic fashion.
“R-right, I promise!” You stammer out, breath hitching when that downright mean look lasts for a beat longer before his smile becomes real. He pulls back the hand underneath your chin while the other gently rests on the outside of your thigh, lightly patting it before he removes himself from your personal space. Your breath whooshes out of you loudly, your heartbeat going a mile per minute as your red face gets even redder. His smile somehow gets brighter in response.
“Perfect. Now, just sit there and relax. Dinner should be ready in just a little bit.”
✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦
You stop pulling away from Caleb after that night.
You never did fully explain to him why exactly you started distancing yourself, no matter how subtle and unsubtly he tried to pry. You guess you feel embarrassed by the reason. Embarrassed that you allowed your fears to get in the way of your friendship—that you allowed these stupidly intense feelings of yours to negatively affect one of the few good things in your life. So you keep the real catalyst to yourself, instead focusing on catching up with Caleb. You haven't really spoken-spoken in…four and a half months, so there was a lot to catch up on. Which was easy enough to do once you started regularly calling and texting him. 
However, some things were still different, no matter how much you tried for it not to be.
Since you had your little revelation, everything and anything Caleb did that was even the slightest bit affectionate had you blushing like crazy. Constantly, you were flustered by the very obvious care he showed you, which had been amplified ever since you started talking again. It was like he was compensating for your insecurities by being extra sweet to you, and it was driving you insane to try and keep your head on straight.
He made a point to see you in person at least once a week, alternating between taking you out to eat or to walk around the mall, or cooking you something at home and watching movies. Without fail, Caleb would show up at your door knocking like clockwork. It worried you, at first. You didn’t want him to overexert himself in an effort to make you feel better, but you realized something about three weeks into this new routine.
Caleb needed it as much as you seemed to.
He was subtle about it, but you knew the man as well as he did you. So you noticed how relaxed he would get when you would ask him for things. How genuinely thrilled he seemed when you spoke openly about your feelings. How quickly he would respond to your texts even when he was busy, or how he picked up every single time without fail whenever you called. How he would jump at the chance to spend even a little bit of time with you.
How easily he would touch you.
You guys were physically affectionate before, but now…it was happening way more often. A hand on your waist, your lower back, resting behind your back or draped over your shoulder when you sat down; ruffling your loose hair or snagging your wrist when you playfully pulled away for him; pinching your cheeks to tease you, cupping underneath your jaw to emphasize a point he was making; or, god forbid, the few times he stopped you from rushing ahead by resting his hand on the nape of your neck and squeezing. He loomed over you in public, bodily putting himself between you and random strangers, using his height to his advantage when he wanted to herd you in another direction, coaxing you to lay or lean on him whenever you were sleepy either at home or outside.
After realizing that your relationship wasn’t so one-sided, well…it was easier to accept your new routine. Easier to allow yourself to indulge, easier to not feel guilty when Caleb was getting exactly what he seemed to want by looking after you so well.
Which led you to your predicament now.
“...You want me to come with you to a party?” You hold your phone up to your ear with your shoulder, chewing on a fruity twizzler as you circle a word in your book of word searches. It was sanrio themed and Caleb had snagged it for you on one of your little outings two weeks ago. The page you were working on was thirty-three out of sixty and was filled with various little chibis of cinnamoroll. 
“It won’t be that bad. Gideon’s cousin is throwing a bit of a housewarming thing, and he invited me to come. Last week you picked what we did, so technically it is my turn…” He trails off playfully, and you pout because he’s right. You had forced him to stay inside and ordered pizza—you refused to let him go back to his apartment until you had finished all five of the twilight movies. Payback, really, when he forced you to watch all of those boring ass war movies he liked so much.
You roughly blow out a sigh, sliding your pen into the book.
“Is it a party or a…party party?”
“A party party, so as much as I wouldn’t mind you wearing one of my hoodies again,” You flush at the pointedness to his tone, “You should make an effort to wear something a little nicer.”
“Caleb~!” You whine, throwing yourself back across your splayed out futon. The only thing he does is laugh at your expense, and as much as you want to be truly annoyed, you can’t. His voice is too warm and soothing in your ear for you to feel any true irritation.
“C’mon, it won’t be so bad. We’ll stay for an hour or so, and then we can head back to my apartment. You wanted to see it anyway since I moved.”
“I guess so…”
“Just a little bit of human interaction, and then I’m all yours. Doesn’t that sound like a good deal?” His voice is softer now, coaxing almost. Like you’re some little kid that needs to be convinced to eat their veggies. It shouldn’t make you flush so intensely. Nor should it make your mind go fuzzy and cotton-filled, but here you are. Zoning out a bit because of his tone.
“...Yes, it does.” You mumble, blinking to try and erase that sudden fog.
“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it.” A fainter voice echoes from his side of the phone and he leans away for a moment to answer. You glance at the clock. 3:47 p.m on a Wednesday. He’s in the middle of his part time shift at the auto shop near his college. ‘He must’ve just been invited if he’s calling me during work hours.’ You finish nibbling on the twizzler in your mouth while you wait, a bit of dread filling your gut as you think about meeting Caleb’s other friends.
You weren’t scared of them, per se. You were just a little—okay, you were a lot introverted. Going outside only seemed like a good time if you were either with Caleb or going on a simple walk. Talking with people has never been something you liked or needed in your life. Too many bad experiences with others—both their fault and yours, depending on the situation—so you mostly keep to yourself. And Caleb’s friends are from college or from the mechanic shop. Places where certain kinds of men reside, and while you won’t just baselessly accuse his friends of being people you won’t get along with, you shied away from interacting regardless. But now…now you didn’t have a choice in the matter. So that meant you had to make at least a decent impression on them, if only to save Caleb some peace of mind.
“Sorry about that, one of the guys had a question about the truck we’re working on.” Caleb’s voice snaps you out of your pensive thoughts.
“No worries, you know I don’t mind.” He hums absent-mindedly, before shuffling noises can be heard through your phone speaker.
“What time’s the party?”
“This Thursday night. It officially starts at eight, but people’ll probably start showin’ up at seven-thirty.”
“Oh, alright. I get out at six, if you wanted I could meet you halfway?”
He scoffs. 
“I can just pick you up, it’s no big deal. I’ll just make sure to leave a few hours earlier.” You bite your lip, but you accept his decision. You’ve gotten better at that, you think. Following his lead more without questioning him so much.
“Your vacation starts this weekend, right?” You blink. What does that have to do with anything?
“Mhm?”
“Stay the week with me.”
Your eyes widen and you stare blankly out your window, just barely catching your phone as it slips from underneath your chin. You…you stay in his new apartment with him…for a whole week…? You don’t know whether or not you want to scream in delight or pass out in flustered embarrassment. Just thinking about being alone with him in his space for a whole uninterrupted week sends those familiar tingles down your belly to your cunt. You suck in a breath, cheeks feeling hot as your fingers tremble around your phone. Denial sits on the tip of your tongue because if you’re in close proximity for that long you know you won’t be able to stop yourself from doing something incredibly idiotic—
“Please? I miss you, and we already don’t see each other enough.” He doesn’t really beg, but that soft, cajoling tone comes back and it has you caving immediately. Because you’re still one clingy bitch and you do actually miss him like crazy whenever you aren’t near him.
You just hope that you can somehow find the strength to keep yourself together the entire week.
“The whole week, huh. Sure, why not?” You say softly, smiling when that gets you a slightly startled intake of breath. Did he really think you weren’t going to say yes?
“You’re carrying all my bags, by the way. All of them.” You state without hesitation, smile curling into a devious grin.
“...How many bags are you planning to bring?” He asks cautiously, and you only giggle in response.
“You little brat.” He sighs out, but there’s nothing reproachful in his tone. You giggle again before you stop, hearing another voice pipe up from Caleb’s side. You’re a little sad to see him go, but he is technically on work time.
“Sorry, I gotta—”
“No, no it’s okay. We’ll see each other tomorrow night, then.”
“Alright. I’ll see you soon, princess.” He murmurs, and you hastily answer him back before the line cuts off. You sigh, bringing the back of your palm to your cheek. You get flustered so easily around him, but you’ve grown to handle it. Somewhat. Kind of. More importantly…
“Do I even have something appropriate enough for a party party?” You wonder to yourself, getting up to shuffle over to your closet. You never needed fancy or ‘nice’ clothes since you were in school, so you highly doubt you have anything on hand that was nice enough. You know Caleb won’t be super picky on the definition of ‘nice’ but…you want to make a good impression.
Ten minutes later you run through your whole closet and you have nothing to really show for it. You found a few hoodies that you’re definitely packing, as well as a couple pairs of fuzzy sweatpants you thought you lost. But nothing in the realm of ‘nice’ that this party required. You sighed a little to yourself, but picked out a week’s worth of clothes and shoved them into a duffel you had stored in the back of your closet. You’d pack the rest of your toiletries and other accessories you needed later. For now, though, you had to make a quick trip down the street. You’re lucky that there’s a relatively nice clothing shop within walking distance.
‘The fucking things I do for that man.’ You smile as you shrug on your jacket and slip on your crocs.
✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦
The soft ‘thump’ of your boots hits the ground rhythmically. You’re pacing a little, trying to get used to the added height the boots give you. While not your first time wearing boots like these, it is your first time wearing them with a skirt. It’s a strangely nice feeling, the gentle tickle of the soft fabric against your thighs, and you can admit you’re kind of obsessed with it. You make one last turn in your boots, almost tripping over a stray snag in your rug before you hastily right yourself.
Stopping in front of the floor length mirror propped against your bathroom door, you give yourself one last once over.
Your long hair flows down your back and chest, the thin braids you did topped off with shimmery white bows, lines of silver chains scattered throughout. Your makeup is simple—black puppy liner, highlighter brushed along your cheekbones and nose, and a thin layer of gloss that makes your lips twinkle a subtle black underneath your lights. Around your neck lies a thick, black choker with a layer of silver chains hooked to it. The real star of the show is your outfit, however. The one that you spent a decent chunk of money getting but one that you’re infinitely proud of.
The black bralette top you’re wearing is thin and stretchy; lined with lace and with a cute skull and bones decal. The top is the slightest bit on the small side, and combined with the sown in padded cups you not only don’t have to wear a bra, but your tits look fucking fantastic. The black skirt you’re wearing has ribbons lining the top like a corset, and cinches your waist in a way that doesn’t make you feel like you’re suffocating while giving you a nice shape. You paired it with wide-holed fishnet stockings and a pair of calf high, chunky black boots. You adjust the stockings a little, pulling them over the skirt up until they reach high unto your waist. You turn this way and that, cocking your head to the side to review your fit just one more time before Caleb appears. You’re mostly satisfied with it. 
The only thing that you would say kind of ruins it for you, though, would have to be…
‘Maybe I should’ve done the oversized look instead.’ Your mood plummets a little when you notice the layer of pudge slightly poke out from the sides of your skirt, as well as your slightly sagging arms. You cross your arms with an aggravated sigh, looking away from the mirror to ignore the imperfections you can see. You were so satisfied before…where did all that confidence go? ‘Wherever the hell my common sense went, that’s for sure.’ You think to yourself with a snarky tone, before you blow out a deep breath. You still have some time, maybe you could go and grab one of the graphic tees you have?
A knock at your door stops you, and you realize you’ve got no more time left. You sigh, lightly patting your cheeks before making your way to the door. You’re more than a little nervous—you feel a little sick, actually, but you’re trying not to think about that. With no time left, all you can do is grin and bear it.
One last breath and you swing the door open.
Your face gets hot when you realize how handsome Caleb looks—black jeans with rips in them and a grey button up hidden beneath an open dark blazer, a few buttons undone to reveal the sharp jut of his collarbones and the silver chain hanging loose—but what really has you flustered is the look on his face when he realizes what you’re wearing. It’s quiet between you two for a long beat as his gaze slowly travels your body from head to toe, something dark and hot swirling in his eyes. You lightly bite the inside of your lip, fingers gripping onto the edge of your door as you watch the rigid line of his body. It didn’t even look like he was breathing, and feeling the tension grow stronger the longer the quiet persists, you hastily try and break the ice.
“C-come in already, silly. Don’t just stand outside, I told you that you’d be helping me with my bags!” You swiftly turn away from Caleb at the door, blush spreading so fast that you’re dizzy from the rush. The look on his face…you shiver just thinking about it. That wasn’t the kind of look you give your best friend—not even close. You try not to let that stop you from gathering your purse and keys, though, heading towards your futon to pick them up. You bend over slightly, stretching out your arm to snag them from the other half of your bedding.
Except you’re a bit too far from the straps of your bag—a cute little thing in the shape of ghostface that you found in that store yesterday that just spoke to you. You huff, pretending like you don’t feel the intense stare burning holes into your back. You do in fact realize the position you’re in; you in your short and flowy skirt, half bent over your layed out futon, the entirety of your lower half nearly exposed. You feel a slight brush of cool air against the backs of your thighs, and feeling a little bold, you slide a knee up onto the futon. The fabric of the skirt slips higher and you snatch the straps of your bag quickly, blushing even hotter when you realize that you just most likely flashed Caleb behind you.
You aren’t that embarrassed about it, oddly enough. The look in his eyes when he saw you…it wasn’t one you’ve ever seen directed towards yourself before. But you can’t say that you’re upset by it, honestly it was a bit of a confidence booster. You…you don’t know the deeper meanings behind the heat in his gaze; you don’t know if it’s just surface level lust or if he thinks of you the way you think of him…but you are going to enjoy it for as long as you can.
Swallowing thickly, you slip the bag over your shoulder to rest across your chest, turning around with a bright smile.
“Ready!”
~~~~~
Caleb might have…miscalculated a bit.
The party was originally a way for him to segue into asking you to come over. He figured you’d give in easily enough and they’d spend a little time chatting in the corner before he’d whisk you back to his place. While he wasn’t certain what you’d be wearing, he also didn’t think it’d be too wild. That broken heart sweater and a pair of your black ripped jeans maybe. Or those new black cargos and the cropped graphic t-shirt of godzilla you adore so much. Something easy, something comfortable. You were being forced into a social situation you weren’t familiar with, so it’d only make sense.
Except you love proving him wrong when he least expects it.
He watches as your skirt swishes around the backs of your thighs, eyes trailing up the slope of your spine as you two walk towards his car. Thankfully, despite your earlier teasing threat, you only had a duffle bag and a book bag filled with your toiletries and other smaller items you wanted to bring—not that he was really worried about anything being too heavy for him to carry. Even if it was, he’d be way too distracted looking at you to feel any real annoyance.
Your hips sway in an unconscious, but sensual rhythm as you walk in front of him, your wild, dark curls bouncing softly, the thin chains in your hair tinkling ever so softly as they clink against one another. His fingers twitch with the sudden urge to tug at a stray braid swaying from the force of your movements, but he dutifully keeps ahold of your bags. He’s determined to keep his distance. If he really gets his hands on you, he wouldn’t be able to let you go long enough for them to leave. It’s difficult, however, when you keep shooting him these nervous little glances from underneath your eyelashes; almost as if you’re expecting him to do something. As if you want him to do something.
‘Not that I can exactly blame her for that. I wasn’t very subtle.’ He muses to himself. When he first saw how you looked, he was pretty sure he blacked out for a moment. He’d never seen you dressed so…boldly before. So much of your skin was on display, so much of your figure bared to his eyes. It took everything in him to not jump on you, but now wasn’t the time. He could have a little patience. It’d make when he finally takes you apart that much sweeter.
“You cold?” He asks after you rub your arms for the nth time coming down from your apartment. You purse your lips, the light from a nearby streetlight catching the enticing shine of your gloss. He pointedly looks into your eyes, as if that will stop him from imagining what your lips would look like wrapped around his fingers.
“I thought it’d be a little warmer out ‘cuz it’s still summer…” Caleb chuckles, fishing inside of his pocket for the keys to his car. You frown at him, lightly smacking his arm when he laughs again.
“Relax, princess. I’ve got a jacket in my car you can use.” He carefully gauges your expression, smirking a little when a glassy sheen covers your eyes. He expects it to quickly disappear—like it always does whenever he throws that pet name out—but it stays. The frown at your lips slacken into something close to a pout, your cheeks gaining a light dusting of pink that spreads to the tips of your ears peeking out from the fall of your hair. You go quiet again, but he leaves you to your thoughts, something forming in his head as he pops open the trunk.
He tosses your bags inside, slamming the back closed a moment later. When he looks up again, you’re poised by the passenger door, shivering slightly as you stare at your reflection in the window. That soft look still lingers in your eyes, and the idea forming inside of his mind solidifies. Caleb calls out to you, and you take a moment to blink before turning your head to face him. He rounds the trunk to the back door of the car, yanking it open and grabbing the jacket left on the back seat. 
“Here.” He holds the black bomber jacket open, watching closely as you shuffle over and turn around. He slides it around you, using the hands on your shoulders to flip you back around once you slip your arms through the sleeves. The thing practically drowns your figure, stopping just below where the skirt ends. You look good in his clothes, good enough that he's sorely tempted to just take you home instead of to the party. He has a slightly different plan—one that he thinks will work out just fine.
Looking into your eyes again, and seeing that hazy almost dreamy look, he gently tucks his fist underneath your chin. Using his other hand he guides you to lean against his car. Slowly, he tilts your chin up, lightly rubbing the pad of his thumb underneath the swell of your bottom lip, resting his fist above your head.
It has the effect he assumes it would.
Your breath hitches, that cooling blush of yours returning rapidly, coloring your cheeks and nose a splotchy pink. You…melt into the touch on your chin, wide eyes somehow growing bigger as you look up at him. Your hands reach for the edges of his blazer, fingers curling around the thicker fabric. He smiles, stepping in closer so that he can really tower over you, flattening his palm against the cool metal of his car. You stop breathing when he does and he lightly shakes your chin.
“Where are your manners at, princess? What do you say when someone gives you something?” He lowers the pitch of his voice a bit, softening his tone into something sweet yet chiding. You shiver, pupils expanding until a thin ring of your iris is left. Caleb allows the smile he wears to turn the slightest bit mean, relishing when that gets him a high pitched whine. 
“C’mon, you know the words.” He raises a brow and gives your jaw another shake. You inhale a trembling breath, blinking slowly before you open your mouth.
“...Thank you, Caleb.” He smiles at the sound of your lovely voice whispering out his name. He would bottle that noise, if he could. Drink it down for the rest of his life and never get tired of it. 
“Good girl. You’re welcome to keep that jacket, too. Don’t even have to steal it from me like you do my other stuff.” You only stare at him, lips parted and breaths coming in fast pants. He laughs, slightly mocking as he drags his knuckles up your cheek and down the side of your throat. He allows the contact to last for a few beats, taking in the obvious pleasure on your face, the way your legs shake, how you have to lean against the car to even stay upright. He hasn’t even done anything to you yet and you’re already like this. With one last gentle tap to your cheek, he finally leans back.
“Let’s go. If we don’t leave now, we’ll be stuck in rush hour traffic.”
✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦
You’re floating.
Not literally, but you feel as if you’re walking on air. Not even your natural social anxiety is affecting you now, thick into the crowd of Greyson’s family and friends. Caleb had mentioned a housewarming party, but that’s as far as you know. As far as you care to know, sitting primly on Caleb’s lap as he talks with one of his mechanic buddies—a man whose name you immediately forget once you hear it. The conversation doesn’t last long, maybe ten minutes or so, before the other man is drawn off deeper into the crowd in search of something else to drink.
Once the other leaves, Caleb leans his head against yours and looks down at your phone. You're playing a puzzle app, and he quietly watches you play a game of sudoku, occasionally jumping in when you get a little stumped. His hand curls around your waist, absently rubbing one of your skirt’s ribbons in between his fingertips. The other holds onto a red solo cup—the contents you aren’t a hundred percent certain on. He was nice enough to let you take a sip, but you weren’t a fan of the artificially fruity flavor, nor did you like the kind of alcohol hidden underneath it. Wine is more your speed, and after making a face once, Caleb merely laughed and kept the cup to himself.
You aren’t entirely sure how you ended up sitting on him like this, but you can’t say you mind. It’s nice being cradled close; your back resting in the curve of Caleb’s arm, your legs thrown over his thighs and your head resting on his shoulder. You’re warm—courtesy of Caleb’s jacket hanging off your shoulders—and comfortable. Aside from a few friendly ‘hellos’ by the various friends and acquaintances that stop by your little corner of the living room, no one’s really bothered you and Caleb.
As nice as it is, though, there’s still a worry that’s niggling at the back of your mind. A question of…why. Why did Caleb pull you onto his lap as soon as you two walked in? Why did he touch you like that earlier? Why has he been so intense lately? All of the questions you have float through your mind and it slowly begins to push back that pleasant fog you’ve had since you first walked out of your apartment.
You aren’t stupid. You know that there’s a tension between you two. The kind of tension that leads down a road that you both won’t be able to turn back from, but it’s the why of that tension that’s eating you up inside. Before a few hours ago, you wouldn’t have thought that Caleb was interested in you. But that look combined with his behavior…it’s clear that at the very least he’s attracted to you. But does he want you the way you want him—does he love you the way you love him? You don’t know, and that, you think, is what scares you most.
The fingers on your waist lightly tug at the ribbons in your skirt and you look up at him in question.
“How we feelin’?” 
“M’fine. Comfy.” You pause, biting the inside of your lip to avoid getting gloss on your teeth. Caleb immediately catches your hesitation.
“What else?” 
“...I’m a little…confused, too.” He doesn’t seem shocked at all, merely waiting with a warm expectant look on his face for you to continue. You open and close your mouth, stopping and starting until you gather the courage to finally ask what’s been on your mind.
“What am I to you?” Your question takes him off guard a bit, his eyes widening in surprise. He looks away for a moment, the shock turning into something deeply thoughtful. His gaze swings back to yours after a few long seconds of silence, a burning intensity lightning up the dusky-purple hues of his iris.
“What am I, to you.”
“Caleb, I’m serious.” You frown, feeling a little hurt that he seems to be making fun, but he just shakes his head.
“So am I. What, or more like, who do you see me as, [✦].” The sound of your name startles you, and you begin to understand that he’s deadly serious. 
“Who..?” You trail off, breath hitching when Caleb’s hand cups your cheek. He says nothing more, brushing the pad of his thumb underneath your eye as he waits. Your hand grips your phone tightly, a nervous tremble wobbling your bottom lip. Is he asking…does he want you to speak your feelings? You blink rapidly, feeling the familiar itch at the corner of your eyes.
You’re scared. You’re fucking terrified, and if Caleb wasn’t holding you like this, you think you’d run away immediately. ‘But I’ve already chosen to stop hiding from him. I promised myself that.’ You inhale, closing your eyes briefly before opening them again, meeting Caleb’s stare resolutely. You can do this—you can explain to him how you really feel.
He’s asking you to, and how could you bear to deny him like this?
“You’re my best friend,” You reach out and lay your hand on the one holding your face. “You’re the most important person in my life. You drive me fucking crazy all the time with your relentess care. I’m basically spoiled because of you, y’know? Can’t even do anything by myself anymore, I need you around me all the time if I want to have any fun. You…you’ve got to know that you’re my entire world at this point, right? You’ve got to know that I—” You choke on the words, tears pooling in your eyes as your force the phrase your heart has been screaming for so long.
“I love you. I love you so much that it literally makes me fucking stupid.” You throw out with a watery laugh, blinking rapidly to try and salvage your makeup.
With every word spilling from your lips, Caleb’s eyes grow brighter and brighter; the smile playing at his mouth wide and baring the straight whites of his teeth. He’s absolutely gorgeous under the dim lighting of the living room you’re in, and the sight takes your breath away. He’s positively beaming with how brightly he shines, and it takes everything in you not to shake apart when he knocks his forehead against yours and that utter joy gets even closer.
“Then you know exactly how I feel about you.” He whispers, his warm breath puffing against your lips. You can barely believe your ears—it feels like a dream come true. For you to be held in his lap, close enough to see the little indigo flecks in his eyes, to count each individual lash on his eyelids, to see the wonder and love and lust in his eyes as he stares at you deeply.
“You–you do?” You know you sound disbelieving, but this moment truly doesn’t feel real to you. 
“That’s so hard to believe, to you? That I’d return your feelings?” 
You struggle to answer, struggle to do anything when the hand on your waist tightens, the one cupping your cheek sliding around to thread through the hairs at the nape of your neck. Caleb doesn’t look like he’s expecting an answer, though, his eyes dropping to focus on your parted lips. You flush at the heat in his gaze, swallowing back a groan when his fingers slip higher up your waist, catching on the fishnets and meeting your bare skin.
“I could show you, you know. If you give me a chance.” He murmurs, lightly dragging his nails against your skin. Goosebumps raise along your arms at the thought of him proving his love for you. You…you want that. You want that so much. Something must show on your face because Caleb chuckles, dragging his nose up to your temple to meet your hairline. You feel the soft warmth of his lips against your forehead, an action that makes you shiver.
“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” You nod, unable to speak as the anticipation rushes through your veins, the spreading warmth of your belly down to the throbbing heat of your cunt.
✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦
You barely make it through his apartment door before he pounces on you.
His hands grip your face as he crowds you against the door, lips crashing into yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. You moan into his mouth, your arms lacing around his neck. You scratch your nails lightly through his hair and he groans deeply into your mouth. The sound causes your cunt to pulse and you feel yourself leak against the cotton of your panties.
His palms slide down your neck and then down your sides before they travel around to grip your ass. Within the next moment, you're lifted into his arms, and you scramble to throw your legs around his waist as he blindly moves you toward his bed. You trail kisses down his chin to his throat, lightly sucking on the thin skin there. God, it feels like a fantasy to be here in his arms, getting the privilege to mark him up like this.
“Fuck.” He grunts when your teeth dig sharply into the side of his neck, the hands on your ass squeezing roughly before tossing you onto his bed. You’re panting harshly as your eyes travel up his own heaving chest. The lights in his bedroom are dim, and they cast exaggerated shadows against his tall form. As dark as the room is, though, it does nothing to hide the raw desire in his eyes as he begins to unbutton his shirt. Every inch of bare skin revealed makes you even wetter, and you squeeze your thighs together when he lets the shirt drape open. You shiver, biting your lip as Caleb drops to his knees on the bed, the buckle of his belt jingling as he unloops it from his jeans.
You swiftly follow when you realize you’ve just been staring, tossing off your top to reveal your bare tits to the cool room. Hands shaky from adrenaline and the slight chill, you reach for your skirt next, but stop when you’re suddenly yanked forward by your ankle. Gasping, you fall to your back and are pulled closer to Caleb. He easily positions you partly over his lap, legs spread and half folded over. Your entire body feels hot from that easy display of strength, and you whimper when he leans down to mouth against the side of your neck.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” 
His first sentence ever since you left the party startles you, but you don’t have time to speak when his teeth dig into your skin. All you can do is gasp out, fingers latching onto his shoulders as he licks over the mark before doing the same to another patch of skin.
“How long I’ve wanted to have you under me, spread out and fucking shaking apart.” Your back arches when one of his hands cup your tit, rolling a nipple between his fingers while the other hand slides down to unzip the back of your skirt.
“You looked so pretty tonight, you know that? Almost didn’t let you leave ‘cuz you were just too tempting lookin’ like that.” Those words send a bolt of heat through you, and you want to move against him, but you can’t, bent in half and held down by the bulk of his body.
“S’because of me, yeah? Got all dolled up cause you were going out with me?” You nod, helpless to do anything else when he slowly grinds his clothed cock against you. You can feel the hard ridge even through the layer of his jeans and your skirt, and you moan when you realize how fucking big he is.
“Wanted…wanted you to think I was pretty.” You gasp when the hand on your tit pinches your nipple, shaking when his other hand finishes unzipping your skirt.
“I always think you’re gorgeous, princess. But I don’t mind you dressing up for me. Can get you all the pretty little skirts and tops you want if you model ‘em for me. Only for me.” He presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat before separating himself slightly, the corner of his mouth ticking up when you chase him. But he easily pushes you back down, closing your legs and yanking off the skirt like it personally offended him. He doesn’t even bother taking off your fishnets or your lacy panties after he spreads your legs around his waist, merely pushing them aside enough so he can stick two fingers inside of your cunt.
“F-fuck…Caleb!” You cry out, tears forming at the corners of your eyes as you toss your head back. His words combined with the stretch of his fingers makes you feel as if you’re losing your mind. You’ve never had sex before—the only experience you’ve had were the different toys and dildos you have stashed away in your apartment. Other boys never caught your attention, and you were always able to satisfy yourself just fine on your own so you didn’t think you needed the touch of another. But having Caleb’s fingers inside of you now, pistoning in and out was electrifying and you know that it was going to ruin you when you finally feel him inside of you.
The thought has you suddenly desperate for it, and you weakly paw at the bulge in his jeans. He bucks into your hand with a low groan, the pace he sets with his fingers faltering once you get a semi-decent hold on his cock. He returns to his pace soon after stopping though, using his left thumb to rub against your clit as he slides the fingers of his right hand in all the way and curls them. You jolt at the intense feeling, desperation getting stronger as that coil in your belly tightens further and further.
“Give it to me, please, want it so bad, gimmie it now—” You whine, your other hand tugging at the loose end of his shirt while the hand on his bulge clumsily rubs up and down his dick. You blink the half-formed tears out of your eyes, pleading with your face as you desperately try and get him to listen to you. He spits out something too low for you to hear above the squelching noises of your sopping wet cunt, but you soon forget about that when his fingers hit that one spot inside of you just right.
You jolt hard, legs wildly jerking as a white-hot bolt of heat sizzles its way up your spine. The cry that falls from your lips sounds more like a wounded animal, but Caleb’s eyes are dark with satisfaction. He presses that spot inside of you again, rubbing insistently while he does the same to your clit. You can literally feel your brain melt out of your ears from the dual sensations, hips instinctively jerking up to meet his fingers. You’re on the precipice, riding the edge of that peak but you still aren’t quite there yet and it makes even more tears fall from your half lidded eyes out of frustration.
“You close?” But Caleb’s voice was more statement than question, eyes piercing as he watches you start to break apart underneath his hands. You nod anyway, crying out in protest when he slips his finger out. Only to squeal when he lifts you so that you're balancing on your shoulders, your thighs resting around his neck while he buries his face into your cunt.
You can’t even form words when his tongue traces over your clit, his hands placed on the soft flesh of your thighs, gripping tight enough to bruise. He eats you out without any foreplay, going from sucking on your clit to dipping his tongue inside of your hole, trailing nipping kisses to your inner thighs before he’s right back to licking into your cunt while nosing at your clit. It’s so much stimulation—too much stimulation for you as tears drip down your flushed cheeks. You can feel it coming, your orgasm. It’s in the way you clench on his tongue, thighs wrapped so tightly around his neck that you have to be suffocating him. But, if anything, the fervor he eats you out seems to grow, trialing one of his hands from your thigh to lightly trace over your hole. He slips two fingers back inside again, and using his tongue, fucks your dripping slick back into you. Your orgasm crashes into you when he hits that spot again, eyes rolling into the back of your head as white sparks flash across your vision. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream, legs spasming around his neck as you finally come around his fingers.
“Mhm, fuck, that’s it. C’mon, let me have it all, princess.” Caleb’s words ride out on a slight laugh, the vibration of his hoarse voice making your cunt clench around his still moving fingers. The intensity of your orgasm flees, but he’s still thrusting in and out of you. Your voice is shrill when he rubs your clit hard, purposely aiming for that little spot inside of you as oversensitivity wracks through your frame.
“C-C-Caleb—!” You can barely get anything past your crying mouth, hands reaching out to tangle in his hair as he continues to overstimulate you. You somehow get even wetter, the sounds he’s causing between your spread legs are absolutely filthy as they echo out into the dark room.
“You’ve got another for me, don’t you. You wanna be my good girl, yeah? Give me another and I’ll give you what you want.” He licks another stripe from your hole to your clit, fingers rubbing that spot inside of you, pulling back to widen, before thrusting back inside and repeating. Through the haze filling your mind, you can hear the order he gives you. And of course, because you are a good girl for him—his good girl who listens to everything he says—you give him exactly what he wants.
You come for the second time, squeezing so tightly around his fingers that he can’t even move them inside of you anymore when you do. Your back arches off the bed at an insane curve, ragged moans and cries erupting from your hoarse throat before you fall limply back to the bed, hands falling to rest at your sides. ‘Did I…just come on command..?’ You feel tired and wrung out, but that burn of arousal doesn’t fade. Even when the feeling on your clit and in your cunt make you squeal from oversensitivity, you’re still soaking wet.
“Did so well for me, princess. So fucking beautiful when you come. You’ll look even prettier when you’re spread out on my cock–mh, fuck.” Caleb groans, slowly retracting his fingers, watching raptly as your cunt gushes out more slick. You whine out something unintelligible, your entire body shivering from the aftershocks of two orgasms in a row. But still, you dutifully let yourself be manhandled, half lidded eyes lazily tracking Caleb as he bends you in half again. Your eyes lock onto the smears of your cum and slick across his mouth and cheeks, something inside of you strangely warm at the sight of him marked by you.
Caleb’s muttering all sorts of filth about you under his breath as your eyes trail down his chin to his jaw, that satisfaction burning brighter when you notice the hickeys you gave him darken. Your attention is captivated by him as he slips his jeans and briefs down just low enough to pull out his cock. You can see the tip of it from how you’re angled, and the sight causes your cunt to clench and unclench at the thought of finally taking it.
“Fuck, look at you. Prettiest fuckin’ pussy and for my eyes only, yeah? No one else has seen you like this, and no one else will, cuz your little cunt is mine, right? Say it.” 
“M-my pussy, s’yours, Caleb. It’s all yours.” You whimper out. Caleb slaps the tip of his cock against your clit, doing it again when you wheeze out a moan. You wiggle your hips as much as you can in your position, wordlessly begging for him to finally fuck into you. He smiles at your desperation, but it’s a far cry from those sweet, gentle smiles he usually gives you. The slant of his smile is mean, his eyebrows rounded out into a condescending expression that makes you gush.
“Need this dick, yeah? Need me to empty that little head of yours—to make that itch go away.” He slaps the tip of his cock against your clit again before trailing it lower, lightly pushing into your hole before slipping it out. He does that a few more times, all with that mean little smile on his face as he watches your desperation turn into more frustrated tears.
“Caleb!” You cry out, tears slipping down the sides of your cheeks. He tsks, leaning over you until the tip of his nose brushes your temple.
“What did I tell you earlier about using your manners?” 
You shiver at the warning in his tone, mouth falling open when he trails gentle kisses down the side of your face until he reaches your lips. This close, you can taste yourself covering the lower half of his face, see the sweat that’s beading on his forehead and wetting his hairline, the wideness of his pupils as they eclipse the natural purple of his iris, the flush to his cheeks as he poises himself over you. You do what you always do in front of Caleb when he asks you for something.
You cave in.
“Please, please, please Caleb fuck me. Need you so bad, need you to make me stupid, please, want you—” You choke as he pushes in, eyes rolling back as the stretch of his overwhelms all of your senses. He’s so big that it feels like an eternity before he bottoms out. And when he does, you can feel the tip bump into something smooth and hard deep inside you. You jerk when he brushes that place, hiccuping when he shifts and hits that point again. Something…different is building up inside you, something that doesn’t quite feel like a regular orgasm. But you don’t have the breath to voice that weirdness out loud, not when you’re stuck staring up at Caleb’s slack, wet mouth as he looms above you.
“Thaaat’s fucking it, fuck—” He cuts himself off with a low moan, large hands pressing down on your thighs as he pulls out a little, then pushes back in. You realize that you’re drooling when Caleb leans down to lick it away from the corner of your mouth, the silver chain bumping against your skin and causing goosebumps to raise along your skin. You chase after his mouth with a little whine—you can taste yourself on him and it makes you clench down on his cock. He shivers, groaning before meeting you for a proper kiss, all the while keeping up his slow and deep thrusts. He puts more weight on your thighs as he kisses you deeper, tongue tangling with yours as you shakily reach up to throw your arms over his shoulders.
His cock hits even deeper than before, and you fall back with a drawn out moan, eyes unseeing as he does it again. It’s hard for you to register anything else when all you can focus on is the feel of his dick hitting that wall over and over and over again. Your mouth stays wide open as he slowly but harshly pounds into you, hiccuping breaths exiting you every time he bottoms out. You feel like you’re dying—the heat damn near suffocating you as it spreads like wildfire from your lower belly throughout the rest of your body. It’s too much too soon but you can’t help but love it—love how Caleb feels inside you, love how wild he looks above you, eyes half lidded and mouth parted from the slew of filth he’s spitting at you.
“So fucking tight, princess. Feel so good wrapped around my cock.” He groans out, turning his head to lay biting kisses against one of your calves. Your mouth only drops open wider, hiccuping again when he slides his other hand over to play with your clit. It takes one, two, three rubs before you’re clenching down again. White noise fills the space between your ears as you come for the third time on his cock, except you feel something else come out of you.
You don’t even realize that you’re squirting all over him, the wetness slipping down your thighs and his dick to wet the sheets below. You don’t realize much of anything past that point. Not the fact that Caleb jerks his hips forward as he finally came. Not the fact that he bit down hard on your calf as he did so. Not the fact that his other hand kept rubbing your clit, causing even more liquid to squirt out of you. 
Nothing else mattered in your mind at that moment. You were floating, weightless and thoughtless in a fog so dense that you couldn’t see a thing. It was freeing. It was so, so fucking peaceful that you almost didn’t want to leave. But there was someone coaxing you back with sweet kisses and large, warm hands. So you slowly but surely woke from that fog, blinking your puffy eyes open to see Caleb staring down at you in slight concern.
“Back with me, princess.” You nod, but it feels like your head weighs about a hundred pounds when you do. 
“Mhm.” You hum when it’s clear that he’s waiting for a verbal answer. The smile you get is worth the slight discomfort of using your voice, though.
“Here, drink some of this water and we can go to sleep.” You blink again as he helps you sit up, holding onto a glass of lukewarm water with a purple bendy straw. You drink as much water as you can, and are slightly surprised when you end up finishing the whole glass. Caleb laughs a little at your bewilderment, but soon he’s bundling you up in his arms.
You two lay back down and get comfortable on clean sheets—something you don’t think too much of at the moment. You lean into Caleb’s heat as he spoons you from behind, sighing when he slides one arm underneath your head. That arm locks around your neck in a chokehold, while his other limb securely wraps around your waist, hand resting low on your stomach.
“Goodnight, princess.”
“G’night.” You whisper, pressing one last sleepy kiss against the bicep against your cheek before you allow darkness to encroach on your vision.
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acid-ixx ¡ 2 days ago
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why do people who send hate messages have to hide through anons, LMAO. first of all, if anybody wants to confront me, or any other writers, then do so without hiding through the safety of anons.
secondly, i do post occasional updates about my writing progress because i don't want others to think that i'm abandoning my writing + i'm not the only writer here spamming the yan batfam tag??? and i don't do so frequently. i'm not calling anybody out, but it's not only me spamming tags with just answering random asks and posts unrelated to it, no?
and as much as i love to write, i have a life outside of tumblr and as prideful as this sounds, let's see how you can try to emulate writing a chapter more than 10k words because you don't want to publish a half-assed fanfic for others to consume.
i take my time, and if that time may take months then let me, because i don't get paid to write, and all the things i post in my blog are self-indulgent, not an obligation. there's plenty of other people out there who can produce works quickly, but not me.
thirdly, yes, i agree. there are more talented writers than me. they deserve more followers and i stand by that! my writing style is simple, very inconvenient at times, but it's what makes me comfortable, it's what makes me happy, but with your last message, it's like you're implying i don't deserve my own space in the writing community, especially in the batfam tags. there's no rules saying that just because i update slowly, then suddenly i'm undeserving of posting in the tags with updates in my work? seriously, anon, this sounds more like barely disguised jealousy and no offense, it's honestly pathetic if you think it hurts my feelings. if people don't like the way i write, then block me, unfollow me, confront me, do whatever.
before anymore hate is sent, i'll be turning off anons temporarily soon. and yes, i'll be posting this in the tags because i know i'm not the only author being targeted by hate asks, this is all for awareness. and to all those wanting to send hate, at least don't hide behind a mask of safety lol.
225 notes ¡ View notes
darkficsyouneveraskedfor ¡ 1 day ago
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A Man Called Danger 1
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You avoid drama, you avoid confrontation, and overall, you avoid men. But some men can't be denied. ~ short!late 30s reader
Characters: biker!Bucky Barnes
Note: I saw a photoshoot and lost my mind.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
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You sigh and set the phone down, tilting your head back as you close your eyes. Exasperation, frustration, helplessness.
This is why you never had kids of your own. Your own teenage years were tough enough. Well, life has continued to shout that lesson in your face; things don’t always turn out how you expect. Or how you want. 
Let her make her mistakes, you tell yourself. No, no, you can be passive in your own life but you took on this responsibility. You can’t just wait and see how it turns out. Not like your mother did. She only got lucky you didn’t end up on a corner or like her. 
You take a deep breath and run your hands over your face. Your mother taught you many lessons without meaning too. Men, kids, all that domestic stuff is just a trap. You’re better off without having to figure out the mistakes of others.
That’s why you did this right? Because you want your sister to learn the same thing, to avoid the consequences of youth and short-sightedness. To escape that family curse that keeps you so cautious. 
You grab your jacket from the front door. She’s nineteen. Nineteen. An adult. You’re not her mother. No, but you won’t let it happen. Not to her. Not to that baby you spent your nights bottle-feeding as your mother spent her stipend at the bar or drove around with Robbie from down the street. 
It’s underhanded. Not what you should do. Not respectful at all but after the last time, you couldn’t let it go. You open the app on your phone. The dot that is your sister’s phone pings in the map. You zoom in and squint as you stand on the doormat. Really? 
You lock the front door and come down the front steps. The deep blue evening is starless as only the yellow street lights offer clarity. Oh, everything is clear. The apple is not falling very far. 
You drop your phone in the cup holder and turn the engine. The grumpy old Honda chugs to life and the stick cranks loudly as you put it in reverse. You don’t have much but you have the one thing you always craved; stability. You manage with what you have. 
You ease your foot off the pedal as you catch yourself speeding down the forty zone. You idle at the sign before turning onto the next street. You make a zigzag onto the main road. Your nape itches with impatience. How the hell did she get all the way out there, anyway? 
You grip the wheel and snarl at the windshield. You’re not a mother. You don’t have a maternal bone in your body. You were raised to be wary. By the time your sister came around, your mother wasn’t present enough to make much of an effort or impact. You suppose neglect can be just as lingering as resent. 
You keep one hand on the wheel as you chew your thumb. For all your attempts to avoid this fate, you find yourself where you didn’t want to be. Maybe not technically or even legally, but you’re stuck cleaning up this mess. 
You pull up to the bar at last. Take a breath. You are not an angry person. Not like your father. Yes, the surge comes from time to time but you control it. You repress it until it’s only a flicker in your stomach. 
You get out and lock your phone. You pocket your keys as you approach the door. Nearly wenty years since you’ve been in a bar, never of your own volition. You stare up at the marque. 
You were the same age as your sister then. The place was glowing and hazy. You entered to the clink of bottle and the buzz of the old juke box. Darts pounded into the bullseye and cues clacked on solids and stripes. Your mother was there hanging off a greasy man in flannel. She was too drunk to answer your question as you held her child on your hip. 
“Mom, where’s the money?” 
It fades away with the voice from your left. The man stands with arms crossed, “ma’am, you can go in. I don’t needa see ID.” 
You shake your head and make yourself enter. Your reluctance slows you along with the overwhelming wall of noise. Voices all around, music, glass meeting each other and tabletops, laughter, coughing, and snarling. The dim is lit only by the bulbs beneath the black shades, hanging from the ceiling. You squint to see through the glazed din. 
This isn’t your place. This is never what you would do for fun. Drinking, talking to strange men, spending what free time you have rotting away in this pit. 
You hear a familiar octave. Eva trills with laughter. Not that sardonic snort she gives you when you try to offer her some sense, no, that tinkling noise she uses when she wants something. It’s not a surprise, there aren’t too many reasons for a girl her age to be here. 
You find her along the bar. She sits sideways on a stool, one leg draped over the other. She’s everything you’re not old. Young, slim, and tall. You never grew much after eighth grade and you can’t do anything to stop time from its work. 
You cross the bar as the man next to her chortles and winks at her. His hand is on her stool, just by her hip. He looks about your age. You grit your teeth. 
You’re not brave or bold. You learned to survive by staying out of the way but you can’t just walk away from this. You know what older men want from women half their age. 
You clear your throat as you come up next to them. Eva ignores you as the man sends you a sneer, “can I help you?” 
You cross your arms. You’re not good at confrontation. Not with strangers and definitely not with men. 
“Eva,” you focus on your sister, “I’ve been waiting for you--” 
“Don’t pay attention to her,” she flutters her fingers. 
“Eva. You said you’d be home at eight--” 
“Ugh, you’re not my mother, okay? We both know where she is so just go away,” she snarls. She’s drunk. When she’s a few deep, she gets mean. 
“She’s grown,” the man insists. 
“She’s my sister, I’m talking to her,” you turn so your back is to him and you’re almost between them. “Eva, I got that job lined up for you--” 
“She said fuck off,” the man growls. You tune him out. 
“It’s good. You can take the year to build the reference then apply to the community college--” 
“You’re embarrassing me,” she hisses. 
“Would you get out of here?” The man pushes you so hard you stumble. You hit a table and gasp as the edge jams against your ribs. The people sat their grumble at you for spilling their drinks. 
“Johnny!” Eva cries out. “What the hell are you doing?” 
“You told her to get off,” he sneers. 
“Yeah, but you can’t just do that,” she whines. 
You steady yourself and apologise to the patrons at the table. You hug your middle and swallow down the pain. You swore you would never be pushed around by another man. 
You turn and march up to the creep. “You feel big picking on women? Huh? You feel like a man going after teenagers? Cause a woman your own age wouldn’t put up with you?” 
Eva tugs on your arm and says your name, “please, don’t. What are you doing?” 
“Do it again,” you goad. The words come out naturally.
You’re shocked by yourself but your reticence is dulled by that hereditary spark. That flame you’ve been tamping out for decades. Not like him. You are not him. 
“Pfft, don’t be a bitch. You already cockblocked me.” 
“No, you want to pick on me, pick on me.” You spit. 
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you here?” Eva snivels. 
‘Why are you here?’ Your mother drunkenly slurs. ‘I’m just having some funnnnnn.’ 
You stare at her. Eva wriggles and cries on your hip. You hush her, trying to comfort her. She’s hungry. You don’t have anything left in the can. 
‘Mom, that money was for her. Mom, where is it? Give it back.’ 
She chuckles and caresses the head of the man she sits on, “go talk to Chuck at the bar, he might give you a refund.’ 
Your name draws you out of the past. Eva shakes you as you snarl at the man. Your hands ball to fists. 
“There a problem?” A gravelly timbre undercuts your rage. 
Eva babbles again. 
“Walker,” footsteps stomp closer and Eva pulls you out of the way. 
You watch as a dark-haired man pulls the blond from atop the stool. He has him by the scruff, “what’d I tell you about fighting?” He glances at you then the foamy spill leaking onto the floor from the table as a server tries to sop it up. “You hitting women in my joint?” 
You quake with anger. This man thinks he’s a saviour. You don’t need him to defend you. In here, they’re all the same. 
“You better not come back,” the brunette growls and hurls the blond onto the floor. “This is the last time I’m tossing your ass out.” 
You watch the man’s shoulders strain the leather of his jacket. He’s broad, taller than you, like most, and about your age. He faces you. His hair is pushed back, the tails winging out behind his nape, his beard is thick and laced with silver, and he wears a golden medallion around his neck. His blue eyes scour you and Eva. 
“You alright?” He asks with a stitch in his forehead. 
“Just fine. Leaving,” you say as you twist your hand around to grab Eva’s arm instead. 
“I don’t put up with that in here. I saw that man up on your daughter and I shoulda stopped it earlier,” he intones. 
You scoff. 
“Look, you can have a drink on the house--” 
“I don’t drink,” you show your palm. “Excuse me.” 
You step around him and drag your sister with him. Under the ripple of anger, is fear. These men are dangerous. You forgot that at some point. Don’t ever forget that. You just wish Eva could see the same. 
You take her to the car as she stumbles in her heels. You open the passenger door and let her go. She gets in and you resist the urge to comment on her outfit. She can wear short skirts and crop tops, she’s an adult, but it’s too cold to not have a sweater. 
You go around and get in the driver seat. You sit there and stare at the wheel. You close your eyes and inhale. 
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” 
“Eva,” you snip and open your eyes. You brace the wheel as you look at her. “You saw what that man did. I’m a woman with no value to him, so when he loses interest, what do you think happens to you?” 
She mopes and looks at her lap. She twirls her thumbs round each other and sniffles. “I was only having fun.” 
“You can’t find someone your own age? Or maybe a hobby. Try the library,” you run your hands over your forehead. “I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to act like your mother, I want to be your sister. I want you to do better.” You slap your hands down on your legs. “You can make your decisions however you like but I just want you to think before you do.” 
“I’m sorry--” 
“You’re sorry. Again. You keep doing it,” you relent and slacken against the seat. “You’re not a kid. We both have to accept that.” 
You jam the keys in the ignition and turn. You sit up and peer around the lot. Your eyes snag on the figure standing in the glare of the marquee. That man in leather with the medallion. He watches calmly. 
You lean on the gas and steer around the lot. As you come closer to the bar, he waves with two fingers and winks. You frown and put your attention ahead of you. You just want to go home and go to bed. 
206 notes ¡ View notes
starconstruction ¡ 2 days ago
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Hypothermia and The Cosmos
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Yena x Male Reader
Wc:4248
Tags: blowjob, pussy eating, face riding creampie, masturbation,
not proof read.
2072.
Everyone could have predicted the planet being uninhabitable, the rate industrial production sped up exponentially. Nobody wanted to slow down their ventures for more and more money, it wasn't until 2068 where every carbon sink had completely fallen through. Nowhere in the worlds air supply was safe to breathe. The stench of methane as the sky was blocked out. The sun couldn't pierce the thick fog of disease that hung itself across the earth's surface, leaving an eternal dusk that never ceased for brighter times for humanity.
Now humanity's survival was dependant on a mere couple thousand people, those who signed up for the planetary expeditions. A subsect of the divisions designed to protect humanity for years to come, the goal was simple. Find a planet that was habitable and scalable. Today was the day where everyone was heading out, arming yourself in the mandatory assigned space gear, the unpleasant stench of new plastic and nylon mixed with the environmental methane to make something apphrensibly disgusting to breathe into.
You grabbed onto the rails of the staircase, pulling upwards as your gear lulled behind. A crew of 32 including you were grouped together, this was the first time any of you had met. Their presence was both comforting and uncomforting, a pendulum of emotions as everyone loaded the ship full of their stuff.
Your crew gathered into your living quarters, it was a simple design. Two large components connected by a singular hallway, the company thought it'd be cheaper to make them two full inclusive units as opposed to relying on each other. The ship was fully equipped with a kitchen area, containing a brand new kettle, oven, microwave, toaster and tap. The tap didn't have any water properties in itself. But thanks to the companies glorious technology, it can siphon planetary liquid with ease! The scent of coffee pierced the usually pungent atmosphere, being handed a cup by someone completely unknown. The coffee tasted like dirt as it slid down your throat, coffee apparently used to taste better than this. Before the soil got completely filled with disgusting plastics and gases.
The ship has two dynamic captains operating the helm of your operation, one of them was a small man, 5'6? He had brown hair that was being constrained by the tight helmet he was obliged to wear. And his body was slightly out of shape, you didn't know him very well but he seemed average personality wise. He was sat on his pilot chair, legs kicked up against the centre console waiting for liftoff. The other pilot juxtaposed his entire existence. She was anything but average, her hair a dual toned masterpiece, pink and black converged upon each other. She wasn't wearing her helmet yet, allowing you to bask in her entire glory. Her hair ran straight down to her back, you couldn't see her face while she faced the smog filled atmosphere from outside, sipping on the nasty complementary coffee. She was really pretty, but you knew nothing about her personality. Not uttering a word to anyone on this ship since she arrived.
The company provided sirens rung out through the air, firing a blaring warning that take off had to be imminent. The elusive girl put her helmet on and sat up properly, running her nails across the controls as she set up. For some reason the majority of the crew was in the left wing. Chatting it up about nothing in particular as the ship whirred to life. You and the strange pilot was all who was on this side.
Checking the gear stores for your side, the company provided tools for every scenario, ice picks, new motors, batteries, the budget for these missions were unfathomable. Humanity fell on all of you, it's a thought that weighed on your very soul. Weeks of preparation lead up to this mission, it can not fail.
The two space pilots pressed a few tiny buttons, engaging the core engines on the side of the craft, bright LEDs shot out to brightened the fog on the surface as the dirt whipped up by the ships motions. Their movement was synchronised to an art, engaging their ignition as the fuel burned violently. The ship slowly heading into orbit, escaping the disgusting fog in a brief respite. Atmosphere parting away for a clean celestial view, it was going to be a long long flight as you laid on down on the floor.
-
Space was serene, no noises of coughing through the diseased land of earth, only murmurs of chatter could be heard from the other dock, it was a nice contrast from what you had to deal with back on earth. You could get used to this, the strange pilot had long since put the ship on autopilot, letting it drift itself across space. She approached the kitchen, making herself another cup of coffee. Two cups? The mysterious woman brought the two cups towards where you were sitting. Placing them gently on the ground next to the both of you. Crouching down as her suit crunched, lifting the visor up in order to more effectively communicate with you.
"So, what's your name?" Her words were blunt which contrasted with her sweet sugary voice, she gave out a breathy laugh to break the tension between the two of you.
"Y/N. What about you mysterious pilot?" her face visibly cringed at your attempt at a joking nickname, her eyes rolling as she contemplating just walking away. "It's, Yena. Nice to meet you Y/N" she kept sipping on her coffee as her bluntness sapped on your confidence. You two kept exchanging words, none of them were super important or significant as you focused on her beauty, her face was utterly divine, her eyes were enchanting, large bountiful pupils. Her lips were a soft pink, smooth and full of character. Yena tolerated your dry humour and missed punchlines, giving you fake laughter as she jokingly slapped you.
Yena said her goodbyes and got up, her hips swaying as she slowly walked back to her chair. You had to get your hormones under control, she was a crew member and deserved respect.
-
A few hours had passed as you checked inventory to take your mind off Yena, months of food for everyone. Crates of personalised clothes, you brought a mix of clothes for every possible situation. Warm clothes designed for the frozen wastelands, fur coats and gloves. Minimal clothes for scorching climates, a strange mix of shorts, t-shirts and a mix of nic-nacs.
"Fuck!" It was Yena, desperately trying to regain control of the ship as a swarm of asteroids appeared in front of the ship. Various shapes and sizes threatening to crush your entire project.
"Why the FUCK is he not turning!" Yena frantically turned to the right, but the ship wasn't moving fully. The once synchronised pact now disjointed as you panicked. Dropping what you were doing, scraping your feet against the metal as you urgently tried to get to the other side. The pilot was going to get you all killed, the airlock door launched open.
A massive explosion burst out in front of you, sparks flying overhead as metal launched out into orbit. The two halves of the ship now divided.
The sudden loss of pressure nearly throws you out of the ship, boxes of supplies getting thrown out into the vast abyss of space.
Fuck.
Engine batteries, fuel, clothes and more was being thrown out of orbit. Sharp jolts of pain firing through your body as you got hit again and again. Struggling to reach the airlock door button as Yena frantically ran over to you, taking your hand in hers as you got thrown onto the ground. The airlock door closing as the room went silent.
"Shit." One shared word was all that was said as you looked at your inventory, food sprawled over your food. Frozen products shattered, clothes strung over various objects. Atleast those materials survived, all your vital ship pieces thrown overboard.
"We just lost so much Yena." You said briskly, the alarm from earlier didn't stop. Yena panicked and ran back to the helm, dragging you in tow.
"Y/N! Our engine is broken!! I will route us to the only livable planet nearby but it's not pleasant" you nodded as she set your route in motion.
-
The ship landed with a violent thud, crippling further components as they bended under the rock you smashed into. It was cold, really really fucking cold. You could feel it piercing your suit as your skin started to burn up with frostbite.
You looked at Yena and your jaw dropped as the colour was draining from her face, her eyes looked soulless. A loud bang rolled out as she hit the ground. Her body now rendering unconscious, you had to find heat before it was too late for both of you. An axe adorned in pink was lodged into the metal next to the airlock button, it had to be Yena's. You pryed it from the rubble and rushed outside. The cold dug knives into your back as you frantically scanned for trees. Shivers ran down your spine as ice crystallised on the corner of your eyes where the tears formed. A cluster of trees were completely obfuscated by blankets of snow, raining down on your skin as every part of you wanted to shut down.
Smashing Yena's axe into the side of the tree took considerable effort, barely piercing through the thick bark as the cold raged on. The sound of the snowstorm buzzed in your ears as snow landed on every section of your body. You two couldn't die now.
The wood eventually relented, splitting into a small enough log you could throw on your back. The snow made movement slow and sluggish as you desperately fought back to get across. Wood fell at your knees as you finally got back into the ship, slapping the airlock button as the room went quiet. You needed to light this wood urgently, thankfully Yena mentioned wanting to smoke in your earlier conversations. Rushing over to her desk you snagged her shining lighter. You were so close.
*click*
Come on
*click*
Not the time!
*click*
A flame erupted from the small lighter, pressing it deep into the small twigs as it caught fire, slowly spreading to the thicker wood. It wasn't warm, but it was warm enough. Your hands hooked around Yena's body as you pulled her frigid body close to yours. Holding her close to desperately share body heat as you sat by the fire. Eventually succumbing to the tiredness.
-
The world came back into focus as your body felt overly warm, nearly swelteringly hot. Yena was still resting in your arms, her skin returned back to its previous self. You slithered out, the room was so fucking hot. Unnaturally so, looking outside confirmed your lingering suspicions. The sky was red and the heat was leeching through, a stark contrast from the frigid temperatures a few hours prior. What the fuck was with this planet? You needed to change before you passed out from heat exhaustion, sweat trickling down the temple of your head as you put out the campfire.
Your space suit was thrown off as you swapped into the shortest clothes you owned. Yena was still asleep to the world, her breaths being long and patient while her body recovered.
You took the company provided axe, significantly less interesting than Yena's axe. The pink being replaced by a standard wood finish. You had to get enough wood incase that temperature was normal.
-
You got back to the ship as the temperature started to decline back into the arctic nightmare, Yena was laying down on the pull out bed. Wearing clothes that left little to the imagination, crimson booty shorts emphasised her delectable curves. Her legs ran down seemingly endlessly, a sheen of sweat from the abhorrent temperature made her skin glow radiantly. Snapping back to reality as you prepped the firewood for the night.
"Our fucking shower doesn't work and the world is a scorching sweaty shithole!" Yena yelled in your general direction. Frustratedly shaking the pillow locked in her embrace. You could understand her complaints, after all. You could smell both of you and it wasn't pleasant.
" Don't worry! It gets even worse Yena! At night it becomes a frozen wasteland! So you might want to change, and even worse! Our temperature regulator is broken!" You exclaimed, running out of breath as the gravity of the situation came to life. Yena stormed off to change as the night plummeted. You guys didn't have a place to securely change so you turned around. Then you changed.
You two sat by the campfire, appreciating the shelter from the cold closing in all around you.
"Yena, we need a plan. We aren't going to survive in these conditions and I'm not going to die yet." Yena's face was unreadable, the first time you couldn't tell what she was feeling. Her legs tightened as she set and reflected on the situation.
"I've got a plan. We can fix all 3 of the components with some wood and flint, thankfully the technology is designed to work with every fuel source! We just need to get them, as for fixing the engine... That might be a longer plan" Yena spoke with a child like wonder as she gesticulated all her plans, telling you components and how to fix those things you needed so desperately.
-
A week passed as you guys prepared food and general survival before moving onto what you desired.
You two first wanted to fix the temperature regulator, the whiplash every 12 hours was intolerable as you had to burn through so many outfits you couldn't wash with the current supplies. Creating a mess, you two threw all your clothes in one pile.
This was the easiest goal of yours. The two of you went out with your axe and Yena's modified axe. Dicing through enough wood creating a nice collection of scraps usable to repair the first part of your ship.
You and Yena worked together to fix it, jabbing fragments of flint and wood into various documented nodes as you felt it keep a consistent flow of temperature. Helping to reduce the rapid flow of clothes accumulating in the ship.
The next was the shower. You and Yena smelt awful and it was seriously starting to bug you, it required near perfect precision and grinding down the materials to a perfect size. You and Yena made a fantastic team.
It was now night, with the shower and temperature regulators restored you two freshened up thanks to the company's "Infi-Soap" one of the few inventions they managed to muster with the trillions invested into their company.
Yena let you go first, the water spraying down your body for the first time, it was lukewarm as you rubbed the soap all over your body, feeling the dirt and grime wash away as the lather formed all over you. It felt fantastic to not feel completely disgusting.
The shower wasnt exactly the bastion of privacy, it had a small curtain to prevent prying eyes but not much else. Getting out of the shower you quickly ran to change.
You weren't aware of it, but Yena was absently staring at the shower. You pulled the curtain back and your cock was showing for a second while you got out. Yena realised she was staring and turned around. Those lewd thoughts entered her mind for the first time in forever, she rarely ever thought about sex. But it'd been awhile, she wasn't ready for the real thing just yet. But she wanted to get over a big fear of hers.
Yena hopped in the shower, desperate to get away from the grime that encapsulated her body, rubbing the soap into every crevice of her body. Those earlier thoughts entering her body yet again, her lower body heating up as she felt her liquid pool on her lower lips. Yena felt guilt as she licked her fingers, knowing it was wrong to do it so close to someone. Regardless she descended her hand lower, leaning against the wall as she slowly inserted one finger, letting out a needy gasp. Messily rubbing her clit as she put a second finger in. Reaching her knuckles as she went in and out. The pleasure overwhelming her as she thought of your cock. It'd been so long it didn't take her long to cum. Sliding down the shower wall as her head went numb from the mind blowing orgasm. She cleared her thoughts and went outside.
-
Later you two sat by the campfire, no longer a necessity but a luxury as it created a cozy atmosphere for you two to indulge in. She was sucking on a lollipop that she brought with her, the way that her tongue danced around it filled your mind with lewd thoughts again. She was effortlessly sexy. You had to distract yourself.
"So, Yena. Your parents ever tell you much about old earth?" your voice was stuttering as her lollipop released her from her mouth with a pop.
"Yeah, she always talked about a fogless earth, one filled with real butterflies! Not just artificial ones! God if I was there I would have taken so many pictures" she said, her voice trailing off as she thought of her personal utopia.
"Was never a huge fan of butterflies, moths though. I would have loved to see some moths."
"Moths?? What are you an emo boy?" She laughed slightly.
The night flowed on as you talked about the old world that neither of you ever got to experience, Yena finishing her lollipop as she threw it into the cold outside that suffocated your ship.
You approached the campfire getting ready to put it out as a firm grasp on your arm prevented you, Yena. Her gaze was telling you to wait up.
"Hey, Y/N. Its been a long day. You trust me right?" she pleaded with you as she spoke softly.
You nodded and Yena laid you down as she got on her knees. You were shocked as she got closer between your legs.
"I, don't want you to laugh at me. I want to suck your dick. Please please please!" she was rambling slightly as she fidgeted.
You nodded yet again as her hands pulled down your pants and your boxers in one fell swoop. Pooling into your legs, revealing your hardening shaft.
Yena gulped as she stared at it, her fingers tried to touch your cock but reeled back, her face painted a look of panic. Breathing deeply as she closed her eyes.
"Yena are you alrig-" you started, but she quickly interjected "Yes! I can do this... I can do this.." she murmured to herself.
Her fingers gently touched your shaft, the touch was light and shaky. She held there as she smiled, breaking past one of her boundaries. She stroked slowly, getting used to the feeling of your cock pressing against her fingers, the lack of lubricant made every motion come with a slight twinge of difficulty for Yena.
Yena drooled over your cock from a distance, coating her fingers as she rubbed it into your shaft, driving you mad with her intense strokes.
Yena's tongue made contact with the base of your shaft, pulling away as your musk caught her off guard. Spluttering spit as she coughed aggressively. Her eyes locked up into you with sheer determination as she went in for another attempt. Running it up from the base to the tip. Warm breath tickling your shaft as she got more brazen with her licks. You groaned as Yena made out with your cock, pressing kisses into the tip as she coaxed the precum out. Gagging slightly as bitter liquid made contact with her tongue.
Yena ceased her movements as she pulled away, generating a thick glob of her spit which she spat on the tip of your shaft. Her determination was admirable.
Yena spoke, "I can do it, I can do it. If I reach the bottom you can throat fuck me. When your about to cum, pull me off." before you could react Yena's lips were parting as the tip of your dick entered her warm mouth. You moaned as your hips bucked involuntarily. Causing Yena to panic and withdraw.
" I'm sorry Ye-" she cut you off again with a gentle suck on your tip. Her plush lips were pillows for your dick as she tried again. Her sticky saliva coating your dick as she pressed lower. Hands pressing into your thighs for reassurance as she got used to your length. Heat radiated as she took you to heaven. Reaching the base as her nose pressed into your pubes as harsh gags leaked out from her stuffed mouth.
Yena took her hands off your legs, wrapping her dual toned hair around her slender fingers, gifting you makeshift ponytails. She couldn't talk with her mouth so she talked with her eyes pleading with you to use her mouth. Fully into the role of a needy cocksleave. Her tongue swirled around your tip. Hollowed cheeks providing a suction as you penetrated her mouth, lifting her violently up and down as she sputtered even more saliva, coughing as it ended all over your legs. Yena couldn't keep her eyes open as you got rougher and rougher. Pressing against her throat, vibrations amplifying the sensations of her acts.
The feeling of your orgasm was imminent, tensing up as you threw Yena off your cock, her breathing heavy and laboured. Stroking your Yena drenched cock rapidly with her hand, seeing stars as she raised from knees. You were seconds from erupting as Yena's shirt came up. Exposing a tasty midriff as your cock was pressed into her toned stomach, shooting ropes of thick semen as she kept jerking.
The canvas of her chest was now painted with your semen, Yena smiled as she admired her work. Dried spit coating the corners of her lips, her hair frazzled and screwed after you manhandled her.
"Y-Yena, you did it! Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Thank you, let's go clean up."
-
Since that day, you two slept in the same bed, not that there was ever enough space. The ship only providing small pull out beds meaning Yena and you had to create a tangle of bodies to accommodate each other. Her chest heaving as she gingerly breathed, encapsulated in her dream world, she was so cute like this.
You two set your sights to the moon, literally. You and Yena prepared to find a way out off this hellhole, it wasn't going to be easy. The batteries were completely drained and repairing them would require a miracle.
You and Yena were scouting the planet one day, attempting to make a hastefully drawn map of resources. It was like two different universes, at night everything was covered in snow and sleet. Ice spikes form in ravines. At day, the snow swapped out for surges of heat.
You two walked in the blanketed forest, taking notes on the surrounding paths, snow crunched under the two of you. Your jaw dropped, a strange grey ghoulish figure stood in front of you. Bones pressing out of the flesh, nails being bent upwards 90*, organs visibly exposed.
"What the fuck is that thing?" You and Yena spoke in unison, surprised as it runs towards you. Panicking as it tackles Yena to the ground, attempting to bite into her flesh as a struggle ensued. You grabbed Yena's knife from the ground. A swift jab coated your hand in a strange green liquid as it went limp, shoving it to the ground, Yena looked up in fear. Neither of you two felt as confident anymore.
-
It was 3:32am. You and Yena were particularly frustrated as you two found nothing for the third expedition in a row. So frustrated in fact you had Yena on your face. Pussy grinding against your tongue as her hips moved desperately chasing her high, her moans filled the spacecraft as you drowned in her. Her taste was so distinctly Yena, begging for more. Hands grabbing her ass as you pressed her further in. Rhythmic licks went from top to bottom, bumping against her clit as your saliva became an equal with her juices. Yena put your hair in a choke hold, pulling it roughly as you coaxed her to her orgasm. A shrill screech as she came undone on top of you. Falling into the bed.
Yena wasn't one for words when her actions could speak louder, ripping off your clothes as she grinded against you, gasps filling the room as she lubed you up with slick. Putting it in with reckless abandonment, the sounds of skin clapping relentless on the ears as her tightness gripped you. Neither of you were going to last particularly long as she bounced incessantly. Her hair sticking to her head and creating a beautiful frame of her beauty.
The well detonated inside both of you on the final thrust, painting Yenas walls white with your sticky seed, breathing a sigh of contempt as the anger of you two disappeared.
Yena kept it brief "Your my boyfriend now. And we are finding the engine parts tomorrow"
A/N wow I lost steam so rapidly towards the end. Still proud of the rest of the work.
part 2
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ttjisung ¡ 16 hours ago
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CANCUN p. jisung
richkid!park jisung x richkid!fem reader (e2l)
in which a trip to southern mexico along with your brother's obnoxious friend becomes more than you can handle when you both release your stress.
cw: MDNI! SMUT! my longest fic so far for my boyfie's birthday :3, fingering, exhibitionism (you don't get caught), unprotected sex, dry humping, public sex, dom jisung for the element of surprise, you are honestly really snobby and annoying and jisung is too, even though he tries to hide it. (wc: 5.7k)
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For the past week and half, you’ve woken up smiling with a pep in your step – it was finally summer! The only time available to feel somewhat happy as a college student had arrived, after months of long lectures and painfully boring labs, and you weren’t looking to waste it droning miserably around an isolated campus. The opportunity to travel was offered to you the second day of your break, in the form of a message from your brother, Chenle.
Yo. We’re hitting up the beach house in Cancun if you want to come. You can invite someone too, just let me know. Dad’s paying 
Not even ten minutes later, you and Ningning were at the mall scouting for cute bikinis. Deciding on a light pink two piece with a flared miniskirt on the bottom, you didn’t bother looking at the price tag before passing it to the worker. Truth be told, you hadn’t looked at your bank account since you were allowed to get one. You knew it was always covered, and you had sworn to never be one of those rich kids who are ashamed of their wealth and call themselves “comfortable”. You figured if you could enjoy life and travel with your best friend every semester, why fight it?
“Lele better have gotten us each a first class window seat. If I get middle I will slice his throat.” 
Ningning mindlessly nodded to your obnoxious complaints, holding her phone up high to record a pre-trip transition tiktok, not bothering turning her volume down as the noise rang out loudly. “-Ugh, and then he was like, you only get to check in two bags but like, Ning that’s so unfair. Like I need more so I can bring back gifts for the girls.” This time Ningning actually looked in your direction, voicing out a small mmm to let you know she agreed.
The both of you sported similar airport outfits – comfy pink sweatpants alongside a white shirt, the matching outfit a tribute you had planned for the trip. Chenle spotted you immediately, yelling out your name and throwing his hands up in the air. As your eyes locked, you rushed over, shoving your bags onto the bench and hugging him. “Ewww, get off me.” The attempted-sweet moment was tarnished as he pushed you off, deciding to not greet Ningning either.   
Rolling your eyes at his annoying antics, you waved at his friends who were scattered along the same sitting area. Scanning their faces, you didn’t miss the way one particular friend didn’t wave back – Park Jisung, who for some reason swore you were his mortal enemy. He simply looked your way, scoffed, and pulled his phone out again. Your plans of slapping him and pulling him by the hair were interrupted as Jaemin, one of your brother’s nicer friends stepped in front of you, smiling widely. 
“Little Zhong, it’s been so long. When’d we last see you?” “Umm… I don’t really… know.” He laughed, and you giggled along, engaging in small talk. Had Jaemin not been blocking you, you would’ve seen the way Jisung’s  eyes squinted sharply at your direction, spanning between you and his friend quickly before averting his view. 
After leaving your bags with your brother, you pulled Ningning along to go airport shopping. It was a higher end company, and of course you were part of the membership, meaning you all shared a private lounge. The company offered many stores for members only, ranging from Coach to Chanel, and that’s where you immediately headed together. 
“I think I need a bag for the trip, I looked up the trends in South Mexico right now and my purse just isn’t aligning.” “Oh my God, same. I don’t know what I was thinking bringing that five month old red one, it would’ve been so embarrassing.” Your snobbish comments blended in with the echoes of older women who had access to the same membership, and after one hour of touching authentic leather clutches to Greek weaved trendy tote bags, you were finally satisfied with your three new bags (Nigning with her two). 
The whole group decided to meet up an hour before necessary to sit together until the boarding time, an effort encouraged by Mark who said he ended up in a small bug-infested motel next to an airport once because he lost his group and missed his plane. That scenario being unironically your worst fear, you were quick to hop on board and agree, pulling Ningning by the hand to head towards their lounge.
Unsurprisingly, all of the others were gone, probably also shopping or stuffing their faces at the supreme sushi buffet, leaving you two alone. As the minutes passed by, you were starting to get annoyed, not wanting to end up in the small motel Mark described. “Ning, go look for anyone else. I’ll stay here.” “What the hell? Why do you get to stay here while I look?” “Umm, because one of us has to, dummy. Did you forget about like… bombs and stuff? Airport rules. Duh.” Rolling her eyes, Ningning crossed her arms and stormed off, muttering under her breath as she walked out of view. 
You grinned as she was finally completely gone, pulling out a sleeping eye mask and moving onto the chaise lounge, on your back. A looming shadow was what woke you up, so intense you swear you could see it with your eyes closed. Pulling your eye mask up, you were awoken to the sight of Park Jisung hovering over your body on his knees, head over yours casting a shadow.  
“What?”
The question made him scoff once more, looking away and shaking his head before simply getting up and walking away. “Hey! Don’t walk away! You were watching me sleep, creep.” You rushed to get up, fully discarding the mask and standing up to follow him around the medium-sized room. “Don’t flatter yourself,” his deeper voice rang out, continuing to walk away, “I was just checking cause Chenle asked me t-” He was interrupted as you finally caught up to him, holding his arm in your hand and tugging him around. 
A swelling frustration built up in you as you saw his eyes, full of disinterest and boredom. It was one thing to bother you constantly, it was another to do so while feigning nonchalance. Somehow, your brother’s best friend had managed to get on every single nerve inside of your body, and you seriously began to worry about what would happen when your body would run out on the trip. 
“Look, it’s already annoying enough that we have to be near each other these next three weeks. Can we please just avoid each other?” The truce you offered was your last hope, pleading at him in a desperate manner. Jisung looked away with a hand on his chin, as if to seriously think about what you requested, looking at you once again before his smile cracked, eyes squinted slightly as he shook his head, floppy bangs swaying side to side, “No.”  
You huffed before letting go of his arm with a strong force, turning around and walking towards your new stack of bags, choosing one off the top to hold before attempting to storm off in the direction of Ningning. At this point you were seriously starting to consider cancelling the trip. You’d probably be able to convince your parents to send you two to France instead for the fourth time; yet one thing that your summer house in Cancun had that your three story, antique French apartment didn’t was Mango, the orange fat cat who resided on the property that you adored. Since you were a kid, you looked forward to every Spring break because it meant visiting Mango and sleeping on the beach with him under the hot Mexican Sun. Now though, it seems like he’ll have to be your distraction for Jisung’s aggravating antics.
If you had to pick one thing about the male that infuriated you the most, it’d be his hypocrisy. Even you admitted that you were spoiled, not defending yourself when the topic came up, yet Jisung wouldn’t miss a chance to look down at you in disapproval, acting like he was superior when he was the exact same thing as you – an entitled, superficial rich kid who ended up with everything he could dream of.
Ningning was paid for by your parents, but Chenle revealed to you through text that his friends provided for their own selves, using their supposed money that truly just came out of their parents pockets instead, including Jisung who never failed to remind you you were nothing but a product of wealth. 
Although you had half a mind to curse him out, you were honestly tired and just wanted to find your best friend to complain to. Jisung had to ruin apparently every one of your plans as his larger hand wrapped around your shoulder, this time stopping you from marching away. “Wait, hold on. My bad, okay? I’ll agree with you,” his voice sounded smoother, more empathetic as he pulled you back near the couch he caught you sleeping on. “Really?” Your hope was restored as he nodded his head, “Yeah, on one condition.” “What would that be?” 
Rather than answering you, he simply pushed you onto the seat, getting on his knees again and hovering in between your legs once more. You felt his breath on your face as he stopped, his eyes scanning your face before lowering to your lips. A grin grew on his mouth, though he tried to hide it by biting his own lip. 
Without a warning, his hands moved to your shoulders, pulling you into him as he left a small peck to the corner of your mouth. Still in shock and confusion, you didn’t push him off which he took as encouragement to place another one on the other corner. Finally regaining your consciousness, you shrieked and pushed him away, looking at him with wide eyes. 
“What the hell, Jisung? What is wrong with you?” The male rolled his eyes at your loudly yelled questions, leaning into your ear instead. “You can act like you haven’t felt any tension between us all you want, but I won’t let you ignore me this time.” He whispered, standing up on his feet and staring at your face before walking off to where his own bags were. 
The rest of the hour was spent in the bathroom, frantically retelling the story to Ningning who was just as shocked as you were, yet according to her it was only a matter of time before that evil man tried something on you.
When you two rejoined the larger group to finally board, you were weirdly quiet, avoiding the stare of Jisung who was watching you intently. It was the first time he’d seen you so panicked, so distraught. It was then that he realized he really liked the feeling of having control over you. While he was smiling to himself, predicting what a great trip it would be, you were shivering in your seat, dreading what was yet to come.
All of your worries faded away as you stared at the green sign displayed above the road Chenle was driving on, Bienvenidos a Cancun. It had been a while since you were last here, the humid hot air and the bright sun almost unfamiliar to the point where it would’ve upset you. Unfortunately, your group was too large to commute together, so you split up into two groups. 
You waved goodbye to Renjun, Haechan, Mark and Jeno at the airport parking lot, entering the backseat of a large black vehicle that adorned a sign with your last name on it, clearly dedicated to you and your brother. Jaemin sat next to Chenle in the passenger’s seat, leaving you sandwiched between Ningning and Jisung. Chenle insisted you’d sit there, saying your guest should have the window seat. You nearly choked him out through the console of the car. 
Ningning was asleep in minutes, clearly jetlagged from the plane ride, the soft chattering coming from the front of the car probably lullaby-ing her into slumber. This left you awkwardly pressed to her side, trying your best to avoid contact with the male next to you who had been observing you ever since you all landed. 
A bump came up ahead on the road, causing you to shift up slightly into the air, landing next to Jisung’s legs. Thanks to the microshorts you were wearing (curse the torturous summer weather), your bare thigh was pressing against Jisung’s choice of long jorts. The length of his attire stopped your skin from touching his, leading to a relieved sigh, yet it was interrupted by a heavy breath as he nonchalantly moved his closer hand towards your thigh, awkwardly placing it between yours and his. 
Confused by his choice of placement, you were about to complain yet words no one would ever hear were caught in your throat as the car came into contact with another speed bump, this time lifting Jisung’s hand directly onto your bare, plush skin. “Hey! Take it off.” He simply shrugged at your whispered demand, “It’s the car, I can’t control it.” 
The daggers in your eyes simply egged Jisung on as he lightly pinched your thigh, chuckling lightly to himself as you smacked his hand away finally. 
Once the car ride was over and Ningning was shaken awake by your own hands, the two of you ran inside the large house, speeding into the hallway to choose your rooms first. You settled for one of the two rooms on the second story, opting for the one with a balcony facing the blue crystal water of the beach. Ningning ended up on the first story in the room closest to the indoor pool, yelling something about her daily morning laps. 
One by one, Chenle along with his friend group entered the large house, claiming their own territory quickly. Jeno, Haechan and Jaemin decided to stay in the rooms in the basement, and a large part of you believed it was due to the theater room that had a PS5 connected to a surround-sound speaker system. Mark took the room next to Ningning, the two of them bonding over their swimming exercise routine. Renjun took the room furthest into the hallway, followed by Chenle who chose the one in between his and Mark’s. 
It was a pure coincidence that Jisung ended up residing in the last room available, upstairs and right next to yours. You hadn’t even realized it was him until he knocked on your door, pushing it open before you could say anything and leaning on the frame. 
“There is no way you’re next to me. Switch rooms with someone now!” Your words were pointed and firm, suddenly covered in the confidence you lacked at the airport as you stood up, throwing your unpacked clothing onto the king sized bed. Jisung simply snickered to himself, “It’s cute that you think that’s up to you to decide. I’m comfy here though, and I already unpacked so no can do, sorry.” “Why do you enjoy making my life a living hell?” “Because it’s funny.” His responses only angered you further, causing you to stand up and slam the door on his face. 
Choosing a better method to unwind than yelling in your brother’s best friend’s face, you put on a cute bikini with a lace cover-up, rushing out into the hallway when the coast was clear and heading towards Ningning’s room, who was also already unpacked and dressed in a cute sundress. 
No words were exchanged as you two ran through the back door onto the beach, giggling with each other as your feet met the warm sand. Ningning placed her tote bag down near the water, laying down two towels and sitting on one of them. 
It was no surprise when you heard the shouts of the rest of the group, each male running towards the beach as well. They all placed their miscellaneous beach items next to you, not bothering to place down a towel and simply sitting in the warm sand in a circle. 
Truthfully, you were already sick of the overwhelming testosterone that engulfed you both, and apparently your best friend was as well as she shouted out a challenge, “Last one to dive into the water has to do everybody else’s laundry.” Ignoring the fact that your vacation home came accompanied with a house maid, which of course it did, the large majority of the men stood up, racing through the sand until you could barely see their heads in the water. 
Three stayed back – Jaemin, Jisung and Renjun. The last had already occupied himself with a book in his hand, laying on his stomach on his towel (he was the only one that brought one out of all of his friends). Jisung was simply staring at you with a blank expression, causing you to roll your eyes and look away. He momentarily looked away as well, although your next words pulled his attention back quickly. “Jaems, can you help me put some sunscreen on?” The older male next to you nodded, smiling and grabbing the bottle from your hand. He shifted so that your back would be facing him, squirting out a generous amount of the lotion before nudging your hair aside, spreading it onto the back of your neck first. 
His hands roamed towards the small of your back, spreading the lotion all over you before gently rubbing it in with his palms. Soft sighs escaped from your mouth, your eyes closed as you leaned into his hands that were essentially massaging you. 
Jisung was annoyed. It was one thing when you provoked him specifically, but to display your content sighs so loudly was another. He’s not sure why the sight of his close friend’s large hands running up your hips, under your arms, everywhere, had him so riled up. It couldn’t be jealousy – you were the most infuriating person he knew, yet as he quickly stood up, rushing over to the water, it was clear that he was more bothered than he let off. 
Soon enough, the hot sun faded out into a serene, dark sky, and the group had once again returned to the house momentarily. Tired from several hours of messing around in the water, Chenle announced that he would order food. It was Ningning’s suggestion that they eat it on the beach chairs settled right outside of the house, under the balcony of your room. Although you hadn’t swam as much as the others, you were honestly tired of the socialization and chose to head to your room instead. Jisung was confused – and maybe even disappointed – when he noticed you weren’t outside with the rest, deciding he’d check in on you (and aggravate you a bit more).
His long legs carried him upstairs, leading him to the familiar door of your room that was slightly ajar. Inside, you laid on the bed, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. His grin grew, the palm of his hand pushing harshly onto the door until it opened completely.
Your eyes were quick to look up at the source of the noise, rolling once you realized it was Jisung. “What is it now?” “Nothing, can’t a guy just want to hang out with his dear friend?” Your nose scrunched up as his response, “I’m not your friend, you’ve made it clear with your relentless bullying all of these years.” He pushed himself off of the door frame and into your room, stepping until he was right next to your bed, standing still next to your laying body. 
“C’mon, I’m not that bad.” He joked, hoping you didn’t catch the way his eyes roamed down your barely clothed stomach to your smooth legs. You did catch it, yet refused to mention it in fear of a scenario like the one in the lounge repeating. “Look, come here.” He leaned down, grabbing your hand in his and pulling until you were unwillingly sitting on the bed. He didn’t stop until you were completely off of the mattress, dragging you towards the open doors that led to your balcony. 
You could hear the buzz from below it, belonging to the large group eating some authentic tacos that costed a hundred pesos each. Jisung stopped once you both were fully outside, and you stared up at him, confused by his actions. 
He caught your gaze, smirking down at you before lifting a finger to his lips, as if to motion you to be quiet. That confused you even more, you weren’t even being loud?
You suppose his next actions explained his weird antics as he flipped you to lean against the railing of the balcony, your nearly-naked back now facing his clothed chest as you were forced to look out towards the beach. He used the hands he flipped you with to hold onto both of your hips, pushing you flush against him and placing his head on your shoulder, almost looking down at the crowd from behind you. 
“They look so busy, hmm?” You squinted your eyes at his question, wondering why he even cared. “I mean, I guess so…” “Would truly be a shame if they were to look up and see us right now, right?” You tried to tilt your head to look at him, yet he took one of his hands and placed it on the back of your neck, forcing you to look down. “We aren’t doing anything… so not really.” You wish you could ignore the way the laugh he let out didn’t run straight to your core, yet it was hard as his grip on you grew, pulling your body closer into his until you felt the pressure of his hands build up.
You jumped at the feeling of his hand leaving your hip, instead roaming towards the end of your ruffled bikini bottom. Nothing could hide the small gasp that released from your mouth as it snaked over towards the front of your body, slowly lowering itself until he was fully covering your clothed core. “Shh, don’t want them to hear, do you?” The small twinge of pleasure along with the ache building inside of you blinded you to the small smirk heard in his voice.  
His voice was muffled with your hair as he pushed his face closer to you, his breath evident against your ear as the grip in his other hand grew, applying more pressure to the base of your neck. 
His long fingers were now gently rubbing you through the material of your bikini, ever so slightly moving until they met your clothed clit. Your breathing grew heavier, knuckles turning white as you held onto the railing, praying that the dark sky covered the possible view your friends had downstairs. The view of Jisung’s hand finally pulling the fabric aside, fingers gliding against the slick that had built up from his actions. A small moan was muffled by his other hand that moved from your neck to your mouth, now confidently rolling your sensitive clit with his thumb as two of his fingers drifted lower, slowly but surely finding their way inside of you.
You had truly underestimated the size of Jisung’s hands as he built up his pace, thrusting the two fingers in and out. It was only when you felt an unfamiliar, cold sensation that you realized he had left a ring on one of them – probably the friendship ring Chenle forced all of them to buy and wear. 
His breathing grew as a reaction to the way your body instinctively bucked against his, your ass now pressed against his painful erection. He lightly whined into your shoulder, increasing the speed at which he moved his fingers inside of you, hoping you’d continue to build the friction between the two of you. 
Your moans quickened as well, fading to breathless gasps as the cold of his jewelry met with the warmth of your walls, leaving you a mess at his mercy. Just as you continued to press into him, craving more than just his long curved fingers, you heard a voice from below. “Should we go check in on Ji and N/n?” 
Curse Jaemin and his thoughtful concern, you began to pull away from Jisung, afraid of getting caught. What you hadn’t expected was for Jisung to push back into you, the hand that had covered your mouth now holding your hips, bucking his own to the fast pace he set, desperately searching for release as his fingers continued to bully their way inside of you. 
“Ji… Jisung, stop! They’ll… Th- They’ll catch us…” You struggled to let your words out, growing desperate as well, his fingers reaching so deep inside of you that you felt like you were going to pass out from the pleasure. The added danger of knowing you might get walked into was your final push as your mouth released a final whine, folding against the railing you held onto as you attempted to catch your breath. 
Jisung was too focused to stop, continuing to rut into you, his fingers sliding out and moving towards his mouth instead. He lifted his head off your neck to suck onto them, swirling his tongue to fully enjoy the taste of you. Without a warning, and quite frankly ignoring your pleas of overstimulation, he thrusted his covered bulge into you once more, groaning into his own fingers as he came in his shorts. 
He stood against you for a minute, the two of you catching your breath and attempting to process what just happened, yet the sound of several footsteps rushing up the stairs and near your doorway had you pushing him away, running into your room and picking up the closest pair of pants to put on. 
Ningning’s eyebrow was raised when she stepped into your room, suspiciously locking eyes with you before looking at Jisung, continuing to observe the two of you harshly. Your heart beating almost covered the noise of Chenle, who was demanding you and Jisung to join them all downstairs to bond. Wanting to escape the heavy atmosphere hanging around you two after what had just happened, you were quick to agree, running down the stairs and out the door. 
The morning after came soon, the bright sunlight that poured into your room waking you up from a scandalous dream about Jisung that you would never share with anyone. You were so embarrassed –  you were supposed to be the one to bitch Jisung, not the other way around, so to admit that you came on his fingers, more importantly that you enjoyed it, proved difficult. 
Both Ningning and Jisung stared at you weirdly as you announced you felt sick, therefore you would not be able to join them on their trip to the cenotes. You refused to lock eyes with either of them when you rushed back up the stairs, slamming your door behind you. 
You spent the day lazily relaxing on the beach alone, sipping on several glasses of agua de horchata with an audible book blasting through your Airpods Max. Your peace was only disturbed once the sun began to set, and a hand was placed onto your bare shoulder. You recognized the large hand, unfortunately too familiar. 
“Was it that bad that you had to avoid us all?” Jisung’s deep voice rang out, his body finally coming into view as he sat next to you. It took everything in you to not stare at his upper body, now bare as a result of the adventures the group went on. You shrugged his hand off, shaking your head and looking off towards the water as you took your headphones off, placing them on your bag. “No.” “Then why did you magically get sick this morning? Scared I would harass you in front of your brother too?” You didn’t want to admit that it was true, but harass wasn’t the term you’d use, considering you woke up wet and reminiscing the feeling of him thrusting into you.
You just shrugged, causing Jisung to frown at your lack of rebuttal. It was only fun when you played along. 
He let out a hum of disapproval, staring at you like he found himself doing a lot on this trip. Finally finding the courage to look at him, your eyes locked, and it was then that Jisung really noticed how pretty you looked under the dim sky. He hesitantly placed a hand on your slightly sunburnt face, cupping your cheek and looking down at your lips.
You looked down at his lips too, admiring how plump they were – you had never taken your time to appreciate how pretty he was as well, too focused on his annoying insults and teasing. You both leaned in slowly until there was no space left in between you, mouths finally meeting. It was slow at first, hesitant and almost innocent, yet something unleashed inside Jisung as he heard you sigh into the kiss. It reminded him of the noises he pulled out of you the night before, suddenly feeling desperate. 
He was the first to assert control, placing his other hand on your face as well and pulling you into him, devouring your lips and pushing against them with his tongue, demanding you to let it meet yours. You complied, sick of acting like you ever wanted control over Jisung. You never actually cared for it, you just liked trying to push him over the edge, which you appeared to succeed in as his breathing quickened. Your tongues met, the kiss turning messy. He could taste the sweet drink off of your spit as he let go of your face, instead moving you until you were laying against the soft sand, his body hovering over yours.
Jisung used both his arms to keep him on top of you as you moved yours down, palming him through the blue swimming shorts he chose to wear. The feeling of your smaller hand making contact with his clothed dick had him swelling up, growing needier and needier until he couldn’t take it. 
He pushed himself up onto his knees, looking down at you as his hands roamed to your small bikini bottoms – smaller than the ones yesterday, you knew what you were doing to him. You propped yourself up on your elbows, ignoring the slight sting of the sand grains digging into your arms as you watched him bite his lip before finally pulling the bottoms off of your legs. 
He groaned at the sight of your bare core, glistening against the dim lighting of the moon. He was quick to follow, desperately pulling off his own shorts, leaving him completely bare. The only clothing that remained on either of you was your bikini top, yet it didn’t last long before Jisung ripped it off, ignoring your small noise of complaint as the fabric tore off of you. He leaned over you again, struggling to ignore the feeling of your slick cunt meeting his hard-on.
Finally, you were both completely naked, left with no distractions. Jisung kissed you again, closing his eyes and melting into the feeling as your hand snaked down. He let out a hiss as you held onto his sensitive dick, guiding it lower until he felt your hole. Giving a few small thrusts against the slit of your pussy, he finally sank in with no warning, moaning at the way you immediately clenched around him. You were no better, eyes widening as you felt the stretch inside of you. Yes, it might’ve been Jisung’s personal goal to annoy you to no end, yet he had enough mercy to give you time to adjust. It might’ve slipped from your mind, yet Jisung was very focused on your facial expressions when he got rid of your clothes, noticing how shocked you appeared to be from the size of his length. He always knew he was on the bigger end, yet his ego continued to inflate as you struggled to take him fully. With his newfound confidence, and your small encouraging nod, he began to move, finding a rhythm as he thrusted into you, pushing you further into the bed of sand under your bodies. 
Your hands found his back, scratching down his built muscles as you fought to get used to him. He moved one of his hands that was holding him up, causing him to shift deeper into you accidentally (yet you weren’t one to complain as the new angle pulled an embarrassingly loud noise from you). His now-free hand slid down your body, stopping at your boobs to tease you a bit, groping the soft flesh before continuing down until he met your clit. 
The way Jisung played with the bundle of nerves alleviated the pain in you, now shifting into pleasure as he pushed into you with a renowned force. “Tell me how it feels, baby.” He whispered into your ear, begging to hear your voice. “S-so good, Ji. Need more, please…” Deciding to not tease you for the first time in his life, he complied, thrusting into you harder, the speed of his fingers on your clit increasing until you were a mess under his body, crying out at the combined stimulation.
The sound of the waves crashing onto the shore, alongside the reflection of the moon on the water encompassed you both as your passion took over, grinding down to meet his thrusts with fervor. You finally caved when his mouth met your neck, sucking harshly in hopes of marking you up. You reached your climax, riding it out as Jisung continued to thrust into you. “Where do you want me?” “Inside… Please.” He simply nodded, his movements growing sloppier as he sheathed himself into you fully, searching for his own release. 
You decided to mirror his actions, lifting your head to kiss his neck, and that was enough to make him finish, his cum gushing inside of you, dripping out lightly as he reluctantly pulled out.  As you looked over at Jisung who now laid next to you in the sand, you thought that maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all. It wasn’t until he looked at you, basking in your satisfied afterglow that he leaned in, holding your neck with his hand and pulling you into another heated kiss, this time pulling you on top of him, that you realized you had to plan a very long debrief with both Ningning and Mango tomorrow morning.
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a/n: is it obvious i'm mexican and this is slightly self indulgent. psa if youre paying more than twenty pesos for a taco its probably not an authentic one :/ this is the longest fic i've ever written to celebrate the very special occasion. park jisung day. ^_^
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damnfandomproblems ¡ 1 day ago
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Fandom Problem #7410:
Those people are playing with fictional dollies in a corner of the internet where blocking and ignoring has long been a thing. If you're in a position where seeing a pair of fictional drawings kissing will give you psychic damage AND you can't ignore it after rolling your eyes or making an "ew" face (something people often but don't expand on because why bother?), maybe that's your problem, not other peoples', and you should avoid those tags etc, like the rest of us. It's also very telling that people in certain fandoms are totally okay with certain kinds of abusive ships, but simply go after people writing the "wrong" kinds of abusive ship, but as soon as any other kinds of ships are present, they will flip out. They'll yell at someone for shipping the Lannisters, while concurrently reposting fanart of Will bleeding to death where Hannibal, who has a knife in his pocket suggesting he did the deed, is holding him adoringly. Drawing gore is somehow fine, but a ship where the characters are eighteen and nineteen is the devil's spawn, even though both in real life are bad, and on paper, neither character is being harmed. They are concepts, dollies, not real people.
Like, "bad ship" has no meaning - it's become a stupid matter of "my fictional thing is fine, yours crosses the line, even though technically, it's just as bad, or not bad at all" because... It's all. Bloody. Fiction. Yet nobody's going to bat an eyelash if someone watches the Saw movies, or if someone is a horror aficionado and loves horror movies in general, but so many people, especially younger kids, have issues with sexual content in particular. It's just a rebrand of Christian puritanism and moral paranoia. Everything and everyone is a pedo to them. They look at new media through the lens of "I must ensure this show, person, etc isn't a pedo". Yeah, there are creepy people on the internet, some people get off on certain stuff. It doesn't mean everyone who draws an age gap ship is a creep - just like how everyone who likes gore isn't a murderer, even though there are, indeed, people who get off on murder. There are kinks for literally everything. I mean, there's an entire website devoted to celebrity feet for Christ's sakes. But for some reason, nobody ever looks at fictional depictions of non-sexual abuse (or even anything else), and wonders if someone is getting off on that. But a lot of people still are. Nothing is sacred.
If someone is posting graphic content of something in a tag, they should be tagging it. With scenarios like that, MAYBE (emphatically) you could make a case for it being "harmful". But even then, this is the internet. Fandom spaces are not like Club Penguin, they do not have a responsibility to assume the burden of parenting or making someone's individual choices for them or clearing out as soon as a minor is in the space, and there's an inherent knowledge that we all will, at some point, run into things that gross us out because fandom spaces are a melting pot of different ideas.
And you have a right to be grossed out by a lot of stuff. There's a lot of disturbing, weird, icky shit out there. But it's not about harassing the people who make it, who have shown no signs of actually being a bad person. It's about putting the onus on yourself, like an adult, to avoid the content. There's no use in self-harming by seeking stuff out, going into certain tags, etc when there's a high chance you'll see something that squicks you. Because at the end of the day, you are responsible for your own content consumption and browsing, and you are responsible for understanding the risks of being in certain spaces. If someone is unable to understand this, and cannot exercise self-control, they shouldn't be in those spaces, possibly online at all.
Signed, a very, very bone-tired fandomgoer of 40+ years.
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kaceyunderfell ¡ 1 day ago
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Salt in the Wound - A Rain World Au
Artificer cant remember how many scavengers she had killed, must have been at least ten thousand by now. Yet, every corner she turns she seems to see more and more of them, like she isn't doing anything in the long-run to exterminate them.
She had given herself this task, to kill all the scavengers, so that no other slugcats would be hurt by them the way she had been.
She sighs, knowing that this cycle will just be the same as all the rest. She continues on, not thinking about how this is probably a lost cause at this point.
After what feels like hours of dodging spears and throwing spears back at those who threw them Artificer looks up at the sky. "The rain is coming.." she says, annoyed. At least the scavengers also seem to have gotten the message that the rain is approaching. She watched as the few remaining scavengers that had survived her attack ran off to their shelters.
Artificer took a rock and placed it in her mouth, after a few seconds she spat it out and threw it at the scavenger that didn't enter the shelter yet. The rock exploded, killing the scavenger instantly. She growls in disgust as she walks up to one of the bodies and mauls it.
Four food pips filled, just the amount she needed. She heads towards the next shelter, thinking that she was just gonna do the exact same thing the next cycle.
She enters the pipe leading to the shelter, not expecting to see anything of note. She is used to this repeating pattern. But.. once inside the shelter she spots something.. small..
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"A.. pup..?" Artificer says, almost in disbelief.
The pup looks at Artificer for a good five seconds before deciding that she is dangerous. It runs to the far side of the shelter, as far as it can get from Artificer, who is blocking the exit.
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Artificer tries to calm the pup down "It's okay.. I'm not going to hurt you.." her efforts to calm the pup down are useless. The pup seems terrified of her.
She tries to think back to when she was a mother. What calmed her pups down? Aha! That's it! she thought I gotta earn this little guy's trust!
She exits the shelter through the pipe. What would make them trust me? she thought, then she thought that bringing one of the scavenger bodies as something to eat would be less afraid of her.
Artificer walked over to one of the bodies, the one she hadn't eaten. She grabs it and heads back to the shelter. The less-deadly rain had started and she knew it wouldn't be long till the more-deadly rain set in, so she ran as fast as she could towards the shelter as to not be killed.
Once in the shelter again she looks at the slugpup, who still looks terrified of her. She places the body of the scavenger on the ground, then draws the Karma 4 symbol (indicating food) on the floor, trying to tell the pup that it is food.
After doing that she moves over to the corner left of the exit pipe and sits down. She watches what the pup does, trying to look less intimidating in the corner.
The shelter door locks itself. The pup is just staring at the corpse in front of it, not moving at all. The poor thing seems terrified. Artificer doesn't understand why it isn't eating.
Artificer looks worried. Is this pup okay? she thought to herself. Why isn't it eating?
Eventually Artificer falls asleep, not being able to keep the tiredness at bay any longer.
Im actually proud of this so imma tag some of my friends/moots because i want them to read this lol @thunder-opossum @harperfrost @kiaraunderfell123 @aeott @doomsterr @thornsawawa @saint-the-faint @staring-at-a-blank-pagee @lugiteen @sunflowers-son @olly-the-available-url @ruffy-ruffles @vo1dsea
(And yes, I do plan on continuing this au (Also, the pup's name is Minty))
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tumblr note: this is a living document. Tap the original post header to see the most updated version.
a weary traveler’s guide to the poison bogs of tumblr
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welcome to the land that cannot be killed in a way that matters. we have plenty of in-jokes, but this post isn’t about sightseeing: it’s about survival. there are many things to be wary of.
bots, nefarious
most of our evildoers appear to be automated. they spread lies and hate, but mostly they spread inflammatory language, with the goal of wasting your time and making you mad. often you’ll see that these blogs have no pfp, or they are Single Issue Bloggers, or they leave an inflammatory comment on everything they share. block and move on.
bots, annoying
i would classify the gazabots, pornbots, and thirst traps here. gaza is a real tragedy, but the bots sending spam aren’t helping. porn is wonderful, but the bots are scams. the thirst traps have little substance to them, but they must exist for some greater purpose—i think they metamorphose into full-fledged scams or maybe evildoers later in their lifecycle? block and move on.
terfs and other fascists, human
similar to the nefarious bots, but seemingly more human. this does not change their goals or my recommendations, though. they are not here with an open mind, and you cannot reason with fascism, because it has no root in reason. block and move on. do not engage.
morality
mos eisley cantina is our spiritual ancestor. this is the “lying, cheating, and stealing for fun are good and morally correct and you should do them always” website, at its extreme. there are folks who think you shouldn’t hold a food sharing program unless all of the food is stolen. BUT there are also folks who just think sharing is good. we really run the gamut here. trust your gut, you can ask questions once in a while, but don’t be surprised if a stranger bites your head off. understand that if something seems fishy, there’s a good chance it is, and you need to factor that into how much thought you give their statements and how much you care about the discussion.
on that note
yeah so tumblr is a very queer place (in spite of its management, as with everything else we do). there’s a lot of pro-queer stuff, there’s occasionally someone who thinks they’re pro-queer but would get mad at me for using the term “queer” for some reason (? block and move on, or point and laugh, dealer’s choice). if you are not some form of Not The Default, or if you just feel Too Normal, it’s okay. i am personally granting you permission to be here and to have fun. if someone has a problem with that, block and move on, or even just ignore it. a lot of people here are not good at conveying their points, a lot of people are angry, and we are famous for our piss-poor reading comprehension. don’t take it personally. they’re just Like That.
seriousness
most of tumblr ranges from neutral to deeply unserious. if someone’s discussing a heavy topic or making sense, they might be serious, we do have some of that, and sometimes there’s really good things to see here. but don’t expect a whole lot of Genuine Discourse and Thoughtful Discussion on average, unless you find your way into those circles. i tagged a post #christianity once and my notes were clogged with people having philosophical discussion about forgiving satan and it was weird.
argument
I once saw advice here that said, some people like arguing, and others don’t. If you like arguing, it’s super important to find other people who enjoy arguing, so that you can have your stimulating discussions with them, without totally burning out your friends who just want to get along. this really cleared up a lot of things for me, and i saw the light. (it turns out i don’t like arguing)
the bottom line
you’re here to have fun! so do that. our motto is “do whatever you want forever.” if you’re not having fun, take a step back to wonder why. you don’t have to post, or comment, or add tags, or even like the posts. you can just scroll if you want. if you like interaction, you can curate a blog (original posts and reblogs) that you like or that you think other people will like. my blog is mostly shitposting, cats, and advice, and sometimes computer things, but i moved most of that to my datacenter blog. you can send asks, you can receive asks (but don’t be disappointed if you never get any—most of us don’t. be the change you wish to see in the world!). understand that there is no Algorithm, and the only way to find something is to tag it and remember that tag later. godspeed mooncat.
further reading
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queenwholovestoread ¡ 23 hours ago
Note
This is for Anon and to the other Anon's who have been harassing anyone in the Elrondriel and ROP communities. Especially to those Anon's who are continually harassing this lovely member (Bucky) who blesses us with wonderfully and beautifully written stories, her passion for Elrondriel and her love of this community both Elrondriel and ROP.
As a member of the Elrondriel community, which has my utmost support at all times, I will speak up and say this.
ENOUGH Do you enjoy waking up on a daily basis Anon's to stalk people?
Checking people's blogs and asks to see if you can cower behind anonymous mode and spew unwelcome vitriol hatred and bully them?
Do you not tire of living with your own stupidity?
Why waste what little brain cells you have left and go out of your way to bother with us? Why not just block our blogs and the Elrondriel tag and move on with your pathetic little life?
Share your blog name(s) so we can block you.
Oh wait you won't because you are cowards.
These are real humans who are enjoying their fandom who simply wish to interact in a positive manner and celebrate what they love.
Do everyone on Tumblr a favor and go to a different social media site.
Leave us be, grow up and get a life.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks! Perhaps you should focus on acing your exams so you can get a job instead of writing 10,000 words on 'Haladriels Make Me Mad and I Need to Make Them Look Bad (Because No One Including Amazon The Writers and The Actors Care About MY Ship Elrondriel)'
Is it not rather interesting that you and valar-did-me-wrong publish all the anon asks you get, but not the hateful asks? How convenient that you both deleted them all! And then you lot turn around and accuse muslim POC haladriels of racism? We know you are liars.
BREAKING NEWS: Obsessed Clown Caught Doing Math! 🤡📏
The fact that you sat there, meticulously counting the words in my so-called "Haladriel rants" like some unhinged scribe in Sauron's library is wildly embarrassing. Did you use an abacus? A spreadsheet? Whisper each word under your breath with a single tear rolling down your cheek?
I don't need to make anyone look bad—they're already doing a stellar job of that all on their own. It's not my fault that some shippers can’t keep their ship afloat and are jumping from one sinking vessel to the next like it’s a game of "Who Can Self-Destruct Faster." I don’t need to lift a finger to make anyone look bad. The spotlight's already on them, and they’re doing all the work themselves.
Imagine being this pressed over fictional elves while simultaneously proving you're the one obsessed. You’re not debunking anything, you're just doing unpaid data entry for my fan opinions. Hope the internship at "Pathetic & Pressed Ltd." pays well.
The desperation is showing. You’re grasping at straws so hard I can hear them snapping from here.
First of all—since you clearly didn’t do your research before launching into this unhinged diatribe—I do have a job. Multiple, actually. I'm doing studies cause I WANTED to get back in school and have this added to the rest of my diplomas. I have validated my bilingual status three times. I speak and read 6 languages. I volunteer in local associations and charities. I run small businesses, I have online shops, I’m getting published for my writing and my art, and, funny enough, all of that still leaves me enough time to indulge in fandom fun. Imagine that! A person being able to do more than one thing at a time! What a concept!
Meanwhile, you’re out here acting like I am the one dedicating my life to policing ships, when you’re the one who showed up on my blog with a full thesis-length tantrum over fictional elves. Let that sink in.
Secondly, I have not deleted all my asks—because, unlike you, I don’t need to play revisionist history.
The hateful ones were posted, discussed, screenshotted, some shared in servers and with friends. So the idea that I’m hiding anything? Try again loser. You’re just stuck in your little echo chamber, refusing to acknowledge that many people—not just me—have talked about the racism, harassement, and toxicity within your corner of the fandom. But that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You don’t want to acknowledge it. You’d rather deflect, distract, and double down than actually engage with reality.
And the best part? You came on anon because you know if your account was exposed, people would see you for the pathetic little vulture you are—hovering around, aching for attention, salivating over the idea of stirring up drama. You are not some brave warrior for truth. You’re just another pathetic, whiny little coward, skulking behind the safety of anonymity because you know that if your actual account was attached to this nonsense, you’d be clowned into oblivion.
Your mama must be so proud. Assuming she even knows she raised someone this chronically online.
Oh, and that dig about the actors and writers not caring about Elrondriel? You really had to bring it up to try and prove a point, huh? Dude, if it didn’t matter at all, you wouldn’t be this pressed about it. You are literally flailing in rage over a ship that lives in your head rent-free, and that’s hilarious.
People do not owe you a goddamn livestream of their suffering just to satisfy your insatiable need for proof. No one is required to put their pain on public display like some medieval spectacle just because you, a random, miserable little anon, demand it. What you really want isn’t proof. What you want is a reason to dismiss, diminish, and invalidate other people’s experiences so you can keep playing the victim while simultaneously being the aggressor. You want to act like an unhinged little vulture, circling around waiting for something to tear apart.
But let’s be honest—if you hate what I post so much, why are you always here? Refreshing, lurking, obsessing? You don’t just dislike me, you’re invested. And that’s what makes this even funnier. You’re not just mad—you’re a fan. A seething, bitter little fan who can’t look away.
Get a life. Preferably one that doesn’t revolve around throwing a fit over people enjoying fictional characters.
You're pathetic.
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8pxl ¡ 9 months ago
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PSA 🗣️ another scammer using genAI without disclosing it
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pixlgirl has been posting generated AI (targeting fandoms) without disclosing it, passing it off as their genuine art and has apparently scammed at least one person into ‘commissioning’ them. this is a public PSA so yall can block them, and not interact. please do not harass them!
it’s incredibly shitty to be disingenuous while posting AI but even shittier to scam people with it 🤢 stay diligent yall
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor ¡ 1 day ago
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Alles zu seiner Zeit
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No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, mentions of death and loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Fifteen years after a plague struck Wisborg, the widower Harding continues to visit his wife and daughter at the cemetery where you work. His devotion spans across seasons but it might be more than those he lost drawing him back.
Characters: Friedrich Harding
Note: this is a new character for me so...
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
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Winter 
Bristles scrape on stone. Each push of the broom tugs in your arms, the layers against the chill inspiring a slake of sweat along your back. The trickle makes you itch as your efforts scratch across the ground, sending clouds of snow into heaps. 
Where once greenery blossomed and flowers smiled at sunlight remain only bristly sticks and frozen dirt 'neath the rug of January's malaise. The sombre grey skies form a thin curtain against the shadow of memories. The spectre of plague and whispers of a curse carry in the winds and swirl the flakes around your skirts. 
You were young the winter the sickness came. You'd known eight up until that blight and your brothers knew no other. They were of the forsaken, left in pine boxes to be buried when the frozen ground could be cracked with a spade. Your mother joined them soon after, though of a different malady; despair. 
Your father suffered the same disease but to a very different effect. At the bottom of a bottle. He lingers there in the depths of distraught distraction.  
You sweep the path clear to the doors of the mausoleum, then perpendicular around the perimeter. When the walkways are done, you will put your mind to the stones. And by the time those are revealed, a new sheet will litter the ground and your work will begin anew. 
Emmett, the youngest of the diggers, sits in wool and a leather cap, drinking hot barley from a cup. He shivers as you pass, mindful not to push the snow his way. He doffs the cup amiably. 
"How's it, fraulein?" He greets. 
"You would know so well as I, herr," you reply, moving the bristles anon. Your mittened hands cling tightly as the cold nips through to your knuckles. You keep your chin tucked into your scarf, 
"Frigid, ja," he cradles the cup and curls into its warmth. Adelaine, daughter of the sexton, must have offered the kindness. She does make certain to know all the diggers' names. "Would you do all this by your own?" He peers around the rolling expanse marked by headstones and monuments. 
"Someone must mind the spirits," you carry on without hamper.  
"For a pretty thaler or so, I'd pray," he remarks and clucks. 
You will not tell the truth. It is a thaler for the whole of a fortnight of sweeping and clearing the cobwebs; of breaking the frost from the keyholes and dusting away the musty leaves and stirred pebbles. 
"I pray you keep warm, herr. The almanac calls for a long winter." You bid as you progress away from him. 
"And you, Fraulein. Mind the ice," he girds. 
You keep careful steps as you press on. Emmett rises with his cup of barley and retreats to the shed with the shovels. A mean gale blows around you, nearly taking you off your feet. 
You steady yourself as you plant the broom and chatter against the deathly gust. There's a shrill whine from behind you. You turn as Adelaine clings to her fur-trimmed hood and hides behind a statue of the Holy Mother. 
"Fraulein," she trills in her creaky tones. "Have you seen Herr Emmett?" 
"Mm," you hum in hesitation. Her father, Wilhelm, warned you against encouraging her comingling. He is a pious man, minding the sacred grounds and all. "I'm not certain where he's strayed, Fraulein Adelaine." 
"Mercy," she huddles down against another violent draught. "The bishops says it's not been so cold since... well, he would not speak of it." 
She makes the sign of the cross and bows her head, clutching her hand where her golden necklace is hidden beneath her dress and cloak. Many would not wear holy icons so gregarious in their clothing. Simple wood or iron is more in line with the protestant pragmatism.  
The gate bell tolls and she cranes to see beyond you. Snow blows across her cheeks as the wind billows in her hood. Your own lets the bitter chill right through its weave.  
"There he is," she exclaims before your mind might follow her previous allusion. That corrupt wintertide. 
You turn to peer across the ivory swathes. Henrick and Emmett approach the gate and open it to the visitor. A figure on a horse rides through impatiently, nearly catching Henrick beneath the hooves. The gentleman wears simple black though the richness of its cut can be seen even from your purview. The breed of his coldblood steed attests to his fortune.  
Adelaine gasps and steps out close to you. You have seen the man before. As often you've seen the drape of his cloak, you would only know him by the emblem pinned upon the horse's harness.  
"It is the widower, Harding." She whispers.  
The man draws his horse around the stone crypt marked with his name. The one barren of any other decoration; no flowers in Fruhling, no ornament upon the door, nor even a cross carved into the lintel. You note the plainness each time you tend its grounds. 
He drops off his horse heavily. His boots send up a cloud and you grip the broom tighter. How quickly it's piled up all over again. Flecks fall along the folds of his cloak as he marches to the doors. You can hear the twist of the key as he lets himself within. The door slams sonorously and casts a pall over the grounds. 
"My father says he was young when his wife and daughters succumbed to the ague," Adelaine says. 
"Do not speak of it," you chide. "It is ill tidings to call upon the dead who wish to remain undisturbed." 
She tuts, "he comes every day. He disturbs them oft enough." 
"They are his to disturb," you sniff. "I should be certain it does not snow him in." 
She would not know what it is to have those beyond your grasp. To spend the nocturne longing for them to be there again. To hear them sing a lullaby or tuck you into sleep.
"Have you ever been inside? Even a glimpse? Father does not have a key." She grabs your sleeve before you can depart. "What do you presume he does within? I've heard him talking..." 
"It isn't of my concern," you tug away from her. "Nor yours." 
"Hmph, mind your lip," she sneers. "Or I'll have father find another broom sweep. Perhaps one more droll, ja?" 
"Apologies, fraulein, I only mean to do my work," you say. "The snow comes more and more. Perhaps you should go within, be warm." 
"Perhaps I might and perhaps I mightn't," she retorts and rubs together her gloved hands. "Very well, go about and do you work, little dormouse." 
You part before her temper can rise. Adelaine can be as prickly as she is pleasant. One moment a giggle, the next a growl. 
You retrace your steps along the path, uncovering the stone with the bristles as you do. You glance over at the yellow crypt as the wind wails as a wraith might. None are permitted within but the widower. It is a rule never broken. Never questioned. All know of the heartbroken Harding and his sorrow, even beyond those gates. Even as he hides within the walls of the house he once made a home of. 
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Fruhling (Spring) 
As the annual thaw softens the earth, the frozen ground churns to mud, and the air bristles with the damp threat of rain. The early sprigs of green poke up from the flattened grasses and the cracks between the stonework fill with wet sludge. Your bristles clump with mud and you trade the broom for shovel to scrape it all away. 
Adelaine’s song carries with those of the songbirds, returned from their winter nests. She sits upon a bench and chimes as Emmett and Matthias dig into a new plot nearby. Her ploy is not subtle. 
Even as the season marks rebirth, death is to be expected. The hole is meant for the wife of a cobbler who did not survive her child. The infant, as you heard, is well. A reverence carries on the whispers as the old wives and grandmothers praise her noble sacrifice. It is as close as a woman might come to the bravery of man, though there isn’t much choice in the matter. 
Your mind wanders as the tedium of your work inspires preoccupation. Adelaine will be a wife one day. Will she end up in the ground upon her own sacrifice? Or will she sing then to her child instead of the diggers? 
What of yourself? You are no lady, your father is not rich but a drunkard feeding his demise off your tuppence. Should you have a husband when he succumbs to the rye’s dark tides? It would be practical. You father has no son, his house cannot pass to a daughter. 
With your days spent in the cemetery, you know that inevitability is closer than you should like. Your father should’ve died the night he was kicked in the skull by that old mule he slapped while in his cups. It is a miracle he lived to laugh so bawdily about the farce. 
You sigh and carry on, as you do many things in life. You will need to think on it more thoroughly before Winter comes again. It is a godsend your father did not catch the same ague as poor Frau Elke. You spent wakeless nights listening to his snores, searching for a cough or a choke. 
The day wears on and the burial happens in a bout of sunshine which beams down sardonically on the party’s grief. When the forsaken mother is buried, never to kiss the face of her child, they depart. Emmett and Matthias pat firm the earth as Sexton Wilhelm whistles for you. 
His daughter has been sent away. She cannot stomach the funerals. Ironic given her lot in life. Her family is not from Wisborn, they did not witness the plague, only heard of it. Her mother is well and alive, she never had any sibling, and her father is in fine enough health for a man his age. 
“These flowers are for the woman’s plot,” he gestures to a crate of marigolds. 
“Yes, Herr,” you reply diligently.  
“I will have one of the diggers assist,” he assures and struts off. 
You turn to face the plot. You heard the woman was younger than even you. A new bride. Not even twenty. You trace the cross over your chest and shoulders then pick up a basket of the marigolds 
Matthias comes with two hand spades. You take one and begin your work. You transplant the rooted flowers into the ground carefully. He grumbles as he kills more than he preserves. His hands are not delicate but calloused and well-worn. 
“Herr, I will finish,” you say. “You’ve done plenty today.” 
“Are you certain? There are still very many.” He glances over at the crate. 
“Too many. I will find them homes,” you promise. 
The gate bell rings as if supporting your suggestion. Matthias rises and dusts of his hands. Emmett and Henrick run down to open the doors to the visitor. Black velvet flaps over short bristles of reddish-brown. The widower canters in as the thick hooves clop over the stone. 
You pack down the earth around another stem. Harding dismounts as the diggers keep their distance. The lock grinds and the door drags on its hinges. It closes with a clunk as your shovel bites into the earth again and again. 
When you have lined the plot with the pleasant orange blooms, there is still a basket left. You peer around the fruhling blossom. Your eyes are drawn to the most bland swath among the sprawl. The yellow crypt and its vacant brick walls. Not even the ivy grows upon it. 
You are not so presumptuous as to disturb the soil. You cut the stems and bound them together with a headless one. Little bundles all snug together. You place them along the front of the crypt. They will die and blow away but it is a small blessing for the lost. 
You set above wiping clean the foot of the statue of the splattered mud. As you do, the crypt opens again. The cloak almost seems to float as its wearer remains hidden in its folds. He stops only two steps from the threshold. 
You scrape off dried muck with your fingernail as the clouds shift above. The sudden frantic scuffing and stomping draws your attention. Harding crushes the petals into the ground, decapitating the stems, twisting them into strands with his heels. His hood shifts you think for a moment he is looking at you. 
He kicks away what is left of the bouquets and approaches his dulcet steed. The beast is still as its rider mounts. It trods around the crypt then up the path to the gates. You frown and watch the widower’s departure. You did not mean to offend. You hope that Herr Wilhelm does not hear of this error. 
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Sommer (Summer) 
Pollen floats in the air, tickling nostril and throat, mingling with the aromas of June. In the early morning dim, a cool breeze stirs the hem of your skirts and wafts around your clogs. You walk with a stick in hand, using it to traverse the cobbled roadway, chipped by the passing of carriage and hoof. 
Your trek to the cemetery is peaceful in the sommer. In the winter, it can grow quite eerie with the whistling winds like wailing wretches and the spindly branches like skeletons. In the summer, the trees are lush and rustling, waving like companions, and the grass ripples like water beneath the gentle flow. 
That morning, you hum to yourself as you peer ahead at the distant cemetery wall. There are houses along the old street but most still sleep in the dawn’s hue. You must be early to the graveyard so that you may ready the plots and paths. 
As you plod along, the posts of the cemetery gate come clearer over the rooftops. Your low melody is punctured by a sudden tempo. Slow and plodding. You move aside as you sense the nearing horse. The merchants rise as early as you; eager to deliver or claim their cargo at the dock. 
They do not hurry. They do not change measure. You traipse along and await their passing. As the shadow of the great steed nears, you do not count the creak of a wheel or axle. It is only a rider. 
Yet, they do not continue past you. The hooves keep a patient pace in tune with yours. You’ve never heard or seen a horse go so slow. Any beast you ever saw would tremble to be at full tilt amid the meadows. 
You peer over your shoulder curiously and follows the white fur around the wide hoof up the brown leg to the reddish sheen further up, the strands of a well-brushed main draping around the coldblood’s thick neck. Black velvet pleats around its rider but does not catch the wind. The fabric is too heavy for riding and for the season. 
The emblem on the horse’s chest gleams in your eye. It is him, the widower, in his mourning ebon. His hood shrouds his face as ever and he is silent as his horse walks beside you, as if an escort. 
You wait but he does not canter nor trot. He keeps the gait. You look ahead again then back to him. You wouldn’t want to be uncouth. 
“Guten morgen, Herr Harding.” 
As you’ve never heard him speak, you’re not certain you’ve ever heard any speak to him. Not the bold Adelaine or the stern Sexton Wilhelm. He only ever brought dire silence with him to the crypt. And then, as always, he remains quiet. 
You gulp and once more put your attention ahead of you. You are nearly at the gates, though you would not enter through the mainway. There is a smaller door round the east corner.
The gentleman and his horse bear down on you, their shadow rippling in the rising sunlight. Sweat trickles down your spine as a chill speckles across your skin. You feel as if he watches you but dare not look upon him in turn. You don’t believe you would see anything beneath his hood. You do wonder if the widower might indeed be a phantom himself. 
He steers to the gates and you pass them and head for the door behind the English oak. You pull the cord to lift the lever and glance over at Herr Harding. The widower’s hood shifts in your direction. You cannot see his eyes but you feel them. Like worms crawling over a corpse. You press inside and quickly swing the iron door shut. 
The gate bell pierces the early din of tweeting birds and skittering critters. Dandelion dust powders the air and bristles in your nose. You go to the shed to fetch your broom as the gates open at the widower’s behest. 
When you come out, he is gone. His horse is by the crypt and the doors are closed. You are deliberate in your work. Since that day with the marigolds, you’ve not gone near the yellow brick while Harding was as visitation. You always wait and say a silent prayer for his family as you clear the debris. 
There is much to do in the aged cemetery. There is no shortage of dead, forgotten or new. The stones must be cleaned or repaired. Wilhelm takes care to apply mortar to new cracks are to fix an eroded etching, so long as a thaler is offered for the effort.  
You brush the broom back and forth, pausing to watch a bee pollinate a flowerbed or a caterpillar make his slow progress over the stone. There is so much life here despite the purpose of the land. Where others come only to see death, you see what is still there. 
The sun ascends higher and higher. You leave your shawl in the shed and take a can to water the blooms. You marvel at how some petals seem to open and drink in the moisture. In the sommer, there is splendour. In sommer, you can hardly believe that winter could ever be. 
As you come around the path, the horse stands by the crypt, chewing the patchy grass. You pass by its swaying tail as you return the can to the shed. While there, you steal a handful of feed meant for the horses that draw the wagons of the lost. 
You cautiously near the large beast. It has been some hours since your arrival and it is a hot day. You open your palm, curving back your fingers to avoid the flat gnashing teeth. The horse smears spit on your hand as he eats the oats. 
The crypt door whines on the thick hinges and you wince and back away. You tuck yourself into an alcove as the door shuts heavily. You press into the brick as your heart races and you spot the littered trail of feed that leads to you. 
As Herr Harding comes around to mount his horse, he spies it too. He pauses as he bows beneath his hood, the edges of lifting slightly as he follows the seed and oat to you. You stare at him haplessly. You don’t know what to do or say. 
He turns and grabs the reins. He hauls himself onto the hours and clicks his teeth, driving his heels into its belly. The horse snorts and obeys, its hooves dusting along the stone toward the main gates. 
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Herbst (Autumn) 
Summer wilts with the crisp bite of Herbst. One last breath of life before the grey winter. The leaves mellow to rustic tones of umber and gold, the pine cones litter the dirt, and the wet grass shine from the kiss of the morning fog. You sweep aside the wet leaves with your broom, skirts sodden along the hem. 
As you follow your usual progress across the grounds, the gate bell chimes. The echo rolls through the air and earth. The steady chafe of bristles guides you through the musty mist. It is a beautiful season but wet. 
You pause to brush leaves that have caught on plinths or statues, to wipe away the twigs across the stones embedded in the flats, and to tidy the plots of the leafy carpet. You can only count the blessing that it is not snow. 
Adelaine’s laughter flutters up to you. Her father helps her into a carriage. She has been entertaining a suitor as of late. She always spoke of a summer wedding but it seems a winter one may be on the horizon. She is off to see the bishop and her betrothed.  
Emmett and Matthias open the gates with little heed to their employer and his daughter. They must feel spurned after so long of her fawning over them. It is unfair of her to give them such false longings.  They shut the gates and stomp off back to their digging.
There was a family that perished in a fire. They will each need a hole among their designated plot. It is sombre and back-breaking work. You do not envy the diggers for more than their wage. Were you a man, you could take a shovel and make at least a thaler more than you do now. 
You shiver again. You’ve not been warm for days. You’ve not the money for fuel so the hearth remains dormant in favour of your father’s habit. The drink keeps him warm and you are left to wool and the friction of your palms. Thank the lord you have walls at the least. 
The voices of the men fade as they climb to the new plot and you come down the low incline toward the main row of the cemetery; the large mausoleum for the fallen soldiers and the next for the vaunted nobles.
As you near the yellow crypt, you are met with a most unlikely sight. The doors are open. You search around the desolate grounds.
The coldblood is not there awaiting his rider. The gate bell rang but you did not see the black hood enter. How can that be? Perhaps he did leave it unlocked the day prior. 
Looters are not uncommon. Henrick chases them off in the mornings as they sleep in an alcove or on a bench. Though, unless they have a chisel, they do not claim much. 
You rest your broom against the yellow brick. You stand before the open doors. Both are drawn wide. You look up at the arch as shadows plume within. As you stare inside, you swear you can see the darkness furling and unfurling. 
You make yourself move. Step by step you approach the doors. You grab the large iron ring on the left one and pull. It is much too heavy. Or you are much too weak. You grunt and try again, shifting it a few inches. 
A scratching noise stills your efforts. You squint as you try see through the thick gloom. 
“Allo?” You call through, “is someone within?” 
You wait for an answer. There is nothing, but then, a skittering noise. A rat, perhaps. 
A swirls of leaves blows around you and skid over the stone floor within. You look over your shoulder, hoping someone might pass and help you shut the place up. There is only you. 
You take your broom and enter cautiously. You hold your breath as you gather the leaves and push them back out. You might shove a door shut from within then use the broom to somehow leverage the other. 
You bat the last of the clutter out and turn to peer out at the red sky. Your feet leave the stone and your cry is smothered by a gloved palm. You kick out in fright as the broom clatters from your grasp.
You claw behind you blindly as you are spun to face the crypts black belly. You jolt back with your captor as he pushes the door closed with his weight, then the other. You writhe and flail, grabbing at the arm hooked around your waist.
He pants but does not speak. He carries you forward as your soles bounce off the floor. 
Your stomach meets something hard. A stone ledge engraved in tiers. You brace it as you’re crushed against it. Your arms shake as you try to shove yourself away, try to free yourself of this treacherous adversary. 
You whimper and wiggle your head helplessly, unable to free your mouth from behind his hand. You know by his strength, by his size that it is a man indeed. He shushes you and squeezes your jaw.
You quiver and splay your fingers on the stone shape before you. It is a sarcophagus. You shudder as your throat tightens. 
He presses flush to you. His warmth seeps through the damp layers of wool wrapped around you as his nose brushes up the brim of your ear. He exhales and his breath wraps around your neck. He sucks in air and nuzzles along your hair. He’s smelling you. 
He buries his nose in you locks and purrs. The deep gristle makes you quake. He continues to smell you, to feel you as his hand spreads on your stomach and grazes up your bodice. You tap your foot around in a frantic search for his, driving your heel down upon his toe. 
He grunts and brings his hand up to tap your cheek. He hums derisively. That noise alone freezes your blood. There’s something so base about it. 
He slips his hand down again and the other follows. He keeps you penned in with his arms and removes his gloves, letting them fall to the floor. His fingertips dance up your bodice and back down. He kneads and pokes and caresses. He fondles you until you’re a trembling mess. 
“Herr, please--” 
He nips your ear and snarls. You close your eyes but it cannot save you from this. You are only deeper into the darkness. He drags his nose down to your neck and nuzzles into you there. His hand curls around your hip, squeezing before climb up your back and down again. 
He draws his face from your neck and his hands descend further. He tugs and yanks at your skirts, bundling them up in his grasp. He pulls them up to your waist and leans into you until your middle is right against the stone, your body bent with his. 
He hooks his arm under the layers of your skirt as his other hand wanders beneath. His nails skim your skin, goosebumps rising with his touch, and traces down to thighs. He pokes beneath them meanly and forces his foot between yours. He kicks your boots wide and you whine again.  
“Herr, please--” 
“Ta ta,” he warns in a hiss. 
He pushes his hand between your legs, cupping it over your cunt. He inhales again as he takes in the scent of your scalp, his nose once more delving into your hair. He slips his middle finger between your lips and rubs you. Gently at first, then firmer, quaking as he pinpoints on your clit, rolling it beneath his fingertip. 
Your legs tingle and tremble. You dip your head down and he growls. He spreads the slickness that rises with his uninvited touch. Your lips form around a silent prayer as you beg the lord for forgiveness.  
He pushes his finger into you, his hand against your cunt as he rocks in and out. He does not heed your babbling pleas or the shattering of your body and soul. He takes what he covets without repentance. 
He continues to pet you, coaxing you until you are heavy, writhing in a maddened state. You do not welcome him and yet it is pleasureful. It is joy like you’ve never known. And it bursts within you like damn, coursing free as a river as it slakes down your thighs. 
You wail between your teeth as you bite down on your shame. Father, Mary, forgive me. I do not want this. I swear it. 
He groans and exhales into you. He pulls his hand back and leaves you hollow and squirming. He reaches between your bodies and fusses with his own clothing. You squeak and try to crawl over the sarcophagus. He keeps you trapped as he clutches the rumpled fabric of your skirt. 
He once more scoops his hand around your pelvis and along your cunt. He spreads you and guides his cock along your bottom. You whimper and reach to stop him. He ignores you as he delves down along your cunt. He stops at your entrance and wets himself with your sinful excess. 
He snakes his hand up to your hip and pushes you onto him. Just his swollen tip. You gasp and gulp as you twitch around him.
He lets go of your skirts and they fall down over the front of your legs, the back caught between your bodies. He tilts and slowly impales you.
His hand crawls up your bodice and he pushes beneath the taught fabric. He squeezes your breast, two fingers framing your nipple as he snarls and burrows into you with subtle and slow thrusts. 
You tense and tremour as he gets deeper, crying out as he breaks past the last thread of innocence. He huffs and bows his head down. His lips brush over the meat of your shoulder close to your neck and he bites into it. You sob again and he bucks his hips. 
He puts you on your toes as he repeats the motion. He pulls back then snaps against your rear. Each time he bites harder, he gropes you tighter. He pumps into you, faster, more furious, more frantic. 
His voice trickles out between his eager rutting. He teethes at you as he pinches your nipple. He bends you over the sarcophagus as his breath billows all around you.  
He pounds into you so that the stone cuts into your hips and stomach. You snivel as your tears soak your cheeks and your head thrums. You grip the lid beneath you and hide your face against your arm. 
He spasms and buckles, his legs seeming to give out, though he keeps his hips moving. He fucks you until he cannot any longer. Until he is weak and panting into your nape.  
He sniffs and reaches to cover your hand on the stone. He slips his palm away and feels the sarcophagus. He slowly eases out of you and leaves you to hang off the lid.
He chokes into the blackness, “forgive me, Anna.” 
Your legs give out and you sink onto the floor. You hang your head as you barely keep yourself from heaping into a puddle. Herr Harding weeps over his wife as you do the same for yourself. 
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safelycapricious ¡ 1 year ago
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Needle-watch poll
So, I got some vaccinations the other day, and the pharmacy tech seemed unnerved that I opted to watch him insert the needle. And he is not the first to comment on it. I'm willing to accept I'm an outlier and shouldn't be counted, I'm just curious how much of an outlier.
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starscream-is-my-wife ¡ 2 months ago
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Sometimes a day makes you want a Starscream to bite and squeeze
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methoughtsphantom ¡ 1 month ago
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Jason “my family doesn’t know im alive” Todd and Danny “my family doesn’t know I’m dead” Fenton going alongside each of their plans my beloved. like Danny will absolutely go head-to-head with all of Gotham to support his new best friend on all his crime lord endeavors while he drags Jason to also attend collage with him. They are roommates and there never seems to a mention of family from either side. It’s an unspoken understanding they have. They met because Crime alley as a ghost lair thrummed with so much loneliness, it was at first the perfect place for Danny to hide his ecto signature in. But then he saw the dumbass whose lair it was lean his motorcycle just a tad too much when making a sharp turn to an alley, he sweeped the floor through a lifted chain link that passed his body but not his helmet. Yep that’s right the red thing got stuck. Danny who at the moment happened to be watching through his window snorted. Much to his horror because if not a ghost that dude could’ve gotten his head flung off.
Still, the scene was ridiculous.
On a whim he irrationally sees the police closing in on the guy and panicked at the thought of the guy using intangibility to free himself so Danny phased them both through his apartment wall and left the guy sprawled in his couch. Jason didn’t freak out but that’s normal when one’s got a concussion, one the guy immediately denied having as Danny laid out the medical supplies. The idiot proceeded to almost flatten four steps to the door with his stubbornness. He also said “I’m asexual” in the most deadpan voice as Danny dropped him back in the couch.
Danny sighed. Clearly though, he’d done so too early in the night because the guy kept trying to go, kept trying to knock Danny out, kept trying to slash him with knifes Danny didn’t know he had stashed. He’d only disarmed the guy from his guns. The visible ones apparently, cause at one point the guy did take out a gun and shoot until the ammo ran out and then teetered the thing like it was an art prop and hit his moon lamp.
Danny "yeah you aren’t officially my friend until you’ve tried to kill me" fenton my guys.
Anyways both keep having the same argument over if Danny technically kidnapped Jason or not. Danny holds the fact that the police at least didn’t see the guy make the ridicule. Jason argued that happened cause he was sporting a concussion. Danny argued he got that after.
Jason at first thinks the guy's a meta, but no. Danny introduces himself, sheepily now that he recognizes this is who the lair he invaded is from. He bandages him and tries to cook for him. If Danny didn’t have ice powers he most certainly would’ve burned the apartment. Jason then proceeds to kick him out of his own kitchen and make them both enchiladas. It’s the most normal both had in a while with another person and the air seems oddly settled. From then on, Jason constantly invited himself over, under the pretense that this was his territory and therefore he could drop in unannounced. Danny who has actual powers says he only allows this because Jason cooks very well.
Danny stays away from the crime fighting business unless his buddy is in deep shit he can’t get himself out. Also it’s Danny’s turn to cover for his vigilante friend which Sam and Tucker give him so much shit for. (but also advice)
And they were roommates. (omg) Danny effectively derails Jason’s big comeback plans by casually dropping ghost lore every two days. Like,
Jason, talking about how he doesn’t want Bats snooping on his territory:
Danny: Just don’t let them in
Jason: ??
Danny: yeah!! Hasn’t Batman died and got revived??? You can totally kick out death touched people you don’t want entering on your lair.
Jason: …I can?
Danny: Yep dude, your lair’s supposed to feel safe.
Jason: wait does that mean I can kick you out?
Danny: First this is my apartment. Second, im dead, not dead touched. Third, it’s too late to get rid of me. bitch.
Anyways Jason is super excited. You mean to tell him he can actually deny people over to his territory haunt?? (Yes it’s only to people who have died and came back but still!! The sample size is exactly the type of people he doesn’t want to see—!)
Joker my beloathed can’t step foot in Crime Alley.
(Jason’d feel a lot safer if the clown was dead but the possibility of his murderer turning into a ghost and their little loophole not applying on the clown is too scary to contemplate.)
Anyways, Jason loves experimenting with the power. It can go from simply making people shudder and not want to enter crime Alley to straight up not letting them enter like there’s an invisible wall blocking the way.
Jason because he’s hurt that Bruce never even patrols Crime Alley and also because he’s petty put B under the category of “invisible wall” blacklist. His reasoning is that the man doesn’t even attempt to enter Crime Alley. To him it’s surely just a place shadowed in tragedy. (anyways that’s it’s the place he met Jason)
Ironically, Jason totally forgets that Batman does venture into Crime Alley one day in the whole year. The day he met Jason.
Okay. He didn’t forget at first. The first year Jason remembers cause it was only a few months till then but then the next— Jason forgets that today’s the anniversary of the day’s Bruce’s parents died. He forgets to allow B in when he feels a slight tug and dismiss the feeling that prompts Bruce to investigate because he literally can’t enter Crime Alley. He starts the trialsTM, he scouts on the very edge and sees people the whole day enter and get out and cross with no problem but Bruce can’t.
It’s literally just Bruce.
Time to call Constantine, i guess.
#bat shenanigans ensue#JSJSJS okay so i dont have a well versed timeline of events but two years after utrh who HASNT died of the batfam#cause those are the ones who are gonna go undercover to find what shady shit is this: )#im going with timmy cass and duke#sorry steph i KNOW you have died#the others have plausible deniability from my part#the trio is gonna come down hard on this unsuspecting pair#let's just say constantine just had one spare magical rune for each of them so they'll be able to identify who was powerful enough to do it#and duke found civvie jason. cass found civvie danny and tim also found jason a la squared. in his red hood get up later that night#the only useful photos are from tim's side but anyways since they got three suspects (one suspected to be the other. so really-- two)#they decide to split each other up and tag one each (whoever doesn't get the correct guy loses)#tim calls dibs on the twink. cass rolls her eyes and narrows her eyes at the red hood and duke smirks when he gets to keep his guy#he's not cheating if he didn't protest to getting to have the guy he already saw the aura of. he's sure he is IT#coincidentally duke happens to be the only bat jason doesn't recognize (and vice versa)#meanwhile cass is gonna be the one shadowing red hood which at this point he doesn't kill that much since he has his rules verymuch enforce#he does kill tho#so at some point they're gonna clash but at the start of the investigation no#let them be siblings your honor#big sis cass and her little brother 6'4 jay#and tim finally is gonna be the one to smoothly get himself in the conversation with cryptid roommate civilian danny fenton#genius dumbasses protection club#their first meeting is of course arranged but no less meet cute coffee shop au#anyways jason wants to know why the fuck hes got a bat tagging along with him so out of the blue and also why can't he fucking chase her of#cass is curious about how the red hood's mood constantly changes within her range yet he never attacks her despite his hurt-longing-anger#the boy who doesn't make noise fucking screeches when she sneaks up to him#and duke fucking brings his hands to block the chernobyl reject glow stick sun that's stands next to tim#while tim looks like his whole system is rebooting cause that's jason todd#dp x dc#danny phantom#jason todd
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saragrosie ¡ 6 months ago
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As promised, incredibly stupid s4-5 drawings
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