#tumblr is really going out of it's way to make posting painful lately

[zoe-oneesama]

It's fine, you have all the time in the world guys. 😓

Episode 46 Part 13 First < Previous > Next Season 1, Season 2, Season 3, Season 4, Season 5 Ep 41, Ep 42, Ep 43, Ep 44, Ep 45, Ep 47

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[crushedbyhyperbole]

Whiskey on the Tongue

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You are the forbidden fruit Dean had always wanted to taste, and when you steal his whiskey the way you do, he is powerless to resist.

Words: 2.2k

A/N: This is my first ever Supernatural fic after having started watching the show just before Christmas. I know I'm late to the game but is it ever really too late to start loving a fandom? I've tried to make the reader generic in every way other than being cis-female, and Dean finding her hot.

It's been an absolute age since I wrote anything and probably longer since I posted anything here on Tumblr but I'm getting back into it now. Hopefully this finds its way to people in the Supernatural fandom who love a bit of Dean smut.

I hope you enjoy and, as always, I value your comments and feedback.

Warnings: Smut, explicit smut, alcohol consumption, mentions of people who have passed away, profanity as standard with pretty much everything I write.

*** Minors do not read or interact - 18+ content ***

Dean let his head fall back against the headboard, clenching his fists to try to distract himself from the deep ache in his left leg.  It had been falling asleep for well over an hour now, but he didn’t want to move and disturb you.

The door to his room in the bunker was closed.  Locked, in fact, though he did not remember doing it.  You didn’t comment or so much as move when Sam brayed on the door and tried the handle, calling out for Dean to return his book.  The very book that was in your hands right now.

“I need that book back, Dean.”  Sam grumbled.

“Not now, Sammy!”  Dean called back, hoping his little brother would just go away.

“I’m researching Nephilim to help Cas with the Kelly situation, Dean.  It’s important.”  Sam became more insistent.

“I said NOT NOW, SAM!”  Dean hollered with a kind of finality that even Sam wouldn’t argue with.

Outside the door, Sam huffed and stalked away.  Dean looked down to see you looking up at him from your position, lay on his bed.  Your head was resting on his left calf, his leg bent with his foot tucked under his right knee.  You had your knees up with your foot tapping along to his banging playlist, your jeans tight around your thighs and with your head tilted back he could see all the way down the deep V of your t-shirt.

He was going to hell.  Straight there.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect two hundred dollars.  And he probably deserved it.

He snapped his eyes up towards the ceiling but it was too late, he could feel himself stirring uncomfortably in his jeans.  If Bobby was alive he would have skinned him raw just for having you in his room.  Bobby was always protective of you, his niece.  You were only a couple of years younger than Sam but Bobby had made himself very clear that you were off limits.

“If you touch one single hair on her body, I’ll make you regret the day your balls dropped.  Do you hear me, boy?”

Bobby Singer.  That man did not mince his words.  And to this day, Dean had taken that threat as gospel.  Even now that Bobby was up there with the Angels, that son of a bitch would find a way to keep his word.

You shifted, causing a painful twang to shoot up his leg.  The reflexive grunt he failed to stifle made you look back up at him, giving him that glorious view again.

Dean decided he could die like this.  If having a dead leg was a legitimate threat to his life, he would go out happy with the view of your rack in that lacy black bra he could see within the V-shaped window of that too-tight t-shirt.

He raised his eyes, once again to heaven, asking Bobby to forgive him or give him strength or something because – god help him – he wanted to take you right then and there.

It wasn’t unusual for you to seek him out after a case when you didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want to talk.  You would just sit while he drank, reading or working on spells.  You said he quieted the noise in your head.  Hell, he wasn’t going to argue, you were a sight for sore eyes every time he came home.  You were wicked hot and sexy in a non-slutty way.  Not that slutty was bad.  Dean liked slutty.  But that wasn’t you, you were different.

A drink.  That’s what was missing.  Dean needed a damn drink, especially if you were going to torture him by laying on him all evening.

He reached over to his bedside unit, for the bottle he kept in there for special occasions.  A bottle of twenty-five-year-old Speyside single malt that he liberated from the British Men of Letters on his last interaction with Ketch.

The pour made you stir again but it wasn’t until he raised the cut crystal tumbler to his lips did you move.  Your hand came up and claimed the glass from underneath, twisting it as you sat up so as not to spill any.

“Where’s yours?”

The cheeky glint in your eye had him pursing his lips in mild annoyance.

“Don’t pout.”  You lifted the glass, turning it until the mark left by his lips touched yours and you sipped, looking him straight in the eye.

Dean’s jaw went slack.  The glisten of the whiskey on your lips and the satisfied hum you made when you swallowed – he swallowed unconsciously when you did – made his mouth go dry.  He had never seen you like this.

You moved to kneel on the bed and walked your way slowly closer, giving his leg a tap; an instruction to move it aside.  He did, causing pins and needles to infest his nerves like ants swarming on a log to escape a flood.

Knelt between his spread legs, you brought the glass to your lips again, sipping at the amber liquid.  You leaned in.

Dean watched you, breathing shallow, attention rapt.  You hadn’t so much as touched him, yet every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire in the best possible way.  The closer you got the shallower he breathed until he was almost holding his breath, looking down his nose at how close your lips were.  His eyelashes looked to flutter against his cheeks just as yours did when you brushed your whiskey dappled lips against his.

He refused to lick where you had been.  He couldn’t.  As soon as he tasted, he would pounce, and…

“Don’t.”  He croaked out when you moved to lay your lips on him once more.

You looked confused but at least you didn’t look hurt.  He couldn’t bear it if you looked hurt because of him.

“Bobby…”  Was all he could say through his constricting throat.

You smiled then, full of amusement, lips brushing against his, you whispered “he’ll understand.”

Dean tried not to respond to you but you coaxed his lips apart and teased your tongue to meet his, short circuiting his brain.  The taste of the scotch and the sweetness of your mouth made him groan.  He had fantasised about having you for years, but never did he think it would be you seducing him.

His hands on your hips guided you roughly to straddle him, the bulge in his jeans pushing up against you as you settled.  He took the glass from your hands and downed the contents, his eyes on yours as he dropped the glass carelessly on the bedside unit.

Your lips met his again but this time you devoured each other, tongues stroking together, moans stifled by each other’s mouths.  He trailed his hands up your body, dragging your t-shirt along with them.  Finally, he could see what he had been having glimpses of this whole evening.  Plush breasts cupped in scant lace that was completely impractical for a hunt, Dean realised, like you had meant to come here like this.  You had intended this from the beginning.

He tore at the lace, dragging it under your breasts to free them, shoulder straps slipped down.  Pawing at them like he had never touched a tittie before, all he wanted to do was suck and nip and nibble.

Your breathy sigh was divine, and the moan that followed was filthy.  You cupped the back of his head as he took your nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, pressing him further, asking for more.

While he worked on your breasts you undid his belt and fly, reaching into the front of his shorts to release him from the awkward angle at which he was trapped.  You stroked him, firm but slow, feeling him for the first time.  You had always wondered what he had going on down there that every woman he had ever been with would come back for more at the drop of a hat.  You weren’t disappointed.

Dean lifted his hips, you thought to allow you to push his jeans down but instead he flipped you, making you squeal.  Once under him, he ravished your breasts anew, pinching one nipple hard while licking and sucking the other.  Soon you were a mewling mess, hips writhing, begging for something he hadn’t given you yet.  Excited that he had taken control away from you, you watched him sit up and yank your jeans down, lifting your legs until they were bare.  Your knickers followed and he spread your legs without preamble, lowering himself between your thighs until his hair and eyes were all you could see above your mound.

“Jesus Christ of Nazareth!”

You groaned as he suckled against your sensitive spot.  Fuck, he was good with his tongue.  Everything about him was good except his image.  Bad boy Dean Winchester.  He was every woman’s wet dream.  He had been your wet dream since you were seventeen.  But now you were plenty old enough and finally getting what you wanted.

Bobby had told you to stay away from him when you were a kid.  Dean had a reputation as a ladies man even then, but he respected your uncle Bobby enough to keep his distance… until now.

Dean dipped two fingers inside, creating pressure in exactly the right spot.  You gasped and gripped his hair as your pleasure began to crest, tugging on it for dear life.  He looked up at you then, to see your eyes closed against the intensity of it, neck and face flushed red with your oncoming orgasm.  When it came, the pulsing of your core was his sign to slow down.  He left off his suckling and stroked you through the pleasure, watching you all the while.  You were a beautiful mess.

“That’s my girl.”  He praised you in that deep rough tone you adored, helping prolong your climax until you took his hand away yourself.  “Are you ready for me?”

You nodded, allowing him to lift your knees up and stroke the weeping tip of his cock over your swollen clit.

From the front pocket of the jeans he still wore, he pulled a foil packet with Trojan embossed on it.  He was swift with its application, aiming his tip just so.

When he slid home, your eyes rolled back and you reached to grip his forearms.  It was something Dean would never get tired of seeing but it felt that much different with you.  You were the forbidden thing he had always wanted but could never have.  Even now he didn’t know whether he would come to regret this.  God, he hoped not.

Balls deep in you, he leaned forward to kiss you, wrapping your legs around his hips.  His instinct was to fold you in half and pound the living shit out of you, but you were already overwhelmed and he wanted to make this soft for you.

“Tell me what you need.”  He spoke softly as he nuzzled your neck.

“Just you, like this.”  You sighed.  Who knew Dean Winchester was a considerate lover.

His slow, measured thrusts brought you closer to the edge, your core fluttering each time, he could feel it.  It surprised him how quickly is climax built at this pace, but the added connection you both shared seemed to turn him on.  He would never give up Busty Asian Babe porn but he could get used to this with you.

You didn’t close your eyes against the pleasure this time, you watched him come undone above you, gasping as his orgasm made his legs and arms shake, muscles clenched tight to keep his weight from collapsing on you.  When he swelled you dug your fingers into his hips to pull him deeper with each stroke, and when he spilled you also came, eyes fluttering shut finally.

Dean knelt up, slipping the rubber off as soon as he was clear of you and, tying a knot in the end, tossed it in the direction of the trash can.

“Shot.”  You said with a smile as the sticky bundle went straight in the can.

He quirked and eyebrow and give you a slightly smug lopsided smirk that said:  What can I say?  I don’t miss.

When you moved to sit, he stopped you.

“Here, lemme get that.”

“Thanks.”

He stripped his t-shirt off and used it to clean up the wetness between your legs.  Though none of it was his, it would still dribble when you moved.  Afterwards he tucked it under your ass and flopped down on the bed at your side, moving his arm behind your head so you could rest it on his chest.  You were both content.  Both had goofy grins on your faces.  Both disbelieving that you had finally gotten what you wanted.

A loud knock at the door started you.

“Are you done?”  Sam said.  “I need that book.”

“NO!”  You and Dean shouted back in unison, laughing afterwards.

“Bobby’s gonna kill you.”  Sam called back through the door.

“I KNOW!”  Dean yelled gruffly, pulling you closer.

There might be a time in the future where the ghost of Bobby Singer came to make him regret the day his balls dropped and, if it happened, Dean would be happy to see him again.  In the meantime, you and he could work on a whole bunch of reasons to make the cranky old bastard come down from up high for a visit.

Dean pulled the sheets over both of your heads, nibbling at your neck until you moaned his name.  Aside from the roar of Baby’s engine, he had found his new favourite sound.

[ezdotjpg]

Hi!!! Sorry if you've been asked this before but is it possible for you to summarize the Bonus Links' personalities? Just asking because I'd like to get a general idea, apologies if this is too much of a pain to answer 😭🫶🏻

hey! luckily I already wrote up character intros a while back that I never posted to tumblr lol, so I'll go ahead and post them now! under the cut since this is mega long lol

Loft

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Skyward Sword

Age: 22

Height: 5’3”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: World’s Nicest Man Pushed To His Limit. It’s his nature to be light-hearted and easy-going, but ever since the events of Skyward Sword he’s been unable to let the implications of Demise’s curse and Zelda’s connection to Hylia go. He’s usually mild, but he’s got a lot of suppressed anger in him that comes out at inopportune times. He tends towards being optimistic, but has lately been caught in a depressive spiral. As a result of all these conflicting emotions, he hasn’t felt like himself in a while. Before everything, he could have been described as a little bit lazy, but these days a better word would be lethargic. He’s got a mischievous and thrill-seeking streak that often surprises people. He knows he’s powerful, but he’s lost some confidence in the years since his quest. He’s wracked with guilt about the way everything ended.

Slate

Pronouns: tends to use he/him, but really any

Game: Breath of the Wild (ignoring TotK for now)

Age: 21

Height: 5’0”

Communication: Mainly signs, speaks occasionally

Personality: The Reviews Are In: Friendly Guy, Vaguely Off-Putting. He knows he’s not pre-calamity Link, but he’s not exactly sure what he is instead. He’s accepted this about himself, and it grinds his gears that other people refuse to. He’s not sure what to do with all these memories inside him that aren’t his, and that he feels nothing for. He’s become more expressive, but when he’s upset his face goes entirely blank. He has a tendency to be distracted, blunt, intense, impulsive, somewhat abrasive. But he’s not unkind, and can even be outright friendly. He’d offer his help to anyone who asks, and he makes it a point to know everyone in Hyrule. He’s happiest out in nature, and doesn’t mind the solitude. He only ever lies by omission, and otherwise says exactly what he means. There’s something a little otherworldly about him.

Mask

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask

Age: 15

Height: 5’2½”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Local Teen Needs Hug So Bad, Will Bite If You Try. He’s prickly, hot-tempered, moody. He’ll pick verbal battles he probably shouldn’t. Everything is a touchy subject. But he’s developed this behavior as a coping mechanism. He’s kind by nature, and it takes effort to lash out. The person he is with Malon- gentle, more soft-spoken, with a good sense of humor and a love for harmless mischief- is a lot closer to the person he’s comfortable being. He’s a scared kid. He feels out of place, both mature and immature, of this world and not. Sometimes, he gets scrambled between Termina, the Hyrule he’s in now, the Hyrule he left behind, and the Hyrule of the war. He has a lot of resentment for both the gods and the royal family, and all he wants is to be left alone.

Wolf

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Twilight Princess

Age: 23

Height: 5’5”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Thank God I’m A Country Boy. He’s a gentle soul, probably the gentlest out of all of them. He likes to be useful, and he has made being the problem solver of Ordon Village part of his identity. He’s a bit of a mother hen and likes to take care of people. Midna was good at bringing out a little bit of attitude and snark in him. He’s got a bad case of Resting Bitch Face, but he’s not an angry person. However, he’s had a hard time adjusting to life back in Ordon. He’s usually even-tempered, but lately he’s been irritable and easier to anger. He feels isolated by his experiences, and has been avoiding most of the villagers, including his loved ones, even though it makes him lonely. Mostly he just doesn’t want to take it out on them, but it’s also about his pride. He enjoys the company of animals far more these days. He wants a quiet life, and has been avoiding Zelda's attempts to make "Hero" a political role for him to fill.

War

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Hyrule Warriors

Age: 25

Height: 5’7”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally, had Proxi speak for him at one point during the war

Personality: Link “This Is My Jaeger, I Make The Tactical Decisions” Faron. He comes across as a very charming young man, witty, helpful, pleasant in conversation, well-adjusted. In reality, he is constantly doing complicated political 4D chess in his mind at all times, even when it’s not necessary. Many years of being subject to the whims of the Royal Court and pressure to be a perfect symbol have poisoned him: he’s become calculating, manipulative, superficially polite, two-faced. He has to be the one holding all the cards, considering all the variables, fixing all of the problems, because he can’t trust anyone else. If you were to strip him of all pretense, he'd actually be a dry, resigned person, perpetually annoyed with everyone around him. He values status and reputation, and he wants more power than he has. His appearance is important to him because he knows his pretty face is an asset. He holds deep respect for the gods and the mantle of the hero. He has a strong sense of duty, but one that often leads him to justify terrible actions. The ends justify the means.

Mirror

Pronouns: he/they

Game: A Link Between Worlds, Triforce Heroes

Age: 22

Height: 5’1”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Local Link Doing Pretty Well Actually, All Things Considered. He’s just living his life, having a mostly pleasant time. He used to be quiet and reserved when he was younger, but has come out of his shell in a big way. He’s a bit vain, and fond of doing things with a dramatic flair. They like to have an audience, they like to make people laugh, they like to have your attention. Rather than being poisoned by court politics, he thrives in them. He doesn’t pretend to be charming, he just is. They can be on the arrogant side. He’s interested in fashion and art more than fighting these days, but still keeps his skills up to date. He pretends the scar on his face doesn’t bother him, but it does. He’s particularly obsessed with the legend of the hero before him.

Mage

Pronouns: he/him

Game: A Link to the Past, Link’s Awakening, Oracle of Ages, Oracle of Seasons

Age: 32

Height: 5’3”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Weird Uncle You Just Stopped Hearing From One Day. He’s a difficult guy to get a read on. He comes off as deeply serious, imposing, no-nonsense. He is actually full of nonsense. The fact that no one can tell what is and isn’t part of the bit is part of the bit. He mostly ignores his own problems by dedicating his life to solving other people’s problems. He wanders from place to place, helping people and becoming a bit of a larger than life folk legend in his own right in the process. He’s leaned into learning magic more than the sword, and has built up quite the arsenal of spells. He doesn’t speak often, and is content to let other Links lead despite being the oldest and the most experienced. He’s difficult to rile and even more difficult to get a straight answer out of.

Spirit

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Spirit Tracks

Age: 16

Height: 4’11”

Communication: Mainly signs, speaks occasionally. He has a stutter when he speaks.

Personality: Wants To Be Anywhere But Here, Preferably On A Train. He’s fully given up swordfighting, and basically just wants to go back to being a Royal Engineer like nothing happened. He has no interest in gaining any kind of attention, authority, or power from the mantle of the hero, and would actually prefer that everyone stop looking at him. He’s quiet, sweet-natured and generally non-confrontational, but he’s not afraid to stand up for himself when pushed. It’s just that it’s easier to let Zelda stand up for him instead. He’s pretty mature and in-tune with his emotions for a 16 year old. Seeing spirits everywhere, he has a lot of private thoughts about grief and death that he doesn’t share with anyone. The gears in his brain are constantly turning, and once he’s stuck on an idea, it’s all he can focus on. He often doesn’t give himself enough credit for how capable he is. Please let him tell you about trains.

Mini

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Minish Cap

Age: 14

Height: 4’3”

Communication: Only signs, mute.

Personality: He’s Just A Little Guy, Only 2 Pixels Tall. Mini doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. He’s not very expressive in the face, and it can be hard to tell what he’s thinking or feeling. Mostly, he’s a little rascal. He likes to root around in the garbage and build strange little machines from what he finds. He spends a lot of time hanging out with the Minish, moreso than humans. It’s a little bit of an escapism thing. He hasn’t really processed what it meant to become the hero so young, and is actively trying to avoid doing so. He’s very independent, and simply doesn’t compute attempts to coddle him.

Wake

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Wind Waker, Phantom hourglass

Age: 20

Height: 5’5”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Everyone’s Favorite Cousin At The Family Function. He’s a fun person to be around. Friendly, energetic, laid back, good-natured, outgoing. He is always up for a good shenanigan. But he can get serious when he needs to, and often plays the important role of mediator in group dynamics. He’s the glue that holds the team together! He seems to take everything in stride, and presents himself as unbothered by the things that have happened to him. Whether that’s actually true, or he’s just compartmentalized everything too well remains to be seen. He has a strange way of being very open, and yet a closed book at the same time. He’s sentimental, and family is important to him

[starry-fame]

18+ Overboard [Caleb x Gender Neutral!reader/MC]

Summary:

“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?”

You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”

“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”

The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.

Like a moth to a flame, you follow.

Tags: Smut, Pining, Confessions, Porn with feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Penetration, Rough Sex, Begging Ambiguous Genitalia!reader/MC, Gender neutral!reader/MC

Word Count: 11,734

Author's Notes: I posted this a while ago on ao3 and wanted to try tumblr as well! I can also post silly MC stuff and character edits haha. Anyway, I hope Caleb lovers enjoy! Also, certain parts technically aren't canon as of A World Underneath release, but that's okay :')

Ao3 Check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill!

Masterlist

Sequel - Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed

It burns.

The air’s filled with plumes of smoke, darkened to an ugly red clouded in ash. It waters your eyes and fills your lungs with soot, wracking you with dry coughs that destroy your throat. It’s hot — so hot — your body feels heavy. You’re crawling — you think? But the ground seems to slide beneath you, and your palms scrape against the concrete, bloodied.

Though your ears ring a terrible, destitute tune and your chest cries in agony — the only thing your mind screams is to get away. Run. Crawl. Slide. Drag your useless limbs and get away. You have to run; stand up and run but your body just lays there.

It’s coming. You can’t get away — you’ll die. You don’t want to die. Shelter’s right there. So close — so close. You drag past a mangled, severed arm, and instantly retch. But you keep moving. So near. Right there. But the sound of inhuman dragging grates your ears behind you and—

Your eyes shoot open, body doused in a sheen of sweat and heart ready to burst. The sheets feel far too sticky and clammy under your fingers and you’re quick to peel them off — rid yourself of anything that makes you feel hot. Confined.

One breath, two, three… it takes a moment to gather your bearings. You’re not freshly seven drowning in a sea of pain and desperate tears. You’re in your childhood home, resting on your sheets and surrounded by memories of the past.

Seems that no matter how much time passes, your dreams will always find a way to torment you as though you lived them yesterday.

What a mood-killer. You’re finally in your old home after an extended absence, and all your mind can do is taunt you by conjuring up your darkest memories.

The room’s bathed in darkness — a glance at your watch shows it’s late in the middle of the night. Not exactly time to rise, but you’re not so trusting of your dreams either. The sweat that dampens your brows and the front of your shirt feels disgusting, so you fan yourself mindlessly. You have to do something, be anywhere but here.

You’re quick to stand, stumbling a little from the sudden shift in gravity. Your eyes are still bleary, crusted, and you rub at them as you trudge out your room.

The house is dead silent, which only makes the sound of your footsteps more apparent, has you silently wincing at every step. Still, you do your best to move quiet as you can to the fridge. Grab yourself a water and chug about half of it in one gulp, cooling your clammy skin and ridding that feeling of scalding — of hot ash coating your throat. You enjoy the crinkle of the cool bottle in your grasp, how the mundane, predictable noise reminds you of reality and the now.

The incessant buzz of crickets in the distance is almost calming. The house is otherwise tranquil and calm. Peace and — you hear a quiet thump. Okay, not as quiet as you thought. Setting the bottle down, you slowly turn toward the noise, reminding your quickening pulse that unless your hunter’s watch is buzzing with a warning, there’s no imminent danger.

A few footsteps and… a tall figure emerges from the doorway, bending so he can properly fit through. Though he’s doused in shadow and you can only make out the slight glimmer of his two-toned irises, his name naturally falls from your lips.

“Caleb…”

“Thought I heard someone sneaking around in here. Why am I not surprised?” He languidly strides across the moonlit room, pausing to gently ruffle your hair like its tradition; he’s been doing it for so long, it might as well be. Even when you two were little and you had a bit of height on him (he’d prop up on his tip toes to pat your head — it was pretty adorable, in hindsight.) So you can’t bring yourself to swat his hand away as he goes for the fridge to grab a drink of his own.

Instead of drinking, though, Caleb pauses and scrutinizes the water, like it did a personal wrong to him. Before you get the chance to probe his mind, he presses the chilled bottle against your forehead. The cold makes you flinch on instinct and shoot a quick glare at him.

“What was that for?”

“Wake up call. Did you get thirsty in the middle of the night? Or you just can’t sleep?” He raises a brow, wearing a grin coated with worry as he takes a drink. Caleb’s always been terribly perceptive, he seemed to just know when you were having a terrible day or if something was amiss. Whether it was the years you’ve spent in each other’s company or Caleb’s innate sensitivity to human emotion, you have no clue. A mix of both, maybe.

Like always, he watches. You look away.

“Thirsty.”

“Uh huh. And I guess all that thirst’s what made your eyes red. You’re looking a little hot there too. Should I crank up the A/C?” Caleb raises a brow, and you wonder why he even bothers asking when he comes to his own conclusions. He should hardly be able to tell these things in the dark — does he just know? Or are the faint streaks of moonlight through the window just enough to tell him everything he needs?

“It’s not a bad thing to admit when you’re having nightmares, y’know. I mean, when you were a kid, you’d come knocking on my door in near tears and—“

“I get it, Caleb. I don’t need the whole rundown.” You snap, fighting the immediate embarrassment that wells up at your vulnerability and dependence as a child. For how strong you like to deem yourself now, it’s not like that was always the case. You were an easily frightened kid, especially jumpy after the attack. You clung to everyone and everything around you because you lost everything you held dear once before.

“And for the record,” you add, “it was a two way street. I can name a few times you came to my room saying you just wanted to talk. You look like you’d been crying for the past hour.” Right. Seeking solace in one another because you were confused kids who had their lives flipped upside down in a single afternoon.

You and Caleb were friends before the tragedy, neighbors who played together a few times at most. Not best friends, but he was the nice kid down the block you enjoyed spending time with.

When you found Caleb during the Catastrophe, you remember like it was only days ago. Crawling frantically, trying not to collapse from the pain that engulfed your being enough to make your vision swirl. In the makeshift shelter, you saw a few injured adults — some minimal, some fatal, and even fewer children crying tended to by lesser wounded adults. You could barely sit up. Someone tried to offer assistance, you think, but then a kid your size rushed beside you and knelt down, asking if you were okay.

Your ears were ringing and you could barely get a noise out, but you could tilt your head up and see those raven eyes with a hint of amber, full of absolute terror. You whispered his name so hoarse — “Caleb…” and like the turning of a faucet, an ugly mesh of tears and mucus immediately began streaming down your face. The smell of red — death, the sights, your bloodied hands, aching body, screaming heart, all honed in at once. All you could do was sob while Caleb knelt down beside you and cradled your head, tears prickling his eyes. It didn’t take long for you two to break down in one another’s arms.

From then on, you couldn’t help but stick to Caleb like glue. Caleb was the only person you had connected to your old life — the only remaining stability when everything else crumbled to dust. When you were bundled in your room and didn’t even want to talk to Grandma because she was some strange adult whom you now lived with — Caleb would sit in with you. He’d remain as long as he had to, validate every last awful thought you had in your frustrations and soothe you with sweet caresses and gentle words. As embarrassing as it is to recall, as a child, he was your lifeline. Caleb’s the reason you didn’t run away in a frenzy when everything was too much and you felt like you just needed to be away and gone. He’s the reason you were able to eventually adapt to your new lifestyle and warm up to Grandma over time. It’s ridiculous, really, how much Caleb meant and was able to do for you by just existing as himself. Caleb could sit in your room minding his business, and his presence alone was enough to soothe your tired limbs and mind from punching your pillows and recalling every terrible thing that happened that fated day.

He was always there for you, one way or another. It’s just the way it’s always been.

It’d be nice if you had something of an effect like that on him, too.

“Right. Because sometimes a little chat is all you need when you’re not doing so hot,” Caleb says, leaning on the counter and gesturing his bottle to you. Yeah, just like him alright, to flip it around on you even when you try to call him out. Makes it feel like every conversation with him is a losing battle, like he always has the upper hand because he knows just the right thing to say and how to say it.

“Alright, alright. Yeah, I had a nightmare. Happy?” You sigh, resigned at this point. You can’t even really be angry when Caleb’s been nothing but reasonable from the start, speaks out of pure care and concern. Rather, perhaps it’s the fact that he’s always reasonable you tend to get irate.

“‘Course not. It’s not like I like hearing you still get them. But it’s nice to have someone to talk to instead of keeping it all to yourself, right?” His eyes crinkle so sweetly, non-judgmental. It’s that look that always breaks you, forces you to spill anything and everything he can pull from you. He never takes advantage, just offers support, so you fall into his trap every time.

“It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. I can’t just run to you every time I have a bad dream,” you still utter. It’s weak at best, but you can’t toss all your issues onto Caleb like you did as a child. He lost everything that day too, and he still took the time to comfort and spoil you every single time you sought him out (or he came to you), no matter the day or hour. How many of those times did he cry himself, but choke back the tears just so he could attend to you?

“I didn’t say all that. But it’s not gonna kill you to quit bottling up your emotions, y’know.” The amber in Caleb’s eyes seem to flash, and yours flicker down in turn. Sometimes it feels like he still sees the same seven-year-old you once were, pitiful and dependent.

“I… know that. It’s just….”

A heavy breath leaves Caleb’s nose. He closes his eyes, sits on his words, and opens them with a twinkle of clarity.

“You gonna fall back asleep soon?”

You blink. “Huh?” Caleb doubles down.

“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?”

You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”

“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”

The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.

You’ll let him have this one though; swallow your complaints and choose his method. You dip your head and follow him to his room, still decorated with posters of My Life as a Hunter and old-school shooter games he raved over as a kid. Though he grew a passion for piloting after a period, he still had an interest in Hunter shows as an early teen, posters and figures scattered about his room proof as such. You think they existed in attempt to ease the public into the idea of Hunters, hell, even to coerce a few impressionable people in the process. A small part of you always wanted a way to reign in control of your life, to be someone who can do the saving, not sit in tears and wait to be saved. The show just increased your resolve, if anything. Though, you remember a short period where Caleb tried to convince you otherwise.

Eventually, you think he understood well enough to quietly show his support, if only because you weren’t backing down. And it tickles the nose a little, knowing you’re now something he admired with sparkling eyes as a kid.

Like always, he sits on his bed, and you take a spot in the swivel chair at his desk, idly spinning back and fourth. There’s a dim, pale night light to give the room a low glow. It’s easy on the eyes and you can still comfortably make out the ridges of Caleb’s face, his indiscernible expression when he settles and just seems to think.

“…Feels like we haven’t done this in forever,” You murmur, eyes trailing around each and every corner. You well with nostalgia, so much it makes your heart ache, bittersweet.

“Yeah, guess we didn’t get much time once I left. Not soon after you were off getting your Hunter’s license, so we were both pretty busy,” Caleb responds, and you wonder if he feels the same way you do. A tinge of sadness, but serenity at the familiar scene. Getting to sit in one another’s company like you always would in the past.

“Getting used to you not always being around was…” It feels embarrassing to just admit how much you missed him, how empty the house felt without his lively presence. “Hard. Harder than I expected, anyway.”

“It was weird not waking up to Gran’s cooking or your demands, that’s for sure.”

“Demands?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way. You always act so proper around other people, but not with me and Gran. Everyone needs a place to loosen up, someone you can just be yourself around. And a little selfish.” Caleb’s laugh makes your cheeks warm, though your ears seem to love it. It fills you with various memories and you realize man, you really missed Caleb. When you talk, it’s like you two were never separated. But it’s times like these the feeling of truly getting to see him every day, just be with him, swells in your heart. You sigh, grasp your nightshirt, and peer at Caleb through your lashes because you fear how telling your expression is.

“Then… is it the same for you? Or was it easier to loosen up around your friends?” You ask nonchalantly, as though the question wasn’t gnawing at you from the inside out. Did Caleb feel at home, or like he had to put on a show and be the ‘strong one’, only able to let loose when he’s around peers and not biting off more than he can chew?

“Mmm…” You hear a low hum, and fingers ghost over your forehead, gone before you can even get a noise out. Caleb watches you intently, enough to make you break his gaze first. He looks pleased.

“It’s different with other friends, sure. Because you’re not them, and they’re not you. There’s ways I can relax with them, and reasons I can relax here,” he answers. His gaze feels loaded, and you vaguely wonder if there’s more to that answer with how his eyes bore into you. But you bite your tongue and decide to let the question go unsaid.

“I see.”

Caleb’s gaze persists. It’s gentle, not demanding of anything, or even expectant. But for some reason, it makes you want to turn away so you don’t have to be subject to it.

“I did miss home y’know, pipsqueak.” You wonder if that’s what Caleb was watching for, trying to see if you were silently doubtful. You bite your lip and decide to just let the words spill out before your pride makes you swallow them whole.

“I missed you.”

Caleb’s eyelids widen almost imperceptibly, but you still catch it. He blinks, and they relax with this look that feels fond, but also seems to carry another aspect you can’t decipher with so little light.

The sound of crickets buzz in the distance. The extended silence makes your grip tighten on the arm rest.

“This necklace is nice, y’know. Whenever anyone asks, I get to bring you up. They probably get sick of it after a while,” Caleb murmurs, and he lifts the silver chain you placed around his neck, ruby glimmering in the light. Knowing he kept it, the way he so proudly handles the chain, makes you feel fuzzy.

“You tell other people about me?”

“So much they could probably write an essay. How you’d cling to me as a kid, when we’d hang out together, how, for a short while, we were all the other had.” Caleb squeezes the chain and lets it dangle against his tee, expression gentle, and part of you wishes you had a chain too. Something to remind you of Caleb, an excuse to think or talk about him. To rub between your fingers and recall a time you were both in a fit of laughter, young, happy and free.

“I relied on you a lot. More than you deserved, especially as a kid. …Sorry.”

“Seriously?” Caleb gapes, and a snort leaves his mouth. “Never thought I’d hear that. But you don’t have to—no. I don’t want you to apologize. It was nice. Part of me kinda misses it. I mean I get it, you can handle your own. It’s not like you need me looking after you anymore, but… I liked it. And nowadays, I can’t help wanting to at least support you,” Caleb shrugs, like those words don’t penetrate your core and settle deep in your chest, breath hitching. A million responses swim through your mind, none of them breaking the surface.

“Oh, uh…” It’s… embarrassing, hearing that blatantly said aloud.

“And, to be perfectly clear, I missed you too,” he adds. Your throat bobs. You enjoy hearing those words from his mouth, the way he says them so easily with a hint of affection. While it’s enough to make your body feel flush with embarrassment, it’s nice he’s never too stubborn to show his care. If anything, you’re far more stubborn in admitting your feelings. Perhaps that’s why you told yourself to just say it, not let the pride win and be honest every once in a while.

“It… sucks. I only get to see you for a few days at most and poof, you’re gone,” you gesture along with your words, hastily getting them out while you still have the weak confidence to. “Your cooking, waking up to you everyday, when you get me little snacks just because…” Your legs swing back and fourth, antsy, but your heart feels lighter when you can freely speak your mind, say all the things you were too prideful to say as a kid.

Caleb listens silently with solicitous eyes. His mouth parts, closes again, and he seems to swallow. You time the kick of your legs, so you don’t start kicking them faster while you’re left on the waiting end, mute until Caleb responds.

“It’s pretty dull not having your own personal 5-star chef, huh?” He finally says, with a grin, and you softly deflate. Your legs slow to a stop, and your heart feels heavy again.

“Yeah… I… I guess—“

“No,” Caleb hisses under his breath. You think it’s to himself. But he leans forward on his duvet and reaches up, brushing his fingers over the jut of your eyebrows so light you can barely feel the touch. Your eyes shut reflectively, and his hand eases to your cheek, knuckles gently sliding down. You peek an eye at the sudden touch, trying to not make your mild startle too known. He’s the type to stroke your head or push you away in jest. This brand of touch is new. Foreign.

Your lips tremble and Caleb’s eyes flicker down to them.

“I’d do all those things every day, if I could. Listen to you get ridiculously excited about those rare kitty cards, see you when I get home from work; when you get home from work…” His knuckles trail down to your chin, dangerously close to your lips.

You inhale slowly, and try not to show your panic when your heart begins to beat an erratic rhythm. This is the first time Caleb’s ever made your heart race — like this anyway, and a flurry of thoughts and emotions you never dared consider all invade you at once. If you were standing, you’d stumble on the spot.

“I miss seeing your mug, what can I say?” Caleb laughs, gives your face two playful pats, and retracts his fingers. You withhold the urge to chase them, press his palm against your cheek. Instead, you bite the inside of your cheek to curb the desire.

They’re nothing but strange thoughts in the heat of the moment, a little too drawn in by the touch of his fingers after not seeing him for so long. Equating nostalgia with attraction is not a good look, and you know to smother it in its wisps before it engulfs into a bed of flames.

“When — when we were kids it was kind of like this,” you begin, trying to even out the tremor in your voice. “We weren’t telling each other we missed one another, of course. But I’d sit in this chair. And you’d wipe my tears when I was sad. No matter how long it took.” You say, and you know you’re just making conversation to push your mind away from uncouth thoughts. With luck, Caleb won’t pick up on a thing.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a crybaby. Always barging in, no matter the time, just to have someone to cry to. It was pretty cute, though.” Caleb stands slowly, already no more than a foot in front of you, and he bends down to rest one hand on the armrest while the other palm holds your cheek, thumb swiping under your eye. “Just like this.”

This… feels dangerous. The part of you that automatically reacts to his teasing wants to glare and push his hand away, scoffing and spouting some retort. That’s how you should respond, how he expects you to.

This new, faint part of you wants to close your eyes and lean your cheek into his palm, turn your head so your lips rest on his fingertips. You do neither, and just peer up at him through your lashes, too scared to tilt your head up and have your face reveal every dirty thought racing through your brain.

“It was cute when you’d come to me, too. You’d sit next to me, trying to act all strong. Then I’d pat your shoulder and you’d go ‘I’m not crying’ while you kept wiping your eyes. Couldn’t fool a baby. But it made me happy. That you came to me,” You speak, and reach up to Caleb’s shoulder, giving it a few soft pats. “Just like this.”

Caleb’s fingers dig into the armrest though his face remains moderately amused. He tilts his head, murmurs a “Guess we were both the type to tear up,” with a cryptic smile, and moves to pull his hand away.

Subconsciously, against any rational thought, you chase after him and hold tight to his shoulder, other hand keeping Caleb’s palm firmly in place.

He blinks once, twice. The moment is palpable. You know you can’t explain yourself out of this, but your gut instinct just doesn’t care. It craves to stay in Caleb’s proximity, to keep him by you. Like he’d melt away if you let go, and the moment would be lost to eternity.

“Pipsqueak?” He murmurs, rubbing a curious thumb across your cheek and it’s all you can really take. You feel the way Caleb tenses up when you bury your nose in his palm, when you shakily inhale and just settle into its warmth. You think you’re trembling a little, and fear eats at your racing heart. Fear of shattering the relationship you have — pushing beyond the bounds of your preconceived ‘normal’. This isn’t what you and Caleb are. Caleb calls you an infuriatingly affectionate nickname when he checks up on you. You and Caleb bicker about mindless things and easily make up in a few hours because Caleb always gives in. You and Caleb were friends since you were children, kids who played together, teens who begrudgingly got along, and adults who were still close and made efforts to visit home on your shared time off.

It wasn’t whatever the hell this was. And the guilt that rises in your throat is immense, taking Caleb’s actions to make them something they’re not — twisting his kind gestures into something awful. You force yourself to recede from his palm, mouth open to utter a soft apology.

Just as that soft ‘sorry’ passes your lips, Caleb coaxes your head up, peers long and hard into your eyes, like he’s searching the depths to find whatever it is he seeks, needs.

You think he finds it, because his breath hitches, the hand on your face seems to quiver, and his face leans so close to yours. Not touching, no, his hot breaths ghost over your lips, his nose tickling your cheek. You swallow thickly, and the warmth from his proximity spreads like wildfire.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers, urgent. Almost desperate, like it takes every ounce of self-restraint to remain as he is. So near but never bridging the small gap.

“I…” You start, knowing this is the tipping point. He’s still kind enough to give you an out, to let you reject any notion of whatever this is and pretend none of it ever happened. Makes it seem like he doesn’t want it to happen. Caleb’s always been kind like that. And maybe, in the long run, it would be the better option. To not risk destroying the relationship you’ve built and nurtured for well over a decade.

But, meeting his pleading eyes with your own, you know the only words that can leave your mouth. It’s the sole thought that repeated over and over in tandem with each shaky sigh that parted from his pink lips.

Slowly opening your mouth, you take the plunge. “I do.”

You don’t know whether Caleb’s face flashes with relief or pain — maybe both — and his lips press so deep into yours, slow and heated. It elicits a quiet, gasping noise from your throat that Caleb swallows. You have to wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself because his kisses are starved, like he’s been craving this moment forever and you wonder if that’s really the case. His hand on the armrest moves down to grasp your thigh and a pleased noise rumbles in the back of your throat, his thumb stroking the inside of it so tenderly you could tremble. The sense of relief, of immediate euphoria of having this man on your lips almost makes you wanna cry as he kisses you senseless, licks his tongue into your mouth and coaxes every soft noise he can with each repeated press of his lips. When your fingers sneak up to his neck, quiet sounds hum in his throat and they envelop your mind, drugging you with the sound and feel of him. You could do this for hours, kiss Caleb until the only thing your mouth knows is the taste of him.

“I can’t believe —“ Caleb gasps between breathless kisses, speaking against your lips and sliding his hand down to rest on the junction of your head and neck. You tremble and he pecks the corner of your mouth in response, as though to soothe you. “You’re actually—“ He kisses at your cheek, then your nose affectionately. You feel the heat rise in your neck and avert your gaze out of pure embarrassment. “Letting me…” He laughs against your cheek, face alight and you hope the pain you perceived earlier is a little lessened now.

“I didn’t know you wanted to…” You murmur, and stretch your neck up again to capture his lips. Somehow, each kiss only seems to improve upon the last, and when his fingers slide against your neck, a quiet moan vibrates in your throat. Caleb pulls back with low lids and ragged breaths, lips pinker than you’ve ever seen and covered with a sheen of saliva. Kiss swollen’s never a look you imagined on him, but you quite like it.

“Guess I’m good at keeping secrets then,” Caleb says in a huff of soft laughter, and he’s gently tugging, guiding your body up and off the chair to sit beside him on the duvet. “Or,” he leans down and pets the front of your throat, lips steady against your fluttering pulse. “You’re just stupidly oblivious.”

“There’s no way I would’ve…” you begin to murmur as your fingers clench on his nightclothes. Your body reacts to the sensation of his lips kissing every bit of skin he can reach on your neck, licking but mindful enough to not leave marks and the consideration alone is hot enough to make you shudder.

Could you have? Your mind is hazy and each time Caleb mouths at your throat you lose it a little more, but you vaguely replay memories in your mind. Caleb’s mindfulness, his perception, his endless kindness — but he’s like that with everyone, so how could you have known you were special beyond your friendship and shared past? Granted you probably got a little extra pampering from him — but you shared a home. Of course you’d get more if you saw him more.

“Good. I was never gonna tell you, y’know,” he breathes. His large hands gently ease you backwards and you comply, letting him press you against the mattress. It smells like a mix of him — that same oak body wash he’s used since he was a teen (thankfully you bullied him out of that terrible smelling cologne phase), and fresh detergent from the laundry he took care of earlier. You resist the urge to turn your head and bury it into the covers, inhale deep, for you’re sure it’d come off as a little strange.

“Never?”

“Never.” He rests his forearms next to your head, face mere inches away. He seems to like watching you, those dimly lit eyes of his boring into you. “I mean, I thought about it sometimes. But we’ve known each other what, sixteen years now? We played together since we were preschoolers,” he sighs, thumb brushing over your cheek. His face is so raw and open, flushed and longing. Like he can finally spill every dirty little secret he’s kept hidden forever. His thumb moves to swipe across your lip and you kiss it — innocently enough. His breath stutters.

Then you open your mouth, gently suck on the digit, and he stops breathing altogether.

“Mm…” You hum in agreement, though with the way Caleb’s eyes darken, you figure it more resembles a moan.

“Damn,” he curses, and experimentally swipes across your tongue. You shamelessly take his thumb in deeper, revel in the way his lips tremble and he bites them, as though to curb some thought or action that sprung in his mind in response.

“You’re friends with someone that long, you figure there’s no chance. Figured you saw me as a brother or something. I mean, I kinda did it to myself,” he speaks, but looks absolutely enthralled by your mouth around his thumb. The way you swirl your tongue around him, encouraging him to just let go. You think his words are half spoken on instinct with how dazed and red-faced he looks.

“Fuck , if I just knew…” Caleb hisses, and he leans forward for balance, forehead pressed against yours (he’s so warm) while his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just below your navel. The proximity to your waistband makes you subconsciously squirm a little, and his hand presses firmer, stilling your hips. “I could’ve done this so much sooner.”

You try to murmur a response past his thumb but the welcome intrusion makes your words incoherent. He gently retracts it from your lips to press against them, saliva coating his thumb, your lips, and wetting your chin.

“What’s that, pipsqueak?” He murmurs. You feel his hand creep up to trace your abdomen, catch at your side and massage there mindlessly.

“For someone who wants to do this so bad…” you sigh, and look up at him, unamused, trying not to let your mild fluster show. It seems even pinned under him, you can’t help but want to be a bit of a brat in his presence. “You’re sure taking your sweet time.”

Caleb’s brow twitches and he completely stills, staring at you with those gorgeous sunset eyes of his up close. You watch his throat bob as he swallows, and his fingers on your torso squeeze, not painful, just a firm hold.

“What the hell am I gonna do with you?” he finally exhales, exasperation plain on his face. He affectionately rubs his forehead against yours, the gesture so sweet it makes your heart swell. “Don’t forget, you’re the one that spurred me on.”

And like a man on a mission, the sweet moment is gone, replaced by greedy lips and needy hands. His mouth is back on yours and you gift him an appeased hum, instantly lost in the warmth of lips and the way he kisses you like he’ll never kiss again. So heated, so, so perfect, and you reach your fingers to tighten in his hair, lift your hips to wrap your legs around his torso. You both sink into the duvet with the strength of his kiss, his hands shamelessly trailing up and down your torso, mapping it out, squeezing when he hears quiet noises and whines emerge from your throat.

You think Caleb enjoys the sounds you make most, because he’ll do anything and everything to draw them out of you, hands frisky and shameless. They’re calloused and rough in the best way and you squeeze his hair in approval, press fleeting kisses to the corner of his lips when you part to breathe. He laughs, happy, and you laugh in turn.

“It’s a little hot, don’t you think?” He murmurs, and uses that as his excuse to push the hem of your shirt past your chest, encourages you to slip your shirt off and sit with your bare torso.

The way he stares at your body, your chest, like there’s nothing else in the word makes your body singe. You reach a hand up to cover his wandering eyes, scoffing. “Don’t just stare, it’s embarrassing.”

“All that talk and you’re embarrassed when I look at you?” He gives your hand a few taps before prying it away, taking in the view just as shamelessly as he did before, if not more so. You’d smack his face with a pillow if he didn’t have your hand held so tightly. “Telling me not to look’s like telling a dehydrated man not to drink. It’s plain cruel,” he laughs, and pulls your hand to his lips to give your fingers a fleeting kiss. Your eyelids flutter alongside your heart, and he grins.

Satisfied with the view, he slides down on the covers (you have to loosen your legs to accommodate), and stares up at you with a playful, shit-eating grin, his chin rested perfectly above your chest. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Don’t ask, do,” you huff, turning your head away in mock annoyance. Caleb’s more than happy to oblige and hums his approval while his hands move to trace the contours of your chest, moves down to press a light kiss to one side, and is quick to focus his mouth where it’s sensitive, have the bud harden under his tongue and send shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

It even surprises you, how much you feel your face flame not just from pleasure, but pure embarrassment. This is Caleb , of all people. Not just some guy you started crushing on. Being this vulnerable and having his lips on your chest isn’t something you imagined even yesterday. If he saw you like this yesterday, you’d definitely die from shame. There’s not a glimmer of regret, but there’s heaps of embarrassment to spare and you bury your face into the pillow under you, tensing the more he plays. You knew nipples could feel good, but wow, they can feel good and his mouth on them sends shocks straight down your abdomen, makes heat settle low between your legs.

Finally, he pulls away, though his thumbs still graze over them, and he moves up to press a kiss to your jaw. “Don’t get all shy now. C’mon, show me that cute face of yours,” he hums, and you want to bury it even further being called cute (seriously, what the hell? You don’t know if it’s more embarrassing or insulting). But if only to show some semblance of control and confidence, you pull your head away and force yourself to meet Caleb’s adoring eyes, giving him a halfhearted glare with lips curled into a small pout.

“Looking at me like that only makes me wanna tease you more,” he murmurs, and moves to kiss your cheek (he’s so affectionate. It’s so much you almost don’t know how to handle it). And his hands slide down from your chest, settle at your waist and massage right above the band of your sweatpants. So close but not enough, the more his thumbs tease the more the heat becomes unbearable.

“Maybe you should use that mouth of yours for something other than talking,” you grumble, palms pushing Caleb’s head away. You huff with a side-turned head and peer at him from the corner of your eye, wiggling your hips. You couldn’t be more obvious.

“Demanding today, aren’t we?” He rubs his hands forward and back on your hips, trailing a slew of kisses down from the center of your chest to your abdomen, leaving flames in its wake. “Like what? I could make out with you until the sun rises, easy.”

The way Caleb looks at you, eyes flashing, you know what he wants. Those words to fall so reluctant from your tongue, to watch you drop your pride and ask. But Caleb’s had his way well enough, so instead of giving him the satisfaction of your words, you slide down your sweats and underwear, exhaling at the lack of restriction, the free air against your throbbing arousal. Caleb’s eyes go wide and you’re dragging his face between your thighs before he can retort, trying not to tremble from the absolute need that courses through your body. The thought of Caleb’s mouth on you, his tongue against you until your mind is numb.

“This.” You breathe, and Caleb can only let out a breathy chuckle.

“Whatever you say, your majesty,” he teases, smug but lets you guide his head, him dragging his hands down with it and across the planes of your thighs. They slide and down, palming close to your hips and earning him a small jolt, a bitten down noise.

Your fingers dig into his short hairs, dragging him down and rolling your hips to meet him halfway, urgent, needing. Caleb complies, gently mouthing at your inner thighs, biting at them (that gets a startled sound out of you that you instantly smother in fear of making too much noise.) And kisses and licks his way further up until he’s exactly where he needs to be, breaths hot and lips so close they could brush over you.

“To think you’re like this already…” he murmurs, cheeks flushed, and he dives his head down to slowly lick you into his mouth, your legs tensing and fingers shivering. His hands pet your thighs soothingly (it only makes you tremble more) and he sucks, holds your thighs so nice while they shake in his touch. He’s horribly slow, taking his sweet time to mouth against you, kiss against your aching heat and so gently take it into his mouth, painstakingly swirls his tongue. It’s not enough and you roll your hips into his mouth, mumbling curses.

“Dammit Caleb…” you groan, urging for more, grabbing and releasing at his hair, and his eyes flicker up to you, pupils blown and face a pretty red.

“Mm…” He hums, you shudder, and try not to burn at the sight of Caleb so pleased between your legs. Hands anchored to your thighs, mouth busy with a hardworking tongue as he eagerly lavishes you with attention. It’s good this time, not slow torture, and Caleb easily lets you rock your hips into his mouth, whine under the flat of his tongue and the sight of him between your legs. He pushes, holds you when you gasp and jerk into his touch and murmurs soothing hums while his mouth is busy on the taste of you. Your hips develop a rhythm of their own, chasing Caleb’s mouth over and over and when he briefly pulls back, he’s quick to stroke his fingers where his lips were, watch you sigh and and clutch at the parts of him you can reach.

“I wanna—“ he breathes, leans down to kiss the swell of your heat, laughs when you jump because of how swollen, how sensitive you are to his every move. You drag his face back down, his lips around you, not letting him finish the words he was trying to say. You just — his mouth — his warmth, you need, and you buck your hips into his touch, bursts of pleasure coming through you in waves the more his mouth moves in rhythm, the perfect pace he sets and the unfair way his tongue seems to do just the right thing to make you whine against bitten lips.

“Caleb,” you whisper, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. Caleb’s tactic changes, he’s using one hand to keep a steady grip on your thigh while the other reaches up stroke at your sensitive hip, then sneaks up to your nipple to tease it under his thumb and forefinger. His mouth remains occupied, tongue and lips unrelenting, and the dual pleasure is so much it almost feels like too much. But he moves, hot, mouth in tandem with your restless hips, confident and warm and the almost unbearable heat between your legs grows and grows, until you’re biting back a strangled noise and digging your fingers into Caleb’s scalp. You hold his head in place while you ride out the throes of pleasure, Caleb’s mouth easing you through it, still pressing and stroking with the heat of his tongue when the orgasm ebbs away. You have to squirm and push Caleb’s head away, panting and soaked in a sheen of sweat.

Caleb’s lips, nose, chin, are coated in you and he shamelessly licks what he can away, watches as you breathe, catch your breath amidst the aftershocks of your pleasure. Your entire body feels flushed with heat, and the only sound you’re capable of making are quiet gasps for a moment or two.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, presses a hand over his mouth and he’s scrambling off the bed, rushing to rifle through his drawers. He pulls out a bottle of lube and jerks his head to where you’re still settled on the bed, steadying your pulse. You’ve eased yourself to sit up on your elbows, so you can watch in your curiosity, see what’s got him so worked up. Seeing him still fully clothed while your pants lay sweat-ridden and bunched at your ankles, shirt tossed in some corner makes your face fill with heat.

“Can I—would you—“ he returns to the bed, crawls between your open thighs and presses his forehead to yours. The heat of his breaths make you dizzy, and you can feel the flicker of a flame despite just bursting with heat. “Fuck, I just…” he murmurs, moving his head down to rest against your shoulder, lips pressing against the jut of the bone. And the way his nose presses against you, he nuzzles against you and so dearingly asks makes the answer come far too easy. You inhale, stroke his cheek, and nod.

“Mhm,” you agree, moving your head to press a sweet kiss to Caleb’s temple. He groans, wastes no time coating his fingers and slipping them against you, stroking in a tease, then pressing in one.

It’s cold, you tense and Caleb mouths at your collarbone, murmuring “I got you,” while his fingers sits, letting you adjust and you relax to the chill, shudder to the way the digit settles in you, doesn’t feel like enough, and he moves.

Maybe — you think — you didn’t properly think this through. Because while you’ve a short respite from coming, now you have a finger inside you, a hand exploring every inch of your body it can reach, and lips playing with the soft patch between your neck and shoulder that has you sighing and subconsciously quivering. Somehow it’s all too much and not enough all too soon after — and you actively dig your teeth into your lip to keep quiet, not risk sounds traveling through the walls.

“So…” Caleb inhales, his lips travel down to kiss at your chest, lick at your nipples once more and they stand to attention at his efforts. “So damn warm…” You wonder if he means the heat from your body or the way you feel around his finger. His lips tease while his finger thrusts at a steady rhythm and when it becomes comfortable (and lacking). You start to grind into his touch, craving more, shuddering when a soft noise leaves his throat.

You exhale, peer at the pink cheeks of your childhood friend — hell, your best friend. You feel your heart melt, then your body melt in tandem when his finger slips out so he can ease two of them in, slowly stretching you. They move deep, curling inside you and with the just perfect brush of his fingertips, you let out a pitched gasp and pull a hand up to cover your mouth. Caleb doesn’t say a thing, instead makes sure to move against that bundle of sensitive nerves over and over, watches you tense and squirm the more he focuses his attention.

“You’re pretty good at keeping quiet,” Caleb praises, and moves his face up to draw you into a long kiss, mouth in sync with the way he fucks you with his fingers, steady and perfectly bent to leave you panting. You whine against him, chasing his fingers with your hips. He sucks on your bottom lip, pulling away with a dirty pop, lips glistening. “Can’t wait for the day you don’t have to hold back.”

“Hah—shit…” You curse, wanting to come up with a coherent response but your words catch in your throat, interrupted by gasps, and your mind can’t even conjure what to say to something like that, but you feel your body throb, your hips jump at his praise. Caleb hums, presses a kiss to your cheek, and slides down.

He does that thing where he looks up at you from between your legs, cheek rested on your thighs damp with sweat. His lips curl into that gorgeous, sinful grin that’s stupidly hot and infuriating all at once and you squeeze his hair in half-assed annoyance. He kisses one thigh, turns and sucks a gentle bruise into the other - fuck, why does that feel so damn good. And he busies his mouth with the taste of you, fingers working a slowly building rhythm that has your palm firm over your mouth and the other hand steady in his hair while you try — and fail, to not fall into a haze of pleasure. You almost want to curse, being so weak under his fingers and mouth. Flip the scene and give him a taste of his own medicine. But his tongue knows just what to do and he knows just the way to move his head to have you unable to do anything but let out choked gasps and rut into his eager mouth.

Though you take his fingers easily now, feel prepared enough to handle all he has to offer, he doesn’t stop. The sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you and his pretty, obscene mouth on you fill the otherwise silent room, save for your gasps and sighs. You curl against him and huff, biting your lip and using both palms to still his head.

“If you keep going, I’ll—“ you warn, because his fingers aren’t enough but his mouth is too much, and if you’re left a quivering mess you won’t be able to handle Caleb fucking you on top of it. Caleb hums, his glimmering eyes flicker up to you, and you think they crinkle in amusement. You’ve learned not to trust that face of his.

And of course, the dick , he keeps going. Holds you down with one hand so he can push and spread his fingers deep, taste you on his tongue as he sucks. It’s enough to have you arching your back, whimpering quiet noises into the pillow you bury your face into. Your hips squirm of your own according, the heat pooling in your gut and threatening to burst and you try to push his head away, gasp weak complaints. Too much if he doesn’t stop you’ll — But he’s relentless and overwhelming. Fingers curling, mouth moving, his hand gripping your waist. And your body accepts it all until that feeling crescendos again, you turning into a shaking mess as you whisper quiet curses into the pillow, try to escape his mouth but he licks and pumps his fingers into you all throughout it to prologue how your back arches, the high washes over you over and over. When you slowly relax, he pulls away with a messy mouth, leaving you with breaths labored and somehow still sane enough to sport a glare.

“I told you—“

“Sorry,” he says, and kisses at your navel while he watches you with enthralled eyes, like you’re a piece of stunning art. But his eyes aren’t apologetic in the least, and you’d think it right to demand a proper one if your heart wasn’t thundering so quick you think it’ll leap out your chest. He sighs, scoots up to press a kiss against your chin, and whispers, so quiet. “Can I…?”

You huff, try to steady your breathing, and zone into the dull ache between your legs and the empty feeling from losing his fingers. Of course you want it, want him, it’s a matter of already having been pleasured to hell and back by this man twice. You’re spent, even if the idea of Caleb nude and flushed against you is hot as hell.

“There’s a reason I tried to tell you…” you sigh, brush some slick hairs from his eyes and observe the dazed, greedy look in his eyes. He really just wants it all, doesn’t he? You always thought you were spoiled by Caleb, but maybe, there are times when you spoil him.

“Mmm… it’s just nice, seeing you lose your composure,” he nuzzles into your neck, breath warm and your entire body reacts to something so small, so soft. “But we’ve got all the time in the world. Next time.”

And he exhales so warm, pulls his head away and you immediately grab both cheeks, drag Caleb’s lips to yours and kiss him so sweetly it feels something akin to love. Your hips tingle, and the idea makes you absolutely dizzy, but you mouth it against his lips anyway.

“Finish what you started.”

Caleb doesn’t immediately answer or react, he simply observes you, watches the way your arms cling to him. For good measure, you wrap your legs around him and roll, right into the hard erection confined in his pants. He gasps, gripping the duvet beside your head.

“If… If it’s too much. Just pinch me. Or tap me a few times. Do whatever, really, shit,” Caleb hisses, and he’s finally stripping off that stupid bed shirt of his and tossing it unceremoniously across his room, breaths slow and deep as though to calm himself.

It’s not your first time seeing Caleb shirtless, but it is the first time you’re able to admire the full view in dim glory. Amidst the streaks of moonlight through the window, the red of his necklace sparkles. He wears it, even in his sleep, and you try not to think too much on how he must’ve cherished it. Treated it like a prized possession, because it makes a surge of happiness flood through you with a mix of guilt for never treating Caleb’s gifts or gestures just as precious.

“Oh, so when I stare, it’s a problem. But when you stare, it’s fine, huh?” Caleb chuckles, and his pants are kicked off with no shame. He’s so eager he doesn’t even try to make it sexy, he just looks like he’s dying to feel every inch of you, finally be able to feel the whole of you tight around him. It’s so silly and so Caleb you just have to laugh, and it’s nice when he laughs in turn, makes you feel serene.

“Think of it like payback,” You decide to say. Payback for making you come from his mouth and fingers when he knew you wanted to feel him inside of you. Caleb makes an approving noise, leans back over you, and the sight of his flushed, toned body with his necklace dangling down is way sexier than it has any right to be. He slides a hand up your thigh, gives it an encouraging squeeze when you tremble, and his lips find yours in a fleeting kiss.

“Guess I gotta do all I can to make up for it,” he whispers in a ghost of a kiss, and settles between your legs, erection strained in his underwear and words way too calm for someone who looks like he can’t stand waiting a minute longer. He shoves them down well enough with one hand and he springs free, eager and leaking at the pink tip. You think it’s almost pretty, the way it stands, twitches when you thumb his cheeks.

He captures your lips the same moment he lifts your thighs, lines himself where he had his fingers buried deep only a minute or two ago, and slowly, slowly pushes. Sighs into your mouth as he sinks into you, and you grab at his back, wrap your arms so tight around him as he just fills you, moves as you cling to him. You think the wait alone is torture when he finally settles deep, hips flush to yours and mouth swallowing any weak noises you utter. You’re still so sensitive and even just the feeling of his cock inside, barely moving, is enough to make you clutch at him.

“You feel so perfect,” he utters, shaking hands settled on the sides of your face, lips plush on your jaw. He buries his face in your neck, slowly, slowly moves out, and you can feel his entire body shaking on top of you as he pushes again, deep into you and fills you perfect. So hot inside of you, you can’t help but squeeze around him. He chokes against your skin, kisses at it while his hips steadily draw out—then you think he loses his composure a little. His hips sputter, and his pushes into you quicker, steady, and holy fuck is your body just quivering and you already feel a mess, heat between your legs near unbearable and Caleb’s cock stretching you open for him.

“Caleb…” You gasp, bite back the moans that want to continually spill from your throat while Caleb steadily pumps, in and out. It’s so tender, and even though your body is an absolute mess, you just need more and drag in Caleb with the strength of your legs wrapped around him, helplessly grind into his cock, and Caleb understands the message loud and clear. He shakes, kisses your shoulder, and pulls out to snap his hips against yours, murmurs small affirmations against your skin as he fucks you, heavy and deep and your body is a squirming mess, like it isn’t even your own. You’re whining and biting back every loud, broken noise that threatens to leave your mouth with the rock of his hips.

“Shit—Caleb, it’s—“ you gasp, be hums into your shoulder and looks at you with wild eyes while he pushes into you over and over. Your legs are a mess and you’re gasping, trying to focus on swallowing down the noises in your throat but Caleb’s driving you absolutely insane and when he positions himself just right, you’re letting out a sharp cry and your body arches into his touch.

“Don’t wake the whole neighborhood now.” He coos against your collarbone, and gently covers your mouth, palm flat so all you can do is groan against his hand, weak noises and sharp gasps muffled. Every inch of you feels sensitive, alight, and the hand not silencing you gently massages your chest while he fucks you deep into the mattress, the sounds of skin against skin filling the room. It’s filthy and you absolutely love it, even if your body is screaming it’s on fire, and all your nerves are alight from being so thoroughly handled.

“Mmn—!” You gasp, unable to even articulate how it feels to have Caleb rolling his hips into yours so damn hot while you can barely control the way your body reacts. You think he swells even more when inside you, thick and hot and nearly every thrust hitting you so you see stars. You gape, claw at his neck and anything you can cling to on him, while his movements gradually speed up and he pounds into you relentlessly, cries muffled by his palm.

“You have no idea how much I wanted this…” Caleb gasps, breaths heavy, lifting his palm and resting it sweetly on your face instead. He looks at you so damn adoring while he’s fucking you senseless, watching you gasp and start to squirm under him when the sensation builds upon too much. “Wanted you. Like this.”

“Gh… Y-Yeah…?” You somehow manage to choke out while your body has a mind of its own, squirming and shaking and Caleb’s hands hold you right where he needs you as he slides in and out of you again, pulls out so only the tip is in and snaps his hips against yours in a fluid motion. You wonder if it’s because your most recent orgasm was so close, left you so sensitive you feel like you’re already on the brink. You hang onto Caleb for purchase and try not to cry out as he pushes into you over and over and over.

“You’re way too hot. You feel way too—haah —good.” Caleb curses as he moves, hold your hips and reaches a hand down between the two of you to tease you with sweet fingers while he pumps into you. “You. Undone. Under me,” he murmurs, and your hips helplessly buck into his touch, fingers clutch him tight as he fucks you.

“Y-You…ah—Caleb,” you try to respond, but the way Caleb rocks his hips, and his hand wastes no time driving you mad, you feel that feeling build, build and build so quick, so perfect. You want to retort, say anything to flip his words on him, but you know you’re a gasping mess and can’t focus your mind enough to put up a decent argument. So you clutch at his slick skin, bury your fingers so deep it pales, and whine “I’m… I’ll… ‘M about to…”

Caleb hears you loud and clear, keeps the pace of him pumping into you and is always sure to angle the way your hips slot together perfectly, so each thrust hits you with a deep wave of pleasure and his fingers leave you weak.

“You always act so strong, so tough. It’s nice I can get you like this,” he speaks, and if your mind wasn’t in such fog you’d probably be a little annoyed, but all you can do is whimper at how his voice whispers low in your ear, and the way he circles his hips perfectly to make you gasp, clench, and make him groan in return.

That feeling approaches, the familiar feeling of being undone by Caleb and at the mercy of his mouth, fingers and thrusts. He murmurs sweet words against your lips, and it’s all you can handle when you’re biting your lip and your body is pulled taught like a string, shuddering and powerful as you feel a burst of pleasure like no other, so strong and prolonged you wonder if it’ll ever end, so much you actually see white. Caleb doesn’t relent on his thrusts, fucks you through it, and he doesn’t stop when you’re quivering either and suddenly it’s too much all at once. Your body is still in tremors and shakes as he grasps your hips firm, presses a soothing kiss to your temple as you start to squirm and let out weak noises.

It’s too much and too fast and you’re so sensitive and you can’t— “Caleb,” you choke out, body naturally moving to escape the sensation, but Caleb’s hands hold you steady.

“Want—“ he rasps, “want me to stop? All you gotta do is tap me,” he murmurs so sweet in your ear, and tears prick in your eyes as the pleasure, the sensitivity is so blinding you can’t keep them from your face. And you quietly cry and squirm but hold on tight, not tapping, not pinching. It’s torture but it feels terribly amazing in the best way, even if Caleb has to keep a firm hold so you don’t scramble from his grasp.

“Too much, I can’t, Caleb,” you sob, Caleb kisses the tears that fall down your cheeks so sweetly and proceeds to fuck you silly. Your heart is pounding, your whole body is a shaking over sensitive mess and the feeling is so intense your mind can barely formulate words. “I—please, fuck…” you babble, can’t string together full sentences and just whimper under him. Fuck if you’re never at someone’s mercy like this, you wonder if it’s better or worse that it’s Caleb.

“So damn cute,” he breathes out in broken fragments, breaths quickening as he thrusts deep, hard, accepts every whimper and plea that leaves your wet lips. “You can relax around me, trust me. Let me take care of you.”

“Ah…!” You wish you could respond, you really do, but the only thoughts you can formulate are pleads and Caleb, the endless pleasure bordering pain he pushes you through. He’s so sweet in your hair as his pace quickens and his breaths are shallow, ragged. His face is a damp mess and strings of hair cling to his forehead as he utters your name — your name, not ‘pipsqueak’, over and over. Whispers your name in your ears, mouths it on your temple, presses his lips against your neck as he sighs it. You melt and squeeze your teary eyes shut, clawing at Caleb and letting him pound you into oblivion. You feel fucking ruined and Caleb kisses your tears and pets your head all throughout it.

“Dammit, seriously, what am I gonna do with you…” He rasps, and you think your hazy mind can classify it as positive. His thrusts are quick and it’s not soon after that he’s suddenly groaning, hips going still as he holds deep inside you, trembling as he spills. Deep, warm. You quiver and finally find relief in his slowed thrusts, the way he holds himself with shaky breaths and bright red cheeks, sweat sliding down his temple. Slowly, he stills, panting, and when he’s nearly done shaking, he slowly pulls himself out. The feeling of both being empty and filled is filthy, but you haven’t the energy to burn on feeling embarrassed when you can barely form a sentence. You gasp, wipe at the tears that rolled down your face, and can’t keep the tiny quivers from racking through your body even after the high has passed.

“You okay, pipsqueak?” He whispers after, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You nod, mute, and have to give yourself a bit to be able to respond in full. He seems to understand that much, and rolls to the side so he can gently hold you in his affection.

“That was…wow,” you murmur, and bury your head into his damp chest, the sent of oak and sweat. “Can’t move…” The thought of so much as standing seems impossible, your brain is in this weird, pleasant fog and you can barely focus.

“Did I go overboard?” His laugh is light and raw, lips settled on your forehead.

“It was a lot,” you answer, and your fingers trace over his bicep. Who knew fighter pilots had to be so toned? “It’s hard to think but…” you hum, and adjust your buzzing limbs so you’re a little more comfortable. “It was… good.”

“Good. Guess I’ll put that on the list of things you like,” you feel his lips curl against your forehead, probably grinning. You don’t even have the energy to glare.

“You have a list?”

“In my mind,” he says, and you decide to pull back from his chest a little, if only to see his expression.

Sweat-ridden but sparkling with an air of pleasant satisfaction. Eyes alight, cheeks warm. Since when was Caleb so damn beautiful?

“Next time…” You look up at him with heavy eyes. Feel almost drunk as your body sags and your speech comes out in quiet rasps, throat spent from all the cries you swallowed down. “It’s your turn,” you run your fingers across his lean chest, feel the way his muscles jump with laugher and his heart is starting to slow into a steady rhythm. He’s so irritatingly attractive.

You’re not used to feeling so utterly spent, helpless after. Your legs would collapse under you like a fawn learning to walk if you tried anything right now. You’d like to see Caleb come undone under your fingers, unable to keep himself from writhing while you tease him endlessly. In that way, you’re both similar, you suppose, and you can hardly blame Caleb for the way he gets off on you clawing at him.

“Can’t wait,” he says easily, almost makes you more mad at how easily he accepts your words. He strokes your cheek, wipes the remnants of tears, and holds you comfortably in his palm. “You look so good when you’re a mess.”

“Hush now,” you sigh, and turn your head to kiss his palm. He pads your lip so gently, traces shapes across them (you think one is a heart). It’s so silly but so him and he continually manages to make your heart fill.

“I’m scared I’ll wake up and this’ll all be a dream.” He pulls you to him, buries his nose in your hair and strokes your back like he hasn’t seen you in years and needs to confirm your existence. “It feels like a dream. You in my arms. Kissing me. Wanting me.” He draws back so he can tilt your head up and peer into your eyes. You think the sun is starting to rise, his eyes are as clear as ever yet clouded with contentment and apprehension. “You like me, don’t you?” His hands hold you so sweetly, his eyes are so raw. “Pretty sure I’ve loved you as long as I can remember.”

You blink, try to process his words in the fog of your mind and feel yourself run warm when you’re able to take his words piece by piece and understand them, digest them in full. The word ‘love’ tickles your ears, and you try not to let the tears flow again (who knew being so wrecked made you stupidly emotional) and nod quickly, covering the hand that holds your cheek.

“Of course I like you. I’ve trusted and cared about you as long as I can remember.” Your hand on his chest stills, presses so you can hear the drum of his heartbeat that’s now relatively fast. You can’t judge, when your heartbeats are so heavy you feel them in the back of your throat. “I’ll love you back, someday. The way you love me. I’ve loved you like my best friend, as a person, for the longest, though.”

“I’ve waited so long to hear that…” Caleb sighs, your eyes flicker to the chain around his neck, and you silently vow to yourself to sometimes let go of your stubborn streak, take care of Caleb the way he loves to take care of you. You hum and nuzzle into his chest, basking in how warm he feels, skin against skin, heating you, like a pleasant wood fire on a cozy winter night.

You sigh, can’t bite back a small smile, and let your eyelids flutter, your weak body sink into the mattress as Caleb’s slow breaths and caresses lull you, goad you to rest.

Caleb’s skin, heat, the love and affection you feel encased in each featherlight touch draws you in, comforts you enough to let your consciousness fade. Like a soothing lullaby.

It’s perfect, knowing you’ll wake up in his arms the next morning.

—

Sequel — Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed

[eroguron0nsense]

The Mysterious Mysteries of Mr Sir Crocodile (Character Analysis)

(Apologies in advance for discrepancies from my usual tone and for holding off on everyone who voted for this on my last poll. Honest to God I hope y'all enjoy this in some capacity because I've been procrastinating on this meta so long it's derailed ALL my other One Piece writing and I only accomplished it through addy-fuelled mania)

This was such a fucking pain to write. I really wanted to say something about Crocodile and what makes him so fascinating that wasn't like, another fan theory or just a set of headcanons, but that's easier said than done?? We could boil it down to immaculate design, screen presence, attitude, or just the fact that he got brought back as an unlikely ally who shocked everyone by saving the protagonist, but I don't know that those factors in and of themselves make for a villain who's become such an object of fandom obsession.

Whatever it is, it's certainly not backstory or depth, because 24 years and hundreds and hundreds of chapters after his introduction, we still know nothing about Sir Crocowani's past beyond a vague confrontation with the Late Great Edward Newgate (that apparently like, ruined his dreams or something?), and some totally-not-just-a-threat-to-out-him-if-he-betrayed-the-alliance blackmail material the Queen of the Queers is holding over his sandy reptilian ass. I was born and grew into adulthood in the time it took Oda to tell the world fuck all about where he's from or his inner thoughts, or his actual honest motivations and traumas.

All we have about this character are questions. Why did he save Luffy and Ace –very conspicuously after both of their lineages were revealed to the world– against all logic and reason? Does he have ties to the revolutionaries? Is he the long-lost son of Rocks D. Xebec? Did he bounce on Comrade Dragon's Monkey D and squirt out the fucking Warrior of Liberation? I assume Oda's going to tell us more about him, but at this point, he's managed to keep a tighter lid on Sir Crocs, Inc.'s past than the fucking Secret History

You may be wondering, dear reader: what the fuck is my point? What is there, at this final stage of Long Running Pirate Manga, for me–Frankie EroGuroNonsense, OP Tumblr Community Z-lister with like, 7 mildly popular meta posts under my belt–to write about the legendary Sir Krokorok that hasn't already been said or theorized? What eagle-eyed observations did I make while rereading Alabasta and writing toxic Crobin fanfic? Am I going anywhere with this? Sorta. Yeah.

Let's start with listing things we actually know about Crockpot, in roughly chronological (??) order: –attended Gol D.'s execution way back when he was my age, along with anyone else who's anyone from his generation.

–At some point, met and was known well enough by Iva that she could effectively blackmail him

–Made it far enough on the Grand Line, somehow getting to the New World, and managed to pick up an 81,000,000 bounty (low end for a warlord, presumably scouted fairly early in his career)

–Wanted to be Pirate King until he gave up on it, not 100% explicitly confirmed but most likely due to getting his ass beat so badly by Whitebeard that he settled for picking off small fry and racketeering behind a government desk job. This makes him profoundly relatable to the rest of us depressed fucking losers who acquiesce to our own mediocrity.

–At 30, after presumably licking his wounds for a hot minute, sets up shop in Alabasta, comes up with a clever evil plan to quietly build up enough arms to conquer the world with a WMD, and then gets his years-long bioterrorist coup attempt foiled by a 17-year-old.

The rest we know: after a brief moment of glory as the unsung MVP of Impel Down/Marineford, he immediately reverts to Failguy Mode, gives all his money to a literal clown, and consequently gets roped into the neverending uncontrollable PR nightmare that is Cross Guild. It's still super vague and we know little to nothing about his past before the Alabasta Saga (for all we know he had a fling with King Cobra)

...Onto his personality and mannerisms. This shit's a lot more revealing. Superficially, he's everything: immaculate Bond villain levels of charismatic villainy, unbelievably ostentatious, dripped out like a Pimp, constantly smoking cigars, absolutely dripping with smugness and grease and disdain. Owns exotic pets and a giant casino, and spends every waking moment either grinning like a maniac when he's got the upper hand or storming around in a fucking mood when anything goes mildly wrong.

He's also pretty hardened underneath all that, obviously couldn't have lived a day on the grand line or survived Impel Down Torture otherwise. But even in Alabasta, Crockery gives off an air of being distinctly more grounded and willing to get his hands dirty than other flashy, established villains who flaunt their wealth and status. A big part of it is just his really hyper-masculine indomitable tough guy persona, but even early on he's very much micromanaging his operation, fighting people hand to hand in (as opposed to, say, Doffy, who literally puppeteers people while lounging around) and makes a point to keep almost all of his followers at a distance and rely on them as little as possible. He rants a bit about how dreams and whatnot are pointless follies, as One Piece antagonists tend to do, and repeatedly taunts Vivi about how her idealism can't save her, but with the context that he wanted to find Laughtale himself, it feels a lot like projection.

The character trait that's harped on a LOT in canon, and probably the most pertinent one to whatever demons he has, is Croconaw's profound pathological distrust for everyone around him. It's a huge part of what makes him a good early foil to the Nefertari family and the Straw Hats, whose collective strength is derived from organic human connection; Crocalor, by contrast, makes sure that up until the very last moment, he keeps most of his people so distant from him that they genuinely have no idea he's even their boss. His relationship with Robin is interesting, but he turns on her immediately when he realizes she either can't or won't give him the location of Pluton and has his dramatic stabbing/"I forgive you" lines about how he never trusted her or anyone from the start. He says the same shit to Mihawk when he suggests they join forces, even citing their mutual distrust as a kind of paradoxical justification for why they'd actually work well together.

Arguably the only exception is Daz Bones, but even that relationship is still a pretty reserved one; one of the few traits Daz exhibits is a similar avoidance of human connections to his boss and even though they've ironically formed a bond despite it, I can't imagine that they're emotionally close. I find these more explicit declarations of paranoia a lot less indicative of what's actually going on in Croconut's head than subtext, but I feel inclined to mention them just because it more or less tells us that his background/trauma has something to do either with betrayal or alternatively just being jaded and deprived to the point of self-isolation.

Krookodile's character gets a little bit more interesting when we get to see him again in Impel Down being a smug little manipulative rascal right up until he gets blackmailed by his endocrinologist, which is definitely medical malpractice but also funny as hell. I also appreciate that literally the first thing he does after getting out of his cell is change into a big coat and cravat to keep up appearances, but it's not until Marineford proper that things get really complicated. Saving Luffy and Ace is the first selfless thing we see Crobat do–while yelling at Luffy that he needs to protect what matters to him properly, no less– and he just keeps fighting for them after that, teaming up with his most hated rival crew to cover Luffy's retreat and telling the entire WG to go fuck itself multiple times over. He fights everyone on sight with no regard for his own safety, talks mad shit to Doffy, and demonstrates a genuinely compelling amount of honest to god chivalry.

For a short time, we see Crocomotive less as a really entertaining cartoon villain and more as a person with hidden, profound emotions and a confusing moral code that's seemingly incompatible with the vicious little creature we met in Alabasta. We come to understand, in a few very brief lines that give us way more questions than answers, that Cromagnon has deep-seated, emotional convictions he actively suppresses, and that whatever baggage he has is probably tied to wanting to or failing to save something of his own. His resentment of Newgate, who he really really wants to have a go at (despite theoretically no longer caring about the ambitions of his youth) is indicative of a desire to revisit the fight that probably ruined his dream and ego, but it's also tinged with a deep-seated grudging respect for a living legend.

Crock–Afire Explosion's obvious seething hatred of Doffy also gives us a few more insights into what's wrong with him. On a surface level, it makes sense that he dislikes a profoundly obnoxious, even flashier fellow warlord who achieved more or less the same goal he set out to in a shorter time, fucks with his business, and then mocks him/tries to recruit him right after his very public defeat and imprisonment. He postures a lot, especially with his lines insisting he's on a higher level and that Doffy could only ever join him as a subordinate, but he's visibly steamed in their initial encounter and clearly hasn't liked him for quite some time. I bring this up because if we stretch our interpretation a little (for the sake of my argument), Croc Holliday's distaste for someone who's (outwardly) so much like himself and embodies all of his villainous characteristics from back in Alabasta might also suggest that deep down, he doesn't actually like the things they have in common; he sees right through Doffy because he's done the same shit and he hates what he sees.

Having gone over all that, I've come up with some key characteristics of Crocomelon that I'll use going forward:

–Extremely performative: puts an ungodly amount of energy into maintaining a carefully curated persona, and projecting a certain amount of power, masculinity, and prestige. Not necessarily an unnatural or inauthentic one, but a constructed and purposeful one nonetheless

–Deep-seated paranoia, hidden secrets; probably intertwined. Keeps personal details on tight, tight lockdown, probably afraid of being known.

–Constant projection of his own insecurities and failures onto other people, making a point to be uniquely cruel in Alabasta to an idealist who loves her people and a dreamer who wants to be the Pirate King.

Ironically, he demonstrably respects and defends two people–Luffy and Whitebeard–who theoretically embody everything he hates or scorns (ambition, goodness, love, connection, romanticism, greatness in the traditional sense) and he intensely dislikes the villain most like himself, or at least the one who shares a lot of his worst characteristics (ostentatious manipulative scheming rat bastard backed by people stronger than himself) –The Grinch's heart grew three sizes at Marineford because of like, the compelling power of brotherly love and reminders of his youth or something

SPECULATION, CONCLUSIONS??

The difficulty with writing anything definitive about Crocko's Basilisk is that he's such a mystery, which functionally lets the fanbase project literally whatever weird personality traits, potential backstories, or anything else they could possibly come up with onto him. So I want to be clear that I have absolutely no interest in theorizing about the specifics of his past or secret identity or potential baby daddy or anything along those lines; I'm only interested in what we can infer about his personality by extrapolating from canon. And the conclusion I keep coming back to, the one that I'm convinced is true on some level, is that Crocodile is living a lie and he fucking hates himself. Everything he does, from how he acts to what he claims to believe, is a desperate effort to cope with his own insecurity and failure and cover up a past version of himself he's deeply ashamed of.

Now, unfortunately, Oda did not conceive of Crocodile as a trans man but stories belong to the people and we can do what we want let's forget about that and play it straight because he's constantly performing gender as a means of compensating for a deep-seated shame and self-loathing from whatever traumas and secrets he keeps hidden. Even assuming he's a cis man, he deliberately chooses a hypermasculine persona with a Capital V Villain moniker and pimp outfit and speech pattern he's carefully curated to project masculine power–physical, political, and financial–and we know it's performance because we see him break kayfabe and get legitimately fucking angry whenever he's confronted by a person like Luffy, who's crazy and brave enough to try and do what he couldn't and risk everything for love and hope that he cannot bring himself to feel for another person, or reminders of the past he tries so desperately to bury.

The lessons he's wrongfully obtained from his past are as follows: Idealism is a weakness. Dreaming is a weakness. Connections to other people and being known are crippling liabilities (If he is, in fact, trans and closeted, that's all the more reason to be existentially disgusted by what he used to be). All the hope he brought to the Grand Line, all the excitement of trying to carry on where Roger left off, needs to be purged and buried because all he got to show for it was loss and humiliation. But he can't stop wanting more, and ironically, after he gives up on conquering the Grand Line, he ends up chasing the same fucking poneglyphs and weapons because his ambition's still there; it's just compromised and much more jaded.

Everything he does that's seemingly contradictory makes sense when you realize that Crocodile resents his failure and wants to avenge himself. He makes a big show of talking down to Luffy and Vivi's petty ideals and shit-talking Newgate and his family, but he still wants to fight Whitebeard like he did way back when and help Luffy protect what matters to him. He hates Doffy, who's honestly just a more successful schemer than he is because it's a constant reminder of what he settled for when he took that warlord post and fucking gave up. He claims to trust no one, but he keeps Daz by his side and rewards his loyalty because he can't help but trust someone who respects him so deeply and follows him to the ends of the fucking earth long after losing the material incentive to do so. He claims to look down on people who aim for the stars and fight for love and joy and freedom and yet, in his most vulnerable moments–not in the face of violence or imprisonment, but when he's emotionally compelled to defend a child and help save his brother–we see how badly he wants that for himself.

TLDR: Crockman Holic is deeply insecure in his masculinity, desperately needs psychological help, and his character/potential redemption arc in One Piece is just dealing with his midlife crisis.

[evilminji]

Been Havin Thoughts™ >.>

About the Tragedy of SI-OC born too late to change anything...

About KNOWING. Exactly what's going to go wrong. Potentially how to fix it. Having a head crammed FULL of hundreds of authors of Fix-Its, Meta discussions, Tumblr posts. Uncertain that it truely WOULD change anything... but? Plans within plans. Possibilities. The options and ability to do SOMETHING. All there.

All useless.

Because... Because, you? You are a child.

Born too late too make a difference. The machinations of monsters are already well underway and it is far too late to stop that trolley, bearing down on you. No. No, now?

Now you get to make a CHOICE.

The needs of the many? The needs of the few? Yourself? Who do you try and save? Who CAN you save? From this sinking ship. This slow, painful, tragedy? No one's going to listen to a child. Not really. Not TRUELY. You are merely... a Witness.

There are SO MANY Scenarios!!!

But! For this? The one that currently haunts me?

Force Nexus~☆ under the Temple~☆! What COULD it do? I wonder?

Imagine it. You are a Youngling. A Temple Child. You KNOW what is coming. Order 66. The suffering. The Death. An empire built on the enslavement of good, loyal men. The genocide of Jedi. Every night you struggle to sleep. Toss and turn. Look at the tiny sleeping faces of children in you Creche... and you KNOW.

You KNOW.

Just as you KNOW... that no one will listen to you. You did try. Carefully. And you are glad you did. Your trust was betrayed. They did not listen. The end barrels closer and closer. The Force WEEPS in your mind, like a wound hidden in smoke. You... you have to decide.

Save yourself? Run? You could. You might survive.

Take the infants? Bundle them away in the night? You'd have to time it just right. Or they'd chase you to the ends of the galaxy.

Or... or do you do... THAT?

The thing that scares you. The one your not sure your brave enough to do. The one that... that would be JEDI of you? You are scared. Just a child. Thought... thought you would have longer...

In your heart... already know. Exactly what you're going to do.

So you sneak out. It's far too easy. With so many minders, away at War. Hang around the Senate. Well away from the Sith. You... you just need the inevitable to happen. Hate yourself, for preying on the Vode. Sure enough? Some asshole orders a good man to be "decommissioned" over imagined offense.

He is escorted away by his brothers.

You follow.

Let them grieve. Before quietly interjecting. You need his help. To save his brothers. Since he is to die either way... would he mind dying with you? You hate asking. What choice does he HAVE now, really? He is condemned. You feel like a monster.

When he asks if you are CERTAIN it will help his brothers, you think of the records you have read. Yes. Yes it will.

He does not look at you, like you are a monster. There is a grieving understanding between instead. You leave at once. Back to the barracks. Things left behind he will not be coming back for. Everytime you leave the temple, you are much the same.

Now you decend.

Down and down. Level by level. Past where the light no longer reaches, past breathable air. To the old temple. Long forgotten. Desecrated by the Sith. You are a youngling. You can not purify this place. But oh... oh you can try. Any spark of Light in this darkness. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, made of stars.

Down and towards the Nexus.

It rattles your bones. Aches in your teeth. Colors beyond color, time outside of time. Every step becomes a struggle. Until it is too much. You must be carried. Your trooper does not mind. Helps you stay present, attached to your skin. Luminous as you are.

You... You get there.

It Is BEAUTIFUL.

The Force is HERE. And Here flows the Force. Everything One. Your lines, simple matter, begin to break. How... how could you possibly care? It is... no. The hand in your's reminds you. Your reason for all of this. The Vode. Their fate. You look to the man who has become your friend. Would weep for him, if you could. But... but it is too late now.

For both of you.

You are One with the Force. And the Force is One with you.

In the starlight, the fracturing, of what's left of your brain... you PULL. The chip. The advanced aging. The shroud the Sith has pulled around himself. All... all things are possible, in the Force. ALL THINGS. Perhaps not all... with flesh and bone... but? With the Force? The... The Vode will be free.

What is distance, mere matter, to The Force?

We are everywhere and nowhere. Everything and nothing. Our power is infinte and killing us. And... and that is okay. It does not hurt. The Light... the Light is BEAUTIFUL. We did this on our own two feet.

We are one with the Force.

And that is okay.

[singukieee]

—my all time favourite bts fics (pt. 3) ᯓᡣ𐭩

consists of my personal favourite bts fics that I've read countless of times. including those from other platforms, such as Wattpad, AO3, and Patreon.

For some works that are cross-posted between tumblr and wp/ao3, I'd only link them to the latters bcs I find it easier to read and navigate the stories on those. but I also tagged all the authors I know are here and linked the rest so you can check their blogs out yourself!

I'll also separate this list into several parts simply because there's too many... So it'd be easier for you guys to navigate!

red means unfinished

blue means finished

🗯️ editor's note

(sorted by alphabetical order)

Merilia by saylilirose

"Mermaids are not real!" That's what you and Namjoon hear everywhere you go. It's funny that you're hidden in plain sight, although perhaps popping a tail in front of strangers wouldn't end well for you. That's what you've come to learn. You've also learned, to hide yourself very, very well. Until- "NO-DON'T JUMP-SHIT!" You and Namjoon are joined by others, not by choice.

🗯️ mermaids and insane drama oooh yes

Moonchild by @yoongiofmine (paid on patreon but so worth it)

Working at a coffee shop that only opened in the late hours of the night was the most exciting thing about your life, really. You never had that many friends, your love life was nonexistent, and you just couldn’t explain the feeling of not belonging that chased you no matter where you tried to find your place. It was when seven very handsome strangers came into your life that weird things started happening around you and within you. Could they be the ones to fill in what’s been missing? Or would getting involved with them and their world put you in danger?

🗯️ aaaah so good!!! so well-written, gahh plott so great, identity crisis (human or...?), werewolf drama.

My Muse by Zennnoe

I felt my lungs suddenly stop and a coldness brush onto my face, I gasped loudly clutching onto my chest. Dropping down onto my knees trying to grasp whatever air in-front of me. But I was at dance practice. So why did it feel like I was breathing underwater? I soon felt the hands of my close friends lift me up and lay me down as I try to takin in as much air as possible, for her. Soon the staff swamp me and I hear them talking about her, my other half. I soon clutched onto my stomach and I shouted loudly in so much pain, pink fluorescent patches bloom onto my skin. Yes they looked pretty. But the reason why they were there was not. As I try to reach out I grab one of my friends hands tightly and request for one thing. "My music. Pass me my music." I beg. This is the only way for me to reach her…to help her. My beloved soulmate.

My Soulmate are IDOLS by tinyeyecat

In a world where soulmates exist and people receive their soul bonds (a red string of fate, body exchange, timer tattoos…etc) when they turn 20… Wet dreams are not the norm for Amber. She should not be haunted by men she doesn't know, let alone by the world-famous boyband, Bangtan. But on the day of her birthday, Amber switches bodies with the idol on stage and finds out that the members of the boyband are her soulmates. All seven of them.

🗯️ this is one wild story... aren't all emi ree's stories so wild tho? but also well-written. (epilogue is on Patreon).

Not My Hybrids by Ghosstwriterss

When Y/n is pressured to volunteer at a hybrid rehabilitation/adoption Center, and asked to house 7 hybrids to help them become comfortable with humans and the idea of adoption, who is she to say no?

🗯️ the kind of story where mc's so freakin nice I don't think she's human. but yea it's all worth it.

One Kiss by DuraWrites

In a world where soulmate exist, where you can only know your soulmate through a dream. Confirm through a kiss and complete the bond through love-making. Han Bora just celebrated her 22nd birthday and not long she started having dreams of her soulmate. Correction. Soulmates. Already being a fan of this popular K-pop group, she immediately knew that her soul is tied to all seven of them. It was a dreadful yet thrilling thought as the realization of being the soulmate to her favourite artists hit her. But it isn't just as easy as it seems. Because she was the only one who had the dreams. So She has to prove to them she's their soulmate. And the only way to confirm that is through ONE KISS. How will an average girl find her way to that untouchable top to prove to the biggest boyband that she's their soulmate? Come along and let's dive into this crazy mess of a journey together.

🗯️ one kiss is all it takes... literally

Out of Time series by Alphathyx

🗯️ so freakin sad wtf but that is why there's an alternate ending. soo good and heart wrenching.

❶ Out of Time

A story about a girl named, Hana who has suffered a chronic condition all her life that would soon take her life one day. But with her final wish, she uses it to see BTS, but the boys decided to have more in store for her. Join Hana, and the members in a fluff filled adventure before time runs out.

❷ Out of Time: Young Forever

The alternate ending for 'Out of Time' and bonus chapters

Parfait by fullspectrumfangirl

Alpha bands are a popular entertainment schtick. Handsome, powerful, talented, they sell the fantasy of availability as much as they sell their music. After all, everyone knows a pack is incomplete if it only contains alphas. Omegas and betas dream of being a part of the balance. Unfortunately, this is more than just marketing. A band needs to function as a pack, but with only alpha members, bickering and infighting are almost unavoidable. Beta managers help, but there is another common tactic that helps the talent maintain equilibrium: house omegas, hired companions who stand in for the missing pieces. BTS is a wildly popular seven-member alpha band. They are known to be particularly kind and humble, but they are still struggling to keep house omegas for their pack. None of the prior candidates have wanted to leave, but one member has protested them all. What is the missing ingredient in their otherwise winning recipe?

🗯️ again, idk what to say but it's good! a really well-written story with great plot.

Peculiar Pack by @daydreamindollie

You’re a successful hybrid writer and psychologist, who takes in seven hybrids one stormy night after finding one of their pack stealing from your garden.

🗯️ cute T.T

Petrichor by @purpleyoonn

You had been working at Bangtan Corporation for almost two years now, and not once have you ever laid eyes on your bosses. That was, until you met them when out with some of your coworkers. Now, you almost wish you hadn’t. Almost.

🗯️ courting... yes please! and again, I love possessive mates.

Plump by koozip

Meeting Namjoon's close friends was something you've been anxious about since meeting him. You wanted them to like you. Starting off with a group chat seemed like the perfect way around your fears. You weren't sure how they'd feel about you in person. So when they fell in love with you and your lovely curves, you were taken by surprise. You soon realize that you're stuck with the seven handsome men for the long run. The chronicles of chubby y/n and her new smitten friends. Based around the group chat named 'chubbybear' that started it all.

🗯️ gosh this one's just warm and sweet, especially for fellow chubby girlies out there!

Rainy Days by Peanut_The_Sugar_Glider

Life had dealt you a rather crappy hand, but you kept on fighting, you kept on existing day by day. On a gloomy day however, you feel as if it all means nothing, as your beloved pet had past away and she always was there to cheer you up and enjoy the gloomy weather, making it less sad and depressing. Be it fate or otherwise, movement catches your attention outside. And your life is never the same after. You never will have to worry about being alone, and you find yourself enjoying the rainy weather.

🗯️ despite the title, this story feels like a warm hug.

Redamancy by strawberheecake

In which Yn met an unknown pack of hybrids living on a land she inherited. Feelings bloomed as the pack helped her weather the storm that is her greedy family.

🗯️ another neat and well-written story <3

Retribution by Babydoll_Blue

The Bangtan Boys were known around campus for being heart breakers, but when they made poor Seul-ki cry, Y/N and Mina decided it was time for retribution. Forming a plan to ruin their images, Y/N sets out to seduce them all.

🗯️ revenge gone wrong... or right? wtf am I typing, just read it guys.

Rose & Thorns by @minniepetals

A lone rose, a little broken, until Jungkook came along and the two of you saved each other, and in doing so, Jungkook showed you a world where he shared with his six other mates.

🗯️ a dramatic and warm story. I'm such a simp for soft but strong MCs like this one.

Safe House by SweetBreadFictions

In a dystopian universe where hybrids exist, the government had turned a blind eye to the mistreatment of hybrids. These persons were used, abused and treated in the most unfair ways. To escape the evil owners, hybrids make their way to the rumored district of freedom called Area 613. To help these refugee hybrids, an underground railroad had been developed by kind people. Being sympathetic to these persons, you run a safe house stop for the hybrids during their journey. As you help these hybrids, seven of them decide that your safe house might be better that any rumored district of freedom.

🗯️ I love when the relationships develop one by one so you got attached to allll of them.

Sanctuary by @softykooky

Some people are lucky enough to be born into a family that loves them. others meet their family in a coffee shop while on the run from the korean ambassador, while they’re holding a man at gunpoint and beating him to a pulp for treason against their syndicate.

🗯️ :")👍

Seven by Worldwidehandsomeyouknow

Life is boring. Same thing, day in and day out. Nothing new or exciting ever happens. I just want something, anything to happen! Well something happens alright. Seven somethings in fact

Sheltered by Gracie30102

What Namjoon thought was trouble turned out to be a blessing as he rescued a wounded kitten who would capture his packmates hearts little by little.

🗯️ s o f t.

Soulmate to You by OT7oramI

When a vaccine leads to unexplained symptoms, the world erupts into panic. What happens when one girl finds out she is soulmates to all seven members of the largest group in the world?

🗯️ another well-written soulmate story! this synopsis doesn't give justice to this freaking good story so just read it please.

Spring Day by @nunchiimagines

Becoming a part time english teacher wasn’t exactly the ideal startup you had hoped for yourself when you first moved to Seoul, South Korea. Luckily, you loved working with children and you were grateful to have found a well paying job with housing included so soon after university. Amongst your class, however, are 5 boys who seem to be constantly ostracized not only by the rest of the students but also by the other teachers and staff members. Becoming attached to you fairly quickly, you’re unintentionally tasked to be their permanent caretaker during their stay at school, even staying past the hours you were needed until they were picked up safely. However, what you didn’t expect was to catch the hearts of their seven older brothers, the leaders of a notorious and well known mafia family in Korea.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 4 | NAVI

[fuddlyduddly]

Hey, I saw you talking about reading The Haunting of Hill House via a trans lens and I got curious. Could you elaborate on that, please? Cause I found it really interesting.

yeah I can! I've been meaning to write some sort of article about why I feel Hill House is trans, so this is a good excuse to get these thoughts written out.It's mostly that I find the story and its themes to be very trans to me, specifically with the character of Eleanor; when I was a teen and didn't know I was trans, and I found myself drawn to her for reasons I couldn't understand yet. There are a lot of things about her that spoke to me as a pre egg-crack trans woman; the way she feels like she's been waiting her whole life for something, anything, but she doesn't know what; the way she's felt trapped by the expectations of her; the way she's so shy and withdrawing (she reminds me in a way of this quote from Imogen Binnie's Nevada: "Maria is transsexual and she is so meek she might disappear"); the ways in which Eleanor constantly feels out of touch with the people around her and can't figure out social situations; the ways she's never felt wanted ("I am a sort of stray cat aren't I?"); the way she is prone to misreading casual relationships because she isn't experienced enough to know she's mistaken; and especially how she so desperately wants to belong. Eleanor is so withdrawn and desperate for connection that she lets the House take her over because, at last, “something is at last really, really, really, happening to [her]”, and unfortunately I could relate to that; she's so desperate to belong that she'll let anything happen to her, even if it kills her.

One line in particular really speaks to me every time I reread the book: “—and then each year, one summer morning, the warm wind would come down the city street where she walked and she would be touched with the little cold thought: I have let more time go by.” To me, that's what it felt like pre realization, every year would go by and I'd feel like I'd missed something; I wouldn't know what, but I'd know I'd let more time go by. Eleanor's story is one of a person who's been waiting so long to make a change, that when a change finally happens, it's too late for her; she's waited too long, and she's out of time. It's rather bleak, but so is gender dysphoria.

I think for me ultimately, any story about a woman who feels trapped and out of touch in some way will feel trans to me (I have a Letterboxd list about that with all sorts of movies on it), but Hill House really sticks out to me because of how acute and specific Eleanor's pain is, and how relatable I found her; her pain feels very transfeminine to me in ways I'm not quite sure how to articulate. I've found a lot of other transfems on tumblr who are also very drawn to Hill House, and in a way its very nice to see us all have a special connection to this book.

also part of this realization came from this post!

[sysmedsaresexist]

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

This is Mod Quill, but this is on behalf of a mutual friend of mine and Mod Dude's. Someone we care about a lot, and someone I'm not even going to fucking name here, because I am so fucking done with my friend suffering. Besides. You're going to know who it is if you have a lick of syscourse knowledge. I just hope they know what this might bring. If you're reading this, hon -- maybe just... delete your blogs and get out of syscourse. Make something new for yourself. Trust me, I've done that plenty of times.

Anyways.

@sophieinwonderland

Let's have a chat. Okay? I mean this completely, 1000 percent genuinely. I want to talk to you. WE want to talk to you. And we want to understand what the hell is going on with you.

Context: A friend of ours is in the hospital. This friend is in the hospital... likely because of you. Well, somewhat -- I'm not here to convince you that you, personally, are at fault for someone else's actions. You did not personally give them whatever implement of choice they used to nearly off themselves. But you have got to see that what you're doing -- what you've done for a very, very long time, causes people a lot of harm. And you have acknowledged it. Repeatedly.

You know that you do. You know you're hurting people. And you've shown constantly on your blog that you're okay with that.

This isn't the first time someone has been hospitalized after you took grievance with their tumblr blog. This is the second time someone has notably been hospitalized after interactions with you, and far from the last time someone's harmed themselves over you. I should know -- I'm a user who tried so desperately not to self harm, but you are the person who brought me to that point, many moons ago in a fit of hell and despair.

Don't worry, I'm all good -- it was barely anything. But it still stings emotionally, to this day.

The user in question who's currently hospitalized is not, and has not been stable, for a very long time. They're someone I hold dear, but I think we can all admit that people with DID sometimes struggle greatly with making really dumb choices. They've made a lot. This isn't the first time they've been in the hospital.

But Dude made a promise to them when it seemed like things were going to hell this time around, something to try and encourage things to go the right way.

Your named was tossed out too. Because of course it was. Like it or not, Sophie, you are 100% the biggest syscourser on Tumblr. You post the most and have the most followers. You are syscourse. And Dude's promise was to take syscourse down.

... But I don't think anyone in this situation really understands what that means.

Sophie, you are a person. Not a blog. Not a stance. Not a slogan, or a preacher, or whatever conspiracy you're trying to lean into next to explain away the angry actions you've shown more and more lately, to somehow explain why it's okay to say the things you've been saying, even when it sometimes, just maybe, seems like... you just don't want to.

As people may know, a (from my perspective, horrifically written, incredibly inaccurate, and only harmful) callout post for Sophie was recently posted to syscourse. What people don't know is that I, Mod Quill, was approached to help write it. Mod Dude was involved in the callout post as well, though to what extent I don't know.

I flat out refused to work on it. And that's because I knew exactly what would happen. I knew my friend would be hurt, or maybe even hospitalized over this. I knew that syscourse -- that Sophie -- would drive someone over the edge again. I knew that the document -- filled with inaccuracies and vaguities and nothingburgers to the max -- would be easy for Sophie to pick apart, easy to dismantle, and it would all start with debunking so much of the very real pain and suffering my friend has gone through.

And yeah.

I was right. Go figure. Maybe I should've done more, my brain inevitably says, I need to help everyone, I should've fought harder to prevent this... Dumbass brain.

Sigh.

Dude edit/addition: I knew the doc was coming, and while I won't say that I was supportive of it going out (I made the owner sit on it for several weeks), I made no effort to stop it. Having made my own callouts on sophie (and Quill, you have, too), I understood the need, and the positives and negatives. I knew Sophie could handle it. I was approached to read and check it, as my posts had been used in it. I even offered to help add to it, though... I ended up being completely unable to. I still can't actually remember anything in the doc. I'm doubting if I actually read it because it seems I retained nothing from it. This likely stems from the fact that I have been in contact with Sophie for several weeks now, getting to know her. I'm so incredibly conflicted on this topic that I chose to stay out of it publicly from start to finish, without comment or publicity. For the first time since I started my blog, I'm not feuding with anyone, I'm having such amazing conversations with people, I feel like I'm making more of a difference than ever before. Certain people have left me alone as I stayed under the drama radar.

I'm so tired of being angry...

My thoughts on the doc and sophie are complicated. I'm sorry to anyone that was hurt through my uncertainty. Instead of helping with the doc, we talked about life, experiences, medicalization, and I was... so happy. I don't think that I really thought beyond... "I wish I had spoken to some of these people sooner."

It's important to note that I don't blame the doc or author for any of this.

Syscourse, as a whole, does not address any sort of recovery, or help, or even just acknowledgement of the issues we are facing, as human beings, as systems, as people on this earth. It is just slinging words at each other with varying degrees of value. And I'll be the first to admit that I have relished that battleground. I have loved the feeling that I might be able to throw the right words or the right punches and get someone to either change, or deactivate. I've also wrestled with those feelings, tried to explain them away, mirroring what I see on Sophie's blog constantly.

But as more and more time goes on and I grow up and I see the damage that's done to me and my friends, I have grown to absolutely despise this place. I try my best to spread what joy I can. I also know it's really not enough.

Sophie, I have sent you, if I had to hazard a guess, at least 10 anons this past year, all of them variations on themes. Either positivity, begging you to take a break, or explaining to you in excruciating detail how I know you are hurting people, and why that hurts so badly. And... each and every single one of those have been met with dismissal. With that godforsaken shrug emoji that convinced me for years that you just... did not care, at all, about other people.

And this isn't just you. I know I'm coming at you, but that's because you are the biggest source of Syscourse Grief(tm) for this particular friend. But lord knows people get enemies here, that's just par for the course. So, this goes for everyone.

Learn to fucking care about each other, for fucks sakes.

God, this really is a ramble. I thank everyone who's bearing with me.

For syscourse in general: Stop. Just... stop. For those who are considering it, just stop for a bit, and witness. Watch. See what happens. Because the ones who are obstinate -- primarily the overly aggressive anti-endos and pro-endos -- will fling their vitriol at each other. It will just get worse and worse, and you can witness syscourse eat itself alive.

For my friend in the hospital: I've already given you some advice, but genuinely, I really, really hope you take care of yourself. I pray that, when you get back, you maybe set syscourse aside. At most, discord is there, and that seems to at least be tamer. But you are young. You have so much future ahead, and coming from someone who is (unfortunately seen as) an older system, I can promise you that it gets beter.

For Dude: GO TAKE A FUCKING BREAK. You are recently retraumatized, recently through a severe surgery, and you are out here promising shit like "I'll burn syscourse to the ground for you"??? Play a fun game and pay attention to your fucking partners, take a fucking break and take care of yourself. Syscourse will wait for you. People will come and people will go, and it doesn't fucking matter. Your life is what matters and I'm so fucking scared watching you obsess over this one, small aspect of it. I'm so relieved you went to that fun pokemon blog. You aren't alone, you are so loved, and don't let this toxic ass place make you forget that.

And Sophie.

I'm going to give Dude a link to send to you. You don't have to take it if you don't want to. You don't even need to acknowledge this if you don't want to. But I'm swinging the door open and offering the olive branch. I know you don't use Discord much, but for gods sake, it's better than Tumblr DMs, and we both know how Tumblr is a mess.

I really hope you'll take me up on it.

And for everyone else.

Wait till you see what happens next.

Edit from Mod Quill: Well, what's next is evidently a need for clarification and yet another callout post. Hello, callout-post author. Thank you for your clarifications. Notably, I attempted to keep your URL out of this, for those who didn't know.

Anyways, for the fullest disclosure and context: I was approached by Mod Dude, who asked if I wanted to participate in "Sophie Drama, Anonymously." I agreed, though I'll admit I was hesitant due to my particular issues with that user. I was then added to a group chat involving an enormous callout post. Notably, it should be mentioned, callout posts are a major trigger of ours that we are still working on overcoming.

I clicked the document and saw it was a mess of grammar mistakes, poor formatting, and impossible for me to read without trembling. But given that I already have an intense distaste for the user who posted it, I wasn't about to tell them more personal details about myself, and I did not want to communicate with them any further due to my own fear of the instability of all those involved. I told them I disliked the callout post due to harassment that it would cause, that I feel Sophie is a person, and that they had better have contacted the user who was hurt -- who is once again revealed in the callout, unfortunately.

I tried to laugh it off and move on, and take care of my mental health. That's what I was lamenting above; the fact that I didn't say more. I felt bad that I didn't allow myself to damage my mental health further to craft a callout post -- something I have tried desperately to avoid since the one I made the mistake of writing years ago about the very user you wrote this callout post about -- and something I get roped into constantly.

I privately read the rest of the document after it had been posted in full, as I still have access to it and it is a publicly posted document. It was filled with things that I found to be either nothing important in particular (things that have already been discussed numerous times) or things that would just be inflammatory (i.e. the OAS sections). I talked with a friend on Discord about the document, to which we both agreed it was bad.

To the OP of the document: I didn't say any of this at the time because, as I said, I felt uneasy and could not be in that group chat. I explicitly said I would not be touching "it" (the group chat). I was taking care of my mental health.

I refused to work on it because, based on my past experiences and triggers, which I do not owe you and still alluded to anyways in my conversations with you, I knew it would end poorly. I tried my best to sway you in the moment, but I was not able to do so because of my own mental health.

So, yes, to clarify: My grievances with the document were not made known to the one who posted it, whom I never mentioned in the original post. I do not condemn the poster of the document. I was simply making my feelings about callout posts known. What is above is not a condemnation of the callout writer, nor a comment on them at all. I genuinely did not want the point of this post to be lost due to callout-post drama.

So let me reiterate the important part of all of this.

This post was about the state of syscourse and how people do not approach syscourse in a good way. It is constantly slinging hate at people, which is never justified.

Learn to fucking care about each other, for fucks sakes.

---

Mod dude, here...

I want to add something to this, but I don't know what. I mean, Quill said it all, quite well.

Hurt people... Hurt other people.

I've made the attempt, over the last year or so, to actually talk to some of the bigger names in syscourse, the ones usually active in the tags, endos and antis alike.

It reinforced that... we're all just fucking people, trying to get by.

Antis, have you even tried to empathize with the community you attack so quickly and cruelly? Imagine if people said those things to you or about CDD systems. Have you, personally, witnessed the things you claim are happening? Because I've been here a lot longer, and it seems you're making shit up. Consider that you should stop parroting everything you hear and stick to what you're actually seeing with your own eyes.

Endos, please don't forget that these are severely traumatized individuals that have probably never even been to therapy yet. If you're not yet, maybe you should get into therapy-- it doesn't automatically mean there's anything wrong, but everyone could use someone to talk to, and seeing what it's like could be really beneficial to understanding the other side and getting an unbiased view of your own behavior and beliefs.

These are real fucking people that are ending up in the hospital.

Quill, the rest of my mods, and I are real fucking people behind these screens.

Sophie is a real person. They just got a new dish washer that they saw on Circ's blog, I missed it, but she linked it to me, and now I'm looking at it. She's going to let me know how it works.

And you know what? This little countertop dishwasher feels a hell of a lot more real and important than anything in syscourse.

As Quill mentioned, I just went through a major surgery. I'm learning that...

I'll probably never be able to walk properly again. My life is forever changed, and I'm really struggling.

My cat just... passed. Feel free to go like that post, it would mean a lot to me.

None of you know that. The people who leaked my main and smeared my wonderful name don't know that.

Sophie didn't know that the last time we fought each other.

My friend didn't know that when I promised him I would bring syscourse down.

Maybe bringing it down isn't the answer.

Maybe just reminding you all that we're all people behind the screen is enough.

Fucking TALK to each other.

Make an attempt to learn and understand.

Talk about things that actually matter.

Grow the FUCK up.

Reblog to share a hug, because that's more worthwhile.

And most importantly.

Please keep our friend in mind while they're in the hospital.

Syscourse community, endos and antis, this is one of our own. A person you've likely interacted with before, that you've seen around.

We exist in this small bubble, all together. Whether we like it or not.

[grapejuicebluesrry]

28th may fic rec!

here are some fics i really enjoyed this month in no particular order!

Shadows Come With The Pain That You're Running From (Love Was Something You've Never Heard Enough) (51K) by yrsacd

a Band AU in which Harry isn't allowed to be who he really is and the North American Tour might bring some unexpected truths into the web of lies and also a bit of heat that has very little to do with the summer in the US.

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Help me (298K) by louxhazxx

Harry is innocent. Louis is not. Louis is a dom and a part of the BDSM community. Harry is not.

When Harry meets Louis and finds out about his lifestyle he wants him to teach him everything. Louis is hesitant at first, but what happens when he eventually agrees and they start a special kind of BDSM relationship without a contract? Will everything go well, or will there be complications?

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a crown of heartache (70K) by WordsInBloom28

The Royal Tail: an alpha den, a strip club, a place where secrets are concealed and consent is medicated. It’s also the place Harry has been trapped for the last three years.

Through luck or fate, Harry finds his way to Louis, a kind alpha who offers safety and comfort. After being freed from the confines of the den, Harry struggles to shake the darkness from his past.

He has a choice to make. Live in a mental prison of his own making or find the strength within himself to face his demons head on with Louis at his side.

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Could Be A Catastrophe (29K) by hazzahtomlinson | @itsnotreal

Louis is one of the two veterinarians in town and somehow gets lucky enough for Harry’s three cats to be his clients.

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giving you all you want and more (giving you every piece of me) (2.5K) by lousdelicatepointofview (starryhaze) | @starryhaze28

“Wanna feel pretty.” Harry whispers, looking up at the ceiling. His face is painted in a soft yellow hue that’s coming from the fairy lights Louis has hung all over his loft. His features look soft, cherubic even.

He’s so young, so young and broken and Louis always patches him up but never fixes him.

“You are my love.” Louis replies his finger tracing over the right laurel tattoo. And Louis knows by the way Harry grimaces that he doesn’t believe him.

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Together unfold (71K) by marcythesassykitten | @marcythesassykitten

the one where Louis is determined to be insecure and stubbornly lonely forever, until Harry comes along to mess up that particular plan.

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Written In The Stars? (50K) by unscattered_horizons

Niall is a writer. Well, technically he's a bar tender who's working towards the day when he pays the bills with his poetry. But for now, he works late and writes in the afternoon before his shifts, and shares a flat with his friend, Shawn. They were strangers before they lived together, but now they're inseparable.

His other friends from uni don't live far, and Louis and H have a kid now. Niall's in no rush to follow in their footsteps. He's happy with his life.

But he has a side job writing horoscopes for an online magazine, because London is expensive and he needs the cash. Niall may not realise it, but some of the horoscopes reveal more about his heart than he's ready to acknowledge. Niall's side gig might prove to be a catalyst for an entirely new life, one he didn't even know he wanted until it was staring right back at him, waiting for him to take a chance and trust his instincts.

OR

What I've been calling the horoscope fic. Inspired by a Tumblr post

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Maybe It's Heaven (81K) by therogueskimo | @bravetemptation

When Harry Styles finds himself forced to go home for Christmas, the last thing he expects is to fall in love.

But then he meets Louis Tomlinson … again.

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May You Enjoy Your New Life (264K) by aimmyarrowshigh

It begins for them all at the bungalow –

'Alright, time to lay out the cards. We’re in this together and hopefully, for the long haul, yeah? So I think – you know, we should just be honest. It’s deal-breakers time. That thing that like, if we’re gonna hate you or something, just tell us all now.'

When One Direction begins, Harry Styles is a sixteen-year-old boy foundering under the pressure of impending fatherhood. His ability to balance the sobering responsibility of caring for his tiny daughter, Millie, and the exhilaration of seeing his own dreams coming to fruition affects not only his future, but those of Liam, Zayn, Niall, and Louis, who never expected fealty to be the key to their success. But Liam is the first to show him how to grow up without growing old, and Zayn is the first to defend from the public what is private and precious. Louis -- Louis is the first for a lot of things; for most of the moments of Millie's life and for the moments of Harry's that matter. And Niall is the first to toast when Millie is born: Go maire sibh bhur saol nua -- 'may you enjoy your new life.'

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Allegiance to your burning heart (82K) by driveinbingo | @joekavaliers

“Have you written any more new songs?”

“I have, yeah. Lately they’re just…coming out of me.”

“Are there any more about me?”

He places a hand on the back of Louis’s neck, carding his fingers through the hair there. It’s getting long again, almost the length it was when Harry left. “They’re all about you.”

*

In the ten years since he last saw his ex-boyfriend, Harry has become very rich and very famous and everything's just great, thank you very much. He definitely doesn't even think about Louis anymore. And he's certainly not going to let a ghost from his past haunt him as he embarks on the biggest tour of his career.

Except Louis always did find a way to crawl underneath his skin, didn't he?

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Secrets in Winter (82K)by softfonds | @softfonds

If Harry Styles thought he was going to have a peaceful winter while staying far away from the rake who lived across the street, he was sorely wrong on two fronts. A Victorian AU.

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the very last drops of an ink pen (47K) by staybeautiful | @harruandlou

 just after midnight on Harry's 30th birthday, he realizes he can't do another year without change. So, he forces it. Breaking up with Louis might have hurt less if they weren't co-owners of Studio 28, living within walking distance of each other, and if he wasn't the thing Harry was most afraid of losing. Secluding themselves on their shared estate in an attempt to save their working relationship may shed a light on where everything else started going wrong. And perhaps give them a chance to fix it.

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Give Me Truths (110K) by iwillpaintasongforlou (The Rainbow Cookie series) | @canonlarry

the one in which Louis falls in love with a fragile boy and tells him every beautiful truth in the world, as long as it makes him happy.

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I Like to Watch (9K) by larry_hiatus | @larry-hiatus

If there’s one thing Harry loves, it’s watching his husband Louis get fucked by other men. After picking up a lad called Zayn who is baffled by this concept, the three men are in for a wild night.

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If you made it this far, here are some stats and a cupcake!

I read 37 fics and a total of 1,657,404 words (yes thats a lot but i love reading and also a fast reader)

×͜× 🧁🌼

[christiannerd]

IBS is a disability

TW for discussion/vent about how a disability affects me, and mention of having to hide pain

Disclaimer: I am new to Tumblr, and have yet to watch an etiquette video. If I have accidentally said or done anything I wasn't supposed to, it was entirely unintentional, and I deeply apologize. I will correct it as soon as I am made aware.

Warning: long post ahead (under the cut)

IBS should be considered a disability. I know a bunch of people in the disabled community online already consider it one, but legally it's not considered one.

Sure, im still able to have a job and do my school work, but that doesn't mean it doesn't make those things harder than it would be for someone who's digestive system isn't a mine field.

What happens when I have a flare-up at work? Which, by the way, has happened before. I can't just take a 2 hour bathroom break in the middle of my 8 hour shift! So I just stand there. in pain. ignoring the pain. keeping that customer-service smile on my face so the customers don't notice I'm in pain.

One time (before I had my meds, so the pain was a lot worse back then too) I was working a shift and my boss stationed me in the elevator. Literally the most useless job I could have been given, I was just there to press the buttons for customers. (I had a more important role at one specific spot in the shift, but that lasted like 5 minutes). I had a flareup towards the beginning of that shift. I could tell this was going to be a multi-hour bathroom visit, so I couldn't do anything about it until I got off work. I was in so much pain that I just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. But of course, I couldn't do that. I had to stand there, and smile, and keep working. So not only was I having to smile through the judgemental stares and comments bc I was being paid to press elevator buttons, but I had to ignore being in agonizing physical pain as well.

Its not that my IBS stops me from having a job, but it probably effects my performance at my job. Who can focus in that much pain? Sure that day focus wasn't really an issue bc I was just pressing elevator buttons, but in any other position it would have been a major problem. And if I dealt with the problem to make the pain go away, I'd lose several hours of work, on a consistent basis, and probably be fired for it.

And as far as school, hygine, and social life goes, I lose several hours out of my day, every day, to being stuck in the bathroom trying desperately to make the pain go away. You think that doesn't effect my ability to find time for homework? You think that doesn't effect my ability to make it to class? You think that doesn't effect my ability to take care of my body in other ways?

I very often have to choose between going to class or taking a shower, because the time I was suppose to be in the shower, I was on the toilet. I often have to choose between getting my homework done, and spending time with friends, because the time I was supposed to be doing homework, I was stuck in the bathroom. I know homework vs social life is a common time balancing problem for students, but for most people it's "less time with friends to get the homework done", but for me it's very often "no time with friends to get the homework done". It's so isolating. If I didn't see these people at church, and at club meetings, I'd probably never get to see them. (and yes, I have missed or been late to those bc of my IBS as well)

My IBS has kept me up until the middle of the night before. It's made me miss class. It's made me late to things. It's made me miss exams! (Thank goodness my professors were understanding enough to let me take it another time).

The only ways I can manage my IBS is by taking meds, and/or severely restricting my diet. My pills help me be able to avoid some of the pain from eating food, but like any disability aid, it doesn't help 100%. Without my meds, most vegetables are completely out of the question. So is a long list of fruits, and so many other things. Even tea hurts me! Coffee too! Meds help, but I'm still in pain. Less pain, but still pain. And im still spending hours in the bathroom. 1-2 hours at a time, instead of 3-4, but it's still countable in terms of hours.

This is a lifelong condition that I was born with. If any other part of my body was effecting me this way, no one would doubt that I'm disabled. Heck, this effects me more than some of the recognized disabilities that I have! How is this not a disability?

[bruh-changbin]

ivy league

pairing: uni boyfriend!hyunjin x afab reader

genre: fluff + smut (minors dni)

warnings: fingering (f receiving), public sex, lowkey exhibitionism, oral sex (m receiving), snowballing (tis’ the season), little bit of cum eating, unprotected sex (be safe), piv, creampie, tit sucking, both are kinda switches?, alcohol consumption

word count: 5.8K

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR MOFOS!!! my new years resolution is to find out why hyunjin is so fucking hard to write for 😻 maybe it’s bc his personality is kinda all over the place or maybe i just suck but anyways i hope i did him justice. (also for the sake of this fic pls pretend he still has long brown hair bc that was my fav look on him ever)i do apologize as this was supposed to be posted right after new years but i have been a busy busy gal as of late. nevertheless, i hope you enjoy (also apologies if this posts weird tumblr is being A MAJOR PAIN IN THE ASS AS I TRY TO EDIT THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

photos not mine, credit to original owners (retrieved from pinterest)

studying away from home was always a dream of yours. there’s something so enticing about living and learning in a new city that piques your interest. when you got an acceptance letter from an ivy league school a few hours away from your hometown, you didn’t think twice before enrolling. 

only then did you find out that 90% of the student body at ivy league schools - or any high status campus, really - are insufferable. there are wannabe jane austen’s and christopher nolan’s at every turn, griping about how getting a 98% on their most recent paper just isn’t good enough (news flash: it is). 

ergo, every time you’ve tried to befriend someone you met in the student centre or library or in one of your lectures you’ve discovered they’re too obsessed with their status to even hold a proper conversation with you. there’s only one person who makes studying here at least somewhat bearable: hwang hyunjin.

you met hyunjin in september, a mere 2 days before classes were set to begin for the fall semester. it was somewhat unfortunate, your first encounter, seeing as it entailed you spilling your iced french vanilla all over hyunjin’s silky white button up top. you were trying to shove your wallet back into your bag as you left a coffee shop and he was enthralled in his phone, both of you too distracted to notice the other before colliding. 

you both apologized profusely, you for being careless and him for being in the way (he wasn’t) until you insisted he came to your apartment to get cleaned up since it’s only a 3 minute walk away, i feel horrible for ruining your clothes. 

he complied, and you led him to your small studio apartment, giving him some privacy to shower and steal whatever clothes in your closet that fit him. 

when he stepped out of your bathroom, hair still damp and skin glowing, the rounds of i’m so sorry’s started up again as you handed him back his shirt, now with a large coffee stain on the chest that even your tide pen couldn’t tackle. he grabbed his shirt before chuckling, revealing that he too was a frequent customer of the cafe you were at and often opted to go there instead of indulging in the overpriced shit they sell on campus. 

upon discovering that you were both students at the same university you got to talking, which led to hyunjin staying for dinner at your place, which led to an impromptu make-out session on your second-hand couch. when you made it known that you wanted to take things further, he initially declined because hey, i’m not that kind of guy. in the end he couldn’t keep his hands off of you and you were more than happy to lead him down the hallway to your bedroom. 

soon after he had you writhing under your cotton bed sheets while making you cum on his tongue… and his fingers and his cock. his shaggy, shoulder length mocha hair felt like silk in between your fingers and the whines and whimpers he let out when you tugged on it sounded like heaven.

so, your first encounter with hyunjin was a catastrophe turned fuck session turned we should do this again sometime…

now it’s the heart of winter and you’re about to sock your boyfriend in the jaw when you see him leaning against the brick exterior of your lecture hall, the tips of his ears stained cherry red and his breath passing his lips in the form of a cloud.

“hyunjin i told you to stop waiting for me outside of my lecture hall’s, you’re seriously gonna get frostbite!” you emphasize by pinching his frozen ears - he winces.

“what happened to hello? how are you?” he complains before slipping his hand into the pocket of your puffer jacket and intertwining his fingers with yours; his hands are so cold you flinch.

“well sorry i don’t want you to get sick,” you roll your eyes while shoving your headphones into your tote bag, not needing them now that hyunjin has graced you with his presence, “and you know that class always puts me in a bad mood.”

“ahh yes that’s the one with the, what was it, douchey prof and even douchier students, right?”

“that’s the one.” you sniffle, nose going numb from the cold wind biting at your face as you let hyunjin drag you across campus to god knows where.

“well turn that frown upside down, i’m about to treat you to the most romantic study date ever,” hyunjin asserts while pulling you in the direction of the student lounge, careful not to walk too quickly so you don’t slip on the ice hidden underneath the blanket of snow on the ground.

although the trek from your lecture hall to the student common room is quite short, only subjecting you to the outside weather conditions for a mere minute or two, you rejoice when you step inside and regain shelter from the cold. a blast of hot air greets you and hyunjin shakes the snow off of his perfectly styled hair, retracting his hand from your jacket pocket.

the two of you make your way down the corridor before waltzing into the main study area of the student lounge, seating yourself on a worn in brown leather couch. 

once your winter jacket is discarded you pull your textbook out of your bag, using your peripherals to watch hyunjin pull out his laptop and begin editing photos for his photography class.

it’s serene; watching the snow fall through the window to your left, feeling the warmth radiating from hyunjin who’s sitting to your right. the feeling of hyunjin’s hand (which is still quite cold) on your knee comforts you and you immerse yourself in the words of your textbook, wanting to catch up on the chapters you were supposed to read for this week but didn’t have the time or patience to.

alas, you should’ve known that hyunjin had… other intentions when he said he was taking you on the most romantic study date ever. it only takes a few minutes before you feel his hand inching its way up your leg. 

his eager fingers dance across your thigh before groping your pelvis, causing you to clamp your legs shut in surprise, trapping your boyfriend’s hand in between them.

“are you fucking kidding me hyunjin? we’re in public…”

hyunjin scans the vicinity of the student lounge, which, admittedly, there are only two other students present, both so absorbed in their respective textbooks that they’re practically drooling. but that doesn’t mean you’re about to let him finger bang you in a public area in front of your fellow students. 

“what, you don’t wanna show everyone how well you take my fingers?” by now his index and middle fingers are playing with the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to give the go ahead before dipping underneath.

“come on, let me play with you.”

try as you may, you can’t resist the twisting of your stomach and the pitter-patter of your heart at hyunjin’s words. by now your pussy is leaking indefinitely and you shift in your spot in a pathetic attempt to alleviate the dull throbbing you feel in your pelvis.  

the more you squirm the more pressure you feel from hyunjin’s hand trapped in between your thighs, the heel of his palm pushing against your cunt that’s becoming more sensitive by the second. 

a pleasure induced haze clouds your brain and soon enough you’ve convinced yourself that hyunjin fingering you in the student lounge is in fact a good idea. it’s not like anyone can see you, right? you’re sandwiched between the wall and hyunjin, who’s broad shoulders block you from the curious gaze of others - no one would be the wiser. 

with a bashful look on your face you ease your legs open, granting hyunjin access to your sticky panties and aching clit. the dexterity in which hyunjin’s hand pushes past your waistband and into the dripping folds of your cunt almost gives you whiplash.  

like the little bitch he is he teases you for several moments, the tip of his index finger drawing lazy circles around your clit before gliding down to your hole and then back up again, never giving you what you actually want. 

you know hyunjin’s enjoying watching you twitch and shift in your seat as he plays with your cunt; even more so does he enjoy watching you bite back a frustrated whine when he pulls his hand from you entirely, takes a second to coat his digits in his own saliva by sucking on them, and shove his hand back down your pants.

with help from hyunjin’s makeshift lube his slender spit-covered fingers slip inside of you with little resistance, causing your stomach to flutter and churn. the stretch is subtle yet pleasurable and your body automatically folds in on itself: head hung low, knees knocking together, back hunched. 

if anyone were to walk by they would hopefully assume that you’re just worn out from the end of semester stress and not clue in on the fact that your boyfriend is knuckle deep in your pussy. 

hyunjin starts with small movements, his finger gliding in and out of you slowly while curling upwards in a ‘come-hither’ type motion. he’s trying to make his movements as undetectable as possible, struggling against your tight cunt that sucks him in with each and every thrust of his fingers. 

lucky for you your lover was blessed with long fingers, ones that reach so deep inside of you with so little effort that it makes the room spin. little shocks rock your body when hyunjin fully sheathes his index and middle fingers inside of you, the cold metal of the rings adorning his fingers a stark contrast to your hot wet pussy.

the pace of hyunjin’s fingers quickens; your bottom lip stings from how hard you’re biting down on it. your breath leaves you in the form of forced exhales through your nose, the urge to say fuck it and moan aloud for all of your peers to hear becoming almost irresistible and you pray that hyunjin’s going to make you finish before you do something you’ll regret. 

hyunjin pushes his fingers impossibly deeper into you, the heel of his palm now providing the most delicious friction on your neglected clit. you resist the urge to grind your hips against his hand. 

“are you close?” hyunjin whispers, his plush lips caressing the shell of your ear and sending shivers down your spine. how long has his face been that close to yours? you think, but you’re too out of it to turn your thoughts into words. you just nod frantically, eyes rolling backwards as your impending orgasm looms closer and closer.

the sensation of hyunjin’s fingers pistoning in and of you and his palm bumping your clit is enough to quickly send you over the edge, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you can taste the metallic tang of blood against your tongue. 

you cream all over his fingers while sucking in a breath so big it hurts your lungs so as to prevent yourself from making any noise. the grip you have on hyunjins wrist goes limp and you wince as he pulls his fingers from you, placing a chaste kiss on your temple as if to say i’m proud of you. 

with that hyunjin casually sucks your wetness from his fingers, briefly wiping them on his pants before returning to editing his photos on his laptop. you struggle to regain your focus on the textbook splayed out in front of you, the pages swimming before your eyes as the pleasure in the pit of your stomach slowly subsides.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“i still don’t understand why you were so adamant about using my kitchen to bake instead of yours.”

hyunjin glances up from his phone at your words, his pupils so dark they remind you of tapioca pearls. 

“i live with three frat guys, my kitchen is a biohazard.”

ah yes, that’s right. hyunjin’s roommates, although very nice guys who treat you with respect, are frat guys nonetheless. chan is the cleanest of them all, although that's mostly due to him eating out the majority of the time. changbin and jisung however…

you raise your hands in defence, shuddering at the thought of the army of glasses filled with stale protein shakes that greeted you the last time you ventured into hyunjin’s apartment.

upon seeing you wash your hands in preparation for baking hyunjin joins you behind the kitchen counter. his ring-clad fingers roll up the sleeves of his white long sleeve top before tucking the stray hairs in front of his face behind his ears. 

“alright, what are we baking?” he says with his game-face on.

“i was thinking we could do gingerbread… you know, since it’s the holidays.” you begin to search for a recipe on your phone.

hyunjin makes a sour face at this: lips puckered, brows furrowed, eyelids lowered. dramatic. “i don’t like gingerbread,” he states.

“oh? why not?”

“it’s too spicy.”

this motherfucker…

“...spicy? what are you, twelve?”

“i have a sensitive palate!” your boyfriend whines like a toddler. 

“shut the fuck up hwang, we’re making gingerbread.”

hyunjin hangs his head in defeat while you trifle through your cupboards for the proper ingredients. soon enough a small pile is formed on your countertop and you begin sorting everything in order to start baking. a slender hand caresses your lower back and you jump slightly.

“you know it kinda turns me on when you’re all authoritative like that…”

of course. leave it to hyunjin to get horny at literally any hour of the day. 

“you’re insufferable. does hyunjin jr. ever take a day off?”

hyunjin scoffs, “he does, actually. remember the day you were so swamped with the paper you were writing and me, being the best boyfriend ever, had the decency to not try to get in your pants so you could focus?”

“wow, so chivalrous.”

hyunjin playfully shoves your head and then pats your hair as if to assure you his teasing is all in good fun (you know it is).

for someone who was so adamant about baking for the holidays, hyunjin is incredibly inept in the kitchen. first he adds baking powder to the mixing bowl instead of baking soda, then proceeds to knock over your precious bottle of pure vanilla extract, followed by him getting molasses on his tongue and wailing in disgust because it tastes like straight ass! this is all tied together by him spilling flour all over your countertops because why the fuck not. 

“remind me to never allow you to have access to my kitchen ever again,” you huff in frustration while rolling out your batter, a thin layer of sweat forming on your upper lip.

“why? I’m having fun… are you not having fun?” a cheeky grin is plastered across his face as he places his hand on the flour-covered counter before smacking your ass so hard you shriek. whipping your head around, you gape at the perfect flour handprint imprinted on the seat of your favourite pair of pants. 

“WHAT THE FUCK HYUNJIN!!???” you shove his chest before frantically dusting the flour off of your rear. hyunjin can’t seem to control his laughter.

“payback!” he says cheerily while wiping his hands on the hem of his shirt. by now the smell and taste of flour has filled the air of your kitchen. 

“payback for what you dipshit??”

he smiles, “for when you spilled coffee on my shirt.”

“are you fucking kidding me hwang? that was like four months ago!” you return to kneading the dough in front of you, although now you do so with much more aggression, “need i remind you that the coffee incident is how we met in the first place?”

“i knowww~” his palm glides across your upper back in a soothing motion before he rests his chin your your shoulder, “i’m just teasing.”

you bite back a smile before glancing at hyunjin perched on your shoulder, his squishy cheeks matching the soft gaze of his eyes. domestic bliss. you continue to knead the dough in front of you until it’s ready to be rolled out.

when you turn to look at hyunjin again he’s leaning into you even more, pink lips puckered slightly and eyelids closed causing his lashes to grace the tops of his cheeks.

you throw flour in his face.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it’s new years eve and you don’t know what to wear.

“just throw on something skimpy and call it a day,” jeongin says through the speaker of your phone, “you’re supposed to be here in like an hour, remember?”

“i can get ready in an hour,” you respond while holding various garments up to your body and gazing at your reflection in the mirror. so many options, so little time.

“i don’t know about that y/n, remember halloween?”

you do remember halloween. more specifically, you remember jeongin whining and bitching for the entirety of the two and a half hours it took for you to transform yourself into ty lee from avatar: the last airbender. it was worth it though, you looked exactly like her. 

“come on, that was a one time thing. i’ll be at your place on time!” you whine while tossing an unworthy crop top onto the pile of clothes on your floor that’s steadily increasing.

“i don’t know y/n you’re pretty indecisive and-” you hang up on him, not wanting to hear him bitch and whine about your inability to make even the most minuscule decisions. 

it takes you half an hour to choose the perfect outfit, and then another half hour to do your makeup and hair, followed by a fifteen minute stare-down with your reflection in the mirror as you question everything. is this really the best look i can come up with? your head hurts and you haven’t even started drinking yet. 

“y/n~” hyunjin whines from his place in the living room, “are you almost ready?”

you give him a half-assed yea before exiting your bedroom, giving yourself and your outfit one final check in the mirror.

in preparation for tonight’s celebration you helped hyunjin bleach and dye his hair a shade of icy blue last night, almost permanently damaging his bathroom sink and counter in the process. his now cerulean mane matches the blue of his denim jacket that has an eye-catching collar lined with fluffy white fur (faux of course - no animal cruelty here). his pants are denim as well, a quintessential canadian tuxedo, and just a hint of silver glitter is detectable on his eyelids. you could eat him right the fuck up. 

“you look cute,” you purr before waltzing over to your boyfriend and standing in front of where he’s sat on the couch.

“as do you,” his eyes scan your body, “the five hours it took you to get ready paid off.”

“i did not take five hours to get ready hwang, you’re just impatient.” you pat his leg as if to say get off your ass, it’s time to go, prompting him to push himself off of his couch and over to the coat rack by his front door.

“this coat totally clashes with my outfit,” you complain as you pull on your thick puffer jacket.

hyunjin feigns sympathy, “it’s either that or you freeze. come on, chan’s wondering why we’re not there yet.”

hyunjin all but yanks you out the door, locking it behind him before the two of you step onto the bustling city streets that are teeming with people searching for a place to drink and celebrate. 

arriving at jeongin’s a mere couple of hours before midnight, you rid yourself of your chunky winter coat and start to mingle with the rest of the crowd. hyunjin, despite knowing more people at the party than you, stands behind you like a lost baby sheep for the entire night, waiting for you to loop him into whatever conversation you’re having. 

you briefly speak with jeongin, who teases you for arriving late (how he managed to spot you and hyunjin sneaking in later than you said you would arrive is beyond you) and then encourages you to get a drink and ‘let loose’.

in the kitchen you help yourself to whatever alcohol you can find - most of the selection isn’t to your liking and you regret not bringing your own drinks from home. nevertheless, you force some pathetic margarita mix down your throat before spotting hyunjin’s roommates, chan, changbin and jisung, in the crowd and heading over to converse with them.

time seems to fly by and soon enough there are only a few minutes left until it’s time to ring in the new year. someone, most likely felix, blasts madonna through the speakers and a livestream of the new york ball drop is displayed on the tv in the living room.

“y/n?” 

“yes hyunjin?”

he hesitates, starry eyes looking everywhere but your own, “will you be my new year’s kiss?”

you stifle a laugh; the poor boy looks like he’s about to puke after asking you that so you try your best to play nice.

“of course i will.” you caress your boyfriend's cheek ever so gently, his cheeks turning rosy and flushed as you do so.

around you the cheers from the other partygoers have increased as the countdown displayed on the tv hits the thirty second mark. as the ball descends on the screen your fingers reach for hyunjin, grasping his wrist in excitement as the two of you start to countdown alongside everyone else.

“3….2….1….HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!”

as soon as the clock strikes midnight hyunjin’s pillowy pink lips are attached to yours, capturing you in a heartfelt kiss to celebrate the ending of an old year and beginning of a new one. it would be a crime not to reciprocate so you do, only pulling away when you hear jeongin start to make gagging noises at the two of you over everyone else's cheers. 

felix jumps onto the couch and changbin uncorks a bottle of pommery cuvée louise with a celebratory pop! 

before you can approach changbin and ask for a glass of champagne that he splurged on for the special occasion, you’re being dragged down the hallway. away from the music and cheering and people and into a dark, empty bedroom; based on the decor you assume it’s felix’s.

the metallic click of a door being shut and locked echoes throughout the empty room and when you turn to face hyunjin pursues you again. away from the curious gazes of bystanders he kisses you with unrestrained passion and lust - a kiss that isn’t just a simple display of affection but a kiss that says i want this to lead to something more. 

in the confines of this empty bedroom you allow yourself to melt into his lips, his touch. you inhale his scent and push your tongue past his teeth and into his mouth, tasting a hint of the miller lite he was sipping on earlier on his tongue. with ease hyunjin makes his way down your jaw and to your neck, placing affectionate open mouth kisses against the sensitive skin of your throat. occasionally you feel his canines nip you before his tongue glides over your skin.

“i’ve been wanting to be alone with you since we left the apartment,” hyunjin admits sheepishly, the ends of his hair tickling your ear.

“is that why you spent the entire night hiding behind me?”

like a deer in headlights, hyunjin freezes, “maybe…” you can feel his lips curl into a small smile from where they’re attached to your neck.

not wanting to waste any more time you shove hyunjin off of you, your hands grasping the collar of his denim jacket before dragging it down his shoulders and arms, followed by his shirt. hyunjin follows suit and moves to unbutton his jeans, pulling them down his thick thighs. now he stands in front of you wearing only his briefs, his hard cock straining against the material, the glow from the moon painting his skin a cool shade of blue.

when you step closer to him you can feel his breath fan across your face, watch his eyes swim with curiosity and enamourment, see his chest rise and fall with each and every shaky breath. your fingertips hook into the elastic waistband of his briefs, yanking them down and letting them pool at his ankles before gently guiding him to sit on the bed behind him.

now that hyunjin’s seated you move to kneel in front of him, kissing your way down the soft milky skin of his abs and around his belly button and the insides of his thighs. his cock stands fully erect, and you lick your lips before getting yourself ready to suck him off. 

when you first fucked hyunjin all those months ago you were taken aback at how perfect his cock was. not to sound cliche, but it felt as if the two of you were destined to be together with how well he fit inside of your cunt and down your throat. now, you admire him once again before licking him from base to tip.

time is of the essence you think before taking his length in your hot mouth.

over the course of time you’ve spent dating and fucking hyunjin you’ve discovered that he’s very sensitive… and very vocal. as soon as his cock is in your mouth he’s struggling to keep quiet, the veins on his neck tensing and his knuckles white as he grips the bedsheets underneath him. it’s not like anyone would hear him lest they be pressed up right against the bedroom door, but still, he tries his best to preserve at least a little bit of his dignity. 

for the sake of your throat you wrap your hand around the base of hyunjin’s dick, opting to jerk what you can’t comfortably fit in your mouth. the soft muscle of your tongue expertly wraps around his length as you begin to bob your head, starting off slow so you don’t overwhelm hyunjin (who already seems to be going into sensory overload). 

the movements of your hand are in tandem with those of your mouth, the nails that you got done for new years looking so perfect wrapped around his sensitive cock. small beads of sweat begin to form on your temple as you continue to work hyunjin to his release, not wanting to stop until he’s satisfied. your knees are already starting to ache from being pressed against the cold, hard floor but you pay the discomfort no mind.

above you, hyunjin’s struggling to keep himself under control. he’s been on edge all evening, and now that you’re having your way with him he can’t quite contain his delectation. surely there are other people fucking at this party right now, right? what does it matter if he makes a bit of noise?

fuck dignity, he wants to let you know how good you’re making him feel. 

hyunjin’s bottom lip throbs in relief when he releases it from his teeth, allowing his head to fall back while groans of pleasure shamelessly tumble from his mouth. 

your ears strain to block out the noises from the ongoing party so you can hyperfocus on every single sound that passes hyunjin’s lips. your lips wrap around his length like a glove, providing him with the most perfect amount of friction. you pick up the pace in order to get him there faster, ignoring the slight cramping in your wrist.

“y/n i-” one of his hands lets go of the duvet and wraps around the back of your head, “i think i’m gonna-” he cuts himself off with a cry of desperation. 

with reluctance you pull your lips off of his cock, continuing to jerk him with your mouth agape and tongue sticking out. with a needy, high-pitched moan that he does nothing to try to suppress, hyunjin pumps his load into your waiting mouth.

his cum is pure and white like the snow falling softly outside of the bedroom window. it sits hot and heavy on your tongue as you rise from your spot on the floor, watching with hungry eyes as hyunjin’s pink-stained chest heaves sighs of pleasure before you press your lips to his. both of your mouths open automatically, his tongue slipping past your teeth allowing him to taste himself. your tongues swap semen and saliva and you reluctantly pull away when you need to swallow and regain your breath.

the view of hyunjin panting and covered in a sheen of sweat, his own cum seeping from the corners of his mouth, is a sight to behold. you’ve never laid eyes on anything so sinful yet so holy and beautiful at the same time - your panties become unbearably wet. 

hyunjin stares at you with eagle eyes as you rid yourself of your clothing, tossing each garment on top of his so a small pile is formed on the floor. 

in one swift move you’re on top of him, knees digging into the firm mattress on either side of his bony hips. without saying a word you line his cock, that’s already semi-hard again, up with the soaked hole of your pussy before sinking down his shaft. the two of you whine and groan into eachothers mouths at the sensation, and you still when your hips are flush with his. 

“i don’t… i don’t think i’m gonna last long,” hyunjin whines so pathetically you go weak in the knees. ugh! you wanna lick him all over. 

“that’s okay,” you coo while running your fingers through his hair, “just want you to feel good.”

grasping his shoulders for stability, you temptingly grind your pelvis against his. the tip of his cock is nestled deep inside of you that it makes you feel so unbelievably full and content. it’s moments like these where you wish to be consumed by hyunjin, wish to hold him and be in his hold forever and ever. 

the slick, wet sounds of you fucking hyunjin raw fill the room, your cunt sucking him deeper and deeper with each and every roll of your hips. your vision goes blurry when he attaches his soft lips to your breast, switching between sucking on it gently and using his tongue to tease your sensitive nipple.

the soft whimpers and please go faster’s that your boyfriend emits encourage you to pick up the pace, your hip bones knocking against his with each gyration. by now your clit is begging for attention so you lower your hand to press quick, somewhat careless circles into it, hissing at the pleasure it provides. 

the need to cum begins to creep its way into your senses: your vision becomes spotted and blurry, your legs begin to quiver and shake, the pit in your lower abdomen grows bigger and bigger threatening to swallow you whole. hyunjin continues to sloppily suck on your tit, the sensation going straight to your aching cunt.

no words need to be exchanged in order for each of you to know that the other is close. it’s evident in the way your movements become more frantic desperate and in the way hyunjin’s blunt nails dig into the flesh of your thighs, his jaw going slack against your breast. 

a few more movements and you reach your orgasm, muffling a lewd and graphic moan by biting down on hyunjin’s shoulder. for several moments it feels as if you’re on cloud nine. sparks fly behind your closed eyelids and the ringing in your eyes is loud enough to block out the sound of the party (which you almost forgot about) but not the increasingly loud moans coming from hyunjin.  you can hear and feel him cumming a few seconds after you, his stomach tensing as he cries out for you.

he spills his seed inside of you and you shudder, feeling incredibly warm and worn out. 

with limbs feeling like lead, you lift yourself off of hyunjin before collapsing onto the mattress, the duvet cover immediately clinging to your back that’s damp with sweat. you feel hyunjin’s cum slowly begin to seep out of you and you cringe, knowing that you’re going to have to explain and apologize to felix (or whoever the owner of this room is).

beside you, hyunjin works to get his breathing back under control, his eyes closed with a blissed-out expression on his face.

“i don’t wanna get up,” he whispers into the dark room.

“so don’t.”

the two of you lie there, basking in the post-orgasm bliss that  puts you on the verge of sleep. the room smells of sex and sweat and you can’t help the small smile that makes its way onto your face, knowing that there’s no other way you’d rather spend ringing in the new year. 

you hear him moving before you feel his touch. the soft tips of his fingers caress your clammy palms before intertwining with yours, an affectionate move that has your cheeks flushing and makes you wonder how did i get so god damn lucky?

if it weren’t for hyunjin your ivy league studies would be filled with empty days and empty nights. you somehow managed to find solace in a sensitive, 5’10” boy who teases you and then whines when you tease him back. on days where the cold seems to be unbearable he keeps you warm with his skin on your skin, his lips on your lips, his heart to your heart. 

without him you’d be stuck at a prestigious school filled with prestigious people pursuing a prestigious degree that you’re not sure you even like, yet he somehow makes you forget all of that. 

and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[drabbles-mc]

At Least

Greg House x James Wilson

Written for the 2024 Hurt/Comfort Exchange!

Warnings: 18+, drug use

Words: 2.4k

A/N: wrote this for an exchange and i finally get to post it here! if there are any house md fanfic readers on tumblr, i hope you enjoy! 🫡

“So no one has heard from House?” Wilson asked as he stood in the doorway of the lab.

Everyone was shaking their heads, giving their version of, “No,” as an answer. None of them were looking at him at first, though, too wrapped up in the tests that they were doing. It wasn’t until Foreman realized that Wilson was still lingering in the doorway that he looked away from what he was actually doing. He still didn’t say anything, instead just giving Wilson a pointed look, eyebrows raised.

Wilson took the cue. “And that wasn’t concerning to…anyone?”

Foreman laughed, one that was more cruel than it was humorous. “Why would it be concerning? When is House not avoiding doing work at all costs? Why do you think we’re all here and he’s not?”

Wilson was trying not to take the bait, trying to keep his voice even. “But you haven’t heard anything? Not even a phone call just to distract you?”

“Nothing,” Foreman confirmed with a shake of his head.

Wilson sighed. “Right.”

He wanted to have more to say, but he came up empty. Instead, he finally turned and headed back out the door to leave the rest of them to their work. Work that House had assigned to them and not bothered to follow up on. That was as strange as any of it. Even if he didn’t really care how the patient was doing, even if he knew in the back of his head that his team wouldn’t have an answer yet, he’d still follow-up. Most times he did it just to chastise them, but it was still a follow-up. The silence was making Wilson uneasy.

The rest of House’s team was going to be trapped in the lab for the foreseeable future, no matter how late it was. Wilson wasn’t resigned to the same fate, though. He promptly headed back to his office to grab his jacket and the rest of his things, and then started for the parking lot to leave. There was a split second when he got into his car when he lied to himself, told himself that he was going home. But once he got to the first stoplight, he knew that he had to give up the act. Throwing his directional on, he turned and started to make his way towards House’s place.

He saw the motorcycle parked out front and that gave him a tiny shred of comfort. At least he was probably home. Once he found a spot to park his car, Wilson quickly made his way towards House’s front door. He was digging his keys out as he walked, but he still stopped at the door and knocked out of courtesy. Something House wouldn’t know anything about.

After a second round of knocking Wilson used his key. He announced himself as he pushed the door open. “Let the record show that I did try knocking.”

He walked deeper inside, looking at the living room as he did. Nothing really seemed out of place. There were a couple takeout boxes on the table, but that was about as normal as it got with him. The television was on, the volume low but still audible. The frown on Wilson’s face grew deeper as he continued to wind his way from one room to the next. When he didn’t see House in the kitchen he knew that there was only one place that he would likely be, and Wilson was afraid of what he might be walking into.

The bathroom door was ajar, and he could see the light creeping out through the gap. He found himself taking deep breaths as he got closer. He was trying to steady himself, prepare himself for whatever might be on the other side of the door. He reached forward, resting his fingertips against the door, ready to push it open. Instead, he pulled his hand back, closing it into a fist, raising it getting ready to knock.

“Don’t you dare knock on that door,” House called out from the other side, voice raspy with pain and exhaustion.

The breath that Wilson let out turned into something that almost resembled a laugh. Nothing about the situation was funny, per se, but there was humor to be found in the relief. The lack of House’s incessant childlike behavior and sarcasm were what alerted Wilson’s concern in the first place. To hear it, even if he was on the receiving end of it, was a relief. Nothing could ever be simple with House.

Wilson pushed the door open to find House sitting on the floor. He was contorted in a way that didn’t look like it could be comfortable at all.  But then again, House lived in discomfort, so he wondered if the bizarre position on the floor really made anything that much worse.

There was a sheen of sweat across House’s forehead, the collar of his t-shirt slightly darker than the rest of the fabric from the sweat on his neck. He was leaning back against the side of the tub, one arm braced against the toilet bowl’s edge.

“So you at least heard me knocking at the front door, then,” Wilson said as he stepped into the bathroom.

“Yeah,” House winced as he tried to shift positions, “and I didn’t answer. Most people would take that as a hint to go away.”

“Most people,” Wilson walked and crouched down in front of him, “wouldn’t be wondering if you were dead or just on a bender in here.”

House lifted his hands lamely in lieu of not wanting to expend the energy to hold his arms out. “Not dead.”

“I see that.” Wilson looped his arm underneath House’s, getting himself ready to bring House back up to his feet. “Doesn’t even look like a fun bender, either.”

House managed a chuckle as Wilson practically dragged him up to his feet. He tried to use his good leg to assist, but the drugs had him strung out in a way that even when he was trying to help it wasn’t doing either of them much good.

“It was fun at first,” House said when the two of them were finally, somewhat safely, upright. “I don’t know how we ended up here.”

“Imagine that,” Wilson said, sarcasm coating each word, “having a hard time remembering things while you’re on drugs.”

“I’m on drugs all the time and my memory is fantastic.”

Wilson knew better than to give House the debate that he was looking for but he still did. That was always the crux of their relationship—Wilson knowing better but giving in to House anyway. “You’re not on these drugs all the time.”

“You don’t even know—”

“Oh come on,” Wilson said, exasperated as they crossed the threshold into House’s bedroom. “Don’t give me that. Like I don’t know.”

“That why you came over. You just knew?”

Wilson plopped House down on the edge of his bed rather unceremoniously. Wilson wanted to be childish, to turn this back on House. He wanted to flip the script, tell House that now he was the one who knew exactly why things were happening, why they were in the situation that they were. It was worry, of course. There was always going to be worry. But there was something else too. That was the part that House knew but never talked about.

“Your team said it had been a suspiciously long time since you last harassed them,” Wilson said instead. “Figured I should stop by. Not often you give up the opportunity to be a giant pain in their ass.”

House chuckled because he knew that Wilson was right. The two of them sat on the edge of House’s bed for a moment, close enough for the outsides of their legs to be pressed against each other. Wilson had his hands clasped in his lap, head hung low as he studied the way his fingers were interlocked. It wasn’t anything interesting but it kept him from staring intensely at the man sitting on the bed beside him.

He wasn’t looking at Wilson either, not at first. His gaze was completely focused on the floor beneath their feet. He felt him starting to lean too far forward, and while he knew that Wilson would catch him if he went too far, he managed to catch himself first. His hands landed just above his knees, fingers gripping and arms locking out just in time. It kept him from falling, and the feeling of his fingers slipping between the outside of his thigh and the outside of Wilson’s got Wilson to turn and look at him.

Wilson almost pulled away out of reflex but then he remembered where they were. What would the point of it have been? He cleared his throat, looking back and forth between House��s face and his hand. “Did it help, at least?”

House scoffed, giving a small shake of his head. “Yeah, I’m cured. That’s why you had to pick me up off the bathroom floor and drag me across my apartment.”

Wilson rolled his eyes before letting his gaze drop back down to his hands in his lap again. “No, I had to pick you up off the bathroom floor because you’re strung out on drugs. I meant did it at least help with the pain? At all?”

“Why? If I say yes are you going to give me a pass to do—”

“I’m asking because, surprisingly, for some reason unknown to me or anyone on the face of this planet, I care about what happens to you. I care even if you don’t.”

House’s expression sobered up for a moment even if the rest of him didn’t. Sighing, he said, “It’s already coming back.” He saw the wounded puppy-dog look in Wilson’s eyes and he knew that he was in no place for whatever platitudes he was about to get hit with. Stopping them before they started, he switched up his tone and said, “The high was fun for a while, though.”

It worked. Wilson’s shoulders dropped and so did the topic. Placing his hands on the edge of the mattress, Wilson stood up off the bed and started walking towards the bedroom door without another word.

House wouldn’t really be able to blame him for leaving. He wasn’t giving Wilson any reason to think that he wanted him to stay. Still, despite all of that, he called after him, “Just going to go, then?”

Wilson shook his head but didn’t turn around. “Wouldn’t make it that easy for you.”

House watched until he’d disappeared out of sight. With a deep sigh and more effort than it maybe should’ve taken, he shimmied himself farther back onto the bed. He didn’t put the effort in to get under the covers, but just being able to sink back down against the pillows was a relief. His leg being welcomed by the soft mattress instead of the hard tile floor of his bathroom was another bonus, too.

When Wilson walked back into the bedroom, he had a glass of water in one hand while he was loosening his tie with the other. He handed the glass of water to House, pulling his tie off over his head once he had both hands free. He tossed it off to the side before undoing the top two buttons on his shirt.

“Water with no pills to wash down?” House goaded.

Wilson raised his eyebrows as he undid the buckle of his belt. “I don’t think you need to be taking anything else at this point. No more washing down. Just worry about,” he gestured vaguely, “washing out.”

House had to chuckle quietly at that. He took a sip from the glass in his hands as he watched Wilson set his belt out of the way too once he’d removed it. He sat down on House’s side of the bed before leaning down to untie his shoes—small comforts but nothing large like having clothes there to change into or borrowing anything of House’s. Once they were off he sighed and got up to walk around to the other side of the bed. It was his side but neither of them ever really called it that. He sank down on the mattress and mirrored House’s position—not under the covers but still slouched back against the headboard.

After taking another sip of water from the glass that Wilson had given him, House set it on the nightstand beside his bed. Sinking down a little farther on the bed, he looked over at Wilson and waited for him to do the same.

Wilson didn’t hesitate long enough for it to really prove whatever point he wanted it to. Sinking down he let himself face House. The light was on but neither of them seemed bothered enough by it to get up to turn it off.

House resituated himself, looking up at the ceiling instead of over at Wilson. He could still feel the way that the other man was looking at him though. Letting his eyes close, he asked, “Just going to lay there and stare at me all night?”

Wilson’s lips twitched into a tired smile for a moment. “That is the level of attention you usually want from me.”

House smiled too. “Doesn’t mean you need to be so obvious about it.”

He could’ve gone home. Or he could’ve slept on the couch instead. House was at least going to make it through the night without any further issues as long as he didn’t get out of bed and get into something else. And, judging by how much Wilson had to help him get to the room, he had the inclination that House wasn’t going to be getting up and going much of anywhere until late the following morning. The aftermath of this wasn’t going to be worth whatever momentary relief he got from it—it never did. But it never stopped him, and it never stopped Wilson from showing up.

Instead of coming up with another line of banter, Wilson reached over with one arm, draping it across House’s pillow above his hand. His fingers just barely brushed through the other man’s hair, but Wilson could tell that he felt it. By morning his slacks would be wrinkled and his other arm would be wrapped around House’s middle keeping them wrapped tightly together. But for now, Wilson just waited, and watched, and pretended that he wasn’t fighting off the same sleep that House slipped into so easily now that he was there.

[strawurberries]

General Head cannons for Vash the Stampede p.1

Summary: General relationship head cannons for one lovely Vash the Stampede.

Authors Note: Hello!! I hope you all like this :D I don't have very many ideas for writing, so this is a little bare. If you guys want, go ahead and send some requests in! I'd love some inspiration :) Also, this is only part one because I made this post too long and Tumblr wouldn't post it so.... 😅

Warnings: Mostly fluff, some angst and mild nsfw. Mentions of guns, wounds, etc.

If it was up to him alone, he’d never confess his love. There's really no way around it, he’s scared of what would happen—his heart racing and mind reeling at every single possibility that rested under the stars; every disaster, pain, and sorrow that could accompany his lover, and drape them in the suffering he's known all his life. He doesn't want that. He wants them to be happy, content, safe. So, for a long, long time, he doesn't tell you how he feels nor how he desires you in your entirety (he'd take even the smallest portion if you offered. A single dashing touch as you passed him by? He'd treat that memory like a holy text, reciting it over and over until his very soul memorized it. You smile at him? God, he's your most devoted follower now and he'd do anything you asked. Give him anything and he will cherish it with such delight and love).

Once he gets over his tendency to hide his love though (and, here, it isn’t him who confessed but you), his emotions would gush out without rhyme or reason—a storm so powerful it would sweep the planet in rains of adoration. It’s a difficult and strange love though. This comfort is so foreign to him, he will indulge in it with fever one day and recoil at the very same touch the next. Learning to love safely is a slow, terrifying process; but, oh, how he desires to give you everything you need (and how he secretly wants you to give him all your love as well, but he would never say that as that is a very selfish thought! Shame on him for thinking such things, right?).

His favorite form of intimacy is quiet mornings when he can wrap his arms around you and pretend the world doesn’t exist—that the only thing that matters in the entirety of the universe, reality even, is loving you unconditionally. Though, peaceful mornings like that are hard to come by. Mostly sleeping out in the desert, running at the slightest hint of danger, and a constant alertness on the back of his neck that tells him that one blink, and you will be gone. So, he settles for other forms of affection (though, cuddling will always be his favorite thing. Having you pressed up against his body, lungs falling in sync, and hearts intertwined just as your legs and arms are. . . oh, just thinking about it makes his entire body shiver with love and deep embarrassment). Hugs, while not cuddling, are another of his favorite things. He loves any kind of hug.

The quick hug before he runs off into danger? Thrilling and so full of adoration. If he doesn’t make it back, at least he’ll die with the lingering warmth of your touch—ah and there you are kicking him in the legs for thinking such a thought. “Of course I’ll come back,” he grins, “I have you waiting for me”. But a hug from you before you run off into danger? Bad, bad, bad. He’ll chase after you and tackle you before you can even get out the door. 

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be running off into danger!”

“Who said that?!”

“Me!”

“Then don’t say stuff like that!”

(Wolfwood had to drag you both out of danger and gave a lecture that rivaled his priestly preaching)

A hug from behind? He loves melting into you, like he’s meant to be a part of you. He loves feeling connected in any and every way. He’s so distracted by love that he realizes too late that he’s putting all his weight onto your back and you're slowly sinking to the ground and he panics, falling back and oh god, there he goes: apologizing and rambling. Tell him he’s okay. He’s scared of doing the wrong thing and driving you away. You’re the most wonderful, precious thing he’s ever had the pleasure of having—he never wants to lose you over some silly mistake on his part. You hugging him from behind? He’s dead. He freezes and looks over his shoulder to see you buried into his back (he’s a tall bastard, he knows this but it hits him differently when he sees you being so small)—oh god is this what love feels like? Will quite literally beg for you to do it again and hums happily if you comply. If you don’t, that’s okay too; he’ll just pout and hug you instead.

A long, comforting hug? He doesn’t like talking about those moments, when the pain swells up into his throat and the world claws at his heels. But, he still appreciates the all-encompassing embrace you’ll give him. An angel burying him within their bosom and bones, telling him that the world will settle, and he will rise again, just like the morning sun—and he loves that rising light, because it means another day spent with you. When you need comfort like that, when the world is too tall and you're buried under the weight of fate and existence, he’ll wrap around you like the tree roots of a great oak. Strong and unwavering, he’ll anchor himself in place for you until you're ready to move on, or ready to simply sleep. He finds that sleeping with you resolves many of his problems.

In private, he is like a puppy. This description is quite simple, yet nothing fits the man better. A constant people pleaser who found himself devoted entirely to one person. You’ll have to explain that yes, you love showering with him but sometimes you want to shower alone and no, that doesn’t mean you don’t love him. And there have been many times where you’ve had to force him into resting because he won’t stop.

“Oh, here! I can do that.”

“Vash, it’s just the laundry, it's okay.”

“No, no! I can do it!”

“You cleaned the whole room already, love. I can do this.”

“No, I promise it’s—”

“If you don’t let me do this load of laundry, I will literally combust right here.”

“. . .”

[fumiyami]

Fumikage insecurity headcanons?

hiii!! sorry this answer might have been a bit late I haven’t been posting on tumblr lately at all😰😨😨

I think the most obvious insecurity for fumi is definitely his physical appearance! mostly his bird head since I imagine it doesn’t just get in the way of doing things like kissing others, eating normally, like doing CPR mouth to mouth or something😨but also gets in the way of having a normal social life like everyone else cuz we all know how heteromorphs are treated in the mha universe

also like I imagine he’d be insecure of just showing emotions like being happy or angry or whatver cuz of the bird head! like have anyone ever seen him smile WITH TEETH in the show? I don’t think so! but you’d probably think “that might look weird even not considering how his charatcer already doesn’t usually show feelings like that!” so yeah!! emotion!! AND if he has really strong emotions then like dark shadow has more of a chance to go wild so!!

and THEN one of the most sad ones is just his “inability to control dark shadow” cuz like he isn’t insecure of shadow at all like that’s his quirk! his brother (maybe??), his best friend!! BUT he does think that he’s just too weak to be able to handle them and that ties into the next headcanon!

NEXT! I feel like he’s one of those people who everytime he “messes up” (almost being kidnapped, not being able to be recognised or catch up to hawks straight away etc..) like he blames himself so deeply and it pains him to the core!

ALSO just his social skills in general! like he loves the darkness and being goth and stuff but he also isn’t really okay with the fact that he’ll always be seen (and see himself) as jsut a “weird emo kid with a bird head” and like how he doenst let himself show emotions due to dark shadow getting out of hand if he does!

this one kinda ties in with the emotions one but jsut laughing in general since I remember an actual manga panel (not in the actual manga or anime but i’m not sure from what) where he and a few others from class A saw ms joke and she used her quirk on him and apparently his laugh was like super like big and stuff (no idea how to describe it) and he was probably so embarrassed about it cuz imagine being a stoic goth who may or may not have tried summoning a demon with a ritual before (other headcanon) and then actually laughing uncontrollably infront of classmates!

when class A saw each others dorms and stuff they got to fumikage’s and he was super embarrassed and yelled at them all to get out so he’s probably also insecure of his darkness and gothic (how many times am I gonna say the word goth😰) and stuff so yeah!

I saw someone headcanon that the reason he uses big words and says phrases that are hard for others to understand is because his IQ with tests and maths and stuff is canonically below average so he uses big words to make it seem like he’s smarter so yeah! I so agree with that!!

ILL ADD TO THIS IF THERES ANY MORE I CAN THINK OF CUZ PROBABLY!!

[a-s-levynn]

I'm terrified to post this. So watch me sprinting away into the distance after dropping this.

Open love letter to -in extension to the wider ST community on tumblr, but especially- to the fellowship of Sleep because without you, life would be much more lonely

My Friends,

It was today when it finally dawned on me that you gave me the most undescribably precious gift. Many of you probably going to relate to this to some degree because i am not unique in any sense but i had to get this out. And by just the sheer lenght probably not many of you will read it. But i still need to put this out there, even if i'm being obnoxious and probably sound overdramatic and maybe even cringy.

I struggle with a lot of things. Anxiety, self doubt, depression, paranoia, self destructive tendencies, self isolation and the list goes on to even darker places. All in all i have a suboptimal mental state to put it lightly. I feel inadequate in many ways. Especially with connecting to people.

To this day, i struggle every day, seeing my friends, you, talk on a daily basis, have inside jokes and wonderful conversations and whatnot and either i like it or not, thoughts intrude: "am i doing enough? Am i a good enough of a friend? Do i really have a place among these wonderful bright souls? Am i intruding? Am i inserting myself into spaces i do not have any right to be? Am i forcing myself into your circles?"

For the longest time, on most days the conclusion was no. I do not belong. You were just being nice to the pathetic little creature in the corner because by nature you are simply kind. But as the weeks went by i learned that you are also awkward people with your own stuggles and hardships which are far harder and more painful than mine. That you are choosing to be kind every day, in spite of what life threw at you. Because you know.

I started to see you also crave a particular type of companionship and you reach out with the same trembling hands, hoping that someone sees it and grabs it. That someone finally says: you are not alone. I am here. For you. With you.

And you did. You've seen a bunch of hands fumbling in the dark, desperate to hold onto something and went: yeah.. i think i'll grab all of them. Because we are coming from the same darkness. And if i can help pull you into the light than you might have the strenght to do the same for me, so we can all sit in the warmth of the fire. The fire we built together. A fire that is growing ever brighter and allowes us to see even more hands on the edges to be pulled and invited into the circle.

So we have. For a while sitting almost silently, showing the things we found along the way. Tentatively feeling out the boundries. Than we broke the silence. You even started to call me your friend at some point. I already considered you mine because i'm painfully lonely and just the gesture, that you included me among the hands you grabbed was enough for me to see you mine. But all in all, for some unknowable reason, we became friends.

The weeks turned into months and i felt a bit more comfortable to approach you on my own clumsy and awkward ways. Many of you know by now that Tiny Token was born because i was too afraid to send a happy birthday ask to someone. I still apologize regularly just for adding thoughts to posts even if i only do it in tags. I am afraid. Of so many thing.

We still don't talk daily. Yet we still call each other friend. We have actual plans now. I still stuggle with the though of not being enough. There are still days when i feel you just feeling pity towards me.

But lately there is an other thought there. Which makes me feel bad for thinking that way. A thought that's never been there before. "If i was truly bothersome or annoying or any way too unpleasent, you could simply walk away. This is the internet after all. You could just block me. You have the option to walk away but you are time and time again choosing not to. No matter how many days pass by with us not talking, you are there. I can count on you. I'm still hesitant to reach out and dump my superficial adversities on you. But i also see you keeping the door ajar, leaving the option there to be approached if anyone needs it. So it would be not just a disservice but an outright insult to you if i'd think you are just acting out of pity. But if you like me than.. there has to be something about me to actually to be worth knowing?"

And that is doing something that ten years worth of failed therapy could not. You made me question my self doubt. It is still there and will be for the rest of my life. But now there is a steady counter balance i never had this solidly in my life ever before.

I'm still afraid to ask even if anyone would be up for a talk, let alone a call because i have little to offer in conversations. I don't talk much by default and that is not a good base for conversations. I'm still terrified of overstaying my welcome. But i also know now that you probably wouldn't mind from time to time. Because you understand. Maybe one day i will get there. I don't know when but there is a hope i never truly had before.

This is something i will never be able to repay you. Thank you for understanding that we all have different levels of anxiety and fear and not holding it against one and other. I'm writing this to you with immens love and eternal gratitude i cannot truly express in any way that does it justice: Thank you for showing me hope. Thank you for being the way you are.

You gave me the biggest gift there is to give.

You gave me your friendship.

I love you.

Yours in friendship,

Levynn