hamza-gaza2 · 14 hours ago
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Dear humanity,my supportive friends
🚨A besieged family in Gaza appeals for help to survive🚨
Please consider reading my story
Peace be upon you, I am Hamza from Gaza, Palestine. I am 18 years old. Last July, I finished high school and obtained a grade of 92.6% in the scientific stream. I began my university studies, at the Islamic University of Gaza, specializing in software engineering. I fastened my belts, made my intention, and began the journey. However, with great regret, my journey has not yet begun and has ended quickly before it even started!
How difficult is that word for me. I made plans for my future and was determined to achieve them, but because of the war that is still ongoing today since last October, I lost that dream and I lost my plans and my future that It has become unknown, because of the machine of Zionist arrogance, which left nothing and hadn't left yet.
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In the beginning, I lost 3 of my dearest friends, then our house was burned, and warplanes also bombed my university in which I was attached. I wish I could accept that easily, because when you put yourself in my place, perhaps you will feel the horror of the event, because what is gone is My life in short: my room, which I always spent my time in, my simple office, where I spent my best times during my high school studies, and even my recreational time on social networking sites, and my university, where I used to spend the most beautiful times with friends, especially the university cafeteria, where I spent the most enjoyable times, all of this and more. I was deprived of it because of this brutal war. I don't know if you imagined the horror of the situation.
Today, as I am in Deir al-Balah in the south of Gaza due to forced displacement, I wake up every day not knowing how I will spend the time.
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There is nothing we can do here except wait, which I cannot describe in reality. Its difficulty. Emptiness is a very bad thing. The feeling of being unable to do anything and waiting for the unknown is truly frightening. Here we are on the 220th day of the war, and its duration is still unknown, and we do not know when it will end. Even if the war ends, we will only have escaped real death, but here we are, dying, Every day, every hour, and every minute, all of that steadfastness in order to meet our beautiful future ,so I write to you these lines that are filled with sadness for our situation here to tell you that we are here and we still have not given up and become complacent, and to also inform you that I created this link asking for helping me to complete my studies outside the walls of my city and country, knowing that the engineering major requires fees of 20,000 US dollars distributed over 5 years of studying.
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I also attach pictures of everything mentioned in my story.
Thus, I have no hope left except for this campaign! which I never expected to need, but it is life.
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Today, I stand helpless on the abyss, and I await your support to continue my journey, in the hope of meeting the desired hopes and trying to forget the unforgettable pains. I ask you to help in all forms (spreading, donating, moral support,...)
Many thanks and gratitude to you❤️
Hamza
@90-ghost @sayruq @appsa @aria-ashryver @northgazaupdates2 @timetravellingkitty @wellwaterhysteria @deepspaceboytoy @ot3 @dirhwangdaseul @mahoushojoe @schoolhater98 @rainn-dropz-world @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @communist-hatsunemiku @the-eldritch-it-gay @girlinafairytale @buttercuparry @amygdalae @transmutationisms @ashwantsafreepalestine @yugiohz @dykesbat @watermotif @stuckinapril @xinakwans @nibeul @komsomolka @aristotels
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englishmagic · 7 months ago
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Ugh. You know when you experience the most amazing piece of art in your entire life and then you wake up and realise it was in a dream and you have not a shred of the talent and budget to realise it in real life and the dream is fading so the whole concept is about to be lost forever
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icewindandboringhorror · 1 year ago
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There's always a slight yearning in the back of my mind wishing I had been born in the right place, time, family situation, income level, etc. to have just lived in one single house for my entire life. Imagine being born in a place that still suits you, even through all of your personal evolutions and etc. The idea of deep familiarity with an area because you've lived and explored it for 40+ years, being encased in a web of memories and connections. Being able to clean out your old childhood bedroom and find personal artifacts, to dig in the yard and remember. I know those lives can still be plenty imperfect, but there's just something so seemingly solid and stable and Grounding about it that I sometimes wish I could have.. (At least from my outside perspective as someone who's moved around a bit geographically and even within the same area, never lives in the same house/ apartment /etc. for more than a few years usually.) Like... having a place that is printed upon, fully your own, rather than chronically a visitor, every thought of a space always tempered with the notion that one day soon you'll have to pack it all up again, etc. There's something peaceful about the permanence.
#I think also because I'm a very nostalgic person - THOUGH not in the way that somep poeple mean when they say nostalgia because I've realiz#ed that to some people apparently it means like.. more of a sad emotional thing? Or when I talk about being nostalgic they say 'me too' and#then describe how they're always depressed dwelling on the past wishing they could revisit it and replaying it and feeling sad and etc.#Whereas for me - it's not in a deep or emotional way at all. It's very detached - kind of like someone who is doing like a scientific#cataloguing of something? I don't feel any remorse or sadness or longing or sitting there sobbing for hours over people/pets I've lost or#etc. It's more like a fun contemplative excercise and extension of self analysis plus just documentation. Like I know your memory fades as#you get older OR even as stuff is actively ongoing humans have terrible recall - even the ones who are less emotional/more focused on#accuracy our minds still twist things or etc. SO I looove to have documentations of everything possible so that in the future I will have#as full and complete of a view of myself as I possibly can. sure the image will undoubtedly be a little distorted but having real evidence#of how something was at a time is very valuable. You look through old messages or letters or something and you always find other alternate#versions of yourself. Not in a worse way like inherently inferior Previous Models Of You who haven't yet been perfected but even just in a#neutral way like 'what they're saying is not a BAd thing but also is not how I would say that today.' etc. ANYWAY I find it really interest#ing to document and remember things and love revisiting the past - not in a sad way - but just like. curiosity. reminiscing and recalling#and filling in gaps. or trying to have the same feeling I felt at a previous time so I can remember what it was. Collecting information for#documentation purposes. Like for example - I would love to go back and tour all of my old childhood houses/apartments. Not to like#sit in the middleof them and cry and go 'ohhh my childhood waughhh' - but literally because I want to take detailed photographs so I#can remeber exatly what they looked like and recreate them in sims or some other digital way. Why? idk. just to gather the information. If#I ever live to like 80 years old and I'm still reflecting on my life curious about the dteails of it. I want to be able to fire up my#ancient windows 10 laptop I've kept all these years and open up the sims 4 and tour my old home with accuracy etc. ??#Not sure why really. Maybe an extension of how I generally care a lot about having an 'accurate' view of things? Like I would rather be#accurate than be happy. I don't understand 'ignorance is bliss' because I would always rather know. I always always in any situation am mor#focused on 'what is the well researched practical truth' than about 'how does this make me feel' or etc. Truth above ALL else even if it#were to make me miserable. Aka why I'm a 'boring' 'annoying' 'UM actually..' type of killjoy lol because it's very hard for me to understan#that some people can enjoy something or have a good time even not knowing the full facts of a situation or etc. BUT anyway. since that is#some core driver of my personality for whatever reason (just the plague of ennegram type 5 perhaps lol) maybe that also drives me to my#kind of minor obsession with like 'I must have a complete view and calatoguing of my life that is as accurate as possible within the means#i have' . Is it REALLY important for me to know the exact layout of on of my first childhood bedrooms? no. materially it does nothing for m#in life. BUT hey. it would make a great addition to the Accurate Life Story Catalogue lol. ANYWAY.. But I think a lot of wanting to live in#one place forever is not just the ease of documentation. but the sense of having a constant. Much of what i crave most in life is stability#& familiarity &routine bc of how my brain works. And it just would feel so good to be Settled. Never uproot again. One little place FOREVER
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parfaitblogs · 1 month ago
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fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader
in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you. 
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end.  word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!
Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be. 
Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all. 
Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.
You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not. 
However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide. 
And then he was free. 
From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished. 
But he was free.
And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened. 
Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break. 
"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.
"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."
"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.
Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met. 
"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again. 
"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"
"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit. 
"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"
"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"
"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."
"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."
To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was. 
Right now, you learned you wouldn't be. 
There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry. 
Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming. 
"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened. 
"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"
Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."
"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."
"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped. 
"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."
"Oh."
Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.
"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."
"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."
"I think I want to."
Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."
"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."
"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed. 
"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."
"Do you want to hurt me?"
"No."
"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."
"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."
"Not funny."
"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again. 
"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more. 
"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."
"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him. 
"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"
You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more. 
You couldn't complain. 
It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch. 
"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body. 
"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later. 
"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind. 
"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you. 
"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin. 
"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered. 
"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."
"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."
"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.
You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.
Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously. 
"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.
"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face. 
"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."
"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up. 
"Nope. Forget I said anything."
"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."
"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away. 
"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."
"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."
"Yes, but how?" 
"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."
"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again. 
"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up. 
"Lots of people say oral," he defended. 
"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."
"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head." 
Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping. 
Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."
"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping. 
"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so. 
He nipped at your nose. "It is."
"Can we compromise?" 
"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose. 
In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests. 
"Head," you corrected. "And no."
He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"
"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter. 
"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."
You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."
"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"
"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him. 
"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him. 
Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.
Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have. 
Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded. 
A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone. 
The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat. 
He liked to hear you. 
Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).
"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either. 
"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"
"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"
"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face. 
"What? Why?"
"Do I need a reason?"
You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest. 
"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"
"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."
"I know," you replied.
"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."
You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."
"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."
Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."
"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?" 
Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body. 
"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.
"Yes."
"Thank you."
His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.
"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.
You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time. 
And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make. 
Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.
Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.
Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit. 
"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin. 
"Touch myself?" 
"Mhm."
"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."
"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"
"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."
"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"
You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again. 
"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head. 
He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again. 
"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you. 
"Hm?"
Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.
"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you. 
In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could. 
So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more. 
Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it. 
"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin. 
A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.
Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't. 
Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling. 
Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome. 
"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were. 
"Please don't stop."
"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to. 
Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating. 
His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered. 
The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after. 
His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after. 
"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck. 
"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter. 
"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again. 
"Yes."
"Good."
Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there. 
"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips. 
"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"
"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking. 
A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here. 
"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more. 
"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move. 
"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move). 
His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second. 
A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled. 
"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."
"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little. 
Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."
"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."
"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again. 
A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).
Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure. 
"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were. 
"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"
"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."
"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."
Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots. 
Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever. 
His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that. 
There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever. 
"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly. 
"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"
"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared. 
"Good."
"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely. 
"Help?"
Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone. 
Thankfully, you didn't have to. 
He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee. 
"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub. 
"Do you want me to?"
Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."
He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt. 
"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless. 
You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways. 
"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach. 
Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh. 
"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. 
"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."
You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"
"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."
"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face. 
"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."
"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."
"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."
"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."
"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."
Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort. 
"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes. 
"Okay."
your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡
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lilliangst · 3 months ago
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biblically accurate, semi-realistic candace or kandake, who was a nubian queen
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Incoming yap about the current genshin problem:
As a Chinese person swarmed by western media, Liyue means so, so much to me. Seeing the culture that I've been taught to be ashamed of all my life being represented so accurately and positively makes me incredibly happy. It was the first time I saw the famous landscapes that I've visited in person and recreated a fantasy game. Seeing characters wear clothes with similar designs to what I’ve worn and eating similar foods to what I’ve eaten, is indescribable. The euphoria I felt when I first climbed atop of Qingyun Peak and heard the music is something I wish I could experience again.
That being said, Sumeru was a mess, and Natlan is just depressing. What I would give to have people from SEA/SWANA, Latin America, Africa, and Indigenous groups etc. to feel the same way I did when strolling through Liyue.
HYV’s colorism isn’t just stifling their character designs; by whitewashing real-life people, real cultures and even their deities, they are inadvertently whitewashing history. They are taking from actual ethnic groups: learning their history and struggles, then retelling these narratives after replacing their people with bleached protagonists in orientalist clothing.
All this because of what? Out of touch beauty standards? The possibility of lower sales? Dehya is extremely loved in China and her fans donated thousands to a children’s charity in her name. Other Chinese companies like Lilith Games and Bluepoch don’t have this problem. Dislyte is able to consistently pump out gorgeous character designs with varying skin tones and Reverse:1999 makes accurate designs and does in-depth research into the cultures of their characters.
It’s a basic lack of respect.
I've heard that Iranian players were extremely happy and touched by their representation, and that's amazing. And most European, Chinese, and Japanese players are fine with theirs. I just wish this extended to the representation of people with skin tones that are darker.
HYV has shown that they are capable of making characters with darker skin tones and interesting designs, but they will only do that for npcs and enemies. Orientalism, culture mash-ups and inaccuracies across regions is unfortunately common in the game, but the problem with the unchanging pale color of playable characters reflects an obvious and sinister bigotry. I do personally believe that a lot of this has to do with the meddling of higher-ups; many playable characters look like they’ve been white-washed at the end of the process, and just from an art/design standpoint, they fit darker skin-tones much, much better.
It is impossible for Genshin to be a fully “fictional fantasy game” because they chose to bear the responsibility of incorporating real life cultures into their world-building. The criticisms about Sumeru and Natlan are what they brought upon themselves. If you don’t want to represent properly, don’t do it at all. You cannot take everything from a culture and leave their people out of it. They deserve the same respect and research as the region representing your own nation.
For the people who have seen themselves represented in media over and over again, or for those who do not care about being represented at all: even if YOU don't care, others do, and they have a damn good reason for it. This is a big deal, it isn’t too much to ask for, and I will be blocking racists. Peace.
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sailoryooons · 9 months ago
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Bust | KTH | (m)
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☾ Pairing: Heistman!Taehyung x f. Reader
☾ Summary: Seeing a beautiful man in the middle of a bank robbery is unusual. Seeing him again afterward is even more unlikely… and yet not unlucky. 
☾ Word Count: 2,211
☾ Genre: Criminal, Smut, PWP
☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 
☾ Warnings: Bank robbery, light depiction of fear/anxiety, mentions of poor financial situations and money-related stress, recreational drinking, ‘good girl’ petname, explicit language, sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), biting, spanking, implied body worship kind of, a hint of overstim, bodily fluids and cum-eating. 
☾ Published: Monday, January 15, 2024
☾ A/N: This is an idea I randomly spoke about forever ago in a TikTok DM with @gimmethatagustd and this is strictly written to ruin their entire life tonight. I hope it works idk osifodigjoijg. 
☾ A/N 2: Tonight is number four for my 100 Drabble Challenge and I rolled number 24 for criminals! I hope you enjoy my depraved thoughts of Taehyung in that GOD DAMN SQUID GAME OUTFIT AT PTD. MY MASK KINK DOESN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE BUT BE FUCKING SURE IT WILL ONE DAY. HE MADE ME INSANE. 
☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration ☾
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Sweat beads down your back, the trickle of it slower than the clock ticking above your head. Time seems to slow as you sit on a carpet that hasn’t been steam cleaned since the 80s and push yourself against the wall, eyes glued to the open vault. 
It had happened so fast and yet now, it’s like it can’t be over fast enough. Each second that ticks by feels like it takes a year. You cannot hear the chatter of the men inside the vault, but their harsh whispers raise goosebumps on your skin.
At least they haven’t noticed you. Not that you would do much, anyway. You have no intention of going over to push the alarm by the door, too afraid to alert the armed man who stands just outside the vault room on the other side, and far too underpaid to risk your life for a financial institution. 
For a moment, you wish it were you robbing the damned bank. Maybe you could pay off the student loans on your degree you’re not using and run the heating in your apartment during the winter instead of bundling up in several layers. 
Your momentary lapse of delusion passes as the men rush out of the vault, duffles in hand. They’re all dressed in red, black masks covering their faces with shapes on them. You’re vaguely aware that the costume belongs to some sort of show you saw online, but you can’t place them.
Perhaps you’ll watch it now.
“Hurry up,” one of the men barks toward the vault. There had been three inside, but only two came out. “Grab the last and let’s go. Two minutes left.”
They’re gone in an instant. Your eyes dart back to the vault where you can hear the last person inside. Glancing at the clock, you watch the seconds tick by. 
Ten seconds. Fifteen. Thirty. A minute. 
A man dressed in a red suit, hood pulled over his head comes out of the vault. As he slugs it shut with one arm, the bag on his shoulder droops, spilling the contents inside out onto the floor. Bands of cash fall out, thudding around his feet. He swears loudly and bends over, back slipping more to drop cash on the ground.
In his frustration, he crouches and tips the mask up a fraction, shielding his face from the camera above but not from you, huddled on the floor a few feet away.
Your heart skips. The thief is beautiful. Dark eyes focused on his task, a wide nose that fits perfectly on a symmetrical face with high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a pursed mouth. There’s a flush in his face from the heat, the tip of his nose an endearing shade of rose.
As if sensing your gaze, his head snaps up. You cower against the wall, realizing now that you’ve seen his face, you’ve doomed yourself. He stalls completely, gloved hand hovering over the cash, eyes boring into you. He arches a brow as if to ask you a question and you respond by shaking your head. 
The thief gives you a cocky grin, nodding before he finishes picking up the money and tossing it into the bag. He looks at you again, a smirk on full display before he winks and pulls the mask back down. “Good girl,” he purrs. “I like that.” 
Despite the situation, your stomach flips. He stands and rushes out, lingering by the door for a second longer to stare at you through the black mask. You can’t see his face, but you know you’ll never forget it, pretty as an angel, dangerous as a devil. 
When the group is gone, you wait in silence, only the pumping of your heart to keep you company. When the cops come and ply you with questions all you can do is shake your head repeatedly. 
I was too scared. I can’t remember. 
-
I was too scared. I can’t remember. 
It is the same thing you tell investigators for nearly two months. Just when you think they won’t keep asking what the man looked like, they finally drop it, handing over the robbery details to the FBI. They were at least a little less callous, caring a little less about how many questions you answered. 
If you had to guess, your unimpressive financial situation even after the robbery was significant enough that you weren’t involved with the robbery. 
It’s hard not to wish you had been. The straw in your mouth belongs to a drink that is far too expensive for you to not wince and it barely tastes like anything. At this rate, you know you won’t get a buzz. You’d love alcohol to take the edge off of the loud club music or loosen you up a bit, but you’re resigned to being sober for the rest of your friend's birthday. 
Around you is a gaggle of men and women, both people you know and new faces trying to pick up your friends. Anyone trying to hit on you has already decided you’re far too grumpy to waste time on, most of their backs facing you as people shout over the music about working in finance.
You wonder if they also rob banks in their spare time. It makes you grin, thinking fondly about the thief once again. You do that a lot.  
Sipping the drink, you glance at your phone. It’s been an hour since you arrived, but you’re wondering if enough time has reasonably passed to excuse yourself. Tomorrow is one of your few days off and you intend to spend it lounging on the couch watching TV instead of nursing a headache.
Someone slides into the space at the bar next to you. You don’t glance up at them, spinning your skinny cocktail straw absently as you stare at the melted ice of your Long Island iced tea. You hoped that once it melted it would turn into a second drink, but it hasn’t. Cold, bitter water it is, then. 
“Why the long face?” You frown at the vaguely familiar voice and glance up, freezing. 
Mr. Bank Robber looks down at you, cocking his head to the side with a wolfish grin. Your mouth pops open in surprise, leaning back a little as you drink him in. This close, he is far more beautiful than you remember, the edges and shadows of his face like a carefully painted fresco. Michelangelo could hardly be talented enough to capture this. 
“You,” you whisper, his grin spreading further. 
“Have we met?” he leans on the bar, dressed in all black. You eye the three-piece suit and the glinting diamonds in the cuff links. His clothes are far finer than anything anyone else is wearing and when you breathe in sharply, you smell a hint of woody cologne. His dark hair is slicked back and you catch the dainty hoop earrings in his lobes. You like the juxtaposition. 
“You know we have.” He tongues the inside of his cheek, turning his head to order with the bartender. His eyes stray to you, raising a brow. You supply him with your answer, “A long island.”
The bartender nods, momentarily stupefied by the heistman’s beauty before walking over to the POS, tapping the screen with the speed and aggression unique to bartenders. 
“Kind of a shitty club,” he mentions, looking around over the top of your head. Sweat clings to your lower back, your mouth growing dry as you watch colors splash on his face. “Your face is too pretty for a place like this.”
“Is that so?” 
“Mhmm.” The bartender puts the drinks on the counter and the man gives him cash, signaling to keep the change. The bartender raises a brow but says nothing, taking the money as he goes. “What’s your name?”
“You probably already know it.” He cocks his head to the side. “I’m sure you looked me up to see if I was a threat or watched me to see what I’d do.”
“You watch too many heist movies.”
“Maybe I watch just enough.”
He laughs at that and your lips twitch. It’s rich, making his face intimidating as he gives you a wide smile and shakes his head. “Alright, maybe you’re right.”
“Can I know your name?”
“For the right price.”
“My silence was a pretty petty, no?”
He bites his bottom lip, eyes dipping down and back up. You sip your drink, feeling a flush of warmth unfurl in your body, most notably between your legs. “I like you.”
“You have to like me. I know your secret.” 
Leaning forward, he ducks down so that he’s murmuring into your ear, hot breath ghosting your skin and making you tremble. “Want to hear more?” Your eyelids flutter as he waits, skin buzzing at his sudden proximity. You nod, feeling lightheaded. “My name is Taehyung. Want to get out of here?”
-
“Fuck,” Taehyung growls, hands skimming your bare sides. You can’t keep still under his gaze, hips squirming and fingers twisting in the sheets. His mouth is swollen and covered in your spit, his eyes blown as a large hand scrapes down to your thigh where he gives you a good slap. “I knew you were a good girl.”
A moan trips out of your mouth. Your thigh stings where he slapped you but he soothes it with the easy back-and-forth motion of his hand, his fingers digging into your flesh. Taehyung is a man starved, having littered your body with harsh kisses and bites, nearly breaking the skin.
You don’t care. You’re feverish for him, room spinning as you sprawl on his soft sheets in a hotel room that is far nicer than anything you’ve ever been in. You burn up like a star, core raging as Taehyung leans back down, pressing your naked thighs open for him as he sucks the skin of your chest between his teeth.
Everything aches. You want him so bad that you feel a cry come out of your mouth, lips wobbling as he laughs against your skin, sinking lower and lower, mouth loud as he sucks at your skin, tongue brushing over the sting of his teeth. 
“Does my good girl need her pussy eaten?” Taehyung rasps, looking up at you where he kneels between your legs. “Is that why you’re crying, hmm?”
Taehyung looks like something out of a thriller. His eyes are dark and hungry, his shadowed face becoming some sort of demon of lust. He’s what you would imagine a dark god. A bacchanal devil, a creature made for sin. 
All you can do is nod in response, feeling Taehyung’s vicious grip on your thighs as he presses you further, your muscles stretching. The strain feels good, as does the slow drip of your cunt down the curve of your ass mixed with his breath.
“So messy,” he murmurs, leaning forward and blowing cool air on your sticky folds. You squirm, the sensation sending you into overdrive as you twist your head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. He’s barely done a thing and you’re worked up more than you can ever recall. “Pretty.”
The slow, soft press of Taehyung’s tongue through your pussy makes you sag. It’s the relief that you so desperately needed, eyes rolling back as he circles your clit and drags his tongue back down. Taehyung is slow as he eats you out, tongue savoring every drop you can give him.
He taps your thigh, drawing your attention to him. He smirks as his tongue dips into your entrance, dragging back up to swirl around your throbbing bud a few times.
It’s impossible to tear your eyes away once you’re watching. Taehyung keeps his razor-sharp gaze on you, bringing his mouth fully to your cunt as he sucks eagerly. There is a rhythm to the curl of his tongue and the sharp suck of his lips, the wet smack of his ministrations driving you crazy.
“Mmm,” he hums, pressing his face in further. He’s messy with it, his jaw and nose covered in shiny slick. He laughs throatily when your back comes off the bed, thighs shaking. “Such a good pussy, just like I knew it would be.”
It feels too hot in the room. Your breaths are coming in too fast and there’s nothing you can do to catch it, Taehyung working you up to a frenzied, frenetic orgasm. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, pumping so hard that you think you might need to stop.
And then you break.
Your body seizes as you come, a scream ripping through your mouth as Taehyung slurps hungrily at your mess, spurred by your release. You can’t stop shaking as he dives in, unwilling to stop until you’re babbling, nearly lifeless as the orgasm teeters into overstimulation. 
Only then does Taehyung pull his mouth away, trailing wet, cum-spit kisses on your inner thigh, nipping your thigh here and there. 
“Think you can take more?” he asks, slurring his words against your thigh. “Think you can take my cock.” 
You nod eagerly, hand letting go of the sheets and reaching toward him. “Yes.”
“Mmm good. I’m about to bust.” He bites your knee. “And I don’t mean a bank, this time.” 
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whateveriwant · 10 months ago
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could i request sumn real quick..
TF141 with a s/o who does archery, with those Japanese longbows (they’re called yumis, i think😭) ??
This was completely foreign to me so I hope I at least kinda did it justice 😭
Gaz
When you first told him about your hobby of choice, admittedly, he was unfamiliar with it
Archery as a whole was nothing new to him, but knowledge about your discipline in particular had entirely evaded him up until now
However, after learning more about it from you as well as researching on his own, he's now become your biggest cheerleader, literally and figuratively cheering you on from the sidelines
Whether you do it just for recreation or you do it for competition, he's always there to support you with 110% enthusiasm
He's like a proud dad whenever he gets to watch you in your element, always pulling out his phone to record you so he can show off to his mates later
Major cheeseball that he is, he's even gotten custom decals on his car to brag of your accomplishments, so that everyone can know about you and your unique skill
Soap
His interest was immediately piqued when you first brought up your incredibly specialized sport
You see, he used to do a little archery himself back in secondary school, and (not to brag) but he was actually pretty good at it
Of course, that confession gets your interest piqued, so you invite him to take some shots with your bow, which he readily accepts
He's positively preening as he nocks an arrow, confidence oozing from him as he takes aim… only to turn a shade of red just shy of tomato as he misses his shot by about 10 feet
He tries again and again, somehow getting worse with each shot, the frustration and embarrassment coming from him clearly palpable
Though you try to encourage him to keep going (after all, no one’s good at anything their first try), eventually, he timidly hands the bow back, saying he thinks he’s better off just leaving it to you
Price
He's a very physically active man himself, so learning that you're involved in a martial art was a major turn on for him
And him being in the military and thus heavily trained in all sorts of weaponry, the fact that it's a weapons-focused discipline was doubly appealing to him
From the first moment you brought your hobby up, he was practically begging to watch you shoot
It didn't matter if you had all the bells and whistles ready or not; hell, you could’ve been dressed in a flour sack aiming at tin cans in his backyard and he’d have still been over the moon
Wanting some privacy though, he took you to a range where you could show off your skills without distraction or disruption
And when he saw you take that first shot, hitting your target dead center, he would never tell you, but his pants got a little tighter after that
Ghost
While he finds what you do very intriguing, he wishes there was a more “real life” application to your sport
He knows how dismissive that might sound, but just think about it. In an emergency, are you going to whip out your two meter long bow to defend yourself? Exactly.
Ideally, he'd like to teach you how to use a gun. And you'll agree to let him… only if you can teach him how to use a bow
You might have some lighthearted bickering where he stubbornly insists that a gun is much more useful when it comes to personal protection
But well wouldn't you know it when one night he's awoken by the sound of someone trying to break into your flat, and what object should his fingers find in the dark? Yeah, I think you know
To you, your bow seemed like a perfectly good weapon when he used it to whack the would-be thief over the head…
Yeesh, now that earned you the side-eye of the century. But alright, he eventually conceded, maybe it does have its merits
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irisinluv · 2 months ago
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Mirror Yandere Brainrot
I’ve been thinking about a Yandere who can watch you through mirrors. And I don’t mean Erik from Phantom of the Opera. I mean paranormal level watching you through any surface that can hold a reflection. The shop window you catch a glimpse of your hair in, the sunglasses you use as a mirror to reapply your lipstick, the shower head that makes you giggle cuz it gives your face a fisheye effect. Whatever.
I picture the obvious- how they watch you frown and turn to look at your cellulite, practice how to stand to make your stomach appear the way you want, do a fake laugh to see if that chip in your tooth is noticeable…. All those stupid little things that we hyper focus on, that makes us upset, makes us hate our reflection, they of course, love. They wish they could take away all those insecurities. And they know exactly how they’d do it too.
But it’s not just the obvious self love arc for this mirror Yan. Oh no. Cuz, we don’t just have mirrors to reflect on how much we hate our bodies. You bet your ass your Yandere sees you recreating doctor pimple popper on your own face. Sees your shower karaoke, watches you burn your toast, stub your toe, roll down your windows and get into character as you scream sing Jesus take the wheel (bonus points if you’re not Christian btws- we’re allowed to jam to that too). They just love getting to watch all these mundane moments!
They do of course get frustrated that they can only watch you through the mirrors. But- haven’t you heard that you’re not supposed to sleep facing a mirror? That things from the other side can come out to get you? Mmmm….. yea so those 1980’s mirrored closet doors you have might be a biiiiiiit of a problem.
I think they’d just be able to access you in your dreams, at least as a start, but if they ever found a way to you for real….. whew. Whewwwww. Hello sailor! I mean mirror Yan surely can mirror your exact type. That’s. That’s kinda their whole thing isn’t it? Magic mirror shit.
Slight NSFW below cut
Once they’re out…. They would not fuck you against mirrors.
I know that’s where your brain may go at first. The typical “look at how I see you- you’re perfect!” Shit. But I’m sorry. If someone fucked me and I had to look at myself covered in sweat, hair sticking to my face, triple chins for days, stomach rolls rolling, cellulite dimpling….. IM NOT IN THE MOOD ANYMORE!
So nah. Mirror Yan won’t fuck you against a mirror. They WILL however, use their voice. They had gone unheard so long…. You had gone YEARS being unable to hear them, see them, feel them. So now that they have you in their arms, they’re going to make sure you hear, see, and feel them until there’s nothing else for you to focus on.
If we want to stick with the self love trope, an alternative to the mirror fucking thing, is them narrating what they see. Their voice is pure sin as they drive into you, sink down on you, or look up from between your thighs to describe the way your pupils look right now, all blown out. How you look like you’re praying when you cum, even though they’re the ones on their knees. They describe those things you hate about yourself too. But when they describe it, they sound reverential. They also sound horny as all hell. But most of all, they sound like the only thing keeping them alive is so they can keep seeing and feeling these parts of you.
And they make you watch them as they give you the most intense pleasure of your life. They may not make you stare into a mirror as they rail you…. But you WILL keep your eyes open so you can see exactly what you do to them. They CRAVE being seen by you. They have you play with yourself the way they’ve watched you do so many times…. Except now, your eyes are locked onto theirs as your eyebrows screw up, and it’s THEIR name you gasp out as your fingers fly. And they don’t have to just watch anymore either.
They also almost always want you facing them. They want you to look them in the eyes and know EXACTLY who is claiming you, body mind and soul. The only exception to the mirror fucking thing is if you/they want to hit it from the back. If you’re not looking in each others faces, you’re looking at each others reflection. If your eyes glass over, they’re smacking your ass to bring your attention back to them. You’re not missing a second of the absolute pleasure dripping from their face. They’re not shy about it either. Their eyebrows screwing up in ecstasy, mouth hanging loose in a perpetual moan, it’s lewd. It’s sloppy. And it’s all for you.
You see, they’re insecure over being glossed over- it was fantastic getting to watch you basically every minute of the day, but you have no idea how frustrating it is to scream out to your lover, cry and kick and wail, as you watch them breeze past a flat puddle on a sidewalk, none the wiser. So, they make sure you’re VERY present with them.
I also think they’d be a huge fan of cockwarming. Just being connected to each other as much as possible. Really needy behavior after being denied physical contact for so long. For my lovelies who cock warming doesn’t work for- you’re not off the hook. Mirror Yan will be wrapped around you just as much. Their fingers absentmindedly trailing your body, their fingers dipping into your mouth, inside you, over your hips….
OH and they love marking you. Hickeys, some sort of collar or necklace, hell, even a collarbone tattoo. They want you to look at your reflection, and see THEM. They may not be stuck on the other side of that reflection anymore, but they still get a thrill from knowing every time you look in a mirror…. It’s them you think of.
So uh. Yea. Even the mirrors are horny for y’all! Stay tuned, maybe I’ll come up with a Yandere spork or dildo next.
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ineffable-rohese · 16 days ago
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My spouse and I were discussing Aziraphale & Crowley over dinner the other night, as one does, and I was reminded that in the early days of Facebook there was a feature where you had a virtual pinboard, like the cork board next to your dorm room white board, and you could find all sorts of "pins" to put on it. The idea was your friends could visit your "wall" and see the things you were in to, as well as your status.
I definitely remembered being so excited to find Good Omens pins in the collection. "Gayer Than a Tree Full of Monkeys on Nitrous Oxide" was my favorite, of course.
I was, at the time, around 2005 or 2006, just a little bit obsessed with the book, and had been for years at that point. I'd only convinced a couple people to read it, all of whom thought it was enjoyable, but that was it. I felt a bit alone, but I also didn't imagine that fandom existed for books. (The existence of that FB pin should have clued me in, but it did not.)
Fast forward about 15 years, and the show came out, and I loved it. And still I didn't manage to find anyone who loved it like I did.
In the past year, I have been so overjoyed to find my people, to have someone to join with in tears and elation, in the nail biting waiting for renewal. And I'd been looking forward to the excitement of production news and poster releases and wild speculation and silly in-jokes and then madness of DT&MS press tours and finally the conclusion to the story we've loved for so long.
And then the news about NG broke, and it was like all of our hearts broke at once. And yeah, maybe the last season was still coming, but it felt tainted now. And people started pulling away, understandably, and I still had my people (and thank Someone for them, for real) but it got real quiet for a bit. And the stories and and art started trickling back as we all figured out how we wanted to engaging meaningfully in someone that was no longer purely joyful.
Then the pause and people freaking out and other people rejoicing and a slim thread of hope. Could they do it? Would Amazon put in the work to extract NG from the production? Is this story worth the effort to people who care more about profit than anything else?
It's looking like yes, as of October 15, 2024. And I love that the person who is renewing our hope is not an actor or a director or one of the "big name" credits. It's Mickey Ralph, who obviously loves this story as much as we do. Whose team hand wrote, in full, all of Aziraphale's mail. And recreated a destroyed antique sink that literally no one would notice. And painted the walls "va-va-voom" yellow. And named every puppet in the magic shop. And brought so much depth and love and life into the show, and made it real.
This story has always been about love. Love for friends, and family, and the people you are told you should hate, and the world, and humanity.
My dearest wish is that we can continue to celebrate that love together.
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darylbrainrot · 9 months ago
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☆ CSM characters pining for you
⋆ Aki, Denji, and Kishibe pining for you hard ⋆ INFO... reader's gender isn't clear (I think), mutual pining, not proofread, might be ooc. ⋆ original request
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⋆ AKI HAYAKAWA
With Aki pining for you, it was difficult on him. He was more closed off to you than to others. Everything around him reminded him of you—even a small scent that smelled like you would warp his mind into images of you. Everything was about you in his mind, even if he didn’t want it to be like that. He knew that with this line of work, he wouldn’t be here for long, and the same was true for you. So why would he put you or him through that pain? Knowing there's a possibility of that one mission going bad and either of you not returning to each other. He always longed for you and wanted to live a normal life with you—to have you in his arms. Yet he knew that with this stupid and dangerous job, he couldn’t. Although he couldn't distance himself from you, he tried. He tried his best to get away from you to get over his feelings. He couldn't, though; you both were partners, and if either of you started to drift away, you’d come back to each other like strong magnets.
It was evident that you both were strongly pining for each other; it was as clear as day in both of your actions. You both tried so, so, so hard to avoid each other as if you were the bubonic plague. Scared to get close to the point where there was no return, scared that if you got the tiniest bit close, that bond would get ripped from your hands due to some dirty devil.
You both knew there was no way to have each other in this line of work. You knew it, he knew it, and you both hated it. You longed for each other; glares lasting a bit too long, a mind filled with images of each other, and things as reminders of both of you made it so painfully obvious. You could have each other, yet there would be so much pain and suffocating agony with that.
That pain would be added to a hill of past aches, making that hill crumble with the suffrage of each other.
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⋆ DENJI
He couldn’t have you, and knowing that hurt him. He was just some “stupid” half-human, half-devil hybrid, and you were an important, high-ranking devil hunter. A hunter is designed to hunt and kill things like him. He wished and longed for you. He wanted you to be his, to be able to kiss you, to be able to talk to you—even the ability to breathe in the same room as you would be some wish bestowed by the gods. He wanted it to be real, not some make-believe juvenile dream of his.
He’d distract himself with stupid little things in an attempt to get over you: taking care of Meowy, doing chores for Aki, hanging out with power, doing missions for Makima—anything that would get his mind away from you, he would do. He didn't mind thinking of you, man; he loved being able to have those sweet-lined reveries of you, yet the only thing that made them displeasing was him knowing that you'd never be his. He wouldn’t be able to recreate his dreams with you.
He could never get over you, though; he knew it. There were no amount of things in this world to make him forget you completely. You had successfully infested his mind. You were like the growing moss on an old brick wall, fungi growing on a log, and weeds growing on a green lawn. You were beautiful yet dangerous. You were something so unique, yet the more you were in Denji's brain, the more you took over. You were becoming the only thing his frontal lobe could think of.
He wished and wished there was some universe that would grant him his biggest wish. The wish of you both being together, he knew it was greedy, but even a universe where you two were at least the best of friends would satisfy him. Maybe in some universe, you two were destined to be together. But that universe wasn’t this one.
If only he knew you thought the same.
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⋆ KISHIBE
Kishibe would drink more in an attempt to forget about you if that were even possible. That never worked, though; he knew he couldn’t have you and knew he couldn’t be with you, and that hurt the most. He was desensitized to things like pain due to his line of work, yet why did this specific pain hurt the most? He tried his hardest to push it down as much as possible and try to ignore it, yet that never worked.
Whenever he’s around you, he actually drinks less. He was scared he’d say something he didn't want you to know; it was his first time experiencing something like this. Sure, he might've had his share of flings and dates with others, yet you were just different. You were enchanting, as if you casted a spell on him the first time you worked together as partners years ago. This explained his fear of exposing his deep and raw feelings for you; he didn’t want to scare you off.
Although this attraction to you has lasted for a while since you first got assigned as partners when he was still in his youth, He never acted upon it, and although there were clear hints of you having similar feelings, he was too scared to act on it. Although he was a somewhat emotional individual, he was different when it came to you. He was more emotional, more weak, and more vulnerable. He was also sentimental; little things, scents, and memories would bring a tidal wave of nostalgia over him.
Memories of you both doing partner work when you both were young, killing demons together, and memories of bickering with each other would swarm over his being. Being overjoyed with the joy of those sweet memories—but that joy was short-lived—the feeling of knowing that you were only something he could view, something he could only glance at and not hold grounded him, it made it clear this wasn't some dream that could come to reality.
This was worse than death for him; it was agony.
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main masterlist
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ghostflowerhotpotch · 1 year ago
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Hey hey, MIles gets jealous a lot in this movie, buuuuuut what if we talk about Gwen? 👀
Oh ho ho, I know there has been memes and stuff about that, but sure, let's talk about it.
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I know we all mentioned jealousy coming from Miles, but I think is kind of poetic, but also hilarious, how quickly we go from Miles's jealousy to Gwen's.
Specially if we go with the fact that once again, while Gwen doesn't really own any explanations to Miles here, nor has she done anything wrong by being friends with Hobie.
(Also look at Hobie, I want you to remember that. Also he is amazing so he deserves the extra attention.)
Yet what is her reaction?
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"Oh, not that many."
I swear, I am trying not to laugh.
See what I mean? Gwen is not only aware that Miles is jealous, she is still is trying to downplay it; even when she is convinced they can't work, she doesn't want Miles to misunderstand her feelings; which she has tried to hide, but I think at this point she knows she isn't doing a good job at it.
(The entire clock scene was very close to a confession let's be honest.)
Also, about Hobie, remember how I was bringing attention to him in the first image? Yeah I am still not sure what to do with it.
Let me be honest with you guys, to get these images I do a lot of slow-motion, which also helps to let certain frames sink better and be sure that I am not just making up what I am seeing; since a lot of these moments are things that last seconds. Very blink-it and you miss it.
And while looking at this particular part, I realized Hobie's expression when he was still were...interesting.
Look part of the reason looking at frames matter in animation is because in real life; an actor could had looked at one direction because he saw a crew member do a funny face, but in animation, when you need to recreate the scene for scratch and will probably be staring at this scene a lot to ensure is up to standard, things tend to have a bit more meaning.
That being said, if you look the scene to normal speed, is extremely fast. Maybe too much for the animators to intend for us to notice something.
So what I am trying to say is that I wonder if Hobie is purposely setting Miles off, and if he is doing so, I honestly think is just to mess with them a little.
Moving on!
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If I am honest, you could almost believe Gwen just wants to move on because Miguel is waiting for them and the guy is already aggro, that was my first impression at least, until I re watched and realized that they are just seeing a demonstration before going to Miguel, so they are 1) Really giving Miles a tour, and 2) Stalling. Which doesn't match going straight to the boss.
Also Gwen's voice; the first time I saw this I remember being surprised that Gwen was asking to start moving because before this point she didn't seem to be worried. Her tone definitely sounds a bit exasperated, specially considering again how little they actually seem to care to get to Miguel.
So yeah, Gwen DEFINITELY was asking to keep moving because Miles' was attention was too much in somebody.
Let's rewind a bit because let's face it, I don't blame Gwen for being jealous.
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I wish my computer had a way to render a little video without imploding because oh this takes a hot second and yep Miles definitely was looking at Margo a little awestruck.
Let me preface this saying I will not tolerate any Hate to Margo or to Flowerbyte or the shippers. She is great, and I will not tolerate ship wars here.
That being said, Miles definitely is looking a little too much at Margo; I partially thing Miles was a bit shocked because it has been a while since his spider sense got receptive to other spider (which happened a lot in the first movie, not so much in this one for meeting so many spiders.)
But again, I don't think is crazy to say she caught his attention.
No, I don't think Miles is doing anything wrong here, just like Gwen didn't do anything wrong before. They aren't dating, Gwen tried to shut that down, and is not like Miles is trying to upset Gwen or anything. He was just caught off-guard.
Regardless, just like I cannot blame Miles for being jealous of Hobie, I can't blame Gwen for being jealous of Margo.
She hides it better than Miles for sure, but like everything else she does, it comes back to the details and her actions.
Remember, they aren't particularly in a hurry, and she suddenly sounds exasperated out of nowhere. Hmm.
Now, the next moment is very blink and you miss it, I barely had the chance to notice while going in slow motion, but between Gwen telling Miles to move on, and Miles looking at Margo's avatar, this is Gwen's face.
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Is very fast, probably the type of thing you don't pick up in theatres, but damn, I am cackling.
I guess she really wasn't expecting Margo to get such reaction out of Miles.
This a good moment to say, that while looking at this, you can see Gwen doesn't have any ill-will towards Margo.
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Unlike the previous moment, this expression of her stays for a good moment; I remember that upon first stumbling with the confirmation that Gwen is jealous of Margo, I was shocked to see that expression on her, almost like she herself remembered that Margo situation is far from perfect.
I am SO thankful with the creators for making sure that neither from Miles nor Gwen, we get the plot line of one of them being jerks out of jealousy. Yeah Miles briefly tried to be spiteful towards Hobie, but didn't take long too change his tune, not to mention that Hobie really didn't mind.
And Gwen at any moment is shown to be bitter towards Margo, regardless if Miles was doing puppy eyes at her or not.
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I just realized now, that Gwen is actually the first one to say they should go.
I really believe part of this was because the go-home-machine was looking a bit perverse. Even Margo looks a bit unsure of what to do of this, so it makes me wonder if is normal for it to look this painful.
(Sidenote, considering Miles and Gwen looked okay when they got out from this machine, I think Rhino was in pain because he was glitching at that moment. That would explain Margo looking like this if it was "normal.")
It doesn't escape me that Miles' reaction is the most shock one, no idea if Gwen could had picked on that being behind Miles, but maybe she realized Miles didn't particularly enjoy seeing that.
However, what happens next?
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And here, I can only show it properly with this gif.
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I want also to reiterate, that "Let's go!" Was from Hobie, I think he was trying to warn Miles.
Because Gwen didn't repeat herself, she deadass just sent a web and YANK HIM.
Again, wanting to go see Miguel my ass, you guys didn't seem particularly interested on that before. Not to mention that hey, you can see she isn't asking anymore and considering how she was looking at Miles from behind I don't think is because she doesn't want to be late.
Is a bit too small to take a proper capture, and hard to see, but yep, she looks mad.
I love how Margo laughs after this, like sure, Miles is endearing, but I also bet my left kidney she also clocked Gwen's crush extremely quickly because of this.
I almost expect Margo and Pavitr discuss who is crushing harder in the sequel.
Sorry for making this so freaking long and with so many sideways, but I think I needed to point out a few things, hope didn't bored anyone!
Keep suggesting moments!
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crissiebaby · 3 months ago
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Crissie's Messy Origin Story [REWRITE]
Heyyo! This updated version of my first CrissieBaby short story is a part of The Crissie Anthology Collection! Hardcover and eBook copies are available now on Kickstarter!
https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/crissiebaby/the-crissie-anthology-collection
DISCLAIMER: This updated story contains humiliation, diaper usage, a super cute protagonist, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!
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Sitting down at her desk, Crissie's lip quivered as her butt sank into the fluffy, soft, and slightly squishy diaper taped to her hips. The temptation to mush her hand into the base of her plush pamper was strong but she couldn’t give in yet. Not when her head was filled with so many creative and exciting story ideas that she couldn’t wait to get them out to make room for more! Sadly, those ideas were rarely accompanied by the motivation required to actually put words to paper. Gawking apathetically at her blank Word document for the better part of an hour, that temptation slowly became harder to ignore.
Unable to wiggle out from under the heavy writer’s block she was under, Crissie turned to the internet for some reprieve of the erotic variety. Unbeknownst to anyone else was her massive fetish for all things ABDL. She couldn’t explain what about this specific kink drew her to this fetish, but she had long since stopped caring. Different strokes for different folks, she liked to say.
Tabbing over to Xwitter, Crissie swiped through her lewd feed and smiled crudely at the artistic and horny expertise on display. “I wish I could make stuff like this,” she thought, lamenting that her art skills had never progressed beyond stick figures. However, that excuse fell flat when it came to writing, something that she was more than capable of creating if she wanted to. And yet, she always decided against it, as if it somehow made her fetish any less present in her daily life. A stilted sigh escaped her lips as she continued scrolling, attempting to cast aside her idle thoughts in favor of some libidinous recreation.
However, before Crissie could find the perfect art piece or messing video to kick off her nightly masturbation session, she happened upon a Xweet unlike any other she had ever seen. The post was from an account she’d recently followed. It said:
Have you ever wished you could write like a real Adult Baby?! Your new Master is here to help. DM me to get started 💕
Crissie was certainly skeptical as she examined the poster’s account, having followed multiple RP accounts in the past with mixed results. Beyond this one Xweet, the account had primarily been used for reblogging, giving her little to go off of. Returning to the post, she shrugged, figuring at best, she would find a new play partner, and at worst, she would waste a few minutes of her time messaging some bot. “Heyyo Master,” she typed, playing along with the original post.
Moments later, a set of three dots appeared beneath Crissie’s message. She waited for a response, only to raise a confused eyebrow as her computer screen instantly went blank. “Ah, frick,” she said, preparing to shuffle out of her cozy computer chair to reset her tower.
FLASH!
“GAH!” cried Crissie blinded by light emitted from the computer screen in front of her. She gasped, unable to pull her eyes away from the enchanting display. Within seconds, her chocolatey, brown irises changed color to a vibrant shade of magenta. Then, with no explanation, everything went black. She squinted her eyes, trying to adjust to her surroundings. Part of her wondered if she passed out somehow and hadn’t realized it yet, though she immediately dismissed this idea thanks to the familiar sounds and smells that her diaper emitted.
Given no chance to recover, a second, spectacular barrage of color swarmed Crissie’s vision. Only this time, it wasn’t the light of a computer screen but the luminous world around her that forced her to rub her strained eyes. To her surprise, the room she found herself in the center was much different than the shabby studio apartment she was used to. Gone were her bed, TV, and the vast majority of her Earthly possessions, finding a crib, changing table, and more diapers than she could begin to count in their place. And all of it was sized just for her.
RUFFLE!
All of a sudden, Crissie’s attention was dragged downward as her boring gray pajamas exploded into a pink satin babydoll dress with puffy sleeves and a skirt that came nowhere remotely close to covering up her diaper. Beneath her new dress was a diaper far bulkier than the one she’d changed herself into. This diaper felt like it was almost twice as thick and by far the softest she had ever worn. It was like her butt was perched on a cloud. She couldn’t stop it from forcing her legs apart, causing her to waddle childishly with every step. Speaking of steps, her feet were now clad in a pair of bright blue bed heels, reducing her mobility even more.
Despite not knowing where she was, how she got here, or who had dressed her up in such adorable attire, Crissie could barely contain her excitement. From the frilly dress to the bulbous diapers, this was everything she’d ever hoped to experience. Her excitement was short-lived, however, as she quickly noticed that her new and unexplained nursery was missing something very important. Namely, a door. All around her were pastel-painted walls with furniture to match, but not a single door in sight.
DING!
Right as Crissie was about to start panicking, a message alert drew her attention toward the pink, sticker-covered desktop set-up that had taken the place of her previous rig. The message read: “Hello, CrissieBaby. I’m sure your childish mind is very confused with all the changes I’ve made…”
Scoffing at the condescending tone the message was starting with, Crissie rolled her eyes and continued reading, “...Well, there’s no need to think about things like that anymore. Any thoughts that you still have in that silly head of yours should be dedicated to writing. Hop to it! The less time you spend writing, the faster your mind will regress. So, it looks like you’d better get started.”
Crissie couldn’t believe the words she was reading. This had to be a dream, or maybe some sort of elaborate joke. Backing away from the computer, she was beyond overwhelmed by her mind-bending new reality. It was terrifying to contemplate the idea of never returning to her old life. At the same time, it was hard to admit this wasn’t exactly the worst-case scenario for her. She’d always wanted more time to write, and now she technically had it. She’d always wanted to wear diapers full-time and now she could. Moreover, she’d always needed something to motivate her, and permanent regression certainly was a scary concept for a writer with too many stories left to tell. Maybe this wasn’t something she was supposed to question.
GRUUUUUUMBLE!
Without warning, Crissie’s internal debate was abruptly halted by the strongest urge to eject her bowels that she had ever experienced. Doubling over, she clutched her tummy tight as another message popped up on the computer, “Oh, I almost forgot to mention. I took away your potty training, so now you’ll never have to worry about bathroom breaks. Enjoy your new life, CrissieBaby.”
SPLOOOOORRCH!
Crissie’s face went pale as she found herself no longer able to hold the massive mess that had welled up inside of her. Her once slightly yellowed diaper now bulged with a distinct shade of brown as she unloaded her guts into the hungry diaper. Wave after wave of sticky, semi-soft poop hit her nappy so hard that she fell backward onto the ground, squishing the newly filled contents of her expanded diaper.
It was at this point that Crissie began to urinate...or maybe she was already urinating? She couldn’t even tell anymore. All she knew was that the diaper continued to swell as a swirl of embarrassment, frustration, and undeniable horniness descended upon her. She had never filled a diaper this much before, and it weighed her down like an anchor. And the smell! It was ripe and unmistakable.
There was little argument to be had at this point. Crissie was officially the baby that she always wanted to be, for better or worse. She looked down at her well-used padding with contented glee as she gave her plump padding a lustful shove. Every fiber of her being was telling her to drop everything and hump her doughy diaper right then and there. However, she resisted, yanking her hands away much like she had earlier that evening. She had far more pressing matters to deal with, after all.
With all the strength she could muster, Crissie lifted herself from her mushy throne and waddled over to the computer, planting herself down in the seat with a mighty SQUELCH! The mess beneath her wasted no time spreading itself up and around to the front of her diaper, only serving to increase her unending horniness.
Settling into her squishy seat, Crissie sighed contently as she looked toward the blank Word document. The white void that once filled her with dread now left her feeling reinvigorated by countless possibilities. She smiled warmly, knowing lack of motivation would never be a problem for her again.
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💕 Story By CrissieBaby 💕 💙 Edited By AllySmolShork 💙 💚 Edited By AliceKChan 💚 SubscribeStar: subscribestar.adult/crissiebaby pixivFANBOX: crissiebaby.fanbox.cc All CB Links: linktr.ee/crissiebaby
Special Thanks to Our CrissBaby Diaper Company Investors: BlushyBen DD JFN Nike Pansy Jason Sissikins PrincessKittenLizzi Rosie Princess SissyDina Strawberry Sweetsamantharebecca Tony & One Anonymous Investor
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tpwkwriter · 10 months ago
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Can we get y/n as a total book worm and Harry just finding it so adorable and loving that about her and teasing her and recreating cute scenes from romance books with her
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Head in a book
I wish I could say I was a bookworm but in fact the only things I read are on tumblr🥲
Warnings: slight cursing, mentions of book tok😭fluffy as!!☁️
Pairing: Harry x quiet!y/n
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Y/n appreciated a quiet life, the small moments were a huge thing to her, the smell of freshly baked bread, picking flowers, watching the stars n all.
So when her boyfriend is the most biggest popstar, surrounded by loud music, screaming fans, and flashy cameras, everyone thought the couple wouldn’t work out, oh how they were so wrong.
After loud music, flashy lights, the screams and chants of millions of fans, Harry learnt that quiet and peaceful moments were better shared with y/n, he didn’t just love her, he adored her and everything she did.
She was the quiet rain in the darkest of nights.
It was a common occasion that Harry would come home to y/n absolutely nose deep in a book on the sofa, he loved watching the way she would get totally immersed in the story and endorsed on the character’s behaviour and thinking process.
Well tonight was no different, the time neared 6:45pm and Harry was out of the studio relatively early, he walked into there shared home, before he could look around he could sense something wasn’t right, the lights were all off, normally y/n would have various candle scents lingering in the atmosphere and the sound of her playlist would be faintly heard in the background.
He toed off his shoes and released his belongings by the door (making a mental note to clean it up later)
And walked through to there shared living room, y/n was bundled on the sofa with a grey faux blanket covering her, her hoodies hood was covering her hair and her eyes looked red and defeated.
Alarm bells are immediately going off in Harry’s mind, and he’s quick to act.
“Hey you, what’s happening?” He asked gently asked, swiftly sitting down next to her, leaning back and gently tapping her arm enough to signal ‘come here’
“Harry? Didn’t even hear you come home” she said voice a little wobbly, she joined his side, lounging her legs across his lap and resting her head on his chest.
“S’okay, what happened my love?” He asked softly into her hair, allowing his hand to slowly trace gentle circles on her back.
“Well” she started
“You know the book i was close to finishing?” She sniffs.
Harry begins to slightly relax at the fact it may not be as serious as he anticipated.
“I do m’love” he smiled
“Well because, it wasn’t a good ending at all” she begins to tear up again and snuggle her head further into his chest.
He mainly chuckles out of relief that it wasn’t anything ‘real’ and ‘serious’ he continues to hold her and press kisses to her hairline.
“I’m sorry to hear that m’love, wanna speak about it?” He’d gently ask.
As she begins to tell him the tragedy of the protagonists death and the failing love story between characters, even if truthfully Harry had no idea, he loved listening and taking in what she had to say.
“It sounds like such a beautiful story though my love” he said, trying to amp the spirits up.
“Mhmm” shes hum against him, the rest of the night was filled with cuddles and a lazy dinner together.
——
It was a few weeks later and now y/n had got on to some new books, she was never without one.
One evening when y/n was sitting up reading in bed, and Harry was in there shared en suite getting ready for bed, y/n had an idea, that would send not only her but many girls around the world into a frenzy.
Before he finished up she sent up her phone discreetly on her beside table and began to work her magic.
“Harry!” She called
Lucky for her, timing was great, he emerged from the bathroom and was about to head out to the bed.
“Stay right there mister” she smirked
A confused smile crossed his face, at her instructions but he did as she said.
“Babe-?” He chuckled lowly.
“I’ve just been reading here” she said holding up her book
“And it says here: “with arms holding him up he leant against the doorframe admiring the girl in-front of him” “ she recites from the paper.
Rolling his eyes already knowing what she was gonna request.
“So if you could please, show me your best doorframe lean, I’d be very happy” she smiled as she put the book in her lap and leaned back against the headboard.
His famous smirk flashes at the girl
“Y’want me, to lean against the doorframe?” He chuckles.
“Basically, but like- in a really romantic and heroic way, y’know” she giggles.
Y/n can practically see Harry think of how he’s gonna do this.
“M’kay, I need you to c’mere then” he calmly requests.
“Harry, just do it!!” She blushes, she’s also thinking of how thankful she is for the 5 minute feature on TikTok!
“Will, just come here” he laughs, he walks over and takes both of her hands and guides her to the place he wants which is right by the doorframe but far enough.
When satisfied with were the both at, harrys left arm lifts up and due to his height sits just above the top door frame, already y/n found her self flustered, and with his right hand he held her face and pulled her in for a sweet kiss on her lips, while still holding the “doorframe leaning position”
She pulls away flustered and blushed up,
“You did not just do that” she laughs as she stares at him.
“No Harry, I know the fuck you did not do that” she states, her eyes still wide and her mouth curling up into a big smile.
The smirk of satisfaction crawled up on his face as he managed to to fluster up his girl, despite nearly 5 years of being together.
Remembering the iPhone camera pointing in there direction, she quickly turned on her heels to stop it, at the realisation of she’s been filming them hits Harry and it’s now his time to go red.
“You cheeky thing” he says going up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, he kept his chin on her shoulder as they watched the video they just made together, sharing laughs and smiles.
“Fuck sake” he smiles, pressing a kiss to her temple and getting into his side of the bed.
She presses post and couldn’t wait to see what everyone had to say tomorrow, she joined in the bed next to him.
“Safe to say girls are gonna be having a field day with that one” she laughs.
“Where did you learn that stunt from anyway?” She giggled leaning in to his side.
“Well baby” he started.
“When your girlfriend is obsessed with books and romance novels you do learn a few tricks along the way, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t read a few of your stuff” he nonchalantly pointed out.
Her eyes light up again.
“Really? You have?” She excitedly asked
“Mmmhmm, I got say y’got good taste” he shrugs.
“If you want recommendations just say”
——————————————————————————
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astrodances · 10 months ago
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"Now I've had the time of my life No, I never felt like this before Yes, I swear it's the truth And I owe it all to you"
This is a very, very special drawing for me. ✨
In September of last year, I watched Dancing With The Stars' "Step Into the Movies" special again, at the end of which they recreate "The Time of My Life" scene from Dirty Dancing. And that sent me on a nostalgia trip back to my high school theater days over a decade ago now, where the drama club accepted my idea to do a "Time of Our Lives" theme, and a performance for that song à la Glee. Mind you, I was mainly the stage manager/techie sort, but I did some scenes for the showcases, and participated in this song with my then-boyfriend, along with two other couples.
And while we were hanging out in the green room backstage, a friend took some pictures of us. Including the one that directly inspired this drawing of Webby + Lena.
This started out as a memory remix of that photo, after watching the DWTS special, because I thought these two lovebirds would be really cute subjects for it.
But once I got going, it turned into a love letter, for many things.
As part of the remix aspect of it, I now picture myself in Lena's spot in the photo, getting to have the short hair I wish I had had back then, and getting to wear a suit and tie! (Yes, in the original photo, I am wearing the dress and red bow Webby's sporting here, and I have long hair. 🙈 Though I will say here that the little heart necklace she's wearing is exactly like the one I had, too! :)) Drawing this was really cathartic for my nonbinary self. 💜
And as for Webby, in this remix, she represents someone that, in retrospect, I wish I had shared this moment with from back then. In many ways, she really was the Webby to my Lena. 💜💖💝
(Literally) beyond the subjects of this though, this is indeed very much a love letter to a lot of things, to passions. The background is pretty much a replica of the drama classroom wall we were in front of for the photo, at least as far as layout goes, with a few direct recreations of things that were on the wall and on the table there. Everything else was me being a passionate (theatre) nerd.
(Details (many details) of said nerdiness and alternate versions below the cut!)
I've included un-blurred and background-only versions (and a version with drop shadow lines on the girls, because why not? it's a cool effect!) below, but I just want to point out the details, because I'm so dang proud of this.
The posters/programs for The Phantom Blot of the Opera, Featherspray, Chickago, and My Fair Dewey are obvious duck-parody references to their real-world counterparts (with the latter being the exact poster they use in DuckTales, in Dewey's dream in "Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!" So thanks, Dewey! 😂). The Featherspray one was also included because Hairspray was one of the shows we did in high school! And lemme just say, creating theater posters is really fun!!
The MJ the Musical poster and the half-shown Notre Dame de Paris "Duckbill" right behind Lena's head are particularly special to me, since they (along with Phantom) are my favorite musicals, and getting to draw those two was especially fun!
The L'Orange Theater poster in the top-right is a bunch of duck easter eggs in one - the L'Orange Theater is mentioned and seen in the very first episode of DuckTales 1987, and of course, there's Aquarioon from DT17! Looks like it toured in Duckburg a long time ago. 😉
And the sheet music is the DuckTales theme! (Or at least the left side of it :P)
The "Congrats" card, calendar (the whale for upper half was my own touch), folder, page of random backstage stuff behind Lena's head (which includes little Star Trek and Darkwing Duck references), and golden "Theatre" card (with my old director's favorite quote) are directly from the photo (or at least based on what I could see through its blurriness 😝), as is the very edge of a cast photo in the upper-right. The purple note (totally not with any secret messages whaaaaat) below that, the certificate of excellence, and the little pride heart pins everywhere are little garnishes/dedications. 😊
The stage/theater diagram below the certificate is really cool, because that's a direct recreation (+ another hidden message) of a project a friend and I did for stagecraft back in our freshman year - I was even able to copy my own handwriting for the labels! 😄😂
The "Time of Our Lives" poster is a reference to the showcase I mentioned above that inspired all this, though the real-life poster looked very different, from what I remember.
The green bag below is sorta a nod to the secret pal exchanges we used to do during shows. 😉
And finally:
The Glittering Goldie show poster is me just having an absolute blast drawing her once again and coming up with something for her Blackjack days! And bonus - I'll be posting a gradient-only version of Goldie tomorrow! Really happy with how she turned out!
And the "All the World's a Stage" poster is me combining all of my theatre nerdiness with my passion for space and a good pun! 😁
ANYWAY...
I learned a lot with this drawing, about creating and about myself.
And I just had so, so much fun with it - it was all love, all passion, all happiness for this one. 💜💖💝
Wishing the same for all of you. ✨
Love, Astro 💜
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gillyeowalters · 8 months ago
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I love the small things about Warframe's design so much. Like, the Duviri architecture.
[Spoilers!]
The houses obviously are just wall parts of the Zariman, arranged to look like settlements/towns. The same goes for many of the harvestable plants, that also mimic Zariman design elements (especially noticeable with the cactus-like Ueymag, that has an unnaturally symmetrical shape, mimicking the often repeated tuning fork-shape).
Duviri has multiple bioms, plains, snowy mountains, a desert, but they are all way too small to exist naturally.
All this paints the picture of a world created by the mind of a child, who might have never seen anything else but the inside of a spaceship. They might have never seen other architecture, so all houses have to look like they were ripped straight out of the Zariman's structure. They know that mountains and deserts exist, but they do not understand their scale, so they become just one more small piece of Duviri. Just like cartographs back in history they fill the unknown of their world with set pieces and the skeletal structures found all over Duviri lend themselves for a comparison to this "Here there be dragons" mindset.
Children build and recreate what they know all the time to learn and better understand it, but also to express their wishes and creativity. This gives the idea of a child, confined in space, wishing to get to be somewhere else, visiting the places they have heard of.
We get to see quite a few rather large settlements in Duviri, but the amount of houses and people does not seem to match. In general, only very few people seem to be roaming the streets. This is not an adult doing extensive worldbuilding, this is a child with a lot of building blocks but very few dolls building a world on which they can project their emotions and memories onto.
Most of Duviris normal inhabitants are just decorations, not existing to be characters, but because a town "needs to have people in it". They are not defined by who they are, but by what they do- and what they do is react to the player, sit around, talk and cower in fear when enemies approach.
The simple shapes of the buildings are very close to the concept of real life building blocks. Paedagogic toys often are simple, to allow for easy handling and more creative freedom.
The theme of death is also omnipresent. Every animal resembles a carcass build from metal plating and even the Dax enemies are skeleton-like, the Gladius' helmets lower part even resembling a rabbit skull. We obviously know how the story of the Zariman ended and the skulls and bones might be just an indicator of potential danger, but what if the skeletal design of Duviri's inhabitants are not supposed to indicate not (just) death, but an infinished state? They are walking skeletons, yet missing a skin, their shape, just like the fractured bodies of the townspeople, not fully formed out in the child's head. Since the townspeople are humanoid though, they look more finished, while all the child might have ever seen of sheep, cats, dogs, horses and owls could have very well been just pictures in a school book, maybe next to a diagram of their underlying anatomy (after all, one of the few things we get to experience of the daily life on the Zariman, is school).
There is also an enemy called the Dax Herald. A Herald was a specialist in ceremonies, making sure that they were held correctly (besides also having diplomativ tasks). Their head resembles a security camera, adding a layer of oppressive social norms normal humans certainly suffered under in the orokin empire
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destielomegaversebigbang · 3 months ago
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Castiel's Guide to an Accidental Courting
Posting September 9, 2024
Fic by Siaice
Art by SoloArcana
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Castiel had long since given up hope of participating in Courting Season. No one would like to mate a clumsy Alpha with black wings, a loner who preferred to spend his free time gardening, studying animals and carving in wood, instead of doing some commanding job. So, why even bother? He had his patients, nature and his peace of mind. That’s all he ever needed. And if sometimes he wished for his friend to reciprocate his feelings… Well, that’s his little secret.
But why did Dean suddenly start invading his personal space? And why did he keep looking at him like that?
Dean, as the Omega son of the leader of the Earthly Angels’ flock, is expected to attend every Courting Season that happens in Heaven. Four times a year, every year, he has to say ‘no’ to random suitors (or a very stubborn one) because the only Alpha he wants can't take the damn hint.
But oh, why is Cas presenting his wings to him? Is it finally happening?!
Or:
A story about one idiot who thinks he’s being courted, and the other idiot who isn’t courting him at all.
Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Wing Fic, Wing Kink, Wing Grooming, Fluff, Slight Angst, Humor, Fantasy, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Romantic Comedy, Comedy of Errors, Courting Rituals, Courting Gifts, Courtship, Oblivious Castiel, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Mutual Pining, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues, Hunter Dean Winchester, Healer Castiel, Doctor Castiel, Carpenter Castiel, Demisexual Castiel, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Unrequited Michael/Dean Winchester, Past Bullying, Very Light Violence, Animal Death (in the past, random bird), Chase, Knotting, Mating Rituals, Mating Bond, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Happy Ending
Excerpt below the cut
“If you must know, I was researching bird habits for… fun.”
“Oh, yeah? I knew you were a nerd but even you must have better ways to entertain yourself than that,” Dean’s tone was playful, teasing, yet Castiel couldn’t reveal the real reason behind his dancing session, it could have ended up being humiliating or devastating.
Knowing he had nothing to lose - Dean had already caught him - Castiel decided that the best defense was an attack (as in surprise, not physical). Assuming quickly a crouching position, he spread his wings, bringed them slightly forward and started shaking them alternately up and down along with his arms.
Dean choked on his tongue, his eyes going wide, disbelieving in what he saw happening in front of him.
“What the hell?”
“The male ostrich’s courtship dance is much more animated than this, very gyrating and with wildly waving of his head - my neck is not adapted to such movements,” Castiel tried to recreate the motion he saw on the video with a poor result.
Trying to keep his balance, Castiel closed his eyes, therefore completely missing the flicks of the curious omega’s wings.
“They’re naturally quiet birds, but during the mating season they make loud, hollow-sounding booms to attract hens,” he shared, before he froze to reach deep inside himself to release a low, rumbling sound that puffed out his cheeks.
A loud burst of laughter forced him to lift his eyelids.
Dean looked so happy. He was laughing so hard he had to clutch his knees to avoid falling forward and had problems with catching his breath.
It was the most beautiful thing Castiel has ever seen in his life.
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