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#counter culture icon
vintagevamp876 · 1 year
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🏵️🌼 Twiggy 🌼🏵️
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kisatcheblkstag · 1 year
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Don’t get too strung out, by the way I look! Don’t judge a book by its cover! 
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cadaverkeys · 2 years
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you getting the gay vampires response reminds me I too got a rant about it in my replies. I just blocked the person. My post was half joking (sort of) that 19th century vampire novels were pretty gay and in that therefore vampires in general are officially (more of the joke part but I stand by it because I will) not straigh. And then someone got mad asking if I read about any vampiric folklore, books, or anything about the history of vampires and that “most of us take it seriously”.
As I said I blocked them, but also anyways I did a shit ton of research and stuff into vampires and their folklore including before the modern concept and all over the world because they were my special interest (autism) since I was a kid. And I read the book already. Also Carmilla being a book that exists.
The Dracula Daily thing seems to now be getting some weird people coming out of the woodworks to get mad at people
Absolutely...I believe that vampires are culturally linked to many things. They are a vessel of villiany in that, by their nature, they must hurt people to survive. Vampires are also an ancient myth with many different faces. A vampire can be an animal with three tongues and one eye but it might also be a human with straight teeth and a pleasant disposition. The defining factor of the vampire is not its face or its character- it's the violent acts that it must do to survive, drinking blood especially.
In that way. If you are anyone with a deep interest in vampirism I feel that you must be acquainted with vampires as the depiction of bigotry. I feel the book by Bram Stoker is intentionally homophobic, anti-orientalist, and white supremacist. The plot is LITERALLY "the foreign other terrorises us because he is predisposed to hatred and conquest" and I feel that trying to go all "death of author" on this is...stupid. It's purposefully ignorant, even. Critical media analysis doesn't end when you get uncomfortable!
I originally responded thinking that the user was sincerely mislead on their interpretation of my post and I tried to be gentle in my redirection. But at the end of the day they're arguing apples when I'm arguing pears. The original post is ALL about author intent and their response is trying to invalidate that by arguing death of the author above all else. We just aren't arguing about the same things at the end of the day...
They made note to say about how I'm in a grump about this- that this prevents me from enjoying Dracula as a literary work. Fact is, I LOVE Dracula. I love vampires!! Part of my enjoyment of them is ALSO analysing their position in politics. Theres no way to separate the two, imo.
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maxellminidisc · 9 months
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I think people forget that punk didn't just get reduced to an aesthetic by the kids on tiktok or whatever. Like don't get me wrong I hope kids do learn about punk and its roots in homeless and working class youth and the music that basically is at the root of punk as a subculture, but like lol people act like kids today are to blame for that. Kids today are introduced to punk through an already preprocessed, hyper consumptive lense as a result of punk becoming an aesthetic via the fashion industry and corporate interest making it into a pop culture phenomenon for a profitable market that essentially ended up stripping it of its counter cultural or sub cultural nature.
Fashion industry is essentially what caused a great divide between punk's subcultural aesthetic with deep roots in poverty and resourcesfullness vs punk REDUCED to aesthetic with stereotypical hallmark pieces with more popularity amongst the general public as said aesthetic following its decline in media hype. What we know as iconic and quintessential punk looks and templates, like say the Vivienne Westwood tattered sweaters that Sid Vicious wore, her breast t shirt or anything in her and McLaren's famous shop SEX that was used by the most popular punk bands of the time etc were already highly curated, already expensive pieces actual kids in the punk scene could not afford. She is literally credited as commercializing punk lol
Theres a huge fashion culture of creativity and socio political history based entirely on these poor and homeless youths that has often been overshadowed if not just straight up forgotten as a result of how much attention and how much credit designers like Westwood have gotten as like pioneers and shapers of punk fashion and the culture itself which is like ludicrous if you think about it.
Not to mention so much of corporate interest in punk as a profitable music market ended up really dulling the teeth on a lot of artists music. There were still an edge of politics in it but I think there was so much refinement to a lot of the most popular bands that signed with labels that most punks started seeing that as selling out, and what sold out was what became pop culture and started being seen by people within the subculture as anything BUT subcultural.
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glorified-red · 1 year
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Petnames (Damian Wayne x Reader)
summary: Damian calls you by your name while grocery shopping instead of the usual petnames, you're not a fan.
word count: 1,330
warnings: a vaguely suggestive sentence This is entirely based off of a TikTok I saw, I wish I could link it but I lost it. I really wanted to go more into Damian's Arab culture so this is the start :)
You rolled the cart forward, leaning your body weight onto the handle bar. Shelves stacked on top of shelves obscured your vision, aisles filled to the brim with expensive foods you didn’t even know existed. 
Who cooks with saffron? Like seriously. 
Damian insisted on going grocery shopping today and you didn’t hesitate to tag along, enjoying the peaceful company that his presence always brought. He was currently sifting through the tiny bottles of herbs in front of him. 
Sesame seeds were gently placed in the cart alongside the lemons he picked out earlier, taking his time finding the perfect one for later tonight. Cumin found its way in the cart as well, set down right next to the yeast. 
Damian’s cooking was one you had come to adore. He spared no expense when it came to providing you with a proper meal. He was fueled by his desire to provide, the act of service lover in him thrived on the sensation. So as he began to explore his culture’s cuisine, you were a constant support for him. 
His new favorite pastime was experimenting with different flavored spreads, trying to perfect his own recipe so he could write it down in the household recipe journal right next to Alfred’s iconic banana bread and Tim’s new tofu recipe (created the second he learned Damian steered clear of animal products as much as possible, a vegetarian leaning slightly vegan if he could).
Damian had spent hours trying to learn how to craft dough from scratch, the fragile pita was a task he was willing to overcome with patience. Each time his hands would be covered in flour, the kitchen turned into a warzone of attempts. One batch was cooking, one was cooling, one was in his hands, and one was set aside to rise. You’d join him every time, sitting pretty on the counter while he worked, listening to the soft hum he let out as he concentrated. 
Damian would kiss you in between, his cheeks dusted with flour that he barely noticed. 
“You’re gonna get flour all over my clothes,” you’d whine in the kiss, complaints falling onto deaf ears as he kissed you deeply. His hands would settle onto the counter on either side of you, caging you in with his body. 
“I’m sure you’ll manage just fine,” he’d smirk.
His sleeves would be rolled up after you insisted he wore an apron, he refused until you put it on him yourself. You’d tie the apron around his waist, the second you finished he’d pull you into a kiss in thanks. You’d blink and his hands would be under your thighs, lifting you onto the counter with the soft words of “I’ll need a taste tester.”
He’d hand you a small spoon every so often, watching your reaction with so much intensity it almost made you laugh with how serious he was about this. His eyebrows would furrow into the scowl as he waited for your feedback while you tasted the creamy hummus.
“It tastes amazing,” you’d gush, the flavors bursting to life on your tongue with how all the spices meshed together. 
The satisfaction on his face was always worth it. It was small, but the pride blossoming inside of him was always so endearing to you. Your word of praise sunk straight into him until his heart felt lighter. 
You’d flick flour at him as the night trailed onwards, smearing wet dough right on the tip of his nose so you could see him go cross-eyed. 
“Oh you are going to regret that.” 
“Am I?” you’d feign, holding back your own laughter. 
By the end of the night, you’d be out of breath with giggles, socked feet sliding across kitchen tiles as he chased you. He’d always nab you, wrapping you so tightly against his body with no hope for escape. You’d fight until your clothes were covered in just as much flour as he was. 
He’d smell of freshly cut herbs and the feeling of home. His tongue would taste of his marvelous cooking, an addicting essence you’d chase after well into the night while your dirty clothes lay discarded as an afterthought. 
The clink of glass against the metal cart brought you straight back to the grocery store. You could feel the tingle on your lips from the memory. You coughed, looking up to find Damian deciding between two types of chickpeas. They slowly became a staple of the household, an easy protein substitute for Damian alongside tofu. 
“Y/n, did you end up liking this one?” He turned to you, holding up the lightly colored kabuli package. The peas rattled against each other as the bag shifted. 
You went to respond but your brain stuttered to a stop. 
“What?” 
Damian quirked up an eyebrow before repeating himself: “Did you enjoy the last hummus I made with these or did you prefer the other kind?” 
“No, before that.” 
Now Damian was really lost. “I said nothing before that, we haven’t spoken since I last asked you about the oils.” 
You remembered, debating between the traditional olive oil or the more expensive avocado oil. 
“You said my name.” 
Damian nodded slowly, looking at you with a bewildered expression, one he used when he was trying not to call you a fucking twat. 
“I did, yes.” 
“Why did you call me that,” you almost pouted. “Are you mad at me?” 
He scoffed, taken aback completely. “No,” the syllable raised with his surprise but he held it firm, reassuring you solidly. “It’s just your name.” 
The chickpeas were long since forgotten, his hands falling beside his thighs as he leaned against the cart. 
“What did I do?” you asked, your heart sinking.
Damian couldn’t tell if you were being serious or messing around with him. He spoke slowly, “Am I not allowed to say your name?” 
You fully pouted, your words feeling embarrassing the more the conversation continued. “You just always use a nickname like beloved or love, you only ever call me by my name when you’re mad at me.” 
The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, a playful feeling settling behind his eyes. He didn’t realize how much those names meant to you, he’d remember that next time. 
“No I don’t,” he remarked, the playful retort falling from his lips easily.
“Yes you do!” you laughed, if you were closer you would’ve punched him in the shoulder (not like he would’ve moved or anything, but it got the message across all the same). “Cmon, Dames, what did I do?” 
“You didn’t do anything,” Damian said. “I merely wanted to grab your attention so I could know which flavor to buy.” 
“Then take it back,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. 
Damian looked at you with a bored expression. “Excuse me?” 
“Take it back,” you demanded, standing firm in your words. “Call me something else.” 
“Is that really necessary?”
You pleaded with your eyes, willing every ounce of puppy dog sadness into your gaze. Damian narrowed his eyes in return. You were playing a dirty trick, knowing his weakness and exploiting it. He stood unwavering for a single moment, staring straight into your eyes with his own. 
But in the end, those eyes would always make him cave. 
“Fine,” he sighed, rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance. “Beloved, darling, love of my life, habibti,” the arabic term of endearment rolled off his tongue with ease, it always made your chest flutter, “What flavor would you prefer?” 
You smiled wide, a big toothy grin that made your eyes sparkle. 
Damian tsked, “Are you satisfied now?” 
“Yes,” you beamed, your hands falling from your chest and back onto the cart handle. “And the desi one, it’s creamier.” 
Damian plopped the bag into the cart. “You are such a dork.” 
You hummed, “You love me, don’t lie.” 
“Do I, Y/n?” Damian smiled, turning away to exit the aisle. 
“Aye!” You followed after him, hearing the soft chuckle from afar.
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Taglist ♡
@anothertimdrakestan
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cleolinda · 7 months
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(For our purposes, listen to it without the visuals first.)
I wasn't going to keep posting about Unreal Unearth, but something happened yesterday.
It's been five months since I first heard this song, and I'm still astonished by it. You know the tiktok skit about the Star Wars wedding music, and the guy is grooving along until the Imperial Death March filters in, and then he's kind of alarmed, like, wha—? And then he realizes it slaps anyway and he keeps dancing? That is "Eat Your Young."
It's the morning of March 17th. The EP with the first three singles from the new album has dropped. I've got my phone blasting the song on the bathroom counter, I don't understand half what the man is saying nor did I expect to, I'm cheerfully mumbling along in the shower, grooving along,
wait they did what for a war drum
Get some Pull up the ladder when the flood comes Throw enough rope until the legs have swung Seven new ways that you can eat your young Come and get some Skinning the children for a war drum Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young
What the fuck, this song goes so hard. That's the chorus. The conceit of the whole album is that it loosely follows Dante's Inferno, so this is the third circle of hell, gluttony. Hozier himself says that he wasn't specifically thinking of Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal—
“I don’t know how intentional the reference to Jonathan Swift was in this. That essay [Swift’s 1729 satirical essay A Modest Proposal in which he suggests the Irish poor sell their children as food] is such a cultural landmark that it’s just hanging in the air. I was more reflecting on what I felt now in this spirit of the times of perpetual short-term gain and a long-term blindness. The increasing levels of precarious living, poverty, job insecurity, rental crisis, property crisis, climate crisis, and a generation that’s inheriting all of that and one generation that’s enjoyed the spoils of it. The lyrics are direct, but the voice is playful. There’s this unreliable narrator who relishes in this thing which was fun to write.” [Apple Music album notes]
—and I believe him. The song's not a suggestion, a proposal; it's an invitation to atrocity in progress. I also believe he probably wasn't thinking of Greta Thunberg's iconic speech at the UN Climate Action Summit, not specifically, but that's what I hear in the song, like the flip side of a coin:
You have stolen my dreams and my childhood with your empty words. And yet I'm one of the lucky ones. People are suffering. People are dying. Entire ecosystems are collapsing. We are in the beginning of a mass extinction, and all you can talk about is money and fairy tales of eternal economic growth. How dare you! [...] You say you hear us and that you understand the urgency. But no matter how sad and angry I am, I do not want to believe that. Because if you really understood the situation and still kept on failing to act, then you would be evil.
I feel like on some level, even coincidentally, "Eat Your Young" is the answer to the question, what would you sound like if you were that evil? Who would you be? I can think of a dozen possibilities just off the top of my head or looking around my blog, from something as petty as studio executives mangling trees to deprive striking workers of shade (while hoping they lose their homes), all the way up to the US school-to-prison pipeline. The National Rifle Association keeps politicians in its pocket while the US has more mass shootings than days in a year, Nestlé fucks shit up around the world as a way of life, even ChatGPT sucks up water while threatening jobs—and for what? And yet, I promise you most of these things weren't the inspiration for an Irishman’s song—some of them hadn't even happened yet. There's just that much fresh You Would Be Evil to go around. I am certain that Hozier wrote the song partly about (as one article puts it) "Ireland's housing crisis: Millennials, a generation sacrificed," given that time back in the day when he helped occupy a building—a housing crisis happening in multiple countries. There's so much of the world I'm not touching on. I can stuff a paragraph with links and it's utterly inadequate.
I haven't even mentioned war.
There's an overwhelming sense this decade of the future being fed into a meat grinder. That sense is in this song. What would it sound like to be in the head of someone who didn't give a shit about anything but profit? Well, it might sound like this.
And if you haven't heard it, well—I'm going to sound absolutely out of my mind after saying all that, but "Eat Your Young" has a beat and you can dance to it. It's sexy. And I'm certain that's on purpose. You get seduced into the sound of it, as if by something demonic, something that enjoys sucking down the future and is not going to stop. And the sheer fucking catchiness of the song keeps you listening to it—thinking about it—when maybe you push away the dry headlines we get everyday. If you let this song stay in your head, it becomes a lens. Five months later, I still think about it when I read the news. Maui was on fire and tourists stayed. Within days, the prospect of developers swooping in to buy up land reared its head. If there's something still to take, there is ground to break, whatever's still to come. Get some.
I was born in 1978 —I'm late Gen X. In my forties, I'm young enough to worry about the future still; I’m neither so rich that I can just plan to retire to Mars, nor so old that I can know I'll be safely gone before the world might go up in flames. But I'm also not my nephew, whose school year just started back up, or the neighborhood kids who race him home down the sidewalk in the afternoons. Yesterday, he had his very first mass-shooter lockdown drill. He’s six.
I think music can put the feeling back into numb fingers, and I think that's why "Eat Your Young" works so well—Hozier calls the song fun and playful, and I think you have to have that, something you can live with rather than just switch off for your own mental survival. We need music to feed spirit at protests; we need something to keep our feet moving. Don’t give up, don't close your eyes and slip away. Those kids, they have dreams we could try to steal back for them.
Since I mentioned Maui:
Why Hawaiian sovereignty has undeniable context for the Maui fires
The Climate Crisis and Colonialism Destroyed My Maui Home. Where We Must Go From Here
How You Can Donate and Help Support Maui Communities Right Now
The Maui Strong Fund
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eternalsa2z · 16 days
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Counter-Culture / Fight the Man
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My boyfriend and I were always different. I was a tatted-up doll who broke the mold of pretty, pink, plastic trophy wives. A rockstar, counter-culture queen who needed an equal anti-establishment king. In many ways Rocky was the perfect fit. A punk metalhead who loved guy-liner and was secure enough in his masculinity to wear pink. We bonded over being different and unique.
However the longer we were together, the more my thinking changed. Could we really be alternative icons if we were presenting the same styles? Did our shared nonconformist looks actually make us standard and boring?
I couldn't stand the thought of being a poser. So I talked with Rocky about it. We agreed that it didn't make sense for me to become a cookie-cutter bimbo trophy doll - even in an ironic sense it was too traditionalist. But if my bf rocked an alternative look, became the very thing society said he was supposed to be attracted to, then that would be the biggest middle finger to norms. Fighting the man by fighting his own manhood.
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A few months later and I'll admit, my 'girlfriend' really went deep into the role. Plastic tits, fake platinum blonde extensions, doll-like makeup and filler so no one would recognize the old Rocky. The mental training was amazing - sometimes I wondered if 'Diamond' really still believed in our cause with the way she babbled and giggled about inane material things. She fought the man and her inner feminine Barbie doll won.
Our relationship sure has changed. I now wear the pants, at least compared to the skimpy slit dresses that Diamond wears. I have to do most of the thinking for both of us when Rocky used to be such a smart alternative thinker. But as I see the two of us together, I realize we are perfect. Because nothing says 'fuck you' to the standard heteronormative patriarchy like a female-led relationship with a trans lesbian barbie doll wife. Or as my girlfriend likes to say - 'It's, like, totes metal!'
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chrysbibi · 1 year
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Pairing: Florist!Park Jihoon x fem!Reader
Genre: Flower shop AU, smut, fluff if you squint
Summary: Your weekly visits to your local flower shop take an interesting turn when you and the florist get some time in your hands.
Word count: 8.1k
Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex, fingering, dirty talking, swearing, rough sex, orgasm denial, me still not being over the Blooming Treasure fits and concept
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When your best friend came back to South Korea after studying in the Netherlands for a semester, you built a habit of buying her red tulips every week.
The first months of her return, she was very nostalgic of her time in the Netherlands; the friends she made there, the food, the culture, the trips and everything new that she experienced in the country. So naturally, you begun getting her the iconic Dutch flowers to cheer her up! The flowers were on the affordable side and always seemed to lift her mood, so you kept buying them for her months after she had returned and even after she was no longer yearning for Europe as much as the beginning.
You always adored flowers, but you were never one to go out of your way to buy some for your home or friends. That was until now!
The flower shop near your apartment is small, yet picturesque. It looks like it is squashed between two corporate buildings; it's existence in the busy streets of Seoul appearing almost unreal. Yet there it was, its colorful flowers decorating the bland pavement of the capital.
Two young florists are working in the shop and by that point, both have memorized your face and your weekly demand of red tulips. You don't know their names, but damn are they both cute! The taller one with the green highlights on his hair is the one teasing you the most about your tulip obsession, while the younger one with reddish-brown hair always smiles at you behind the payment counter and compliments your taste in flowers.
Today is no different as you stop at the flower shop, taking a moment to crouch and admire some flower bouquets that are on display outside the shop before going inside in search for your tulips.
"Are you looking for something?"
You immediately recognize the voice and smile knowingly as you raise your eyes to meet the mischievous ones of the tall florist. He is leaning against the door of the shop, his arms crossed in front of his shirt as he is smirking at you.
"Perhaps…" he pretends to think and you roll your eyes at his theatrics, the smile always remaining in your face.
"...red tulips?"
You chuckle and get up, "Actually yes! How did you guess?!" you tease back and his grin becomes wider.
"Lucky I guess…Or you know, I am just good like that!"
You huff but it is no secret to both of you that you are enjoying these lighthearted moments of yours. He pushes himself off the door and heads inside, with you following behind him.
He loudly sets his hands on top of the counter and the younger florist jumps up from under it. He was probably looking for something when he was startled by the noise. He rubs the back of his head and grimaces before he notices you standing behind his elder; a smile spreading across his face.
"Welcome to Blooming Treasure! Again!" he winks at you and you would look away as you blushed if it wasn't the third time he greeted you like that.
"Guess what she is here for!" the older florist tells the younger one as he leans his elbows on the counter. He takes a look at you and gives you a cheeky grin.
"Ah, yes. Her order is ready." the younger florist says just as the door opens and two teenage girls walk inside, gawking at the flowers and sometimes at the two florists too.
"Great! I will leave you to it!" the older florist says as he straightens his apron and turns towards the girls, leaving you with the younger florist. You don't miss the mischievous look he gives you before he walks away, but you resist following him with your eyes.
The brown haired florist smiles at you as he places a bouquet of red tulips on top of the counter, "That will be ₩27.000."
You pay and thank him as he wraps you the flowers, waving you goodbye till next week. On your way out, you pass the girls and the older florist, who is giving them some suggestions on indoor plants. This time you can't hold back glancing at him as you push the door open. Before you can avert your eyes, his eyes catch yours and his lips twitch upwards. He continues explaining the difference between two indoor plants as his eyes stare at you intensely. Normally, you would turn away, but this time you just feel unable to do so, giving him the satisfaction of seeing you blush under his stare.
Only when the door closes behind you do you break eye contact, taking a moment to recollect yourself before you walk away from the flower shop.
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The weatherman is full of shit and you are never putting your trust in him again! These are the only thoughts swirling in your head as you run from one tiny shed to another; your umbrella forgotten at your apartment. Your efforts are in vain though as you are already soaked to the bone!
Your shoes make that awful squeaking noise with every step you take while your skirt is glued to your upper thighs, making your walking even more insufferable! Your short-sleeved shirt is sticking to your upper body and you can feel the wet material on your nipples as you had the very clever idea of not wearing a bra today. The only positive you can think of, is that the shirt is floral, conceiling your breasts for the most part, but failing to make your hard nipples invinsible.
You stop again under a shed so tiny, you can't even find the use of it. If it can't protect you from the rain, then what is it good for anyway?! You look around you and notice you are getting closer to your apartment, but even soaked wet, you don't dare to run freely in the heavy rain just to get to the safety of your home a bit earlier. You shake your head and shiver, crossing your arms and cursing under your breath -not that anyone is around to hear you!
"Are you okay?"
Or maybe you are wrong…
You whip your head around and widen your eyes as they are met with another familiar pair. The tall florist from the Blooming Treasure flower shop is standing on the doorstep of the shop a few meters away from your quivering form. He is wearing his usual light blue, long-sleeved shirt and white apron and he is holding a pair of scissors in his hands. He is carefully standing under the narrow shed of the shop as not to get wet, as he is looking at you with concern.
You blink and the raindrops that have been stuck to your upper eyelashes, slide down your cheeks. You frantically look around, only to notice that you had just hurriedly passed the flower shop in your search for shelter, deeming its narrow shed unsuitable. Behind the glass front of the shop you see all the flower bouquets and plant pots, that are usually on display outside, now resting in the safety provided by the indoors. So, that's why you didn't noticed the shop…
"Do you want to come inside?" the florist asks you after you ignore his first question and you return your focus on him.
He pushes the door half way open to put more emphasis on his words and you open your mouth to reply before you remember. You look down at your breasts, worried that your appearance if noticed by him will be judged as indecent. Maybe he is handsome and maybe you have a tiny crush on him, but you won't take it as far as flashing him indirectly.
"Are you going to continue standing there and getting wet or are you going to come inside?"
This time his tone is stern and even though you are not looking at him, you can tell that his corcerned expression has turned to a more serious one. You lower your head in an attempt to hide your sudden blush and run towards him, with your arms crossed over your chest. You refuse to raise your head and meet his eyes as you pass by him and scurry for cover inside the shop.
You hear him close the door behind you, muffling the sound of the storm outside. You stay still for a moment in the middle of the small flower shop, cherishing the warmth and, well, dryness of the place. Lost in these thoughts, you don't notice the florist till he is standing before you, frowning.
"Do you want to get sick or something?" he snaps at you and you feel your cheeks warm up from embarrashment. You don't bother hiding them this time; he will probably think there are like this from the cold.
"Sorry."
He sighs and hands you a small towel, with a few stains and torns here and there, "Don't worry, I have washed it." he assures you after he sees you hesitate.
"Thank you." you reluctantly take it and use it to wipe the water from your face. He walks behind the counter and grabs one rose from the giant pile that is laying there, cutting its stems and thorns.
"I don't have anything to give you to change out of your wet clothes." he says as he stays focused on his work, "But, you can take off your shoes if you want. I doubt the rain will stop anytime soon."
You mutter another quiet 'thank you' as you take off your shoes and socks, leaving them next to the door. You pull the hem of your shirt out of your skirt and undo a couple of buttons from the bottom part, as to not have the garment stick to your skin that much.
You glance at the florist over your shoulder, noticing that he is not paying any attention to you and is instead concentrating on his work. You bite your lip and fumble with your fingers, before you hesitantly walk towards him. You place your elbows on the counter and stare at what he is doing.
The young man has a pile of around fifty roses on top of the counter and he is focused on cutting their stems, thorns and leaves, before carefully placing them aside for an arrangement.
He glances at you, smirking, "Pretty view huh?"
You instantly tense, your eyes widening as you find yourself at a loss for words. In your stressed out state, you hear him laugh quietly while still having his eyes on the flowers.
"The roses are freshly delivered. In my opinion, they are the prettiest in this phase."
You look at him baffled before you relax your shoulders and let out a quiet sigh. He turns to look at you and laughs again.
"Did you think I was talking about something else?"
"...No." you side-eye him and look anywhere but him. You hear him hum pleased as he continues treating the flowers and you keep pretending that you are ignoring him as you scan the inside of the shop.
You stare at the walk-in cooler behind the counter and the flower arrangements in it. You have always admired the arrangements, but as beautiful as they are, they are also expensive and way out of your budget! Beside it, it is another walk-in cooler but the flowers in it aren't yet made into bouquets. It is the first time that you have payed real attention to that second cooler as you have never seen it been used for the customers.
As you catch sight of the stuffed animals and various birthday cards in the corner of the shop, you remember the younger florist, who is very much absent at this time. You turn to the florist in front of you and drum your fingers on the work table.
"So…" you titl your head, "...does your cute coworker have a day off?"
The young man stops just as he is about to cut another stem and slowly turns to you. A grin steadily grows on his face and you realize your slip; you were not supposed to say the word 'cute' aloud and he certainly wasn't supposed to hear it! You keep your composure, but you can't help move your foot nervously under the table, away from his prying stare.
"You find him cute?" he lets go of the rose he is holding and turns his whole body to face yours, leaning his left side on the counter.
You feel your face and neck start burning up as you try not to stumble over your words, "Well, he is good looking." you say with the best poker face you can pull off.
He snickers and picks up a rose, pretending to examine it, "So, that's why you keep coming back every week, huh?"
"N-No!"
He raises his eyebrows at your prompt reply and you quickly add, "Besides, he is not my type!"
"Ahh!" he nods a few times as to let the information sink in, but it is obvious he is still teasing you, "I was sure you must have another reason to keep coming back apart from the tulips, but I guess I was wrong!"
He shrugs and returns to his unfinished task with the pile of roses.
"His name is Doyoung by the way. In case you want to call him, but want to skip the cute coworker part."
Even with his head lowered to stare at the flowers, you can still see his grin as he utters that. You narrow your eyes him, crossing your arms over your chest and placing them on the right end of the work table. You feel your shirt stick to your skin and a cold shiver runs up your spine. You hope he doesn't think it is caused by his earlier words.
"Thanks, but as I said, he is not my type."
"Mmhh." is all he says, or more like murmurs, "Am I your type then?"
He still has that stupid grin on his face and you exhale dramatically, managing to contain your blush as you throw your head back, "My friend was in the Netherlands, okay?"
You can see that you piqued his interest as his eyes stay on you and you continue, "And when she came back and had trouble adjusting, I thought that hey, maybe I could cheer her up with some flowers?!"
"And you got her red tulips?" he raises one eyebrow.
"I mean…yeah? They are everywhere in the Netherlands!" you raise your hands in the air, "And she seemed to like them a lot the first time!" you shrug proudly, like you have proved your point and there is nothing he can do to deflect it.
"The first time was like three months ago!" his smugness returns and you hate how one part of you wants to slap it out of his face while another part kind of likes it. Not that you would admit that!
"And?" it turns out more aggressive than you mean it to, but you have to keep yourself together in front of him.
"Oh, I don't know! It just seems like a long time for someone to be nostalgic of a trip to Europe. And maybe a long time for someone to keep buying them flowers. Unless…" he drawls the last part, giving you a mischievous glance and waiting for you to take the bait.
You take it.
"Unless?"
His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip as he pretends to think his response and you can't help but glance at his lips. You are quick to avert your eyes back to his own, but he has caught the stubtle movement, making his grin become wider.
"Unless, there was also something else that you kept coming back for."
You roll your eyes, "I told you, I am not interested-"
Your sentence is cut short when a crash of thunder echoes all over the flower shop, making the glass doors shake. You both stare at the weather outside, as the rain seems to have gotten worse since the time you came inside the shop.
The florist sighs as he throws all the cut stems, leaves and thorns inside a huge trash bag, "I hope it's not that bad when my shift ends."
You watch him as he cleans the counter from the clutter that was on top of it, leaving only the roses on the side.
"When are you supposed to finish?"
"Well, it's 19:18...so in about one and a half hour. I am locking up at 21:00." he says as he drags the trash bag towards the wall and behind the counter, hidden from the customers point of view, "Not that with this kind of weather anyone is coming! Or leaving for that matter!" he looks at you, pursing his lips in a smirk.
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore your quickened heartbeat. Damn this man! When you turn around, he is already tidying the roses; pairing them and setting them aside for future arrangements. And as you watch him silently, you suddenly realize that all this time you haven't asked his name!
"That's a bit embarrashing but…" you scratch you arm awkwardly and he turns to look at you curious, "...could you tell me your name?"
He stares at you for a moment before he laughs loudly, making you flush in embarrassment. He sets down the rose he is holding and takes a few steps, until he is standing less than a meter in front of you. Now that he is standing so close to you, a strong smell of flowers hit your nose, blinding your senses. Maybe it should be expected when he is working half of the day in a flower shop, but it catches you off guard and you snap out of it only when he moves. He grins and extends his hand.
"Park Jihoon. Nice to meet you!"
"(Y/n)." you shyly take his hand and shake it.
You didn't expect his hands to be so rough! Not that you hadve thought of how his hands would be! But, as you hold his hand tightly, you can feel some calluses around his thumb and base of his fingers. You can't help but glance at his hand as you let go of it, getting a better look at it. You see a few small cuts- some new, some older- on his palm and fingers, probably from all the thorns and sharp tools he uses while his fingertips are green-stained.
If he noticed you staring, this time he doesn't make any clever remarks.
You raise your eyes to look at him and you find him staring at you back. You stay like that for a moment, before he smiles and takes a step back. He moves behind the work table and grabs a rose, continuing his previous work. A minute passes in silence, apart from the sound of the raging storm outside, before he speaks again.
"You know…" he drawls, not taking his eyes from the roses, "...I am not one to care about the language of flowers! In fact, I don't think that many people care about the language of flowers, but in this case I was intriged!" he stops and turns to you, waiting for a responce or a reaction.
You titl your head to the side, unsure of what he is trying to say.
"Pretty girl, coming here every week, requesting a bouquet of red tulips; as I said I was certain that it wasn't the tulips the reason why you kept coming back."
You open your mouth to protest, but he is quick to add, "I know, I know! The tulips are for your friend from the Netherlands, but till a few moments ago I didn't know that, so you can't blame me for thinking the tulips were maybe just an excuse!"
He lowers his body, placing his arms on the counter and rests his chin on his palm as he looks at you. You stay silent, waiting for him to make his point, even though you have a feeling of where this is going. Your heartbeat has already quickened, drumming in your ears.
When you make no effort of countering his words, he slowly rises up from the counter and takes a step towards you, "So, I did a little bit of research and-" he takes a step closer, "-imagine my surprise when I found what do red tulips symbolize!" and another step, almost closing the distance between your bodies.
You don't know how you manage not to back away from him, but somehow you stand your ground and keep the eye contact. He slightly titls his head and smirks, probably noticing your struggle.
"Do you know what red tulips symbolize (Y/n)?"
You swear that you actually feel lightheaded as soon as he utters these words. His voice is barely above a whisper, but he is standing so close, towering over you, that you couldn't possibly miss what he said even if you tried. You shake your head left and right, indicating denial and his grin gets even wider.
"Apparently, they symbolize passion, love and lust!" he tells you and wets his lips as he sees you becoming flustered from the revelation.
You squirm, suddenly very aware of how your wet shirt is clinging to your body and how hard your nipples are. Were they like this all this while? Jihoon keeps staring at you and you know that this time you can't avoid replying.
I didn't know, I was just buying them for my friend, would be a very simple answer and the truth, but you can't find yourself to utter these words. Time passes and the situation is dangerously close to becoming so awkward that you won't be able to recover from it when you notice a rose on the floor.
Great excuse!
"Aha!" you gabble the first thing that comes out of your mouth and duck out, bending down and picking up the flower; leaving Jihoon baffled.
The moment you kneel down, you release the breath you are holding back. You grab the rose and blink multiple times to get your head straight before you rise up. You turn to look at Jihoon, who has by now moved next to you and present him with the flower, stating the obvious.
"It was on the floor."
"...Are you serious?" he almost sounds annoyed, like he can't believe you actually did that to avoid him.
"...Well. It was on the floor."
Jihoon opens his mouth, like he wants to say 'Ah!' ,but no sound comes out. He moves closer to you, in a way trapping you between his body and the counter and gently takes the rose from your hand. His fingertips briefly brush yours and a wave of electricity runs down your body.
He brings it close to his face and inspects it before he puts it down next to the other roses. He drags his hand from the flowers till it is placed on the counter next to your side and makes eye contact anew.
"You know…" he places his other hand on your other side, essentially trapping you, "...I have a feeling you are avoiding my questions!"
"The last thing you said wasn't a question." you don't know where you found the courage to reply like that, but it is much appreciated by your inner self. With this new-found boldness, you straighten your posture and grab the work table for support.
He raises his eyebrows in amusement and chuckles, "Okay. Let me rephrase." he clicks his tongue and leans his face a bit closer to yours, "I have a feeling you are avoiding me."
"Am not." you lie, but you swear that you are totally busted by the way you are staring at his eyes.
Fuck, why did he have to be this pretty?!
"Are you sure?" he leans even closer and you are beyond doubt that if you had a measuring tape, the distance between your faces would be less than 15cm. You feel his hands closing in on you, his thumps brushing your sides.
"Mmm." you mutter, your gaze dropping to his lips as he slowly drags his teeth over his bottom one, "Maybe I am just a bit shy."
He notices your sudden change of focus from his eyes to his lips and feels his own gaze travel to your lips, "Why is that?"
You let your gaze linger for a bit more before you lock eyes with him, "Maybe because you are my type."
It is like something finally clicked. And everything happens so fast!
Jihoon's hands grab your hips and you gasp, feeling the wet material of your skirt stick to your thighs as he roughly places you on top of the counter. You feel back, eyes closing and head hitting the wooden surface of the work table. When you open your eyes you find Jihoon slightly hovering over you, eyes searching your own for any signs of pain before he finds none.
His hands glide over your thighs, pushing your skirt upwards until he has a better view of your underwear. He glances at your panties before he looks at your face again, biting his lip. Your face and neck are burning up, but right now this is the last thing on your mind. Especially, when he lowers himself, face between your thighs and one arm snaking over your right thigh, lifting it up.
You gasp loudly when his fingers touch your panties, fondling the fabric right over your clitoris.
"So wet." Jihoon murmurs and you can tell he is smirking even if you can't see him, "Is it because of me or did it get wet from all this rain?"
"Shut up!" you breathe, as he quickens the pace of his fingers on your panties.
"Oh?" suddenly his fingers are gone and you unconsciously whine, bucking up your hips, "Is me talking turning you off?" Jihoon's smirk deepens, "Maybe I should use my mouth for something else then."
Before you have time to process what he just uttered, Jihoon dips his head between your legs. With one swift move your underwear is gone and Jihoon's lips close around your clit. Your hand flies to your mouth, pressing against it in an attempt to muffle the moans that are threatening to escape.
Jihoon releases your clit, only to reconnect his tongue to it with one long, slow lick, that has you shuddering. You can practically feel him grin against your heat and your free hand jerks downwards, grabbing his dark locks and making sure his mouth doesn't go too far away from your throbbing pussy.
You are glad he doesn't comment on your reaction, but you have a feeling that he will not let what happened go that easily. But, for now you are just happy with the way he drags his tongue against your clit.
He keeps teasing you, changing unexpectedly the pace from hard swipes to quick flicks of the tip of his tongue while staying away from your vagina.
Your whole body is quivering, but Jihoon's firm grip on your thighs is preventing you from closing them around his head or moving away from the maddening drags of his tongue. Shaky moans slip past your lips and you abandon your task of dampening your voice as your hand searches blindly beside you for something to support yourself.
Accidentally, you push a few roses over the edge of the counter before you find the edge yourself and grab it for dear life as Jihoon sucks vigorously on your clit. You moan loudly, your back arching over the work table before Jihoon pulls you back down, his lips never abandoning your pussy.
Your eyes open wide the moment he slips, not one, not two, but three fingers inside you, curling them as soon as he has them bottomed out. A broken moan leaves your lips and your breaths become more frantic as he continues to lick your clit while his fingers are deep inside you, stretching you out nicely.
You are so overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure at that moment, that you don't react when the hand he had on your thigh moves upwards. It pushes past your belly, finding the end of your shirt and fiddling with the rest of the buttons as he undoes them one by one. With his head still between your legs teasing your folds, he struggles with the buttons. But when he finally reaches the top one and unbuttons it, his hand rampages on your chest.
He pushes aside your open shirt and runs his hand over your breasts, until he settles on your right one and squeezes it. You feel him sigh against your pussy and you bite down your lip to suppress your moans. The pad of his callused thumb circles your nipple, pressing down on it hard, earning a few more moans from your part.
Jihoon opens his eyes, drowning in the sight of your exposed neck as you gulp down your saliva in between breaths; your chest rising and falling heavily as his thumb caresses your nipple. He feels his dick twitch and not being able to resist it, he rises from his knees and connects his mouth with your belly, just below your belly bottom.
You raise slightly your head and your eyes lock. He sends you a toothy grin that is everything but heart-warming before his tongue slips out of his mouth and makes contact with your skin. You gasp as he licks all the way up to your breasts, never breaking your gaze until he reaches your already swollen bud and takes it in his mouth.
You whimper loudly, refusing to let your head fall back and instead you stare at him as he works on your breasts. The fingers he has in your pussy suddenly slip out before they start pistoning in and out of you, his thumb rubbing sloppily your clit. The hand that was previously on your torso, is now holding your waist tightly, fingers digging into the soft skin as he presses his body onto yours.
By the time Jihoon lets go of your right nipple and makes his way to your left one, you are degraded to a moaning mess. His teeth graze your sensitive bud before he open his mouth and sucks as much of your left breast as he can fit in his mouth. With no hands gripping at your thighs, your legs wobble on top of the counter as you feel your orgasm closing in.
Jihoon releases your nipple and attacks your neck, biting, sucking and licking around the side of it. You close your eyes as your orgasm hits you, broken moans slipping past your lips. Jihoon can feel every vibration of your body, from your moans to your trembling limbs as his face stays attached to your throat and his body close to yours.
Jihoon's fingers fuck you all the end till the end of your high, when they slowly retreat from your core and rest on top of your thigh. His mouth still roams on your neck, leaving wet kisses and soft bites behind, as you try to recollect your thoughts after the orgasm. Your chest heaves heavily as you catch your breath and for a weird reason the pressure of Jihoon's body down on yours is providing some kind of comfort.
Just as you have calmed a bit down, you feel him rise from the crook of your neck. He places his hands in each side of your shoulders, using them to support his weigh, as he towers over you. His dark hair fall partially over his eyes as he stares at your flushed face, lips tugging into a smug grin.
"You are cute when you are so vocal!" he straightens up, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes and it is then you realise he is still fully clothed. His apron is also concealing how affected he is by your little venture. You suddenly feel exposed and you lift yourself on your elbows to regain some of the upper hand.
Or at least try to.
"Well, you are not."
He raises his eyebrows and closes in on your face, arms positioned in your sides, essentually trapping you, "Yeah, I got that. You prefer it when I make a different use of my mouth, right?"
You can tell how pleased he is with himself and you give him the satisfaction of blushing at his words, "...Maybe."
Jihoon grins wide at your confession and bites his bottom lip, "Yes. Maybe…" his voice gets lower and he titls his head slightly, glancing at your lips before locking eyes with you, "Maybe I could make use of something else too." he speaks in a husky whisper and you feel another wave of arousal wash over you, drenching your pussy.
"Maybe you should." you say and with a new-found confidence, you grab his shirt and crush your lips with his.
Jihoon is caught off-guard and your chest swells in pride as he stays still even for a moment, before he recovers and tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You grab his shirt collar by both hands, pulling him closer as you lean a bit backwards. Jihoon lets you lure him closer to you, one hand gripping your waist and the other placed on the counter so that you don't fall fully backwards.
Kissing Jihoon feels exhilarating; his lips are soft in opposition to his rough kisses as he bites your lips, trying to gain access to your mouth. His tongue clashes with your own for dominance and he chuckles, finding your persistence cute, before he takes control.
Abruptly, he withdraws only to attach his lips to your neck as he pulls you back towards him. His hands find your open shirt and start tugging it down. Your let go of his collar, helping him remove your shirt as he tosses it to the side. Now it's your turn to tug at his apron, only for your efforts to go in vain. He notices your struggle and pulls away, untying the bow on the back side and smirking at you.
"Such a hurry!" he breaths as he takes it off, letting it fall to the floor, "Can't wait to see me naked?"
"Yes. Now shut up and kiss me!"
Jihoon's smirk widens and you expect a cheeky response from his part. But instead, his lips return hungrily to yours. You gasp, granting him acess to your mouth as your hands fly to the buttons of his shirt. Hurriedly you unfasten them and take the edges of the shirt out of his pants. Jihoon steps back as you peel off his shirt, revealing his upper body.
You prevent your mouth falling open in front of him, but you can't help staring. The six-pack is definitely the first thing your eyes cling to, before roaming over to his arms and torso. He has a nice body; lean, muscular. Instinctively, your fingers trace the lines of his abs, starting from the top and moving to the bottom, dangerously close to the line of his underwear, which is peaking from under his pants.
"Like what you see?" Jihoon is smirking. Of course he is!
"Do you always talk this much?" you breath out, too preoccupied with slipping your index finger under the band of his underwear to indulge in his banter.
"Aw, baby don't worry." his hand reaches for yours, palming it, before he guides it inside his boxers, "I like what I see too!" he murmurs as your fingers wrapped around his shaft.
You gasp quietly and you turn to look at him, eyes locking as he holds your hand tightly around his dick. He inspects you, waiting to see what your next move will be and your pussy tightens around nothing from excitement.
Your free hand deals with the button and the zipper of his pants, tugging them clumpsily downwards in an attempt to get rid of them. The pants roll down to his mid thighs, but that's enough space for you.
With the corner of your eye, you notice the sharp breath he takes and how his abdomen tights the moment you pull his dick out of his underwear, the tip already smeared with precum. He is relatively thick and bigger than average and you hum in satisfaction as you weigh him in your palm.
You raise your eyes to meet his gaze and squeeze the base of his cock, "Cat got your tongue?"
It's your time to taunt him now as you slowly run your hand up and down on him.
But, he sneers and your teasing doesn't last long.
His arm snakes around your waist, lifting you up from the counter and you whelp, both hands flying to your sides to balance you. With his other hand, he grabs the hem of your skirt and forcefully strips you of it, leaving you bare. He sets you down on the work table again and before you have time to recover, he tears off entirely his pants and underwear. He retrieves a condom from his wallet and tosses it to you. The next second, his shoes are gone and his hands are back on your hips.
You look at him with wide eyes and gulp, chest violently rising and falling. You blindly rip open the packaging and pull out the condom, not daring to put it on him yet.
"My tongue is right here, see?" Jihoon pulls his tongue out to show you, his finger pointing at it in case you would miss it.
"And my hands are here." he set his hand back on your hips and squeezes.
"And I am right here..." he murmurs and looks into your eyes.
His thumbs caresse your sides, slowly getting lower, towards your thighs and you feel your core drenching. You breathe deeply as you open your legs and shyly close your fingers around his member, tagging it softly forward.
"But, I need you here." you whine, glancing at your pussy and Jihoon's eyes follow not far behind. You slide the condom on his member, gazes locking again as you guide his dick to your entrance.
You take a deep breath the moment his tip touches your folds, but you don't break eye contact with him. As he slowly slides inside you, you open your mouth in a non-audible moan and notice that his mouth also falls open the moment he bottoms out.
He stays still and you let out a breath, trying to adjust to the feeling of him. He is thick and you are glad he stretched you out nicely with his fingers before.
His fingers dig in the outside of your thighs and he starts rocking you slowly on his dick. You whimper, your hands shooting to grab his shoulders for support as he keeps up that pace.
"You are so tight!"
You are about to reply when his grip on your thighs tightens and he slams his hips on yours. A loud moan slips past your lips and your hand flies to your mouth as you sense more coming. Jihoon catches your hand before it connects with your mouth, bringing it back at his shoulders and holding it there as his pace turns ruthless.
Your whole body is shaking on top of the counter as he fucks you fast and hard, your moans and whimpers filling the room. You feel yourself slipping and move your hands behind his nape for a better hold, closing your eyes.
"Look at me!"
You whole body bolts forward when his fingers rub harshly at your clit and your eyes open wide. Jihoon is looking intensely at you, nose almost touching your own, as his hips roll faster on yours.
"Good girl!"
You moan breathelessly upon hearing the praise words and he snickers. Your reaction does nothing but encourage him more and he manages to keep up with the speed he set for a bit longer. While his digits are stroking your clit, his free hand takes a fist of your hair and tugs.
You whelp as he pulls your head back, exposing your neck and diving his head, only to leave open-mouthed kisses just below your jaw. His mouth moves lower, trailing his lips over your soft skin before adorning it with bites. He finds your pulse point and sucks on it and when you cry out as planned, he giggles.
"Look at you! Taking my cock so well!"
It's really too much!
His cock, his fingers, his mouth on your neck, whispering pure filth against your skin! You really don't mean to do it, but it slips out!
You cry out his name, but it sounds more like a plea!
Jihoon doesn't hault this time; he is too deep to stop now. Instead, the hand that was tangled in your hair retreats and grabs your neck harshly. Your breath is caught in your throat as Jihoon pushes you back down on the counter, without pulling out of you.
Your back arches and you gasp; his hold is firm without blocking the air out of your lungs. Your fingers wrap around his hand as you try to catch your breath.
"Kinky!" you tease, wetting your lips and in response he grins, "I didn't know my florist was into that kind of shit!"
"Oh, baby you have not idea!" he purrs, freeing your neck and grasping your ankles.
You whelp as he puts your legs on his shoulders, your heels hooking on his shoulder blades for support. You feel your face warm up as Jihoon stands over your lying form; legs spread, chest heaving, face flushed. The marks he left on your neck and breasts are already turning darker and Jihoon pupils dilate in arousal.
He brings your hips down to his and thrusts deeper inside you. He slides two fingers in your mouth and you suck on them eagerly, drowning your moans. He brings them between your legs and finds your clit again.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" you curse through gritted teeth and resist the urge to roll back your eyes, solely because you don't want to miss the sight of Jihoon pounding on you.
You grab the edge of the counter behind your head with both hands so tighly that your knuckles turn white. Your body jerks on the table and you puff as you feel a second orgasm closing in.
At that moment, Jihoon pinches your clit, making you cry out and raise your hips. He leans his body on you, lips capturing yours in a breathless kiss. With the new position, your legs are pushed closer to your upper body; your knees being the bodypart clasping his shoulders now.
"Are you close?" he whispers on your mouth and your grip on the counter tightens.
"Y-Yes!"
He pecks your lips and like on cue, his thrusts become slower. You whine, immediately catching on to what he was doing.
"Jihoon!"
"Yes?" the fucker smirks, the rolling of his hips slowing down more.
You glare at him and buck your hips againt his, seeking some much needed friction. His hand moves from your clit to your lower body and presses you down to keep you still. You gasp and your walls clench around him.
"Do you want to cum?
"Yes!" the desperation is clear in your voice and Jihoon grins.
"Then beg for it!"
His finger is back on your clit, pressing down on it and he buries his cock deep inside of you. In both cases he refrains from moving and you know he is waiting for the word to spill out of your mouth.
You grab his lower back and try to push him forward, but he doesn't badge. Instead, he sinks his teeth on his bottom lip, attempting to hide how his grin widens.
He know he has won.
"Please!"
"Please what?"
A faint roll of his hips has you gasping for air, as the friction is back.
"Please let me cum!" you look him straight in the eyes as you beg for your release.
Jihoon dips his head and grabs your lower lip between his teeth, just as he picks up his pace, throwing his hips forward ruthlessly. You cry out as his finger pinches your clit again, before it rubs it aggressively. Jihoon doesn't let go immediately of your bottom lip; biting and sucking on it as you moan his name again and again.
Your walls clamp down on him and your orgasm hits you. Your whole body shakes as you cum for a second time and Jihoon has to hold your legs on top of his shoulder as they loose their strength.
He keeps pounding on your as you ride out your high, but his pace is messy. He twitches relentlessly until a particular deep shove, when he stops and groans loudly. You watch in awe as he throws his head back, veins appearing at the side of his neck, as he finally cums.
Your chest is heaving as you pant and you gently let go of the counter. Your legs weakly fall from Jihoon's shoulders and you put your hands in their place. Jihoon regains his composure and follows your lead as you pull him closer and kiss him.
The kiss is soft and you wish it lasted longer. Jihoon pulls away only to smile at you and peck your lips again. You smile back and steal a kiss from him, making him unexpectedly giggly. You feel him swift slightly his weigh, but not pull out of you yet.
He glances behind you and tilts his head, making you curious.
"It stopped raining."
"Really?" you try to twist your head to look outside, but it's impossible in the position you are at, "What time is it?"
Jihoon peeks at the clock on the wall beside him and pouts.
"It's time to lock up. Guess, fun is over!" he raises his body from yours and slips out gently.
You don't know why, but the words kind of sting to hear them.
You sit up, feeling weirdly empty and watch him as he throws the used condom in the trash bag. He picks up his clothes and starts dressing. You do the same, slipping into your shirt and buttoning it up as Jihoon gets dressed and puts the roses into the refrigerator.
You search for your underwear and Jihoon notices, as he bends down and picks it up.
"You dropped this!" he says, holding the panties in front of your face with two fingers.
"You mean you dropped it! Or more like threw it!"
Jihoon grins and gives it to you without further bickering. You are a bit dissapointed; you expected a clever remark!
You hop off the work table and put your panties on, moving to your skirt and shoes next.
"Are you ready?"
You turn to look at Jihoon -fully dressed now- who holds the keys to the shop and is waiting by the door. You nod and silently walk past him and out of the shop.
This is awkward, you have to admit.
You didn't plan this to turn out like that and you worry that things will be weird from now on.
Maybe you should searching for a new flower shop close to your home.
You watch him as he turns around the shop's sign to 'closed' and locks the doors. You nervously bite your lip and turn your back on him, walking towards your apartment. You know how this goes and you don't want to stay for the awkward part!
You haven't made it two steps afar when he grabs your arm and pulls you back. Your chest collides with his and his lips are back on yours, in a chaste kiss. Your eyes widen, but quickly flutter shut in order to enjoy the kiss. He wraps his arm around your waist and keeps you close to him as he kisses you.
When you pull apart, you look at him in the eyes and part your mouth in surprise.
"See you next week?" he asks softly and you blink, not expecting this.
You shake your head and smile, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him down to give him one more kiss.
"You bet on it!"
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600 notes · View notes
roe-and-memory · 22 days
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i think that cruz is kinda tall, right, and natalie is a little shorter. not by much but just by Enough that she has to stand on her tiptoes to be eye-to-eye with cruz - or, to kiss cruz
i ALSO feel like cruz woule be the type to be very proud and open about it . what flag do i want on my car beside my name? the lesbian one. her firesuit has the flag beside the piston cup logo on her arm and shes literally an Icon EVERWHERE.
natalie, on the other hand, is a little more discreet - but not by a lot. she wears shirts with cruz’s car and name on them, she wears cruz’s shirts in General, and she focuses maybe a little Too much on the extremely impressive stats of her girlfriend, much to chick hicks dismay
chick isn’t homophobic, but cruz is the “adoptive” daughter of lightning mcqueen . his most Rivalled ever. natalie will go out of her way to waste chicks time on purpose out of Spite by either hanging out on pit road with her off microphone and press pass, or just straight up telling him Give me a Second i need to kiss my gf and wish her good luck. fuck off chick dicks
and he cant be MAD because that would make him look bad . he is The piston cup winner of All Time. right. but he will angrily brush past lightning on pit road and lightning just grins because ooooohhhhh someones mad (get his ass cruz and natalie)
but also dont imagine natalie never really learning how to cook, she’d always been more interested in school and stats - piston cup fan when she was a kid too, obsessed with the idea of working the jobs of darrell and bob - whereas cruz grew up in a house of tradition and culture, where she learned to cook almost everything under the sun . so DEFINITELY dont imagine an intense weather delayed race, the two of them in cruz’s motorhome hiding from the elements And the press, rain pounding against the windows and gentle sounds of people talking and laughing drifting through the paper thin walls, and theyre Baking. cruz is gently guiding natalie through it, standing behind her with her hands over nats, doing the swift cutting motions and everything..
“you know you dont have to help me do everything, right? you could always tell me the instructions.” natalie tells her with a lighthearted, joking tone
“what fun is that?! we’re baking together, i like being able to do this. plus, its cold in here and youre warm, its a win-win situation!”
natalie throws her head back and laughs, “cant really argue with that, can i?”
baking sort of goes to shit, they abandon all of the ingredients still on the counter and end up putting on a movie on the tv in cruz’s room, just cuddling up together in her bed and falling asleep to whatever film they’d half-agreed on watching together
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bob-frank451 · 2 months
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Hey guys, been a hot sec, but here is another short work set in my humans are weird universe. its a bit longer because I forgot I was writing a short work and started world building, but it still should be fun to read. This one is definitely cannon.
Humans are Weird, Throwing - Part 1/2
    Boruk is the greatest cultural melting pot federated under the Galactic Assembly. When the first Coress had broken-atmosphere two millennia prior, they had found, to their disappointment, no image life.  From light years out they had scanned the atmosphere and found the rich O2 of Carbon-based life, as well as synthetic aerosolized compounds which testified to the existence of Sapient technology.
    When they arrived, however, they only found plants, rodents,  and some extremely unique geo-chemistry off-gassing fairly unusual sulfur-fluorine-carbon compounds. However, instead of moving on, they chose to make the best of it, and decided to colonize the planet.
    The rest is history…
    One thousand, eight hundred and sixty-four years later the Coress have accomplished the impossible feat of building a bustling trade hub, all the while retaining all  of the original biosphere. Today its cities sit, like multifaceted diamonds amidst an emerald canopy, each one packed with races from the furthest reaches of the Galactic assembly. The whole planet is an anthropologist’s dream. The near-300 dominant cultures interact in novel was seen nowhere else in the universe.
    The Volatus drifted inches from the ground. Normally he would “walk”, but these humans had [idiom equates to “inhumanly”] long legs. His friend had wanted to show his family the planetary Capital, especially the iconic Central Mall. The biologist walked slightly ahead, arm hanging, fingers wrapped gently around his daughters tiny hand. Each pace of his heavy treat left a dull thump, and kicked up a small cloud of dust from the gravel.
    The volatus loved humans. They were fascinating, even before one gets of the culture shock, but once he got over the shock he found that they could be fast friends, if they chose. As this one had. The little human tugged her fathers arm.
  “M’ tired”
    The volatus watched as his friend glanced down at his daughter, felt the brief hum of neurons firing, perhaps estimating the length of the day, and then the human bent down, and hoisted the girl to his shoulders. She immediately used her vantage point to scan her surroundings. Typical human.
    Her eyes suddenly locked on  the volatus, and he froze, conflicted, unsure if this little human was cute, or terrifying, She pointed at him.
    “Uncle”
    The biologist stopped, turned, and grinned sheepishly.
    “Too fast?”
    The volatus nodded, an imitation of human body language.
    “Too fast.”
    The human motioned him to the center of  the group, and he obligingly drifted to the front, now leading the way, which was alright. The human couple and their child had proven their loyalty. Well, the two adults had. The child had tried to bite him, which, given their classification as a venomous species, was a problem.     A solved problem. The biologist had promptly contacted a friend, and developed a solution of bacteriophages to counter his family’s microbiome, all package neatly into an auto-injector pen, of course.
    Now, if he were ever bitten by one of the human children from this family he would simply inject the engineered virus, and the two would neutralise.
    Good times.
    The Volatus came back to the present. The massive original entrance rose in front of them, the first entrance, curving, organic.
    The group passed into the interior.
ao3 - discord
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fatehbaz · 5 months
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In the ruins, ‘master narratives of history as progress decompose into the tense confabulations of a continuously remembered past that hits the present like a nervous shock’ [...]. The ghosts of this past rear up in the ruin, they are the debris of unprecedented material destruction [...] ‘the “trash” of history’ [...]. Forgetting this carnage [would be to support] the myth of [...] progress [...]. But the ruins remember [...], revealing the fragility of the social order. [...] Hauntings rupture linear temporality, inconveniently bring forth energies, which have supposedly been extinguished and forgotten. [...] Cities [and places, generally] seem to becoming increasingly regulated. In the transformation towards a service economy during the 1980s [in Britain], [...] [o]ld industrial sites were turned into shopping centres, retails parks and leisure sites. [...] There is then, in the drive to market places, [...] an aesthetic imperative to smooth over the cracks [...], and to fix the past, so that it does not intrude into an imagined linear future. [...] In cahoots with [...] marketeers, they suggest that the past is a distant, romantic echo that resounds faintly in museums [...]. Yet the ruins shout back at the refurbished urban text. [...] [T]hey haunt the city, for the unofficial past cannot be exorcised [...]. Ruins are sites where we can construct alternative stories to decentre commodified, official [...] descriptions, and [...] keep the past opened [...]. Counter-memories can be articulated in ruins, narratives that talk back to the smoothing over of difference. Away from the commercial and bureaucratic spaces of the city, ghosts proliferate where order diminishes. Ruins are [...] especially important, because [...] it is ‘essential to see the things and the people who are primarily unseen and banished to the periphery of our social graciousness.’
Text above by: Tim Edensor. “Haunting in the ruins: matter and immateriality.” Space and Culture Issue 11, pages 42-50. January 2002. [Bold emphasis added by me.]
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[T]he contemporary Western city [...] [is] the site of [...] regulatory regimes concerned with strategies of surveillance and aesthetic monitoring [...]. The modern city can never become a wholly Appollonian, seamlessly regulated realm for it continues to be haunted by the neglected, the disposed of, and the repressed [...]. Within the interstices of the city there are a host of other spaces, part of a “wild zone”, a “[…] site […] which avoids the objective processes of ordered territorialisation […]”.
Staged […] through the intensified mediatisation and commodification of popular sites, myths, and icons […], mediated imaginary geographies circulate through adverts, soap operas, ‘classic’ rock stations [...] typically drenched in […] ideologies. […] These exhibitions memorialise culture via ‘publicly sanctioned narratives’ and institutionalised rhetoric [...]. [I]n which people are encoded and contextualied, categorised and narrated.
Accordingly, ruins are places from which other memories can be articulated, from which “the things and the people who are primarily unseen and banished to the periphery of our social graciousness” [...] may be encountered. [...]
[T]he outmoded object can become charged [...] with a certain power, and "might spark a brief profane illumination of a past productive mode, social formation, and structure of feeling -- an uncanny return of a historically repressed moment" [...]. Thus we might stumble across seemingly archaic decor or furniture, [...] toys, and mascots of yesteryear [...], the debris of discarded fashions [...]. Although such objects [may] seem [...] absurd or comical, they may bring back knowledge, tastes, and sensations [...]. This was debris which was enfolded into the mundaneity of a shared everyday [...].
Along with other places on the margins of regulated space, industrial ruins are “points of transition, passages [...], moments of magic that exist at the interstices of modernity” […]. Modern attempts to cleanse, banish ambiguity, and order the memory of space are always disturbed by such disorderly spaces and by the ghosts they contain, who refuse to rest quietly, [...] a “spectral [...] residue“ which haunts dominant ways of seeing and being [...].
In contradistinction to the fixed memories [...] and to the imaginary linearities proposed by hegemonic […] memories, these ghosts foreground ambiguity, polysemy, and multiplicity, enabling us to “disrupt the signifying chains of legitimacy [...].” Although it is often overcoded and regulated, the city nevertheless contains multitudinous scraps from which alternative stories might be assembled. […] In spaces such as industrial ruins, the excessive debris confronted constitutes material for multiple modes of narration about the past: “the debris of shipwrecked histories still today raise up the ruins of an unknown, strange city. They burst forth within the modernist, massive, homogenous city like slips of the tongue from an unknown, perhaps unconscious, language” [...].
This kind of remembering implies an ethics about confronting and understanding otherness (here, the alterity of the past) which is tactile, imaginative […].
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Text by: Tim Edensor. “The ghosts of industrial ruins: ordering and disordering memory in excessive space.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space Volume 23, pages 829-849. 2005. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]
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vintagevamp876 · 1 year
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Twiggy with some very awesome rings 💍💍
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We love our superheroes because they refuse to give up on us. We can analyse them out of existence, kill them, ban them, mock them, and still they return, patiently reminding us of who we are and what we wish we could be.
- Grant Morrison, Supergods: What Masked Vigilantes, Miraculous Mutants, and a Sun God from Smallville Can Teach Us About Being Human
Morrison’s book is an excellent read for all comic book fans. Morrison has been one of the most influential comic book writers of modern times. He’s worked on many iconic superheroes in his time. His writings are philosophical, humane, and slyly counter-cultural.
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Boomstick: So, that's it then! Clark has too many counters, so he takes the edge in powers and it's over. Wiz: Well, I think there's something else. Goku versus Superman breaches a broader zeitgeist. It's more than just two characters fighting. For a whole generation, especially in '90s America, superheroes represented an unyielding status quo. Spider-Man, Batman, Captain America rarely change who they are or what they believe in. For a lot of people, that's tiring, and Superman is an icon of that. Then along came anime! There was a whole other world of ideas and stories for us sheltered Westerners to experience, and Goku's an icon of that. So while many see this as a debate between characters, others see it as a debate of ideologies and culture. And if that's what's at stake… who wants Goku to lose? Boomstick: Uh… you sure you're not overthinking this? Wiz: It's not our intent, but it does call into question what we're doing. How can people agree with what we take as fact when fiction relies on interpretation? The music begins to die down as Wiz continues his train of thought. Wiz: Are we stripping characters of their importance by simplifying them to contestants in a vacuum of violence? A-a-and if so, then what's the POINT?! We cut to Wiz and Boomstick, with the latter smacking the former in the face. Boomstick: Because it's fun, Wiz! Damn it, man! There' more than one way to appreciate something. We're havin' a great time talkin' about awesome characters and slammin' action figures together… and that's okay! Source: Death Battle! Wiki
(images via YouTube)
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satans-helper · 5 months
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Smother the Flame in Your Heart - Part I
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Pairing: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka
Word Count: ~5000
Warnings: slash & smut & vampirism [slight body worshiping; oral sex; rimming; fingering; anal sex; slight non-con; blood] 18+ only!
A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! I've never written any vampire fan fiction before so I really hope you enjoy. Poor Danny. I hadn't fully intended to make this into a series but it kept flowing, so be on the look out for future chapters ;)
You can also read on AO3 and wattpad
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Danny knew that even if they weren’t trapped in a crowded nightclub together, he still would have been able to smell that pretty thing from a mile away. The stranger was intoxicating, giving off a strong aroma of ocean salt, summer greenery and sage mixed with the natural sweat that was even more mouth-watering than the rest. There was alcohol in that sweat too, Danny could tell, and lots of it, and then the overwhelming allure from the smell of his blood, iron-rich and strong, coursing through those veins. It was a lot to take in even from afar; it made all of his senses tingle with anticipation. 
Danny was still sober, slowly sipping on his drink while he’d been scouting, observing. He hadn’t expected to find anyone of interest, actually, so the fact that someone so beautiful and so delicious smelling had appeared before him was the best Halloween treat he could think of. This young man was too tempting to take his eyes away from even for a second. He’d have to do something about this.
Sam, waiting at the bar for another drink to hopefully cure his petulant woes, knew that if Josh and Jake hadn’t dragged him out to this Halloween club night he’d be having more fun smoking a bong and watching horror movies at home. He wasn’t in the mood to dance with strangers he couldn’t even clearly see. Nearly everyone had taken the costume memo seriously and he found himself surrounded by various pop culture icons, monsters, animals and professionals gone sexy or just gone really weird. Feeling defiant, he’d neglected to show up in any sort of costume no matter how much his brothers begged him to do otherwise. 
At least it was Josh’s tab that was open so Sam didn’t have to pay for his own subpar time. When his next drink finally appeared before him, he slunk back against the counter to take in the too-loud, too-obnoxious thumping beat and the sea of people before him. 
Danny was watching all of it from his dark corner at the far end of the bar. He watched how that gorgeous young man stirred the ice around in his drink before taking a sip; the points of his cupid’s bow rising as his lips parted to take a sip; the slight sheen of sweat on his face from the heat and humidity caused by everyone else being cramped in together. When his target stepped forward and to the side, beginning to weave through the crowd, Danny followed, curious, wanting and hungry. 
Thank god for the small but mostly empty patio out back. Sam breathed in the cleaner, cooler air and reached into his jacket for the little cardboard pack that contained three cigarettes and one hefty joint, opting for the joint. As he was lighting it, inhaling and looking from the cracked concrete to the string lights shaped like little white ghosts, the back door opened again. 
Well. Sam’s eyebrows rose on their own accord while he looked his new patio buddy over–at least he was in good, hot company. And this guy wasn’t in a costume either, just in jeans and a black tee, a well-loved suede jacket over top. That allowed for an instant connection in Sam’s mind, so he extended the joint out and asked, “Want a hit?”
He was even more enticing close up and under some light, Danny thought, looking Sam over just as Sam was doing the same to him. “Sure. Thanks,” Danny said, taking the joint and making a point to not show how much the slight brush of Sam’s fingers affected him. Not even the scent of weed could overpower the scent that emanated off him either, Danny noted, and as he took a puff, he could taste the drink that was on those soft pink lips.
“No costume,” Sam observed out loud, leaning back against the wooden fence surrounding the patio. Wow, he’d hit the jackpot even if this ended up just being an opportunity for eye candy. Whoever this guy was, he was a stunner–those strong, dark features drew Sam right in, especially the long, thick rivers of dark curls laced with bronze and gold. And when the guy looked right at him, Sam could clearly see the long, feathery black lashes that fluttered above complex, glittering irises. 
Sam almost never felt ordinary, but he did a little bit standing there next to the sexy, mysterious stranger. But then when his new friend smiled in response at Sam’s observation, he could see extra-sharp canines in that mouth. “Oh wait,” he said with a laugh. “A vampire?”
Danny hadn’t actually intended Sam to notice his teeth, as stupid as that may have been. He’d been relying on the dim lighting and this guy’s own inebriation to maintain his stealth. “Kind of?” he offered, handing the joint back. Well, he was in it now, he thought, and pulled back his upper lip to show off one fang. Sam leaned in close to look, inspecting, and when Danny relaxed his mouth again he said, “All I got is the teeth. Forgot to complete the look, I guess.”
“Wow,” Sam said, still staring, eyes fixated on Danny’s mouth. “They look so real.” He took a hit and kept his eyes on him, fascination growing as the alcohol grew stronger in his blood and the weed made a little crawl into his brain. When he exhaled he asked, “You used glue or something?”
Danny chuckled. “Or something. Yeah.” He tilted his head, looking his fellow patio buddy up and down, innocent from an outside perspective but silently undressing Sam in his mind. He could see it so perfectly–the long, lean body spread out against his sheets, head thrown back to leave the tan, smooth throat exposed. When the joint was passed back to him, Danny asked, “You don’t like dressing up for Halloween?”
Sam snorted a little. “Not really. I feel too old for it.” 
Danny inspected Sam further from behind the curl of dense smoke in front of his face. “You’re never too old for Halloween. It’s fun.”
That made Sam laugh a little, the irony of another wet blanket telling him he was never too old to dress up and play games. “I guess not. I think I’d just rather be doing something else tonight,” he said, and he saw how Danny’s eyes zeroed in on him even harder somehow. Sam took the joint back, hit it hard, coughed into his elbow, then asked, “What’s your name anyway?”
“Danny.” 
“I’m Sam.” Sam passed the joint back for Danny to get the last hit while he nabbed his drink. He was feeling too warm for being underdressed in the cold air, suddenly flustered because his new friend was making no move to hint at an exit plan. He also wouldn’t take his eyes off Sam for a single second, not even when the three people behind them finished their cigarettes and all migrated to the back door. 
“So what would you rather be doing right now?” Danny asked, definitely not willing to leave that question in the past. It was a perfect opportunity if Sam were interested, and Danny was pretty sure that he was.
Sam slurped the rest of his drink into watery ice at the bottom of the glass. “I’m open to suggestions,” he said, setting it back down on the table next to him. “If you have anything in mind.”
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The night was going better than Sam could have ever expected. He was half-naked in a king-sized bed with Danny on top of him, also shirtless and evidently just as eager, being worshiped, essentially. Sam couldn’t think of another word for what was happening. Danny was kissing him deeply, intentionally, while his hands roamed all over slowly and with the same intent, like he was searching and wanting to discover something and it was driving Sam wild. It wasn’t often he got to be such a pillow princess. 
Sam’s bare skin felt so good beneath Danny’s hands, as soft and as smooth as silk, all his to explore as he kissed him until he was moaning into Danny’s mouth. Danny wanted more. He broke away from Sam’s mouth to get his pants off, then his underwear, and Sam just let him do it. He spread his legs enough for Danny to slide between, which he did, purposefully pushing his denim-covered hips hard against Sam’s cock. A surprised but soft moan slipped from Sam’s lips and Danny kissed it away, being careful not to bite into the plush mouth that responded so beautifully to his own. Not yet, anyway.
Sam tried to wrap his arms around Danny but one was shoved up over his head; he gasped when Danny pressed his face right into his armpit, inhaling deeply. 
“God, you smell so fucking good,” Danny said roughly before taking another deep, long inhale, his nose brushing into Sam’s armpit hair. He liked the feeling of the wiry arm in his hand too, the muscles so plainly obvious beneath Sam’s tight skin, but it was the smell that was making the crazed need roar to life. 
Sam laughed, loud and bright. “Really?”
He was totally innocent, Danny knew, or as innocent as a 20-something boy could be. And Danny didn’t want to hurt him. He’d really try not to. But he knew it would be hard. “Yeah, you really do,” he said, carefully dragging the tips of his teeth across Sam’s chest to get to the other armpit. Sam wiggled beneath him, then Danny felt the weight of his freed arm across his back, bringing him in even closer. “No cologne,” Danny went on, giving Sam another sniff. “No deodorant. I can smell all of you.” When Sam sighed in response and Danny felt his cock stiffen even more against the crotch of his jeans, he made a daring lick through Sam’s armpit with his whole tongue. 
“Whoa!” Sam exclaimed with an involuntary, but still earnest, giggle. He’d never had anyone do that; this Danny guy was a little freaky and Sam was loving it. He loved it even more when Danny licked from his armpit to his chest, kissing his sternum, licking again to get to his nipple. With both arms free, Sam sunk his fingers into Danny’s hair in encouragement; Danny sucked and kissed for a moment longer, then he lifted himself up and Sam watched, enthralled, as he stripped down to nothing as well. 
Stripping while searching his dresser for condoms and lube, Danny was still trying to figure out how to do this without hurting Sam too badly. He was trying to figure out how to do it without even revealing what “it” was. He was also trying to do it while doing everything else because, no matter how abnormal he was, he still wanted very normal things. He wanted to kiss and touch and have sex like a normal person, and Sam clearly wanted that too. Maybe Danny could go even further, try not to do it for a night, just enjoy this experience and save his hunger for something–or someone–else.
“I really lucked out running into you tonight,” Sam said, eyeing Danny blatantly, dick twitching seemingly in response to seeing Danny’s own. 
Danny’s knees pressed against the bed again, inching forward to get between Sam’s legs once more. “Tell me about it,” he said, running his hands down Sam’s thighs, pushing them back and sinking down, chest pressed against the mattress. “You’re so fucking sexy.” 
“Did you take your teeth out?” Sam asked, abruptly remembering that those little plastic fangs probably wouldn’t be fun to accidentally swallow.
Danny chuckled, glancing up. “What?”
“Your little fangs.”
“Oh.” Danny ducked back down, hiding his face, hands squeezing the soft, plush flesh of Sam’s inner thighs. “Yeah, I took ‘em out earlier. Don’t you worry.” He pressed a single kiss to that soft skin before reaching up, taking Sam’s dick in his hand while his tongue moved between Sam’s cheeks. Circling his rim while he sank his fingers into Sam’s thighs, Danny tried to pour all of his efforts into pleasing his new, fun, hot sexual partner instead of scarring him for life, literally. 
“Oh, I’m not worried about anything,” Sam told him, reaching up, stretching his arms to the headboard. Getting laid had never been easier and Danny certainly had a lot to offer. He reached down to jerk himself off while Danny ate him out, listening to the muffled moans of effort and arousal that were matching Sam’s own. He closed his eyes, so grateful now that his brothers had talked him into going out. 
Danny realized he was gripping Sam so hard it must have hurt, but Sam was sighing with contentment and stroking himself, his body moving like gentle waves with everything Danny did. When both of Sam’s hands found the top of Danny’s head, he licked all the way up to the tip of his cock, feeling his belly tremble all the while. “You taste good, too.” He wrapped his hand around Sam’s dick as he moved up further, his lips creating a trail up his torso. Danny looked into those soft, inviting eyes and said, his heart hammering with suppressed desperation, “I wanna taste more of you.” 
“Just like a real vampire,” Sam quipped, holding Danny’s face in his hands so he could trace those lips with his thumb. “Maybe you actually should’ve kept the teeth in.”
Obviously a joke. But a joke Danny didn’t know how to respond to. Should he tell Sam? It had never worked before, but Sam was still drunk enough, possibly still a little stoned, and seemed open-minded enough to potentially believe him. No, there was no way, Danny decided. He tried to wash away his urges by focusing on his own body, how it was pressed against Sam’s, how their erections were rubbing against one another’s, how his skin was all warm, so alive, thanks to Sam clinging to him, beckoning for more. 
Danny sat back, resting his hands on Sam’s chest. Maybe he could get a taste of the taste he wanted so badly, so to speak. He believed in himself. He could do this. “Well, honestly, Sam–I do like to bite,” he said, carefully watching that angelic face. Danny’s tension drifted away a bit when Sam smiled, looking absolutely delighted at the confession. “Kind of a lot. Would you be into that?”
There was just something about this guy, Sam thought. Danny was sweet and sexy, alluring without even really trying to be. Smoking a bong alone at home and watching a movie didn’t compare at all to what he’d actually gotten into for the night. He grabbed the lube from next to Danny’s shin and tossed it over. “I feel like you could do just about anything you want to me.”
Sam had no idea how dangerous those words were. Danny took a deep breath and felt his hands trembling as he popped the cap of the lube open; he hoped Sam didn’t notice. “How do you wanna do this?”
“Just like this,” Sam said, guiding Danny’s wet fingers between his legs. “I wanna look at you. You’re so fucking hot.” 
“You are too,” Danny told him, pushing one of Sam’s legs back as he slid two fingers inside. He was growing restless, all the pent up urges becoming stronger, and as much as he wanted to be slow and gentle, his patience was dwindling. But Sam responded positively, eyelashes fluttering and lips parting while his body relaxed and took Danny right in. Danny took Sam’s cock in his free hand. “I wish I’d met you a long time ago.” 
“Oh yeah?” Sam asked, extending his arms out, trying to grab whatever he could, which ended up being some strands of Danny’s hair. “Well, there’s no time like the present, man. Happy fucking Halloween.”
Danny chuckled. “The night when all the freaks come out.”
Sam gave a tug to one strand of hair. “I met the right freak.”
The more gentle Danny persisted with getting Sam ready, the louder Sam became and he began to outright beg for more. Danny felt like his entire body was just a bundle of too-tight nerves when he rolled the condom over himself and shifted on the bed, bringing his hips closer and closer. 
Sam quickly looped his arms around Danny once he got the chance, pulling him in. “Come on, Danny–fuck me already.” When Danny shoved forward, Sam gasped sharply and clawed at his shoulders–he was getting what he wanted, but sometimes he didn’t realize what exactly that was. This was one of those times. 
“Shit, are you okay?” Danny asked, still so tightly wound he was worried that once he began, it would truly be too much. 
“I’m good, yeah, I’m good,” Sam assured him. He drew Danny closer, holding him tight, and kissed him to emphasize that statement.  Yes, it hurt, but it felt good, too. It felt strangely right despite Danny being a stranger; Sam wasn’t one to fantasize much, but with Danny enveloping him in heat and pleasure, he could imagine doing this over and over with him. When Danny kissed from his lips to his jaw down to his neck, Sam turned his head to the side. “You said you wanted to bite,” he reminded him through panting breaths as Danny’s pace sped up just a bit, making the burn even deeper. 
Oh god, Danny did want that. Sam’s neck was so tempting–he could see one long vein running down, trembling slightly as he strained and kept breathing raggedly. Danny could smell the blood inside and could imagine the taste, so rich and thick it would be in his mouth. 
“I do want to,” Danny said, barely more than a whisper. He wasn’t even really cognizant of how he was fucking Sam anymore, too distracted by this offering. He lowered his mouth to Sam’s neck, asking the question with his lips pressed against that warm skin: “You really don’t mind? Even if I give you a hickey?”
Sam wrapped one leg around Danny’s hips. “Do your worst.”
Danny took a deep breath, his hand tightening around Sam’s shoulder while his hips slowed below. It was a test–maybe he could pass it. He’d have to try. So he started gentle, just kissing and inhaling Sam’s scent, creating a trail from just beneath his ear down to his collarbone; Sam moaned quietly in response, one hand stretching down to grab Danny’s ass in encouragement. So he kept going, introducing his tongue to lick, his lips to press harder, and when Sam arched up, rubbing his cock against Danny’s stomach, he carefully pressed the tips of his teeth against his neck. 
With deep, dark, sinking shame, Danny failed. As the first note of a scream came from Sam’s throat, he clapped his hand over his mouth while his canines sank deep into his neck. It was awful, Danny knew, for Sam to hear the pop of his own skin being punctured and feel the blood begin to flow. It was awful for Danny to keep him pinned there, his own weight and muscle outdoing Sam’s own, with his hips pressed down tightly and his shoulders unrelenting no matter how much Sam tried to push and punch him off. But the feel of the warm blood in his mouth and the taste on his tongue was really like a drug, something evil and uncontrollable. When Sam got a hard smack across his face, Danny grabbed both of those wrists and pinned them overhead, leaving Sam completely defenseless. 
There wasn’t much room for pondering as Sam hopelessly tried to fight Danny off, but he had one thought when time seemed to slow to a complete still: it just couldn’t be real. Vampires didn’t really exist. This was just a deranged psychopath biting him, drinking his blood because he was a sicko, not some spooky mythological creature. But when Danny pulled back, panting, blood on his lips and chin, Sam caught the glimmer of those very real and very sharp teeth stained red and shiny. He whimpered beneath Danny’s palm, fear now making him freeze instead of fight, and couldn’t do anything but stare at that beautiful face that had betrayed him. He was sure he was going to die. 
“I’m sorry,” Danny said. He had no idea how he was going to get out of this one, but he had to try and at least stop it while he still could. His body was trembling hard as he lowered himself again, but instead of latching onto Sam’s neck again, he pressed a kiss to the obscene little wounds, then licked long and slow over the bite. 
Sam’s breathing slowed. He was confused now in this bizarre lull Danny was eliciting; he didn’t feel the urge to fight back anymore, just to lie there and drift off. But no, that was insane, he reminded himself, and wiggled beneath Danny as he tried to bite his palm. 
“Don’t scream,” Danny pleaded, taking his hand away from Sam’s mouth. Thankfully, Sam didn’t, just looked up at him with bewildered, scared eyes. His cheeks were still red though–Danny hadn’t gone too far. 
“What the fuck,” Sam said, voice hoarse. He should use all the strength he had left to kick Danny off himself. He should flee. He should tell someone–but who would believe him? 
“You’re okay,” Danny said. He wanted to cry. He wanted to disappear. He stroked Sam’s hair, hoping whatever happened now would be enough for him to be forgiven for the first time. It would mean the most, he knew, because it wasn’t just Sam’s looks and blood that had called out to him. There was something else there, something Danny wanted to protect rather than destroy. He licked the blood away from his teeth and wiped his mouth before he offered another futile, “I’m sorry, Sam.”
With Danny’s grip loosened, Sam flailed his wrists free and brought his fingers to his neck. “You didn’t kill me,” he said, and was shocked to find that there was nothing even there beneath his own touch. It was like it hadn’t even happened. 
“I didn’t want to,” Danny assured him. He was still hard inside Sam. It was so obscene to be that way, to want more after all this, and he braced himself for Sam to whip into action. “I don’t want to.”
Sam’s mind was reeling. Monsters weren’t real, they were only real in books and movies, but Danny was very, very real. He reached out to touch him, to make sure of that, and found that Danny’s skin felt even warmer than before. Knowing his own blood had aided in that made Sam feel nauseous for a second, but the downcast, sad look of apology on Danny’s face made that feeling disappear. 
“I’m confused,” was all Sam could say, flopping his arms back on the bed. 
“I know.” With Sam seeming to give into him again, Danny moved in, hair hanging over both of their faces. “Can I make it better somehow?” With a daring, shaking hand, he reached down and circled his fingers around Sam’s cock. Of course he wasn’t hard anymore, but maybe Danny could help him get there again. Maybe, for whatever fucked up reason, the night could still end well.
Sam whined, grabbing Danny’s shoulders not in protest but in want. Nonsensical, stupid, crazy want. “Monsters aren’t supposed to be real,” he said, looking at those lips that were unnaturally red. 
“I don’t wanna be a monster,” Danny told him, recognizing Sam’s gaze; he licked his lips before testing the waters further, bringing his face closer until their noses were almost touching. The most fantastical magic came in the form of Sam pulling him into a hug and bringing him down to kiss, like none of it had happened at all. Danny sighed into it, relief rushing through his heart, and started to stroke Sam back to life. 
Sam moaned, kissing Danny back deeply, his heart speeding up with that confusion and fear when he tasted his own blood on those dangerous lips. He held the sides of Danny’s face and made him look into his eyes: “What’d you do to me?” he asked, but Danny only sped up his movements, thrusting harder inside him, stroking him faster. 
“Something I didn’t wanna do,” Danny said, biting his lip so hard in his sorrow that he made himself bleed. 
“I asked you to,” Sam said, realizing his biggest mistake. He wiped the trickle of blood away from Danny’s chin with his finger before bringing it to his own mouth, tasting what was both of them. 
“Oh, fuck,” Danny huffed out, humping into Sam wildly, sure that he was leaving bruises on his thighs but past the point of slowing down for real. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Sam.” He was losing it in not only the feeling of Sam’s body around him but in the unfathomable recognition that he was being accepted. He might have been a monster, a beast, but he found someone who cared enough to stay anyway despite having every right to try and kill him.
Sam pulled Danny’s hair hard, locking their mouths together while Danny fucked into him and jerked him off. He didn’t want to think anymore. He wanted to taste the iron on Danny’s tongue, feel the hard weight on top of him, revel in the strange, twisted orgasm that was growing deep inside him, making his balls tighten, his back arch, his heart pound, his throat quiver. 
“Come for me,” Danny begged against Sam’s mouth, further interrupting their kisses by bringing his hand up and spitting pink saliva into it. He reached back down and Sam gasped, eyes closed tight, lips parted as he moaned and squeaked. “Come for me, Sam, please, I need you to.” 
Sam needed that, too. He tucked his face into Danny’s neck, his final moan of release sounding like a wounded animal, which he knew he wasn’t far from being. Danny followed with a deep groan and series of pants in Sam’s ear, both of them unraveled and fucked up beyond belief. 
“I can’t believe you did,” Danny said after a moment. He collapsed completely on top of Sam, feeling boneless and helpless. Thankfully, Sam didn’t seem to mind and that too was more than Danny knew he deserved. When he got up to pull out, he was able to see the damage he’d done–Sam’s thighs were indeed already bruised, in addition to his wrists having nasty blue and purple rings around them. But the worst part was his neck–while there was no bite mark, there was still carnage there in the form of a nasty, bright red and violet patch where Danny had, in fact, bitten him. A collection of broken blood vessels that made his heart sink.
Sam saw that look. He touched the spot Danny was staring at and it felt too hot and too sore, suddenly painful. “It’s bad?” 
Danny nodded. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to–I really tried not to.”
Sam sat up, finally getting the chance to stretch his muscles a bit. He should have been mad, he knew, or really, he should have been traumatized. But there was genuine softness and kindness in Danny’s eyes, not just self-pity. And had he not been a blood-sucking monster, Sam knew he would have really liked him. Actually, he still really liked him, as fucked up as that was.
“It’s not that bad,” Sam said once he was standing in front of Danny’s dresser mirror. Funny, he thought, considering as far as he knew, vampires didn’t have reflections. But there Danny was, right behind him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder while Sam inspected himself. “I can’t even see teeth marks.”
“I hurt you,” Danny said, slipping away to grab his clothes. If Hell really did exist, he thought as he pulled his boxers back on, he was definitely going there. 
“Not enough to drive me away,” Sam said with a small laugh, still able to find humor in the absurdity. He felt more fascinated by Danny now. He’d been shown that the entire world was truly full of mystery. And monsters. But some of those monsters were really, really hot. 
“You’re not afraid?” Danny asked, looking up at him when Sam turned to face him, still naked and still showing Danny all the places he really had inflicted pain, even if Sam was weirdly accepting of it. 
“Not really. I mean, shit, I sure was when you bit me,” Sam said with another laugh, touching the bruise on his neck again. “Now I’m more afraid of all the other shit I don’t know. If you’re real–if all vampires are real–what else is real?”
Danny sighed, eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t know.”
Sam hummed. “Do I taste good?”
Danny looked up; Sam was genuinely curious. “Yeah, you taste so fucking good,” he had to admit, his tongue gliding over his teeth for one final taste. “Best I ever had.” 
Sam smiled. He sat down next to Danny, feeling exhaustion crash over him like a tidal wave. “That’s the weirdest and best compliment I’ve ever gotten, I think,” he said, crawling up the bed to get under the covers. He just needed sleep. He needed to sleep and he needed that sleep to happen with a vampire. With Danny. He probably needed therapy, too.
Dumbfounded, Danny just watched as Sam cuddled himself underneath the blankets and closed his eyes. He wished he could sleep too, but he couldn’t, though that didn’t stop Danny from getting in next to Sam and holding all night.
---
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momo-de-avis · 7 months
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Sinto-me um bocadinho triste no que se trata de viajar. Após ganhar maior "awareness" quanto às consequências do turismo, fica difícil de pensar num destino decente que não seja prejudicado por isso. As grandes cidades estão todas a ter imensos problemas com a habitação e os preços de praticamente todos os bens. Destinos pequenos sofrem imenso também (basta pensar no Hawaii). E isto é sem falar das consequências culturais em ambos os casos, ainda para mais quando se trata de povos que sofreram e ainda sofrem com o colonialismo. E o "engraçado" é que mal dá para explorar o próprio país ironicamente por causa do turismo. Será que as únicas opções éticas são não sair do local onde se mora ou fazer voluntariados nas zonas onde se visita? Sei que a culpa de muito do turismo ser assim é pela forma como o capitalismo estruturou o mundo, mas não deixa de ser triste de qualquer forma.
Peço desculpa se é um desabafo meio ignorante e estranho...
Travel during low season
Im dead serious and saying this both as someone perfectly aware of the tourism problem and also someone who works in tourism bc i want to still have a job but i dont want cities packed in the summer. We are so glad to see people travelling in january, February, bc it makes high season less suffocating
Also, whats important is not where to travel but how to travel. Practice conscious tourism.
First step is to learn about the country you're visiting, i know this sounds basic as hell but you wouldn't believe. I've had people arrive in lisbon who had never heard of natas/custard tarts. I don't mean compile a list of ten things to do and see, I mean learn the dos and don'ts. There are going to be cultural barriers and misunderstandings and its better to just, when it happens, go "haha apologies i was no aware" than believing everyone is trying to defraud you. Like when they charge you 7€ for the cheese and olives and bread they served you without asking in Lisbon they're not scamming you, that's a cultural thing, you just didn't look at the menu. They're scamming you when they charge you 2€ for slicing a sandwich
When i say learn about the country i do mean cultural aspects of course. The nata thing is a bit of an anecdote but it shows how poorly the person planned their trip since natas are the number one thing advertised about lisbon
Also please don't take suggestions for places to eat out from tiktok. I am yet to see a list that's good and not bougie
For me the most important thing is to ditch the authentic tourism mindset. I fucking hate Authentic Tourists TM. You're a tourist. You're going to eat at an overpriced restaurant, you're going to visit a highly touristic spot, you're going to wait in line and yes, you're going to see americans oh my god just deal with americans (this is a side rant never mind it). The fact is there are authentic places that are touristy. When i went to San Sebastián i had one pintxo place on my list and that was txpetxa taberna. It happened that our food tour had a stop there and it looks touristic as fuck. The walls are covered with photos of celebrities who went there and everything. But goddamn if our basque tour guide didn't say "mira, son portogeses eses" ans from behind the counter we hear "EU SOU DE TRAS OS MONTES" and we had the best Pintxos in my life. Who gives a shit if it looks touristic. Its one of San Sebastiáns most iconic tabernas. There's a lot of places in lisbon that are very authentic but they look touristy bc they adapted to the tourism wave
Also you won't find the truly authentic places bc the locals don't want you there. It's their getaway. You bet there are restaurants me and my coworkers keep a secret among us bc we just want a spot to rest and have cheap lunch. It's just that the authentic craze is very condescending. I am forever reminded of the american who asked me where to listen to fade and I directed her to a fado tour (i was working as reseller of touristic services back then) and she very condescendingly said "listen I've done those fado tours and they're just for tourists, I want an authentic place not what you're selling me" my bitch do you think fado is still prostitutes and sailors singing in a dingy tavern while some taverner spits into a glass and wipes it like some fucking dnd starting scene??? No amount of "fado has changed drastically" could convince this bitch. I also have a lot of "i want to eat at a place that has portuguese ppl only working there" well good fucking luck there
Authentic Tourists TM usually think they know your city better than you do and I promise you nobody hates them more than locals.
I also don't want to sell my own bread but do a guided tour. AND NOT A FREE TOUR STAY AWAY FROM FREE TOURS (if you have the chance, a lot of cities actually don't have any other option, in which case tip the fucking guide. Tip them and tip them well). Its just that, think of it this way: you've just arrived in a new city you are trying to know and you want suggestions for like lunch and getting around. A guide is your best option cause they will not give you the names of the truly authentic places and they will help you navigate the city against the touristic mass. I speak for myself, I try to get people out of the 28 tram every day by explaining to them that it truly is public transport and its going to be overcrowded and the line is extremely long but there are alternatives. The guides will also direct you to the touristic places you should be visiting and will help you practice more conscious tourism.
When a guide tells you to go to this one local restaurant they're probably avoiding sending tourists to places where every day citizens go to have lunch while working but they're nonetheless telling you: hey this is a local business that we should support. Be open with your guide, we appreciate the sentiment of this ask and i speak for myself and my coworkers, we will help you navigate the issue as best as we can bc we understand where you're coming from
Stay away from Airbnbs. Book a hotel. Hotels are not the expensive alternative anymore, there's a lot of options that are pretty affordable but also you have room service and breakfast of you want. Plus hotels tend to be located in central areas and that is what you want. Its the funniest thing seeing tourists look very discouraged and despondent as they look up the massive set of stairs they have to climb with their huge luggage in Alfama. What did you expect bro
The massive problem with tourism right now, the way I see it, is that governments are seeing this a cash money opportunity and are refusing to regulate tourism. I am of the opinion that we have to start limiting tourism. The Pena Palace should limit visits. Jerónimos monastery should limit visits. Etc. These places should only sell a very limited number of tickets a day. I don't care if you have to book three months ahead this can't keep happening. The line for the monastery today did a full U that's how long it was.
And we have to limit the number of cruise ships allowed in the city. We have to stop letting 20 thousand people dock outside of alfama at a time and pretend this is normal. We have to limit things. I want tourism to thrive cause i want to have a job lol hell i love being a tourist. But what the hell man I don't mind waiting a few years to visit some place because of limitations that come to the benefit of the locals. And also I'll still have work BC it's not just tourists who use touristic services, and i think it would do well for tourism agencies to stop bending over backwards for tourists and come up with a plan for LOCALS. Aim their services at LOCALS which ideally is what should happen in low season
One last thing. You mentioned hawaii but i am speaking only from a european perspective. I'm completely out of the loop with hawaii however aware of its mass tourism problem but I'm not going to talk about something i don't know
Anyway. Go ahead and travel. Visit lesser known places or grab a car and travel across the country. Travel during low season it's the best time to travel in my opinion. Practice conscious tourism. Read up on your destination, book a hotel, book a tour, plan your trip, and enjoy. And get that fridge magnet. You're a tourist, not an Authentic Tourist TM.
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