#i really really hope this will be worth it

[dduane]

I have been trying to write fic (well, smut) set in a world where certain things are slightly different to serve the fic's plot.

However, each time I try I have run into a problem: my head insists I need to justify the changes - I need to know comprehensive details about how the world works so I can ensure everything is consistent and not too f'd up.

So I get bogged down, and don't write a word. What do?

In your position, I’d sit down and write myself a bible.

This is how I did my prep for Barbie: Fairytopia.* And how I’ve done it for various works of fic presently on AO3… and how I’m doing it right now for the new Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rats of Sumatra III project. I was taught this art by my animation story editors at Hanna-Barbera, and it’s stood me in good stead. (Peter and I pulled down our first miniseries assignment from a company that told us “we gave great bible.” And that was true.) 😄

When I say “bible” I don’t necessarily mean something that thick! (Though some of mine have been pretty hefty, with one TV project’s bible running more than a hundred pages… because I knew I had skeptical and underinformed TV execs to convince about something historical.) For the kind of purpose we’re describing here, your prep bible could be quite short: maybe looking like a bullet-pointed “shopping list”, five or ten pages long. It can be just as long or short as it needs to be to cover all your salient points.

The idea is simply to put down, in concrete form, a list of the main “different things” you need to know and remember about your alternate universe when you’re working in it. This is where you do your justification work, in as much or as little detail as you need to convince yourself you’ve got the necessary bases covered. The virtual “stage manager” who sits at the back of the theater of the Writing Department in your mind, judging when things are right, will be your guide here, and will advise you as to when you’ve got enough and it’s time to stop. And once this stuff is down on the page, you’ll be a position to judge critically whether everything makes enough sense to work with, and slots together correctly.

This is also a bit like (for the prose part of a project) outlining, in that it’s incredibly freeing. Once you’ve got this background nailed down, you know you can safely turn your attention away from it and get down to the serious business: drama, and the character interactions that express it. (And inevitably as you’re doing the bible writing, you start getting ideas for how the substrate you’re laying down is going to affect the conflicts between and among the characters. The bible stage can be incredibly fruitful this way.)

It would be facile to describe the bibling process as “getting the easy part over with first”. Because sometimes it’s not easy! But it’s worth doing first, because having done this first relieves you of the ongoing anxiety caused by knowing you may have to keep inventing or rationalizing stuff on the fly. (Which can produce the kind of micro-blocks that a writer can generally really do without.) …Not that you’re not going to be inventing things on the fly anyway: that’s a normal part of the writing process. But the biggest and most obvious issues will have been handled already, and you’ll know they have; which is always a weight off one’s mind. And the fewer of those weights you have loading you down, when you’re in the midst of the labor of composition, the better.

Anyway, give it a shot and see how it works for you. And then you can, like the rest of us smut writers, get on to the really pressing business: making sure you haven’t lost track of where all the characters’ arms and legs (and things) are when you’re writing those hot steamy sex scenes. 😏

Hope this helps!

*ETA: My remit on this job did include creating a bible for them. But I write a rough-draft one for myself first, including various meta that I needed but they didn't.

[ja3yun]

Pillow Talk | L.HS

bf!heeseung x gf!reader warnings: fluff, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (m.rec), nipple play, mentions of alcohol and insecurities, pet names (baby), not proofread, lmk if i missed anything! w.c: 6.2k synopsis: after a night out with friends, heeseung's insecurities surface, making him question his worth as a boyfriend. with some reassuring pillow talk and a night spent wrapped in one another, he's determined to prove himself a/n: hi! happy valentine's day to my loves <33 i hope you spend the day surrounded by love - romantic or platonic. i love valentine's day more than anything so this is my gift to you! if you think you've read it before, it's because you have! this is a reupload that won the poll so enjoy!

“Baby?”

A soft, lazy groan vibrates through the stillness of the room. Your body which is still heavy with sleep feels the tender pressure of a hand shaking your arm gently, followed by the familiar brush of petal-soft lips against your shoulder. The gesture is soft but something about the way he calls for you feels different, slightly urgent even though there is no panic in his tone.

“Baby, can you wake up for a minute?”

There’s something off in Heeseung’s voice - something unsure and a tad bit unsteady. His breath catches, then leaves him in a long, heavy exhale, like he’s trying to let something go but can’t. Even with your eyes still closed, the sound of it tugs at your chest, finally stirring you from sleep. The last remnants of drowsiness fade, replaced by a quiet kind of worry.

You shift under the blankets, forcing your eyelids open. The world is still blurred at the edges, softened by sleep, but your focus lands on him immediately. From what you can make out thanks to the streetlight outside, his face looks drawn - tired, but more than that. Troubled.

A slow blink and rub of your eye clears the haze from your vision.

“Heeseung?” Your voice is quiet, thick with sleep but there’s an undercurrent of concern. “Are you okay, baby?”

The silence between you stretches and the silence of the midnight hour amplifies everything - the rustling of sheets, the hum of the city, the way his fingers twitch slightly against the fabric. 

He seems…nervous.

Last night, he’d gone out with friends. It was just supposed to be dinner, a break he’d needed after weeks of drowning in work and deadlines. But now, the faint flush on his cheeks and the pink along the bridge of his nose tell you he had more than just a couple - that much is obvious. What’s not obvious is why he’s still awake, sitting here like something’s eating away at him.

His hand drifts to your hair, sweeping a few strands away from your face, and for a brief second, his lips twitch, like he might smile. It’s something he does without thinking, a habit that’s settled into him over time. Even now, even like this, he pauses to take you in - soft, half-asleep, so stunningly beautiful.

Still, the weight in his eyes doesn’t lift.

“Hee,” you murmur, a little more awake now. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze drops. His lips part slightly, hesitation tightening his shoulders. Seconds drag by before he finally speaks.

“Do you think I’m a good boyfriend?”

The question makes you blink. Once. Then again.

“What?”

His eyes meet yours again, uncertain, searching for an answer without you having to utter a word. “Like…am I doing enough?”

That shakes the last bit of sleep from your mind. You sit up slowly, instinct guiding your hand to his chest, where his heartbeat is steady but tense under your palm. “Heeseung, of course you are. Why would you even ask that?”

The words even feel too simple for what you really mean. Because the truth is - he’s not just a good boyfriend. He’s everything.

Sure, there are hard days. Moments when life is messy, when you argue or when things feel overwhelming. But even when you test one another, he never makes you feel anything less than loved. It’s not just about grand gestures with him - it’s in the little things. The way he remembers details you don’t even remember telling him. The way he texts you just because. The way he looks at you when he thinks you won’t notice - like you’re irreplaceable.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most; seeing doubt where there should never be any.

Sitting here in the dim half-light, you can see the weight he’s carrying - the slight hunch of his shoulders, the way his lips press together like he’s holding something back. And yet, even through the uncertainty in his eyes, he’s still reaching for you. Not just for comfort, but to make sure you’re okay, too. Still scared he’s not the perfect boyfriend. 

That’s who Heeseung is. He loves deeply and gives even when he feels empty.

Your fingers trace gently along his jaw, warmth meeting warmth as you take him in. “Heeseung,” you murmur, steady, soft. “You’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. You know that, right?” A pause, letting the words sink into him, but they don’t reach where you need them to. You try again, a little more pointed. “What’s going on, baby? What’s making you feel like this?”

His gaze flickers, doubt clouding his eyes, but your words seem to seep into the cracks, softening the tension in his face. The quiet between you is tough and unfamiliar. The bedroom you lay in is usually brimming with laughter. It’s so strange to see him like this.

Although you don’t have all the answers as to why he’s so heavy, you’ll hold him through whatever storm is brewing in his mind - just as he’s done for you more times than you can count.

Heeseung exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes drift, landing somewhere in the soft glow of the room before he finally speaks. “At dinner…the girls were talking about their boyfriends. About how they don’t really pay attention to them, or like, they never ask about their day, or forget things that matter. Always late, always distracted, y’know?”

“And what has that got to do with you?” You ask slowly, genuinely not seeing the correlation.

His brows knit together, lost in thought, and you can see the spiral beginning - the way he’s already picking apart every moment in your relationship, analysing each time he might have been tired, distracted, or anything less than perfect. You know him too well. His heart is so full of care that the idea of falling short - of disappointing you - feels absolutely unbearable.

But where he sees gaps, you only see love. Commitment. A kind of attentiveness that most people can only dream of. Genuinely, people yearn for a man like Heeseung, so it hurts to see him like this.

Heeseung has never been that boyfriend. The one who forgets anniversaries, who doesn’t show up when it matters, who brushes off your feelings like they’re an afterthought. If anything, he’s the opposite.

You remember the countless nights he’s sat with you, listening, no matter how exhausted he was, his eyes never leaving yours. The way he never lets a single date slip by unnoticed, whether it’s a quiet dinner out or a handwritten note tucked beside your coffee cup before he heads out. The way he remembers things you don’t even remember telling him - your favourite parts of a book, a song you mentioned offhand weeks ago, the smallest details that make you feel seen in a way no one else ever has.

A breath of laughter escapes you - soft, incredulous, not mocking but disbelieving. “Baby,” you say gently, warmth laced in every word. “Those things? The things they were talking about? That’s just…what most guys do at some point.”

At that, Heeseung shrinks a little, his shoulders drawing in as though your words only confirm his worst fears. His face falls, vulnerability flickering across his expression. You see the downward spiral start again, but before he can fall too deep, you reach for him. Your palm finds his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin in slow, reassuring strokes.

You don’t let him sit in those thoughts for long.

“But you - you’re the rare 0.0000001% that isn’t like that,” you continue, your voice steady and confident in your own declaration. “Hee, you listen to me even when I’m rambling about the same thing for the hundredth time. You show up for me, no matter how tired or stressed you are. I don’t think you’ve ever missed a date, let alone forgotten one.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to argue, but the words don’t come. His eyes meet yours, uncertainty still lingering, but something in the way you’re looking at him keeps him quiet.

“You’ve never turned up late to anything, not once,” you add, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand drifts down, resting against his chest. Beneath your palm, his heartbeat is vibrating with love. “You’re thoughtful in ways those girls were probably wishing for when they were talking. And even when things get rough, you never make me feel like I’m alone in it. You’re always there, Heeseung. Always.”

Heeseung exhales, slow and deep, your words finally settling into him. There’s still hesitation in his eyes, but the pressure in his shoulders has shifted, loosened just a little. He shakes his head, the smallest of smiles ghosting across his lips. But you can tell - he’s still trying to let go of the doubt entirely.

“I just…” He pauses, glancing down as if searching for the right words. “I don’t ever want to take you for granted. I never want to be that guy who doesn’t pay attention. Who makes you feel like you’re not important.”

“You could never,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips, letting it linger just long enough to feel the warmth of him. “The fact that you want to be a good boyfriend already proves that you are one.”

Heeseung lets out a soft laugh, his breath warm against your lips as you peck his lips once more to punctuate your reassurances. He bites his lip, giving you that boyish, slightly embarrassed smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“You think so?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost like he’s seeking reassurance even though he knows he’s already got it.

You raise an eyebrow playfully, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “I know so,” you tease, letting your fingers trace gentle circles on his chest. “I mean, come on - how many boyfriends out there get worried in the middle of the night about whether they’re doing enough for their girlfriends? You’re basically setting the bar impossibly high for everyone else.”

Heeseung chuckles again, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Oh, so now I’m the standard, huh?”

“You’re more than the standard, you’re the dream.”

Grinning widely, your boyfriend leans in to kiss you once again, this time more confident and at ease. It’s not like Heeseung to be vulnerable like this, the mix of alcohol and the early hours playing a massive part in his sudden change in behaviour. But he is so thankful that you aren’t judging him or deflecting his concerns in a passive moment even though you could have. It speaks volumes of your love and adoration for him, and that makes him feel more loved than anything else in the world.

His pretty lips melt with yours, your love blooming through each passing breath and brush of his nose with yours. His palms find a place on your waist as he guides you to crawl onto his lap, the sheets that were keeping you warm in your cocoon of sleep now long gone, the heat from Heeseung’s love now flooding your bloodstream. 

His hands slide up your waist, fingers exploring the curve of your sides before resting at the small of your back. The heat of his touch burns through the thin fabric of your pyjamas, setting you alight under his fingertips. He pulls you closer, guiding you to straddle his lap with ease and you can feel the beat of his heart and the ridge of his cock all at once - lust and love both present.

The kiss deepens and you find yourselves in a rhythm, the kind where neither of you is in a rush, savouring the moment for all it’s worth. His lips move with yours in an intoxicating way, every caress from his tongue sends shivers along your spine. He tastes like something familiar, something safe and beautiful - like home.

“I love you so fucking much, baby,” he murmurs into the kiss, his voice dripping in longing, each word brushing against your lips like a secret meant only for you. His breath fans over your face and the way he speaks, the pure adoration in his tone, makes your chest swell with so much emotion you feel like you might physically combust. It’s a confession he’s made a thousand times yet each time it feels like the first because he means it just as heavily each time.

If there was ever a reason for your heart to exist, for your lungs to keep breathing, it is to love Heeseung. Your heart is to keep you alive, but if you can't love him like this, there's no reason for it to keep pumping.

Nodding at his confession, you smile against his lips, a sound of contentment escaping you as you press closer to his chest, wanting to feel every inch of him. You want to be as close as physically possible to this man. Your hands find their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you deepen the kiss, pouring all your love into it. 

“I love you too, Hee,” you whisper between kisses, your voice low, filled with a yearning ache that matches his. “Always.”

His hands tighten around you, holding you as though you might slip away, his kisses becoming more urgent, more desperate. It’s the last few worries working through his brain, finding an escape in your comforting embrace.

Hands roaming your now fully alert body, Heeseung grips and caresses every inch of you he can, his fingers dancing along your back as his nails drag down ever so gently, just enough for you to feel the bite. He needs you under his skin. He needs you part of him. He needs you full stop.

Every brush of his lips, every gentle tug of your lower lip, every graze of his teeth sends a thrill through you, making your skin hum with electricity. His hand moves up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze dark with emotion, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“I know we just had a sappy moment and I don’t want this to take away from it, but I’m horny as fuck right now.”

A sharp laugh escapes you, breaking through the moment, and you shake your head at Heeseung's bluntness, though the heat in the room is unmistakable. His words might’ve caught you off guard, but they don’t surprise you - it’s just so him to switch from vulnerability to desire. One of the many, many, reasons you adore him.

You grin goofily at him, your hands still tangled in his hair. “Oh, really?” you tease, your voice light but laced with that same unspoken tension that’s been building between you. “I never would have guessed with your cock poking my thigh.”

You both look down and see Heeseung’s member semi-hard, concealed only by his boxers. It makes you bite your lip in lust as you reply moments that his thick cock has taken you to the stars, has made you arch your back as your heart tries to leap from your chest and shout how much you love his inches pounding into you.

Heeseung's cheeks flush a deep pink, only adding to the alcohol flush he still has blushing over his features, but that signature mischievous grin appears on his face, his embarrassment melting into amusement. He lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking between your teasing gaze and the obvious evidence of his desire pressing against you.

"Well," he says, his voice dropping an octave, his hand tightening slightly on your waist, "you can’t blame me, can you? I mean, look at you." His tone is playful, but there’s no mistaking the hunger behind his words as his eyes drag over your body, drinking in every inch of you. His lips find their way to your neck, teeth working in tandem to nip at your skin before he speaks again. “Y’know, I guess I should prove that I’m a good boyfriend, not just say it.”

A part of you wants to tell him that he proves it every day, that he is even proving it right now, but you know what this will lead to and you’ll be damned if you don’t let him continue. So you play along, smirking as you feel his mouth move south, kissing over your collarbone.

“I think you should,” you giggle out in a moan as his teeth sink into you. The sound escapes your lips, a mixture of laughter and desire, and you feel his cock twitch at the sound, a primal response that only fuels the fire igniting between you both. 

Any noise you make is Heeseung’s favourite song.

With a swift motion, Heeseung peels your tank top off, revealing your breasts. He ogles at them, memorising every mark, line, and curve of them as if he doesn’t study them every day. If he was set the challenge to draw them from memory, he could pass with flying colours.

Attaching his mouth to your right nipple, he teasingly bites around the peak and flicks it with his tongue before wrapping his lips around it, sucking gently as though he’s savouring a fine wine; your body has the same effect as alcohol on him anyway. 

The sensation sends an electric jolt through you, arching your back and pushing your chest further into him, a silent plea for more. Heeseung's hands grab hold of your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin, heightening the atmosphere in the room.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he mumbles against your skin, punctuating each word with soft kisses. The way he admires you - like you’re a masterpiece and he’s not even worthy to be standing in the museum you decorate - fills you with a sense of pride. You never feel more beautiful or worthy than when you’re in your boyfriend’s arms. 

You can’t help but tilt your head back, surrendering to the desire-filled feeling crashing over you as he lavishes the skin on your body.

His mouth moves from your breast to your collarbone, trailing kisses that leave a path of fire in their wake. As he nips at your skin, you feel a rush of warmth pool low in your belly, the heady mix of desire and adoration overwhelming. Heeseung's fingers dig into your hips, anchoring you to him, and you can feel the way his body responds to yours - hard and insistent against your thigh. 

“Am I proving myself?” he asks playfully, pulling back to look into your eyes, his gaze dark with lust and mischief. His lips glisten slightly, and you can’t help but admire how he looks at this moment - wild and undone, completely lost in the taste of you.

“More than you know,” you breathe, a smile creeping onto your lips as you lean in closer, brushing your nose against his. The closeness feels intoxicating, every heartbeat syncing with his own. “But I think there’s a way you can really prove it to me.”

With a playful glint in your eye, you push him back gently, manoeuvring him to lie flat against the sheets of your shared bed. You straddle him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips as you trap him. 

Leaning down, you place a teasing kiss on his lips before trailing your mouth lower, down his chest, relishing every inch of skin you encounter. He tastes like a mix of his body wash and perfume. You take your time, letting your lips brush against his abs, ghosting and teasing while feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingertips as you draw nearer to where you want to be.

“This doesn’t feel like me proving I’m a good boyfriend if you’re doing all the work,” he laughs, his voice rich with playful sarcasm.

“Just relax,” you murmur, looking up at him through your thick lashes, “I’ve got this.” With that, you grip the waistband of his boxers and edge them down, revealing him fully. The sight of his arousal makes your heart race even faster. Fuck, he’s so delicious. The air is thick with tension and anticipation, and as you wrap your fingers around him, the knowing of what’s to come sends shivers down your spine.

“Seriously, Y/N, why don’t I-”

You interrupt him, your voice playful yet sultry, “I’m literally in love with your cock, so if you want to ‘prove’ you’re a good boyfriend, you’ll let me suck it.” You smile innocently up at your boyfriend, and the mischievous glint in your eyes only heightens the intensity surrounding you.

 When you say you love his cock, that isn’t even enough to convey just how much you worship it.

For the past year, this single cock has taken you to heaven and back, lifting you past the clouds and into galaxies that haven’t even been explored yet. Heeseung has done more for your pleasure than any self-exploration or rose toy could ever hope to give you. If he wants to talk about women’s complaints about their boyfriends, unsatisfying sex is more common than not, and he has yet to disappoint you.

When you first started dating, the chemistry between you was so strong that you found yourselves lost in each other’s arms on the very first date. Even then, while you still had so much to learn about one another - your likes and dislikes, how you moved with one another - Heeseung somehow pressed every button inside you, fine-tuning spots you hadn’t even discovered. He is so attuned to your needs, both physically and mentally.

That is how you know he is a cut above the rest.

With a teasing grin, you peel his boxers down further, whisking them off and throwing them to the floor. You take a moment to admire him, the way his dick stands eager and glistening. It’s a sight that always sends a rush of heat straight to your cunt, making it purr and mewl out to be stuffed.

Leaning in closer, you let your breath ghost over the tip of his bell, watching as he shakes out a breath in response. The tension in his body is palpable and it fuels your desire even more. You love to see him wriggle beneath you - it makes you feel good. Probably a people-pleaser trait that you’ve developed. But if it’s Heeseung? You want to do your very most to please.

You give him a slow, teasing lick, starting from the base and moving up to the tip, taking your time to savour the taste of him. A low groan escapes his lips, and the sound makes your heart race, sending a thrill of pleasure coursing through you.

“Y/N,” he gasps, his voice thick with desire, ���you really don’t have to-”

But you cut him off again, looking at him with pleading eyes. “I want to,” you assure him, your voice a whisper as you lean in, capturing his tip in your mouth. The warmth of you envelops him, and you hollow your cheeks, sucking gently as you begin to take him deeper.

Heeseung’s hands find their way to your hair, fingers threading through it as he guides you softly, his breaths turning into heavy pants. You love the way he watches you, eyes dark and filled with admiration and lust. As you take him deeper, you let your tongue swirl around the tip, teasing and tantalising him, every flick sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

Gathering your hair into a ponytail and threading his fingers through your strands to make sure he doesn’t miss a bit, he begins to tie your hair up. He does this; one, so he can see your pretty lips wrapping around him, and two, because he knows how annoyed you get when your hair is in your face. It’s partly the reason why he always carries a bobble on his wrist, for spontaneous times like this. 

The black bobble has come in handy more times than he can count; parties, work events, in the car, you name it. You love to suck his cock, there was no denying it, and you will take any opportunity, hence why he is always prepared.

With each slow movement, you can feel Heeseung tense. You watch him closely, revelling in the way his mouth falls open, struggling to find the words to express what he’s feeling - though, his face does enough explaining. His chest rises and falls, each breath coming faster than the last as you continue to work your mouth around him. 

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his voice shaky as he tries to keep control. You can sense his yearning and quite honestly, it makes you feel so powerful. With every moment that passes, you grow more determined to show him just how much he means to you.

You start to pick up the pace, your head moving faster as you slide him deeper into your mouth, allowing your lips to wrap around him snugly. You can feel the muscles in his thighs tense, his body urging you on as he struggles not to bust a load in your mouth right here and now. The raw desperation in his eyes only ignites your need for him, and you find yourself lost in the rhythm of it, moving in sync with the unspoken connection between you.

“Y/N, please, I’ll not last long,” he murmurs, his voice thick with the urge as he bites his lip, a look of pleasure painting his features. You can tell he’s holding back, wanting to let go but trying to let you take your time. The contrast of his restraint against your eagerness sends a rush of heat through you, and you can feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips as you squeeze his thighs.

Instead of slowing down, you push him fully down your throat, the bell of his cock sitting exactly where your voicebox is located, and you swallow. It’s something you know he loves more than anything and thanks to a lot of practice paired with patience from your boyfriend, you perfected it. 

Your throat gags at the intrusion of his cock as it tries to gulp down, Heeseung thrashes beneath you, holding in his breath and he tenses, toes curling in desperation. 

“Jesus, fuck,” he gasps out through gritted teeth, the intensity of the sensation overwhelming him. His fingers grip your hair tighter, a mix of pleasure and desperation coursing through him as he feels you take him deeper than ever. The warm heat enveloping him is almost too much to bear, and he can't help but thrust his hips slightly, seeking that delicious friction that drives him wild.

You can feel every shudder and quake of his body, the way he fights against the urge to let go. With each swallow, you tighten your throat around him, your body instinctively reacting to his need. The vibrations from your throat send delicious, torturous vibrations through his entire length, and you can tell he’s so fucking close.

“Y/N,” he moans, his voice laced with an intoxicating mix of desperation and awe. “You’re so fucking perfect.” The way he breathes your name is music to your ears, fueling your desire even more. The rasp in his tone along with the tiny giggle that pushes out, showcases the glee he is feeling within himself. It’s a beautiful contrast to how this rude awakening started.

Determined to push him over the edge, you pull back just slightly, letting the tip of him rest on your tongue as you swirl it around his knob, dipping it past his slit a few times before diving back down, taking him fully once more. Each movement is deliberate, each glide of your lips sending him further into the abyss of pleasure. The sound of your lips slurping and the wetness of your mouth fills the room, creating an intoxicating rhythm that both of you are losing yourself in.

“Please, stop,” he begs, his eyes squeezing shut as he loses himself in the moment. “I can’t hold back much longer.” You revel in the power you have over him, the way your actions leave him breathless and needy. It’s a perfect feeling, one that makes you want to do this forever, to draw out his pleasure as long as you can.

But just as you think he might tumble over the edge, Heeseung suddenly pulls you off of him, his chest heaving with short breaths as he fights to regain control. His gaze is dark, filled with desire and a hint of desperation, and it sends a thrill through you as he locks eyes with you.

With a swift motion, he pulls your face up to his, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss. It’s a clash of passion, sweetness and raw hunger as his mouth moves against yours. He can taste the remnants of your earlier actions on his tongue but he doesn’t care, he’s never been one to care about that, unlike some men.

Again, a reason why he’s a cut above the rest.

As you kiss, his fingers find home between your legs, feeling how wet you are just from sucking his cock. The feeling makes him smirk, his ego growing along with his arousal. He pushes your shorts and underwear to the side and you gasp into his mouth as you feel the heat of his member sliding against your pussy. 

“I need you so fucking bad,” Heeseung breathes between kisses. You can feel the urgency in his words, the way his body reacts to yours, the heat radiating off him, makes your heart race faster, and you instinctively press against him, seeking that sweet friction. “Let me fuck you, please, baby.” Heeseung is whiny and desperate, which means you know he’s close, seeking out that sweet release.

And you are more than happy to give him it.

You break the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Fuck me, please, Hee.” 

The invitation drives him over the edge, losing control completely, and you can see the flicker of determination in his eyes as he moves to claim you, each moment stretching out as you both surrender to the overwhelming connection that binds you together.

With pure greed, Heeseung captures your lips again, his mouth moving against yours with urgency. When his mouth finds your breasts again, he takes your right nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before nibbling around the peak, his tongue swirling and teasing as he sends waves of pleasure through you.

Slipping into your heat, Heeseung’s cock finally stretches you open, a gasp in harmony orchestrating around your bedroom. Your eyes roll back as he fills you to the hilt, the exquisite sensation sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through every part of your body. Heeseung pauses for just a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his breath coming in heavy pants as he watches you. 

“God, you feel amazing,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need as he slowly pulls back, only to plunge deep again. Each thrust is a slow exploration at first as he seeks to bring you both to that blissful peak. The sensation of his cock sliding against your inner walls sends waves of pleasure through you. Heeseung's eyes never leave your face, drinking in the sight of you lost in ecstasy, each gasp and moan drawing him deeper into the moment.

Heeseung's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he finds a steady rhythm, pushing deeper with each jerk of his hips, trying to prove to you just how great of a boyfriend he can be, how he will give you everything he has; mind, body, and spirit. 

Your body instinctively responds, arching into him, craving more as the world around you fades into the background. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo in the quiet room, punctuated by the choir of your shared gasps and moans. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his voice low and husky, thick with pleasure as he quickens his pace. It doesn’t matter how many times he fucks you, your walls will always welcome him in the most delicious way. 

You can feel the tension building within you with each thrust. The urgency in his movements builds, each movement charged with desperation and longing as he works hard to drive you both to the brink. He leans down, capturing your lips in another messy albeit loving kiss, stealing what little breath you have left.

As he kisses you, his hands roam down to your thighs, lifting your legs higher to allow him even deeper access. The shift in angle has you moaning like a pornstar as he hits that sweet spot inside you. You can feel the pressure building, the familiar tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter within you, urging you closer to release.

“Y/N,” he breathes against your lips, his voice low and breathy, filled with both desire and admiration. “You’re everything to me.” The words resonate deep within your chest, and they only serve to heighten the intensity of your love for him. “I want you to cum for me,” he murmurs, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in perfect time with his thrusts, his thumb pressing down on your sensitive bud.

The sensation of his fingers combined with the friction of his cock sends you spiralling toward the edge. With each stroke of his cock and each slow circle of his thumb, you can feel the heat pooling in your core, a delicious tension building that threatens to overflow.

“Hee, I’m so close,” you gasp, nails digging into his back as the sensations overwhelm you. Heeseung groans in response, his thrusts growing more frantic, his desire matching your own as he chases that high alongside you. “Just a little more, baby, you can take it,” he urges, his voice thick with need, every thrust a promise of the pleasure to come.

Your breaths come in sharp bursts as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you. With every movement, Heeseung brings you closer to the edge, the rhythm of his hips and the precision of his fingers drawing you nearer to bliss. Your body begins to tremble, the coil inside you winding tighter as Heeseung’s pace quickens, urgency fueling every thrust.

“Let go for me, baby,” he whispers, each word enveloped with need, and that simple command pushes you over the edge. With a shriek, your body explodes in pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as you shatter beneath him.

The sensation washes over you, and as you lose yourself to it, you can feel Heeseung following closely behind, his own release spilling into you as he groans your name, ropes of his cum painting your walls, the heat adding to your pleasure and making your cunt try and swallow each drop. 

As the waves of pleasure finally begin to subside, you find yourself still tangled together, your breaths mingling in the now warm air. Heeseung’s arms are wrapped securely around you, holding you close as his heartbeat gradually slows, though the lingering electricity between you remains palpable. You can feel the aftershocks of your climax coursing through you along with the final jumps of his cock, each pulse a gentle reminder of the ecstasy you just shared.

Heeseung gently pulls out, and a soft whimper escapes your lips at the loss, but he’s quick to pull you into his embrace, cradling you against his chest. His fingers brush through your hair, and you can’t help but smile, the afterglow of your connection illuminating your heart. 

“So...did I prove myself,” he breathes, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he meets your gaze. There’s a playful glint in his eyes, his brows wiggling. You’re so happy to have this Heeseung back, the worries and doubts are long gone.

“You never had to prove anything, Hee. You prove yourself every single day.” Your voice is earnest and raw, meaning every word. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek as you stroke his flushed face. “I love you so much, baby. Please never doubt yourself like that again.” 

Heeseung’s eyes soften at your words, a bashfulness coming over his features as he leans into your touch. The sincerity in your voice wraps around him like a comforting blanket, easing away any lingering insecurities. 

“You really mean that?”

“Of course, I do,” you assure him, the depth of your love for him echoing amongst each syllable. “You are everything I have ever wanted and more. I don’t just say it for the sake of it, you know. You really are perfect for me, Hee. Perfect in general.”

His heart swells at your declaration, a grin lighting his face the way the moon lights up the room. “Well, I guess that means I should keep doing what I’m doing, yeah?”

“Abso-fucking-luty, “ you giggle, kissing his chest before you settle your head there, listening to his heartbeat, the one that beats only for you. “Just keep being mine.”

“Always.”

[ghost-in-the-stalls]

I was going to put this in the tags but it's long enough and a direct response that I think I should just add it here.

Yes, to all of this, unironically and unhesitatingly.

For what it's worth for everything I'm about to say, I am a licensed social worker and am currently employed as a mental health clinician. But I have not done any research on this personally and don't have sources at the moment to back this theory up (im going to look into that today actually. I'm curious to see what I find.) This is just all speculation from a professional, so take that for what it's worth. I'll try to add some sources later when I'm not on mobile.

See I agree with what was stated up above about anxiety and depression. I also think its possible it could apply to diagnoses considered less "general," like adhd.

Example. I was recently diagnosed with adhd. The only reason I bothered to pursue the diagnosis was because it was impacting my ability to function throughout my day, and I wanted to try medication. (Personally, I think those are the only times you really should pursue a professional diagnosis, but that's a separate conversation...)

The most notable complaints I had about what I was experiencing were:

- struggling to focus on one task instead of bouncing around between everything on my to do list

- getting overwhelmed and paralyzed from the amount of thoughts and tasks that were in front of me

- struggling to stay on a task that requires my full focus (like reading) because I simply can't give that task my full attention

- conversely, going too long engaging in one task (usually a preferred relaxation task) and neglecting other parts of my life. This typically happens for me on weekends, when I'm trying to play video games instead of think about work.

There are other symptoms that I qualify with, like interrupting people (or struggling not to), being physically jittery and fidgety, being easily angered when certain things happen, etc.

For me, a lot of this ties back to - and was made most clear by - the amount of tasks I have to regularly engage in in my life, and my difficulty keeping up with it all and functioning effectively through it.

Now on one hand, the DSM V is written with a focus on symptoms that interfere with life functioning. And things that stop necessary tasks from being completed tend to fuck our lives up more than something that makes us a little too talkative or fidgety.

But also. And I will say this again and again and again.

A diagnosis is a tool and label. Not a law of the universe. Not a cause. It is a human attempt at categorization of known symptoms, with the intention of relating to effective treatments.

(And that^^^ is something you'll learn from any decent psych 101 class. Mine wasn't decent and I had to go a few classes beyond before we actually started framing it that way.)

With that in mind. Here's a question.

Is my adhd just innate within me, and something that would have been there, regardless of what my life looked like? Is it a specific way my brain deviates from the "norm," and something that, with the right technology and testing, could have been detected and diagnosed without my even noticing any symptoms? Something that exists in a vaccuum without touching my other diagnoses of anxiety and depression?

Or. Is it maybe just a quick and easy way of saying "this person cannot keep up with the stimuli in their life without becoming overwhelmed. And it is effecting their functioning to a notable degree"

That second option is a gross oversimplification, but I hope you take a second to sit with how much the first option sounds like eugenics. If the problem is innate within you, then if we just improve our technology enough to detect it in everyone who has it and separate them from the "norm," then we can weed out the problem, right? Okay, Elon.

How much of my adhd could be a culmination of the fact that I'm overwhelmed with stimuli 24/7 and have lost my ability to focus effectively because of it? How much of my clients' adhd could be a result of the same, possibly combined with the fact that many of them have experienced or are currently experiencing trauma? Which is known to impact ability to focus on tasks, as well as create a hyperactive body system?

This isn't to say adhd is a bogus diagnosis. The same way that the anxiety and depression we experience within our current world state is also not a bogus diagnosis. We're still experiencing it. We still fit the diagnostic criteria. And treatment still helps.

My point of all this is, yes to what's above. And also, maybe it would be good to reframe the ways we view diagnosis in general, to take it a step further, and to recognize the very clear and present causes of what a lot of people are experiencing nowadays. In my opinion, it goes beyond anxiety and depression.

(Also. For the people saying you'll go nuts if you aren't busy. Take a look at why that is. Is that a sustainable way of living? Are you comfortable just existing as yourself? Are you trying to distract yourself from something, or avoiding something uncomfortable? Have you possibly adapted well to the pressure of being constantly busy? Think about it from a different angle)

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Playing for Keeps

Fandom: Women's College Basketball (LSU, USC, UConn)

Pairing: Juju Watkins x Reader x Paige Bueckers

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Heavy angst, jealousy, territorial behavior, unresolved tension, eventual poly relationship

Summary: Being close friends with both Juju Watkins and Paige Bueckers was already a lot to handle, but when they both caught feelings for me? It became a full-on war.

Both were competitive. Both were used to winning.

And both, apparently, had decided that I was worth fighting for.

"You sitting courtside for me, right?" Juju had asked, leaning against my desk in my LSU dorm like she had all the time in the world. "I need my number one supporter looking good in red and gold."

I opened my mouth to answer, but my phone buzzed.

Paige [4:35 PM]: Hope you’re packing some navy and white, ma. Can’t have you out here in Trojan colors. Wouldn't be a good look for you.

I groaned, tossing my phone onto my bed. Juju smirked.

"That her?"

"Don't start," I muttered.

Juju chuckled but didn’t say anything else. She didn’t have to. We both knew that she and Paige could barely stand to be in the same room, and the fact that I was friends with both of them only made it worse.

The game between USC and UConn was already set to be a battle. But for them, it wasn’t just about basketball.

It was about me.

Sitting courtside felt like sitting in the eye of a storm.

Juju was putting on a show—deep threes, crossovers that sent defenders stumbling, celebrations that felt just a little too directed at Paige.

Paige? Oh, she was taking it personally.

Every time she made a play, she looked at me. Every time she scored, she smirked like she was reminding me why she should be my favorite.

And then came the third quarter.

Paige went up for a layup. Juju was right there. They collided mid-air, and Paige hit the ground hard.

The whistle blew, but neither of them cared.

Paige shoved Juju’s shoulder as she stood up.

Juju shoved back.

And suddenly, they were chest to chest, jawing at each other.

I saw it before the refs did—the pure, reckless need to prove themselves.

Over me.

"Man, they’re really about to fight over you," Taylor muttered beside me.

I buried my face in my hands. "I hate them both."

"Sure you do," she laughed.

They both got hit with a tech. The game went on, but the tension never left.

Three days later, I was still recovering from the absolute embarrassment of watching my two best friends nearly get ejected because they couldn’t stop competing for my attention.

So when I heard a knock on my dorm room door, I should’ve known it was them.

What I didn’t expect?

For them to show up together.

I folded my arms. "Y’all better not have come here to argue in my dorm."

Paige sighed, rubbing her forehead. "We’re not."

Juju nodded. "We figured it out."

I blinked. "Figured what out?"

They exchanged a glance. Paige spoke first. "We’re gonna share you."

I stared. Then laughed. "Hilarious. Get out."

Neither of them moved.

Oh. They were serious.

Juju shrugged. "Look, we get it. You’re not gonna pick between us. And we’re not about to sit here and act like we don’t both want you."

Paige leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "So instead of fighting over you, we’re just gonna make it work. Together."

My head was spinning. "You—what?"

Juju smirked. "What, you can handle both of us, right?"

Paige grinned. "Or are we too much for you, ma?"

I glared at them. "I hate y’all."

Paige tilted my chin up. "No, you don’t."

The worst part?

She was right.

I thought the madness would end after they worked things out.

I was wrong.

Because now, instead of fighting over me, they were ganging up on me.

And that’s how I ended up at my lacrosse game, standing on the field, watching both of them sit front row in LSU gear.

They looked way too comfortable. Juju was leaning back in her seat like she owned the place. Paige had her feet propped up on the railing, arms crossed like she was analyzing my every move.

Taylor, sitting on the bench beside me, snorted. "Yeah, that’s not normal."

"Tell me about it," I muttered.

The game hadn’t even started yet, but they were already making themselves known.

Juju cupped her hands around her mouth. "Yo, baby, don’t let me down out there!"

Paige smirked. "She never lets me down, Watkins. She’s built different."

Juju scoffed. "Please, she’s my girl too. We’ll see who she winks at first when she scores."

I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. "I’m actually gonna die."

Taylor patted my back. "Nah, girl, you’re just stuck between two of the craziest ballers in the country."

"That’s supposed to make me feel better?"

She shrugged. "You picked them."

I sighed. "No, they picked me. And now I have to deal with—"

The ref blew the whistle, signaling the start of the game.

And before I even ran onto the field, Paige and Juju were already yelling for me.

Loudly.

Taylor smirked. "Yeah, you’re never escaping them."

After the game, I barely made it to the locker room before Juju and Paige cornered me.

Juju draped an arm around my shoulder. "Not bad, superstar. But next time, point at me when you score, yeah?"

Paige scoffed. "Oh, so you didn’t see her looking at me after that goal?"

I groaned. "Can y’all not?"

Juju grinned. "Nah. We’re invested in your career now, babe."

Paige smirked. "Exactly. We gotta make sure our girl knows we’re here for her."

I exhaled. They were never gonna let me live this down.

Taylor walked past, shaking her head. "Man, y’all are something else."

Paige and Juju high-fived.

I sighed.

This was my life now.

And honestly?

Maybe I didn’t mind it so much.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

       -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples, pt. 2

part one part three

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you run into a familiar face at work.

word count: 4.9k words

warnings: extreme loathing, kinda funny, kinda sad, a good mix of everything! a hint of foreplay! not proofread!

author's note: thank you for all the love on part one! here's part two! should there be a part three? also, enjoy a pic of caleb i grabbed from the game today!

taglist <3 : @kebarney @pinkismyfavcolor @romils @erisnxxi @rik0shii @reni502 @spacehopper27 @llamabois @likesvader @pandoras-rabbit @princessfruit @lukassafespace @jexizia

Caleb couldn’t say how long he’s been standing outside your door for. Had it been an hour? Three? Maybe it’s only been thirty minutes…time truly flies by when he’s with his love.

It doesn’t matter, though. Caleb would stand guard outside your door if it meant that you were safe.

Safe and alone inside your apartment…no other specimen in there to protect you.

Caleb wouldn’t let them come in if they came. He’d use his evol to shove them towards the side stairwell. He’d shove them down and watch as their bodies crumbled together, bones breaking, finding their screams of pain and agony satisfying.

It would all be worth it because you’re safe. All because of his much needed protection.

You’re his.

His to protect. His to look after. His to care for. His to love.

He glances to the side and notices that Skyhaven’s clouds have slightly parted. A smile spreads across his face, the man sneaking towards the hallway window, looking out at the morning sky. The weather is still undoubtedly gloomy, but the slight sight of sun is sign enough for him that you two are meant to be.

Caleb prances down the hallway, stopping by your door one last time. He slowly inhales, his eyes feeling heavy, and flattens his palm against it.

He’ll be seeing you soon.

The Colonel exits your apartment building, his phone attached to the side of his face. His voice is cheery and if you were to hear it, you’d think that his face would be all smiles and joy. It isn’t, though, and is instead a stoic expression.

“Hey, buddy. Remember that favor you owe me? Well, it’s time to cash in. I need you to get me information on someone. Yeah, yeah, I’ll send her name over to you now. Great! Thanks!” He hangs up and settles into a spot across the street.

People pass in front of him, his back pressed against the outside wall of a convenience store. Caleb barely pays attention to other woman who pause to get another look at him. He doesn’t have time to entertain their fantasies. He’d prefer to cater to your wants and needs. You deserve it after all your years of being apart.

Caleb tilts his head up and finds your window. His sick smile returns to his face, waiting for you to appear.

Except, he doesn’t know that you don’t peer out the window in the morning. Instead, you stay in bed for as long as you can, face and body covered by your sheets and obnoxious amount of blankets. 

Your arm sticks out, slicing through the chilly morning air.

Shit. You think to yourself. Did the heater not kick in?

Your toes feel inexplicably cold despite being buried under a behemoth of blankets. Slowly sitting up in bed, your tired eyes look around your dark room before they float to the butterfly that hangs from your window. You love how the orange and blue hues grace the floor, softly turning the cold environment into something warm and welcoming.

It reminds you of home and most importantly, it reminds you of him.

You can’t help but laugh, slapping your forehead as you slip out of bed. Last night was a trip and a half!

Your date with George was so bad that you actually hallucinated Caleb being alive. Ha! It’s laughable, really, and you can’t even fathom who was there to witness your crazed haze. You definitely sounded like a crazy person, probably looking like the other blacked out people on the street who struggled to get home.

“Poor guy,” you say aloud, filling in your apartment’s silence, “I hope we never run into each other again.”

Oh, the irony.

You slowly get ready for your day. You take a quick shower, already running late, and stumble into your closet with your toothbrush hanging from your lips. You snatch a clean uniform jacket from the hangers, sliding it over your white blouse. You tuck your shirt into your black pencil skirt and make for sure there are no wrinkles in the fabric.

You hesitate, staring at yourself in the mirror. 

Who are you trying to impress, anyways? It’s not like you’re going to find your Prince Charming at work.

Finally ready for your day, feeling rejuvenated and having shaken off your hysterics from the previous night, you step out of your apartment. You chew on a last minute attempt at making toast. The bread is dry instead of being lathered with butter, a complete oversight on your part.

You don’t even have time to stop for a coffee for a boost of energy. How the hell are you going to get through the day?

The rain stopped but the clouds still hang low in the sky. You’re used to the gloomy days, you actually welcome them with open arms. Too much sun reminds you of home and all of the misfortune you went through and, well, Linkon has a Wanderer problem that you want to avoid. Skyhaven still has them but it’s significantly less. You have the Fleet to thank for that.

And you definitely don’t have to thank a certain hunter who always seems to be at the scene of the worst attacks. As long as she stays away, you can live in peace knowing that if a Wanderer were to show up, she wouldn’t be the one to save you.

Your job as a translator stresses you out. Your boss, Darryl, is a weird, perverted dick that abuses his power. Whenever you don’t accept his daily flirts or go to HR about his behavior, you’re rewarded with horrible assignments that take years off of your life because you’re surrounded by men who are exactly like Darryl. You swear that you’ve seen a gray hair or two sprout from your head.

Being a translator under Darryl is a soul sucking job. You’ve applied to different departments in the Deepspace Aviation Administration, but Darryl has decided that you’re only good enough for translating documents and transcripts.

Your dream is to be a live translator, one that sat in a hidden room during negotiations and meetings between presidents and generals. Hell, you’d be fine with translating between the generals’ secretaries! It’s a thrill that you’ll unfortunately never be able to experience.

A big fuck you to Darryl.

You step through the shiny and clean doors of the Deepspace Aviation Administration. The building is eerily tall, shooting further into the atmosphere. You’ve managed to stay within the clouds, though, barely able to move past the fifteenth floor. Your security clearance is less than desirable, but it hasn’t stopped you from inching your way to the top.

You hope to see the secret levels soon enough but sincerely doubt it.

You smile at Abel and Remy, who work the entrance of the building, manning the security clearance that you pass through every weekday. You place your bag down on the conveyor belt, scanning your I.D. card in the little pad before stepping through the metal detector.

“Good morning you two,” you greet them with a familiar smile.

“Morning!” Remy chimes with a smile. He hands you your bag and nudges Abel’s side. He barely looks up, waving, before sinking his head back into the computer. “He slept like shit. Don’t mind him.”

“It’s all good,” you shrug, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Just as you are about to step away, Abel’s head shoots up.

“Stay here. You were flagged.” Abel waves his hand in the air. Two nicely dressed soldiers approach you, guns slung on their sides. Your eyes widen, looking around for any kind of sign that this is a prank that Remy and Abel were pulling on you.

When the soldiers approach you and take your arm, a weight forms on your shoulders. 

It’s not a prank. It’s very fucking real.

Terror rips through your body. Your eyes widen as the masked soldiers stare down at you, their eyes dark and unwelcoming.

“Ma’am. Follow us,” one of the soldiers barks at you. You nod, ready to comply, but are unable to move your feet. You try to move your leg but it doesn’t budge. You awkwardly laugh to yourself, looking down at the unresponsive limb.

Move, dammit! You internally scream, cheeks heating up. 

Remy gives your back a gentle tap, nudging you forward. You stumble over your feet, pushing through the gap between the soldiers.

They track you from behind and occasionally bark a direction for you to take. They guide you towards the elevator that is reserved for higher ranking officials and officers. Your gulp, heart pounding in your chest. Your ears begin to ring, heating up as nausea overtakes your body. You close your eyes and grip the railing in the elevator, clinging to the cold metal for some kind of relief.

Where did it all go wrong?

Did you translate something wrong? Is it your fault that a world war is about to erupt? You knew you should have told Darryl to not give you assignments on the language you’re weakest at! He should have given it to Miranda!

Your foot rapidly taps against the elevator floor. Each ding from a new floor heightens your anxiety, body shivering at the thought of what could happen to you.

Ding.

Goodbye cruel world!

Ding.

It was nice knowing you all!

Ding.

Don’t forget about me! Use my death as an example on what not to do!

You have heard many stories of what happened to translators that interpreted a word incorrectly. They simply disappeared off the face of the earth and were never heard from again. Or they ended up teaching languages at a community college far away from Skyhaven and the Fleet.

You’d rather disappear off the face of the earth than succumb to that fate.

The elevator doors slide open. You look up from the floor, surprised to see a normal looking work environment. One of the soldiers place their hand on your back, pushing your forward. You move with his hand, not particularly enjoying his touch. You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’ll take her from here.”

You freeze. Goosebumps spread across your skin and chills run down your spine. You focus on the wall in front of you, a figure sliding in front of your vision. Your eyes are met with a black uniform, the typical red, white, and blue accents that the Fleet uniforms have.

Your eyes float up, taking in the figure before you. Purple eyes stare down at you, your haze focusing on the golden spot that lays on the bottom of his iris. The nausea you once felt disappears but is quickly replaced with an even worse feeling of complete and utter dread.

“Caleb?” His name rolls off your tongue like butter, melting the ice that surrounds your heart.

So last night was not a dream. Caleb was the one to save you from George, not some random stranger who was there at the time. It was your ex-childhood best friend.

A semblance of a smile flashes across his face before his gaze sharpens. He looks you up and down, hands behind his back. Your gaze drops, taking him in his entirety.

Fuck…he looks great in his uniform.

“Long time no see,” he quips, stoic expression remaining on his face. “Follow me.” Without missing a beat, he turns on his heel and begins to walk away. You look around, blinking as if it’ll snap you out of the dream you’re clearly inside of.

When you don’t follow, Caleb walks back. His fingers curl around your wrist, his touch shocking your body to life. You fumble over your words, random sounds fleeing from your lips, as Caleb guides you away from invasive eyes.

His hair is still short but is just shaggy enough to remain charming and add to his looks. Your squint your eyes, noticing a few light scars on the right side of his body. They creep up his neck from under his wrinkle-free uniform. Caleb opens a door and you step inside, swallowing whatever confusion you had left in your mouth, and turn to him.

“Caleb?” Your voice is breathy. Caleb’s eyes fix themselves on you, the man leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re…what?”

“Take your time,” he chuckles. Your breath gets caught in your throat. His chuckle makes you want to jump for joy. “We are on a time crunch though, pipsqueak—”

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt him, hissing as your instincts take over.

Any positive feeling you felt towards him in the past five minutes has vanished. You glare and cross your arms over your chest.

How dare Caleb call you that? That was always her nickname, alongside other ridiculous pet names that always made you gag whenever you looked back in your memories.

You made for certain that you’ll never be his pipsqueak.

You groan, rolling your eyes, and turn away from him. To him, it feels like you just drove a knife into his heart. He stares at the back of your head, his gaze falling for a brief moment, noticing the curve of your ass, before circling in front of you.

“I won’t call you that…noted,” he breathlessly chuckles. Once you tilt your chin up to show your glare, his chuckle gets caught in his throat. He covers it with a cough, suddenly feeling nervous around you.

Caleb has never felt this way with you before. In the past, everything was so easy! It was smooth sailing with you, low maintenance. He knew that you didn’t need the constant validation from him whereas she always needed it.

Maybe that’s been his foolish mistake all along. He should have paid more attention to you instead of her.

Is this what loathing feels like? Complete and utter contempt towards someone? Caleb hasn’t experienced this kind of negative feeling before, at least, not with her.

He had always felt so alive whenever she looked his way. Her beauty and innocence was so captivating. He adored playing the hero she needed.

Where was your hero? Who was there to call you pipsqueak or any other cheesy nickname? God, he’s been a fucking idiot.

“Is there…a nickname you’d like me to call you? For old time’s sake?” Caleb’s question earns him an angered scoff from you.

“You can call me by my name, thanks,” You look at him, eyes flickering down to his exposed neck.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His gloved hand reaches for the collar of his shirt, wanting to loosen his restrictive tie, but falls. When your eyes meet again, his shoulders tense before relaxing.

Is he…is he nervous?

“Tell me, Colonel,” you begin. Caleb’s head perks up and he looks at you, hanging onto every word that comes from your lips. “Why am I here?”

“I heard you’re the best translator we have,” Caleb’s compliment makes you raise your eyebrow, “I only want the best. I need you to translate something for me.”

“Sure, I can do that. Not like I have much of a choice, right?” Your half-joke earns a loud laugh from Caleb. You raise an eyebrow at him.

Really? You think to yourself. That’s what made you laugh?

“I forgot how funny you are,” Caleb comments. He pokes your nose and your face scrunches up, watching as he turns on his heel, opening up the door. You stare at his back and the memories of him from your childhood come pouring in.

You sit alone on a bench. You watch as Caleb stands in line with her at an ice cream stand. You watch them with close and steady eyes, your gaze transfixed on how she plays with his fingers. They laugh and lean into each other, undoubtedly whispering secrets that only they can know to one another.

It pained you, yes, to always be pushed to the sideline. You got used to it with time. You didn’t notice it the first year of knowing them. You were all careless and innocent children. Of course there was no malcontent with their actions!

However, the constant repetition of being left out only to be covered with half-asses apologies and sorries became very old really quick.

And it definitely felt like a stab in the back when you hear their mingled laughter through your open window. You’d catch your self sitting by the window, sighing to yourself as they played knight and princess in Josephine’s backyard.

Whenever you played with them, she always made you the monstrous dragon that held her captive. Caleb had to the the one to kill you. You had to watch from the ground, covered in dirt and dust, as he brought her into his arms, swinging her around.

Her thrilled shrieks and giggles were like poison to your soul.

You were only eight.

With thicker skin and a heart beginning to protect itself with a shield of ice, you braved the final days of your friendship with them. When it grew to be too much, you left.

It was the best decision you could have made, right?

It felt so easy to leave, even as they excluded you from the ice cream line. What’s funny is that they forgot to get you your sweet treat, meaning that you had to eventually stand in the line by yourself while they relaxed on the bench.

You were always left with sticky fingers while he cleaned hers, calling her by that stupid fucking nickname while he wiped away the melted ice cream from her fingertips. They were clean and pristine while yours were left with sticky residue and bits of napkin that lingered behind.

You were almost always determined to ditch them after moments like these. You laid in bed, holding your favorite plushie to your chest, when a small pebble hit your window. You walked over, pushing the glass open, as you poked your head outside.

Caleb stood on the ground below. He smiled up at you and held up a small plastic bag. You watched as he climbed up the side of your house with ease, using the vines to reach your window.

The anger slowly left your body the closer he got to you. He’d poke his head instead and you plucked the plastic bag from his mouth, revealing a small metal butterfly you had saw in town earlier that day.

“I got it just for you,” he said, resting his elbows on the windowsill. You watched him with wide eyes, your ice heart melting from his actions and words. “A token of my appreciation.”

Maybe sticking around for a little longer isn’t a bad idea, you thought to yourself.

You always loved butterflies after that day.

“You coming?” Caleb asks, head tilted to the side.

Looking around, you realize where you are and shake away the bittersweet memories from your childhood. You let out a ragged breath. Your lungs burn and your vision blurs.

His purple orbs memorized every detail of your face. When he noticed the small amount of tears in your eyes, he reached forward, wanting to catch them before they had the chance to fall. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You slap his hand away and push past him, entering the main room.

As you walk, you realize that what’s left between you two has expired.

The apple of his eye is not you. You were a Granny Smith while she was a Honeycrisp.

You were perpetually sour and she was always refreshing. Everyone always lavished in her presence while you faded into the background. You were left out in the sun while she was carried inside and taken care of.

It’s no wonder why you’re rotten to the core. 

Daggers of pain stabbed into his sides, slipping between his ribs, leaving him breathless. His perfect demeanor finally reveled a crack, head lunched over. He follows you into the hallway, planting himself at your side.

Clearly, there is something wrong with you. Not in a way like there is with him, you know, having failed his psych evaluation, but something that is deeply rooted in your core. He wants to rip your chest open and to pull your heart out. He wants the slowly pull away the thorns that pierce your heart and kiss the wounds. He desperately wants to mend your internal wounds and hold you until you fall asleep in his arms.

“Where’s the file?” You ask him, the tears now gone from your eyes. A slow and ragged breath leaves his mouth, unable to look away from your remarkable face. You snap your fingers in his face, irritation blossoming inside your chest.

“Oh, right,” Caleb recovers. He lays his hand on your lower back. Warmth seeps through the thin fabric of your blouse. Despite the anger you felt a minute ago, you can feel your body relax under his touch. You can tell that he notices it too when his cocky smile returns to his face. You tear your gaze away from his, heat tingling your ears from embarrassment.

He leans down to whisper something in your ear but you turn your head away, not wanting to hear anything else from him. Thankfully, he catches on and straightens his posture.

The office is foreign to you. Many hallways lead in different directions. People in uniforms turn left and right, catching you off guard as Caleb pulls you out just in time before you collide with them. They barely look up from the papers in their hands or leave their conversation to say sorry or apologize.

Caleb swiftly guides you through the floor. The two of you weave and bob through the organized chaos. People stop and salute Caleb as he passes by. He nods in their direction, his charming smiling disappearing as he puts his Colonel mask back on.

He opens a door and reveals an almost empty interrogation room. There’s no two way mirror nor are there the usual cameras in the corner. At least, that’s what you’ve seen on your favorite television show. You step inside, flinching when the door slams closed, the faint click of a lock making goosebumps form all over your skin.

“No need to be nervous, Caleb says, sitting down into one of the chairs at the metal table. He spreads his legs open, making himself comfortable. He looks up at you, gesturing to the chair in front of him. You hesitate, having to force your eyes to look away from his legs, and sit in the chair beside him.

The table only has a few items. Caleb takes off his hat, placing it near the edge. He plucks off his gloves, taking his time since you’re watching him, and set them on top of his hat. In the center sits a neat stack of papers with a few pens and pencils on top. Beside that is an audio recorder with an attached set of earbuds.

“You know how to be discreet, right?” Caleb asks. You sneak a glance at him, throwing a bit of side eye, before picking up the audio recorder.

Ha. Do you know to be discreet…how do you think I got through high school? I was discreet with my hatred of your beloved pipsqueak

“I’ll manage,” you cooly respond.

You already know the drill.

You put on the headphones, you write down whatever it is the people on the other side are talking about, and you hand your work over to Darryl.

Except…Darryl isn’t here. Caleb is.

And you aren’t at your usual workstation using your computer to type. You’re actually writing these words down. What kind of mission is this?

“Then you know that you’ll be working directly under me for the assignment,” Caleb leans closer to you. You pay no attention to it.

“Will I?” You play coy and look at him, batting your eyelashes at him.

Caleb has to picture Josephine naked to stop the tent from forming in his pants.

“Yes…” his word comes out as a whisper.

“May I know any background on it? You know, for translation sake.” You can feel him slowly draw you in.

Those purple eyes that you quickly get lost in. The way his fragrant cologne smells. The way his canine tooth flashes whenever he smiles.

And that fucking uniform. Fuck me. You think.

“It’s classified,” he breathes back, your faces mere inches from each other. Caleb is so thankful that there are no cameras inside. If this keeps going the way he wants, he’ll have you bent over with your panties in your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Shame,” you quickly quip back. You tear yourself away from Caleb, leaving him hanging in the tension you two created. You grab the earbuds and slide them inside your ears. The first piece of paper is placed in front of you and you opt for the pen, knowing you never make mistakes.

Caleb watches you with close eyes. Your hand moves at a furious pace, swiftly scribbling down the words from the audio file.

He sits up in his chair, resting his elbow on the table beside him, placing his chin on his raised palm. The Colonel’s eyes close and he slowly inhales. That sweet yet spicy scent of apples and cinnamon fill his nostrils. He slowly exhales, hoping that your perfume lingers on his uniform long after you leave.

His eyes open when he hears you switch to a new paper. You slide him the filled one, you fingers grazing against each other, before you continue to write like you have a gun to your head.

Caleb chuckles to himself. He leans to the right. With the slight movement, he’s able to get a better look at your face.

Your brows are pushed together, no more space between the two. The skin below your bottom lip is sucked in, slowly moving back and forth. Are you…eating yourself? Your eyes flit to him for a brief second. Your face relaxes before it immediately returns to its focused state.

You are so beautiful. Even when you focus on the assignment at hand, Caleb can see the dedication you have for the things you love.

He hopes that soon, he’ll be number one on the list of things you care about. Caleb can brag about it to his already minuscule group of friends, showing off the future photos and selfies you’ll take together. He’ll be able to say that you’re his and nobody else’s.

If someone like George were to come in the way of that, well, he’ll deal with them and lock you away so you don’t have to witness it.

“What are you looking at?” You question, not even looking up from the paper. You slide it to him, drawing your hand away before he can touch your delicate skin, to feel just how soft it is even if it was for a fraction of a second.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” His question surprises the both of you. It slipped from his thoughts before he could stop it from escaping. Caleb’s face remains stoic. On the inside, though, he’s screaming at himself for coming off as too strong.

Your pen scratches to the side, destroying the perfect lines you’ve made from transcribed words. The tip of the pen pierces the paper. Black ink pools around the sharp metal tip. Your fingertips turn white from how tight you grip the pen.

Caleb reaches over you, his muscular arm passing in front of your gaze, trapping you in your chair. He grabs the audio recorder, the device looking minuscule compared to how large his hands are. Veins are prominent in his hand, leading up his wrist before disappearing under the fabric of his uniform jacket.

Your gaze starts from the tips of his fingers, gently dragging past his exposed skin and up his dark material of his uniform, sliding up his shoulder, hovering on the bare skin of his neck. The audio recording in your ear pauses. Caleb retracts his arm, hooking his finger under your chin. He eases your eyes the rest of the way up to his.

Your breath hitches. Lips barely parted, your cheeks flush from his touch and how close he is to you. His lips are mere inches from yours.

All it takes is one…gentle…push…

“I asked if you were doing anything tonight,” the raspiness in his voice makes your lower stomach purr. Your eyes fall to his lips. You gnaw the inside of your cheek, slowly leaning closer to him.

“Are you asking me as Caleb? Or as my Colonel?” You whisper.

“Which one will you say yes to dinner with?”

“Hmm…” you quietly hum. You reach out, fingers curling around his uniform’s tie. You give it a firm tug. A low groan emits from Caleb’s throat. You smirk. “Neither.”

Caleb matches your smirk. His hand snakes up your arm. His long, slender fingers wrap around the entirety of your hand. He overpowers your grip and the tie falls free from your hold. He brings your knuckles to his lips. He plants a firm kiss to them, his eyes locked onto yours.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

You push away from the table. Cheeks red, unable to breathe, you step away from him and to the interrogation room door. You tug on the cold door handle, the metal immediately warming due to you body heat. The lock clicks and you shove the heavy hunk of metal forward, escaping into the public eye of the office.

[alicehearthrow]

an A-10 Warthog

now, that may sound cool as fuck, even op, but where the fuck would i land and refuel and reload that thing in a zombie apoc? not to mention learn how to fly the damn thing in the first place.

and even if i manage to make do with all that, I'd to really hope there's a large collection of zombs just hanging out so that the weapons are actually worth using

honestly, I'd rather have a sledgehammer instead

Spin this wheel to get a weapon for a zombie apocalypse.

[pure-oddity]

141 au (choose your fav member) where you buy a boyfriend, which is a joke amongst friends - until it isnt.

It's a ¼ scale figure of your favorite 141 boy. He wasn't cheap, but worth it for just how lifelike he looked(aside from being, ya know, small)

The second he's out the box, he's posed and set up for a photoshoot. The pictures being sent straight to the group chat.

'Oooooo your boyfriend finally flew in huh?'

'He just moved in, said he wanted to take it to the next level'

It makes you laugh, having been single for a while - you lean into it.

And really - he is a great boyfriend.

Doesn't ogle you when you get changed (you turn him around), takes interest in your hobbies (you talk at him endlessly and he never responds), he'd never cheat on you(safe and sound inside a glass case).

He's great. There's even a tiny more serious part of you that feels safer knowing hes keeping watch while you sleep. Like he's protecting you. It's a nice thought.

Until you bring someone home.

His names Rob, short for Robert, he explained. And he works in tech.

Rob is….decent. he's nice, really. Just maybe not as into you as you were him (initially, you've since lost most butterflies after the 3rd date). But with such a lacking love life, and the option of something stable and safe - you let him spend the night.

The hope is the sex makes up for the lack of initial connection. Based on how he kisses you think it'll be. Decent.

But at this point beggers can't be choosers. So you fully intended to let Rob have his way with you, making it as far as the living room -

Stopping only when your bedroom door creaks open. And a fully grown man steps out.

Rob is mouthing at your neck still, seemingly unaware that you've frozen in his arms - your eyes wide and staring at your doll seemingly come to life. Which I'd a crazy thought, but so is the idea that you're being burgled by a very accurate cosplayer.

You can't even begin to push him off and warn him before a familiar voice calls out.

"Y' home love? How was dinner, girls night you said?" His arms are crossed as he leans against the doorframe. Rob finally notices the shift in atmosphere,finally noticing and startling at the sight of a brick shithouse of a man.

"T-thought you were single? I, man I swear she said she was single"

"S'all right, im sure thats what she told you. But she's not, so why don't you head out-" he pauses, expression shifting from calm indifference to something dangerous. "before I feed you your teeth?"

Rob is gone in a blur. You've never seen someone move so fast, and quickly you're left alone with this stranger.

The air is tense for a few seconds, he doesn't break eye contact, content to stare from the doorway.

Your voice quivers, pleading and scared."…I don't know who you are but-"

he interrupts you with an amused huff, stalking closer with a smooth predatory prowl.

"Course you do love." He smiles, you can smell his cologne , there's a faint hint of smoke.

"I'm your boyfriend, 'member?"

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: What Kind of Love Story Will You Have with Your Future Spouse? ✮⋆˙

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

Hey there loves! Welcome to another PAC reading on my blog page—I hope you all enjoy it! Comment down what you felt about the reading and if it resonated with you and please show some love, Your support means everything to me!<3

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

If you enjoyed this reading, get your own personalized paid reading here! it would really help me out!😊🦋

My KO-FI link: HERE🫶🏻

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⊹₊⟡Pile I

TROPE- The Love Trope: ‘Second Chance, Destined to be’

If your future spouse and your relationship were a fanfic, it would be tagged under: Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers Energy, Emotional Healing, and Passion That Burns. The Queen of Pentacles reverse tells me this love story doesn’t start in the most stable way. Whether it’s meeting at a time when one or both of you are still healing from past wounds, struggling with self-worth, or feeling like your life isn’t entirely together, this connection starts on rocky ground. Maybe one of you is too focused on work, personal struggles, or still in the aftermath of a past heartbreak. Or, plot twist, this could even be someone you already have a history with—whether that means past life connections or literal "it didn’t work out before but now the timing is right" vibes.

Either way, this is not a simple meet-cute. There’s tension, hesitation, and a fear of making the same mistakes as before. This relationship starts with less of a slow burn and more of a ‘why is this so intense already and why do I feel like I know you in ways I shouldn’t. then we have the Ace of Wands. Babes, let me tell you—this is the definition of a magnetic, can’t-stay-away, undeniable chemistry kind of connection. When I say passion? I mean fireworks exploding in the dead of night kind of passion. This is the relationship that wakes you up, the one that makes you feel alive. This person? They get under your skin in a way that’s both frustrating and exhilarating (Aww😭) One moment, you’re side-eyeing them, thinking, this person will be the death of me. The next? You’re pulled into this whirlwind of emotions. Physically, the attraction is off the charts. The kind of touch where a simple brush of hands feels like it sends electricity through your entire body. The way they look at you? Intense. Like they’re memorizing your every expression. There’s a heat between you two that makes other people around you uncomfortable because they can feel the tension without either of you saying a word.But—this fire can either be the kind that fuels something lasting, or the kind that burns down a house if not handled with care. And that’s where the challenges kick in. This is the love that forces both of you to confront your deepest insecurities. It’s transformational love, the kind that breaks you open just to rebuild something even stronger. Think of it like the "before" phase of a glow-up—messy, uncomfortable, full of self-doubt. But once you get through that? Chefs kiss.

And let’s be real—the make-up moments in this relationship? ICONIC. The kind where words aren’t needed because one look says I’m sorry, I need you, we’re in this together. Your future spouse isn’t just someone you fall for; they’re someone you grow with. You're A Couple Who Choose Each Other, Again and Again.

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⊹₊⟡Pile II

TROPE- Slow-burn softie workaholic who pretends they’re too busy for love but will drop EVERYTHING for you. (Grumpy x Sunshine energy.)

Alright, babes, let’s get into it. The energy of this pile, Whew. It’s layered, it’s complex, and it’s giving "we need to talk" but in a deep, soul-revealing way. This is not your fluffy, love-at-first-sight, rom-com-type romance. Oh no. This is a slow-burning deeply transformative type of love. If your love story were a fanfic, it would be one of those "we went through hell and back to find each other, but damn, was it worth it” sagas. So, let's break it all down. Imagine this: One of you (probably you) is the 8 of Pentacles person—the dedicated, hard-working, "let me get my life together first" type. So in your self-improvement era, focus on your career, and goals, and maybe even tell yourself "I don't have time for love right now." But love? Oh, it's coming, and it’s about to throw a level of emotional depth you're not prepared for. Now, enter your future spouse—The Emperor reversed energy. And this person? Not easy. They are powerful, charismatic, and naturally dominant, but they are struggling with control. Think: someone who’s used to being in charge, but when it comes to emotions? Hot. Mess. Maybe they were raised to believe that feelings = weakness, or they have serious trust issues, but either way, they are not used to vulnerability. They crave structure and order (probably a little bit of a perfectionist), but their heart? Total softie. And that’s where your dynamic gets spicy. Because while you're busy building something stable (your career, your self-worth, your goals), they are learning to surrender, to trust, to actually feel—and you're the one teaching them that. Does this already sound like a fanfic with a slow-burn "grumpy vs. sunshine" vibe? Because I swear, this is the kind of connection where the frustration, passion, and eventual devotion are off the charts. Your relationship might start off with misunderstandings, power struggles, or even a sense of "this is too much work.” (Lowkey, you might even write them off at first.) Your future spouse, despite their struggles, has deep emotional intelligence (King of Cups)—they just don’t know how to show it in healthy ways at first. This relationship is going to test you. There will be moments where you’re like, “Why am I the only one putting in the effort?”—and that’s because your person is still learning how to step up emotionally without relying on control. when they finally let their walls down? Oh, it’s over for you. This is the type of person who, once they commit, they are ride-or-die, forever-loyal, protect-you-with-their-life type of love. They just need time to unlearn their bad habits first. The King of Cups energy in the mix tells me that they actually feel everything so intensely but have spent years repressing it. You are the one who teaches them how to be soft without feeling weak, how to be strong without needing control. And in return? They offer you a love that is stable, protective, and deeply emotional in a way that even you didn’t see coming. (This is that “strong arms, soft heart” kind of love, I just know it.)

This Love Story Is Worth It Because it’s real. It’s not some fairytale, effortless romance—it’s built on growth, deep emotional work, and trust. And that makes it unbreakable. they will be your fiercest protector. Once this person commits? It’s game over. No one messes with you.

So, Pile 2—tell me, does this feel like the kind of connection you’re ready for? Because if so, strap in. You’re about to experience a love that will change you forever.

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⊹₊⟡Pile III

TROPE-"THE CHARMING FLIRT WHO SECRETLY HAS A ONE-SIDED CRUSH ON YOU" TROPE

My cards just laid down a plot twist that even a K-drama writer would be jealous of😭🫶🏻 We’re talking slow burn "Wait… Do I like them?" This is the kind of love story that sneaks up on you, the one where you don’t realize you’re catching feelings until they hit you like a ton of bricks. And honestly? It’s giving "I was blind, but now I see" energy. The Cards Are Screaming: “WAKE UP, THIS IS LOVE” With 9 of Cups, Ace of Cups, and 4 of Cups sitting pretty in your pile, You know those rom-coms where one character is literally manifesting their dream person, but when they finally show up, they’re like, “Nah, this isn’t it”? Yeah, that’s you.(lol this cracked me up😭😂) Your future spouse? They’re exactly what you need, exactly what you’ve probably been subconsciously hoping for, but for some reason (probably emotional unavailability, let’s be real), you won’t notice it right away.9 of Cups is the ultimate “I got everything I ever wanted” card. This is a wish-fulfilment type of love. But here’s the catch—you might not realize this person is your wish come true until you’re deep in it. (Like, tell me why this is giving “friends-to-lovers but make it oblivious” energy??) Ace of Cups is the fresh start, the new love blooming, the emotional realization that oh crap, I actually have feelings. But because 4 of Cups is right there third-wheeling this spread, the universe is literally shaking you by the shoulders like, “HELLO?? ARE YOU EVEN LOOKING AT THIS??” What I’m seeing here is a dynamic where one of you (probably you, let’s be honest) is lowkey rejecting the idea of this connection at first. Maybe you’ll convince yourself that this is just a casual connection, or maybe you’ll be too focused on some irrelevant situationship (bestie, please let that go🫠). The 4 of Cups is like that meme of the guy ignoring the angel handing him a literal blessing, while he sits there all moody looking at his meh options. Like, do you want the love of your life, or do you want to keep entertaining people who don’t even know your Starbucks order??

There will be a moment—and this is key—where something shifts. maybe they pull away, and suddenly you’re panicking because WAIT why does it hurt?? (Oh, now you get it?? Took you long enough.) The Ace of Cups guarantees that the emotions will flow once you finally open the damn door to them. But will you? Or will you let this be a “what could’ve been” type of situation? This person is love in its purest form—but love isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s quiet, waiting for you to notice it. While doing this reading i remembered that one quote from insta which was “I Thought I Was Fine Until They Stopped Talking To Me, Now I’m in Shambles”

So now I gotta ask—who’s that one person in your life who makes you feel safe, happy, and understood… but you never really considered in “that way” before? Because the universe is pointing at them HARD right now. Just saying.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog—it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! ♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[withlove-xixi]

— SPENDING SPREE: sylus x reader

ᥫ cw: sugar daddy sylus .. or at least, he's trying to be ᥫ wc: 817 ★ probably not the first person to have written something like this w sylus but ... but i want him so badly ... cross posted on ao3

— IT ALL STARTED AS A TREAT.

[♡]: “here, sweetie,” he had said as he handed you his credit card, “get yourself something nice.” and you did get yourself something nice, a couple of different pastries that had gone on sale and a cold drink since it had been hot when you went out. though, sylus decides that’s far from enough.

IT STARTED OUT SMALL, REALLY SMALL. Simple things like treating you out to lunch whenever you two went out, always having your favorite snacks and drinks when you’d come over the base. Then things quickly started to escalate.

It went exactly downhill when he had simply handed you his credit card, smirking as he busied himself with paperwork and waved you off, suggesting you treat yourself to something nice when you go out to run some minor errands. And you, somewhat skeptical from his sudden show of trust, hesitantly take the card from between his fingers and tuck it safely into your wallet.

Now, Sylus has fully expected you to go all out, after all, he knew you were well-aware of his wealth and his willingness to do anything for you; no matter what you wanted, Sylus would make sure it was handed to you on a silver platter within the next five minutes. Safe to say he was a little disappointed when you had come back to the base with a bagful of assorted pastries, a half-empty drink in your hand and a satisfied smile on your face.

“Is this… that something sweet I had told you to treat yourself too…?” He asks as you sit yourself on his desk, nodding with a wide grin on your face.

“I got bread!” You announced cheerfully, digging through the plastic bag to show off your spoils.

“You got… bread…” Sylus repeats incredulously. His hands instinctively rest on your thighs as he rolls his chair closer to you.

“They were on sale too since it was midday, so I ended up buying a lot so it’d be worth it!” You say, pulling out one of the pastries packaged in plastic with cute animals on them.

“On… sale…” He repeats again, eye twitching slightly as he stares at the marked down price tag stuck on the packaging.

“Mhm!” You hum, oblivious to your boyfriend’s annoyance. “Look, this one’s shaped like a bear—”

“This is nice and all, sweetie, but was this all you got?” He asks, caressing the skin of your thighs as you blink at him.

“Hm? Oh, no.” And for a split second Sylus is hopeful. “I got this drink too since it was hot outside.” And just like that Sylus is back to being mildly annoyed.

Honestly, some part of him told him he should’ve expected this. You were never one to spend much, be it your money or his. Sylus isn’t all that sure if it’s because there just wasn’t much you desired or if it was simply because you didn’t like spending money, but either way, every instance he’s had the chance to offer to pay for your things, to buy that bag that been sitting in your cart on a tab left open for months now, to get you that book you had been wanting to read, to take you on lavish trips to the places you had only been dreaming of going, but you’ve shut him down every time. It was always a “maybe next time, Sy” or “I’d feel bad though” or “well, yeah, the bag is cute, but I don’t really want it, it was just on sale so I added it to my cart.” Sylus had thought that maybe giving you the liberty to spend his money on your own as you please would finally get you to loosen up a bit when it came to spending, but as you pull out a loaf of milk bread from the plastic bag with a content look on your face makes him think maybe it would take a bit more than that to properly encourage you.

“Sweetie,” he calls gently, pulling your attention away from the bread and pastries you had been pulling out of the plastic and arranging neatly on his desk. “I’m glad you’re happy with what you’ve gotten, but is that really all you want? Did you not want anything else?”

You hum for a bit, thinking back to the shops you had passed by and all the things you had seen, but inevitably you shake your head, pouting slightly. “Hm, no, the bread was it.” You reply softly. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Sylus sighs softly and shakes his head. “No, nothing’s wrong, kitten. I’m… just curious. If there was anything in the world you could get, what would it be?”

“Anything?” You ask and he nods. “Without any consequences…?” You ask again and he nods a bit more enthusiastically.

Sylus lets you think for a moment, fingers tracing patterns on your thighs as you look around the room, searching for your answer. His lips twitch, ready to smile because he thinks he’s finally cracked the code.

“Well… there was a tiramisu cake at the bakery earlier…”

Maybe it wasn’t that you didn’t like spending or didn’t have much you wanted… maybe… maybe you just liked things like bread.

[merchantziro]

This was Danny's final shot, he honestly didn't have that much ecto left in him to keep enchanting metal. This city didn't have much, it was concerning it generated ectoplasm as is without a Ghost Portal as far as Danny knew but... Not his monkeys, not his circus.

So he built the portal outside the city, hoping it was somewhere secluded where those furries won't bother him this time.

Phantom finally got the portal set up and just needed to find a power source, so he left for what would hopefully be the final time to gather up some sort of power source, however right when he was returning...

B O O M !

Danny heard an explosion in the distance, that sounded like it came from-

The ghost boy ran back into his hideout, but was immediately kicked to the ground by one of the costumed jerks.

"No... No!"

Danny looked over at smoking and burning remains of the portal. They seemed to be asking him something but Danny neither understood what they were saying nor cared enough to say anything.

However what he did do was collapse to his knees, this was the final straw that broke the Halfa's back.

"Why? Why do you keep doing this?"

The costumed heroes paused before one reached out to him...

"Art thee tis fine...?"

...But Danny smacked the hand away with a growl.

"Get out..."

The man flinched back at the venom before the smaller one, a child that might be almost Danny's age, raised a sword.

"Thou art the one with the League, whatev'r grandfath'r is planning wonneth't cometh to fruition!"

The Halfa then looked at him coldly before wailing.

"I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"

A green shockwave came from his mouse and knocked them into a wall. They raised their weapons and prepared to battle, but Danny then just turned away to the portal as tears formed in his eyes before collapsing to the ground sobbing.

"I just wanted to go home..."

That made the costumed freaks pause before looking at each other confused, not really knowing what to do. As the ghost boy cried himself until he fell asleep.

--- Hours Later ---

Danny woke up, only to find one of his tormentors, the one in a black and blue suit, was watching over him in a room that looked like a guest bedroom as he was laying on a bed. Though this time he looked concerned.

"Art thee good now?"

The ghost boy just glared before grumbling.

"...Why do YOU care all of the sudden? You sure didn't care before?"

"T appears we might has't misund'rstood thy intentions, and we wanteth to fixeth yond misprision."

"You want to what?"

Danny tilted his head before noticing a woman with a purple outfit enter the room, she had tan skin, green eyes, and poofy red hair that looked long and vibrant.

"This the one thee hath asked me to holp thee with right, Dick?"

She asked the man before he nodded, the woman turned back to him before getting closer as she puckered her lips

"Good now holdeth still, this shall only taketh a moment."

Danny immediately flinched back reflexively but couldn't react or speak fast before feeling the woman kiss him briefly on the lips. He could also see the man turn away, looking grumpy.

However the moment AFTER they broke, he was coughing and gagging.

"Ugh! What the hell was that for, I'm only 15 and not interested in whatever weird kinky shit you-"

"Do you understand me better now?"

Danny paused when he heard her speak English back to him.

"Uh? ...Yeah? How did you"

The woman nodded.

"I apologize for scaring you, Tamaraneans like myself have the ability to learn other alien languages through oral contact."

"Wait Tama-what now? Wait, I kissed an alien!?"

The woman giggled at Danny's stuttering realization, while the man continued to watch the conversation from the sidelines.

"Indeed, I am Princess Koriand'r of Tamaran, but you may call me Starfire."

"Uh... Danny, Danny Fenton of... Well it's complicated."

Danny felt his cheeks burning green because, concerning potential age difference aside, holy shit kissing an alien princess almost makes this all worth it and he's gonna brag to Tucker and Sam about it for a week when he gets home!

...Home...

The memory of the ruined portal immediately caused Danny to slump back into his chair as he turned back to the man.

"So what? After every time those guys destroyed my attempts to make a portal, NOW they decide they want to talk when I lost my final chance!?"

He folded his arms and looked away, the man flinching at his outburst.

"...There might have been a misunderstanding with your intentions and nature. Tell me, do the terms Lazarus Pits or League of Assassins mean anything to you?"

"The Who Pits and League of What!? No, Ancients no!"

Danny raised an eyebrow and looked genuinely baffled by the question.

"Well according to what Nightwing told me, they believed you were using an old form of their dialect and thus believed you were with them. Tell me then where did you learn it?"

"Uh? This is English? I don't know why everyone else speaks like old Shakespearean novels in this world but at least it's English back in my dimension?"

"I see... So then I assume you were just trying to build a portal home?"

She placed a hand onto Danny's shoulder, a sympathetic look on her face.

"Y-Yeah... And... That was my last shot. Because I needed to use Ectoplasm to imbue the parts in order to make the portal into the Infinite Realms so I could find my way back."

This caused the man to take a deep sigh as he's having a slow burn realization of something before resting his head on his arms.

"Oh mine own god we couldst not has't fuck'd this up any m're if 't be true we hath tried..."

Step 1: Get stuck in another dimension. Step 2: build a portal back to the Ghost Zone. Step 3: Leave.

Danny's got it down to a science at this point. It barely takes him a week to get back home. (Except for the time the dimension he landed in was in the stone age, but we don't talk about that.)

Step 1 was easy enough, if involuntary. Now, step 2 is where it's all going wrong.

This dimension's language isn't one he speaks. That's fine, maybe adds a day or two to the search for parts, but the main problem is the people dressed in Halloween costumes, speaking like they're from a Shakespearean play who always find him and wreck his portal.

And it's not like he can just move to a different city, this one's soaked in ectoplasm. He'd have to spend a pretty fair amount of time searching for another place as saturated as this one.

Meanwhile, the Bats are not having a good time. Some League or League-adjacent member speaking a barely intelligible form of the League dialect keeps attempting to build some sort of weapon in Gotham, and refuses all communication in English.

(AKA: Danny is stuck in another dimension where his English is their League dialect. He just wants to go home now, please.)

[dduane]

Erotica and anniversaries

...The big E, first. Here she is. Isn't she lovely?

...Right there upstairs at the Library of Congress, on the second floor. (I noted at the time we passed through some years back—and continue to smile at the memory—that her artist has included his copyright statement right there, to make sure no one misses it.)

...Anyway, where were we? ...Oh yeah: the local takes on erotic writing and smut.

This subject seems to come up every couple of years. What nudged me into revisiting it this time was the notes off a comment to a post earlier today, responding to someone working on an explicit-leaning AU, and discussing the writing of (story) bibles for projects.

Anyway, the notes:

#love that the advice was not just 'stick to porn' or 'don't write porn at all' but 'ah yes; common problem; let me explain to you how to write a series bible'

Well, disclosure here: in my case, it can't really be otherwise. :)

Let this act as everybody's sort-of-biennial reminder (if needed) that I'm not going to be caught condemning people for writing smut, as I've written it myself. (And continue to do so when the mood moves me.)

The post from very nearly two years ago, discussing the issue in more detail, is over here. As you'll see if you read it, there were some folks who experienced brief episodes of cognitive dissonance on learning I was a cheerful writer of explicit material. Some of the surprise was probably due to the fact that a lot of people see me—mostly due to the relatively-higher profile of the Young Wizards books—as primarily a writer for younger readers.

But that's not how I got started. My (1979) debut novel centers a universe where the following exchange between two of the protagonists appears—they then being wrapped up in blankets and afterglow in the wake of a prolonged and enthusiastic post-reunion shag:

A soft chuckle in the darkness. “Lorn, remember that first time we shared at your place?” “That was a long time ago.” “It seems that way.” “—and my father yelled up the stairs, ‘What are you dooooooooing?’ “—and you yelled back, ‘We’re fuckinnnnnnnnnnng!’” “—and it was quiet for so long—” “—and then he started laughing—” “Yeah.”

Nor was this a one-off. This book and its sequels contain a fair number of passages in which human (and occasionally non-human) sexualities, both in the abstract and the experientially concrete, take center stage. And the mode in which they're expressed and discussed is intended for adults. Those sequences can probably be described as at least borderline erotica. (I certainly try had to be as graceful about such passages as I can, when and where it's appropriate to be.)

With this in mind, it's worth repeating what turns up in that earlier post, which came off a query to a ficcer about "how do you feel knowing that people may be jerking off to your work?":

I'm an entertainer. Writing's a form of entertainment. (And not just for the readership: for me, too.) To be aroused by art one's experienced is (almost by definition) to be entertained, I'd say...

Other people's art in these modes certainly is entertaining for me: and I desperately hope mine is for other people. (Almost all my more explicit writing is published only pseudonymously, which from my point of view is just fine. There's a fair amount of writing work out in the world that [for contractual or other business reasons] doesn't have my name on it. This is just more of the same.)

(Per that, adding here again my own tags from that earlier post:)

#and no I'm not going to let on where the smut is#why would i deny anyone the delights of the search#and of being repeatedly mistaken#while possibly finding smut writers who're better at it than i am#:)

Anyway, finally: from that earlier post—on nearly the thirty-eighth anniversary of something happening to me that would, just a year before the event, have seemed wildly unlikely—this note, unusually apposite because of what today is, and what's coming tomorrow.

I consider erotica—and its more casually-dressed (or undressed…) cousin, smut—to be perfectly legit forms of literary expression; ones that can soar to unexpected heights if you’re willing to put in the work. The sexy-stuff-writing muscle requires periodic exercise if it’s to remain viable and/or useful. So I exercise it. And being a 70-plus-year-old person who sometimes creaks audibly when she walks has done absolutely nothing to decrease my interest in the subject—the brain being, after all, the biggest sex organ, and the one least vulnerable to the depredations of time. If anything, nearly fifty years of experience (and more than three and a half decades of marriage to @petermorwood) have added… let’s just say nuance. 😏

So, happy Valentine's Day to all those who choose to celebrate, in whatever mode.

And to the Man Upstairs:

...See you in a few, sweetie. :)

[meinii]

Hiya! I don't know if you take requests, so feel free to ignore me if you don't! But my request is sylus x reader fic, where the reader isn't used to spending money. Like spending 50 bucks on anything other than food and Essentials was a waste yk. So she has a really hard time with him spending money on stuff she thinks isn't worth it. But he's all like but I want to spend the money on you. And she like *exe.crash* sylus that necklace is $100,000. Anyway I hope your haveing a great day! Also happy 💕valentines💕day if you celebrate! 🍾

“I want to”

tysm for the request ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ꒱ྀིა I hope you like this! (happy late valentine’s day lol)♡

content: fluff

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

you stared at the price tag like it had personally offended you

“five hundred dollars?” you muttered under your breath

Sylus, standing beside you, raised a brow “so?”

you turned to him, eyes wide “so? that’s way too much!”

he sighed, looking entirely unimpressed “it’s a dress”

“an expensive dress,” you argued “I don’t need it.”

he exhaled, rubbing his temples “you don’t need to need something to have it”

“yes, you do” you shot back, folding your arms

Sylus chuckled, amused “who told you that?”

“logic.”

he smirked, stepping closer. “your logic” he corrected

you sighed, shaking your head. “it’s just—I’m not used to spending money on things I don’t need.”

his smirk softened into something else—something more thoughtful

he reached for your hand, fingers warm against yours

“but I want to spend money on you” he murmured

your heart stuttered

“Sylus—”

“I can afford it,” he continued, squeezing your hand “it’s just money. and if I’m going to spend it, I’d rather spend it on you”

you swallowed

“but it’s unnecessary” you whispered

“no,” he corrected, tilting your chin up “it makes you happy. and that’s never unnecessary”

your face warmed

he sighed, stepping back, hands in his pockets

“listen,” he said “I know you don’t like wasting money. I know you grew up thinking you had to earn every little thing. but that’s not how this works.”

you looked at him, unsure

he met your gaze, unwavering “you don’t have to earn things from me. I want to give them to you because I can. because I want to.”

you swallowed

he sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck “just—let me do this, okay?”

you hesitated

then, finally, you sighed “fine”

his lips curled “so you’ll let me buy you the dress?”

you groaned “don’t push it.”

he laughed

but later, when you walked out of the store with the bag in his hand, you couldn’t help but smile

—

the spending didn’t stop there

one day, you opened your door to find a small box on the doorstep

inside was a delicate bracelet, the chain fine, the pendant small—a tiny crescent moon

you blinked, confused

then, as if on cue, your phone buzzed

SYLUS: open your door

you frowned, stepping outside

he stood there, hands in his pockets, looking smug as ever

“Sylus,” you started “did you—?”

“yes”

you exhaled “you really don’t have to keep buying me things”

“I know”

you looked at him “then why do you?”

he smirked, stepping closer

“because,” he murmured, reaching out to clasp the bracelet around your wrist “I want to.”

your breath hitched

he glanced up, watching you carefully

“does it bother you?” he asked, quieter this time

you hesitated

“no” you admitted

he smirked “good.”

you sighed, looking down at the bracelet

it was beautiful

and, against all logic, you liked it

—

you started noticing it more after that

the little things

the way he’d quietly pay the bill before you even reached for your wallet

the way he’d slip new books onto your shelf without saying a word

the way he’d drape his coat over your shoulders when it was cold, not even asking if you needed it

it wasn’t just about money

it was about you

about making sure you had everything you wanted—whether you asked for it or not

Sylus, you realized one day, is completely and utterly shameless when it comes to spoiling you

and, despite yourself, you didn’t hate it

—

but there were still moments where it overwhelmed you

like the time you walked into your living room and found a brand-new pair of shoes sitting on the coffee table—ones you had casually mentioned wanting weeks ago

“Sylus!” you called

he poked his head into the room, looking unbothered “hmm?”

you held up the shoes “what is this?”

“a gift.”

“Sylus”

he smirked “I saw you looking at them”

you groaned “you have to stop doing this”

“why?”

“because it’s too much!”

he stepped closer, crossing his arms

“too much for who?”

you hesitated

he sighed, running a hand through his hair

“if it was for anyone else,” he murmured “I wouldn’t bother. but it’s you. and i want to do this for you”

your chest tightened

“why?” you whispered

he tilted his head

“because you’re mine.”

your breath hitched

he exhaled, reaching for your hand

“look,” he said, voice softer now “I know you don’t need this stuff. I know you’d be fine without it. but that doesn’t mean I can’t want to give it to you”

you swallowed

“you don’t owe me anything,” he continued “you don’t have to feel guilty. this isn’t some kind of trade”

his grip on your hand tightened

“it’s just me,” he whispered “giving you things because I can. because I want to. because you deserve them.”

your heart clenched

slowly, you looked down at the shoes

they were really nice

you sighed

“okay” you relented

he smirked “yeah?”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah”

his fingers brushed over your knuckles

“good” he murmured

and when you put the shoes on later, feeling just a little lighter, you realized—maybe it wasn’t so bad, after all.

[leighsartworks216]

Guard Dog

Sylus x hybrid!Reader

I got this idea and then struggled to write it for two weeks, as one does. As much as I like this au, I don't think I'll write another part to this unless I get like really inspired. Takes place with Raven!Reader in mind, but it can really be whoever

Warnings: hybrid au, intense, swearing, auction, violence, blood, non-sexual bondage, muzzles, torture, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced abuse, guns, ambiguous/open ending, collar, hair-pulling, Sylus is cold and a bit mean (think first time we meet him in-game)

Word Count: 2,323 (oh fuck yeah)

Main Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

A dark sea of people stares at you, even though you can’t see so much as the light in their eyes. Their appraising looks burn into you. Melt into your skin. The auctioneer’s own nervous glances fuel your fighting spirit as two handlers drag you into the limelight.

You writhe and wriggle and squirm like a worm on a hook, with your hands securely cuffed behind your back and a muzzle strapped to your face. The collar around your throat chokes you as they pull on both of the chained leashes, tugging in opposite directions in order to settle you down. It doesn’t work. Unless they hope to drain you of oxygen for long enough to knock you out, it never will. And they won’t; they need these potential buyers to see you awake and alert, no matter how much of a hardship it is on them.

A gloved hand grabs your hair. Tangles deep into the strands, gripping by the roots tightly. With a kick to your back, you’re forced to your knees. And with a harsh backward tug on your hair, you’re made compliant, contorted with your throat exposed, unable to flee.

“Now this is a rare find you’ll never see anywhere else,” the auctioneer announces. “A Hybrid, a perfect blend of human and animal. This species here is none other than a Belgian Malinois. If you need a guard dog, this is just the thing for you! Now, bidding starts at 1 million.”

White paddles that shine in the darkness flicker out in the expanse. They’re hesitant to start, unnerved by the difficulty with which you were presented, but they quickly pick up. In mere minutes, you’re worth more than the crown jewels that came before, and still the numbers rise higher and higher. The auctioneer is flushed with energy. He barks numbers, calls out bids, as though it brings him to a high no drug ever could.

As the number passes 100 million, the bids slow down. Your fate is determined by two last relentless, rich assholes. A paddle goes up on the left, then on the right - back and forth. A war to see who gets to own you. To them, it’s nothing more than a game. You’re just a prize to be won. A pet to be kept in a pretty, gilded cage for guests to ogle at. A Hybrid, can you believe it? You’ll never guess how much it cost.

You struggle again, fighting against the fist in your hair even as your scalp burns with the pull. You refuse to let yourself be led to your destiny like this. Docile. Tame.

“One-fifty! Do I hear one-seventy-five?”

You jolt one way, then another. Your head jerks oddly. Air becomes a luxury as they pull at your collar much harder than before.

“One-seventy-five? One-seventy-five! Can we reach two hundred?”

Heavy boots thud as they run up the stage-steps. You can’t turn enough to see who it is. An enhanced cattle prod digs into your spine. Your body tenses as the electricity courses through your nerves. Steals your breath. Puts spots in your vision.

“... hundred… to the highest bidder… 109! Congratulations, Mr. Sylus!”

As though emerging from underwater, sound rushes in all at once. Polite applause becomes nothing more than white noise, grating on your ears. Three sets of hands raise you from your knees as you fight to shake off the lingering voltage in your system.

Even though you fought, destiny found you anyway.

Your feet stumble as they drag you along. Back to the kennel waiting for you just behind the stage, out of view of the crowd. They shove you inside. Cold metal bars stop your momentum, your shoulder hitting them hard enough to bruise. The door shuts with the click of a lock. As the wheels begin carrying you away, you sink to sit at the bottom of your cage.

You’re exhausted. You fought so hard - so hard - and for what? The outcome remained just the same. Reduced to being little more than property. A conversation piece. Every atom in your body screams for you to give up. Give in. Become the tame beast they wish you were. Follow every command without question, without hesitation. Do as you’re told, obey, and survive.

But you can’t.

As they wheel you to the parking lot, you get back up. You glare at the imposing man waiting there, leaning against his car. He’s entirely unfazed. He looks bored, even. You want to tear his throat out.

“Here you are, Mr. Sylus. Your Hybrid.” One guard steps forward with a little black case. They open it up to show the man. Four syringes, all too familiar, sit neatly lined up inside. “Complimentary of the House. These sedatives are the only thing able to calm it down.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

The guard falters. “Sir, I’m afraid I must insist. This creature is very dangerous and-”

“I’m aware.”

The silence is tense. The man quirks a brow, daring the guard to insist once more. Hesitantly, they close the case and step back. Does this man really think he can control you that easily?

“I… hope you know what you’re doing, Mr. Sylus.”

The guards step away from your cage, uneasy. Their boots skim the floor of the lot, devoid of anyone else, as they turn and head back to the venue.

The man, Mr. Sylus, meets your eyes. You can’t find a drop of fear in them, but you swear the right one glows slightly. Or maybe it’s just a trick of the light.

He shoves off from the car and steps forward until he’s face to face with you, separated only by steel bars. A smirk slowly curves his lips. “Do you want to kill them?”

You blink at him. He owns you now - shouldn’t he be expounding on all the ground rules and plans he has for you? Shouldn’t he be idly looking you over like a new centerpiece for the table?

He chuckles. “Yes? No? Maybe so?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before his attention is drawn to the keypad keeping you locked away. With a few easy presses, it beeps. He pulls the door open wide. With a lazy wave of his hand, the cuffs fall from your wrist, clanging against the metal flooring. The collar joins it soon after, chains jingling against each other loudly.

You look down at your hands. Free from their containment. Free to move and reach and claw. Red rings of torn skin still decorate your wrists, but it’s a minor inconvenience at best.

“H-Hey!” The footsteps stop sharply, then pick up once more, heading back in your direction. “What are you doing?! Are you crazy?!”

The man leans in conspiratorially. He’s enjoying this. Why?

“Do whatever you want with them,” he says. A glimmer of chaos dances in his eyes. He straightens back out, looking over your shoulder at the approaching danger. Yet he seems fully at ease. Even with you unchained and able to freely move. You could claw his eyes out. You could tear open his throat. But… he freed you, didn’t he?

As the steps get closer, your body reacts on pure instinct.

You shove yourself from the cage. He doesn’t so much as flinch when you nearly run into him while rounding the corner to face the threat head-on. You rush to meet them. Something feral within you takes over. Something that craves violence. Something strong enough to block out everything else around you and hone in on these four bastards.

Your claws tear into flesh. Blood pours onto the ground in wet splashes. Your nails rend muscle asunder, destroying the fragile networks of tendons and sinews. The first guard to die holds the cattle prod. It falls in a clatter and the others rush to pick it up. It bounces off your muzzle, deflected before it can hit your skin. The last guard pulls a gun on you. The bullet goes clean through your ear. They die a breath later.

You don’t feel the pain. Don’t feel the blood that drips from your ear to your hair. All you feel is the intense, visceral satisfaction of killing these fuckers. Standing over their corpses, covered in the gore, alive and free.

Well… Almost free.

You turn slowly back to Mr. Sylus. He’s unmoved by the display. Unperturbed by it all. You can’t understand him. Why would he go through all the trouble of buying you just to sic you on your own captors?

He nods toward the auction house. “You can keep going, if you’d like,” he says. “I won’t stop you.”

Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. You scowl at the man from behind your muzzle. You reach around your head, searching for the clasp or any sort of mechanism that unlocks it. The more you search, the more your frustration grows. It reaches such a fever pitch, you don’t hear him approach. The only thing you know is that his hand is suddenly in your peripheral. And the second his hand comes back from behind your head, muzzle dropping with it, you turn and bite him.

Your teeth dig in deep. Blood gushes into your mouth, filling your senses with copper and heat.

He rips his hand away with a hiss, but he just frowns at the damage that’s been done. You expect some retaliation; a flick, a smack, even just a few scolding words. But they never come. Instead, you watch with a distinct sinking feeling as the skin closes up, until no sign of the bite remains. The blood flakes away, drifting in the air like embers on the wind.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and stare in growing horror as that blood, too, flakes away. You can taste it in your mouth, acrid and bitter, slipping from your mouth as you try to lick the feeling off your tongue, until no trace remains.

“Feel better now?” he asks, unimpressed.

Your face scrunches up, baring your teeth. It’s an empty threat, now that you know he can’t be injured, but the desire to lunge forward and crush his jugular remains just the same. You wonder how much damage you’d have to do before he can’t recover. You’re careful not to turn your back to him again as you step around the bodies, picking up the gun from the one and a knife from another. You’ve never used them before, never been given a chance to, but you hope the sight of them will be enough to keep the man from getting so close to you again.

“You’re not the only Hybrid on the market,” he starts. He’s frowning, serious. You’d sure like to try out this gun on his forehead, at the crease between his brows. “Someone is breeding more and selling them in secret, just like you. You’re the only person who has any knowledge on where it could be happening.”

You glare at him. “And if I refuse?” Your voice is rough from disuse. You haven’t spoken in years. One of your limited forms of protest against your oppressors. This man - Mr. Sylus? He’s lucky to hear it.

He shrugs. “You’re free to go. But the second they realize one of their pets is on the loose, they’ll come back for you.”

He’s right, the bastard. Even back at the lab, if you managed to get loose for even a second, they were right on top of you. You’d never get far out in the real world. Not to mention, you have no way of surviving on your own; no money, no familiar faces, nowhere to go.

“If you work with me, I can give you shelter, food, clothes. Any resources you need.”

“Blackmail.”

“Incentive.”

“It’s just another cage.”

“If that was the case, why would I free you?” He nods back to the cage, still sitting open in the lot. His car is just behind it, black and sleek and ill-suited for the transport of a kennel like that. “As soon as I’ve found them,” he speaks again, voice low, “you can pick anywhere in the world to go and I’ll personally ensure your safe arrival and keep any interested parties off your back.”

You have two options: run away and get caught, or stick with Mr. Sylus on the off-chance he is telling the truth. Neither is ideal. Your life is on the line, after all. It’s a heavy bargaining chip, but it’s the only thing you’ve got to deal with.

Dread pools in your stomach, inky and thick. You’re freer than you've ever been. But now it sounds like you’re as free as you’ll ever be.

What choice do you really have?

You slowly step forward. Your head is bowed as you stare at the ground. Docile. Truly docile. For the first time in your life.

Does he understand the weight of this? you wonder. Does he know how long you’ve fought? How relentlessly you struggled and snapped and refused to give in, only to be off-leash and still choose to follow him?

You can only hope he does as he turns and leads you to the car. He holds open the passenger door for you. You stare at the luxury leather seat for a moment. You get blood all over it as you slip inside. He shuts the door behind you.

He rounds the car in no time and ducks into the driver’s seat. The car hums to life, startling you for a brief moment as you hear the engine purr and see all the little lights come on on the dash. He gestures loosely to the gun in your lap. “I’ll show you how to use that, so long as you don’t pull the trigger in here.” He flashes you a devil-may-care smirk in response to your confused frown. “You didn’t turn the safety on, sweetie.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman

[hazydoe]

Buffalo 66

Warning +18 only kidnapping, non-consensual situations,sexual content,emotional manipulation,sex lol,extortion, jail,daddy kink , age-gap.

Note:I was inspired by Buffalo 66, it's one of my favorite movies, and one of the ones I talk about the most in my classes as a film student n Happy Valentine's Day ❤️

English is not my first language so I apologize in advance if I make a mistake

Joel wasn’t good with words. He never had been. But now, more than ever, he needed someone—and above all, he needed money to start over. And there you were, at the wrong time, or perhaps the right one. He saw you leaving the store, wearing that light blue dress and carrying a brown paper bag in your hand, a faint smile on your lips. He didn’t know why he chose you. Maybe it was because you seemed kind, or maybe because you were the first person he saw. It didn’t matter. Joel needed something, someone, and you were there.

He approached you with quick steps, his breathing uneven from the anxiety consuming him. He didn’t have a weapon, not even a convincing threat. All he had were his clumsy, desperate words.

“I need you to come with me,” he said, his voice rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in days.

You stopped, looking at him with a mix of surprise and fear. Your eyes widened slightly, and you took a step back, clutching the bag to your chest like a shield.

“What? No, I’m not going with you,” you said, your voice trembling but firm.

Joel felt a knot in his stomach. He hadn’t expected you to resist. He hadn’t thought about that. But he couldn’t give up. Not now. He had just gotten out of prison, and he needed money.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I just need… I need you to come with me. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Your eyes scrutinized him, searching for any sign of a lie, of danger. Joel didn’t know what you were seeing, but he hoped it was something that would make you change your mind. For a moment, he thought you’d leave, that you’d scream for help or just run away. But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed there, looking at him, as if you were trying to understand him.

“Why?” you finally asked, your voice soft but cautious. “Why me?”

Joel didn’t have a good answer. He didn’t have any answer, really. He just knew he couldn’t be alone. Not again.

“Because… because I don’t have anyone else, and I need something,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

There was an uncomfortable silence as you studied him. Joel didn’t know what you were thinking, but he was sure you’d leave, that you’d decide it wasn’t worth risking yourself for a stranger. But you didn’t. Instead, you nodded slowly, as if you’d decided to give him a chance.

“I don’t have money,” you said. “I work as a waitress and barely make ends meet.” Joel’s anxiety spiked—it was worse than kidnapping a defenseless girl, kidnapping her and getting nothing in return.

Joel nodded, thinking of the quickest solution: getting rid of you or finding some way to profit from you. He didn’t know if you were incredibly brave or just naive, but it didn’t matter. He led you to his car, an old sedan that smelled like cigarettes and desperation. He didn’t say a word as he drove, his hands gripping the wheel as if it were the only thing keeping him sane. You didn’t speak either, but you didn’t seem comfortable. You sat there, staring out the window, your hands clenched in your lap, as if you were ready to bolt at any moment.

“Where are we going?” you finally asked, breaking the silence.

“To a motel,” Joel replied evasively. “I just… need a place to think.”

It wasn’t an answer, but you didn’t press further. Instead, you leaned back in the seat, as if trying to calm yourself. Joel couldn’t understand you. Why weren’t you screaming? Why weren’t you trying to escape? It was as if you’d decided to trust him, even if just a little.

They arrived at the motel, a cheap, rundown place on the outskirts of the city. Joel parked the car and looked at you, as if expecting you to resist again. But you simply got out of the car and followed him to the room, a mix of fear and determination in your eyes.

The room was as depressing as he was: an unmade bed, a flickering lamp, and a musty smell that clung to the air. Joel sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands over his face. He didn’t know what to do now. He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t planned anything.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked, standing near the door, as if ready to run at any moment.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling, the desperation consuming him, the need to have someone, anyone, by his side.

“I needed someone,” he finally murmured, his voice barely audible. “And you were there.”

There was another silence, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if both of you understood that this didn’t make sense, but it didn’t matter. Joel looked at you, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something other than emptiness.

“What now?” you asked, a mix of fear and curiosity in your voice.

Joel thought for a moment before speaking. “Do you have family?” he asked.

“They live outside the city and don’t have much money. They live off government checks,” you replied.

Joel stood up in frustration. It had all been for nothing. He could go back to prison for kidnapping a girl, even if only for a short time.

You approached him slowly, as if trying not to scare him. Joel looked at you, confused but grateful. He didn’t know what you were doing, but he didn’t want you to stop. You sat on the bed, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. You were just there, in silence, sharing the weight of the world.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Joel murmured, his voice breaking. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, his patience wearing thin.

“Yes, but I don’t think he’d pay much for me,” you replied, placing a hand on his.

Joel looked at your hand as if he didn’t know what to do with it. But then, slowly, his fingers intertwined with yours. His hand was cold, but there was a spark of warmth in his touch, as if something in him was still alive.

“Call him,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you leaned closer to him, until your lips met his in a soft but meaningful kiss. Joel didn’t know if this was real, if you were real, but in that moment, he didn’t care. Because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone. And that was enough.

Joel couldn’t believe what he was about to do. The line between desperation and madness had blurred completely, and now, there you were, sitting on the motel bed, phone in hand, with your boyfriend on the other end of the line. He watched you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of guilt and desire, as he approached slowly, like a predator who knew he had his prey exactly where he wanted it.

“Tell him I have you,” Joel whispered, his voice rough but laced with an intensity that made you shiver. “Tell him if he wants to see you again, he’ll have to pay.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, Joel thought you might refuse. But then, you nodded slowly, bringing the phone to your ear. Your hands trembled slightly as you dialed the number, and Joel couldn’t help but notice how you bit your lower lip, a gesture that betrayed your nervousness.

“Hi,” you said into the phone, your voice soft but clear. “It’s me. I’m… I’m okay, but I need you to do something for me.”

Joel moved closer, his hands finding your waist as you spoke to your boyfriend. You felt your body tense under his touch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you kept talking, your voice trembling but firm.

“Yes, he wants money,” you continued, your eyes fixed on Joel. “I don’t know how much, but… please, do it. I don’t want him to hurt me.”

Joel felt a knot in his stomach as he heard your words, but he didn’t stop. His hands slid over your body, exploring every curve with a mix of desire and possessiveness. He looked at you, searching for some sign of rejection, but he didn’t find it. Instead, he saw something in your eyes that made him keep going: a surrender, an acceptance of what was about to happen.

“Tell him how much,” Joel murmured, his lips brushing your ear as you spoke. “Tell him he has an hour.”

Your words faltered slightly as Joel began to slide his hands under your dress, his fingers finding the soft skin of your thighs. You felt your breathing quicken, your body responding to his touch despite the situation. Joel wasn’t giving you a choice, but you didn’t seem to want to stop him either.

“Yes, one hour,” you repeated into the phone, your voice now more shaky. “Please, hurry.”

When you hung up the phone, Joel didn’t give you time to think. His lips found yours in a slow but passionate kiss, his hands exploring every inch of your body as if they were territories to conquer. You let yourself go, your own hands finding his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Don’t resist,” Joel murmured, his voice heavy with desire. “You know you don’t want to.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you gave in to the sensation, to the intensity of the moment. Joel explored you with his hands, every touch filled with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed. Your soft moans urged him on, driving him to lose himself in you, in the feeling that, for a moment, he wasn’t alone.

Joel sat near the head of the bed, his gaze lifting to meet yours. He looked at you the way a hunter looks at his prey. “Take off that dress,” he said, watching you intently.

You pulled at the sleeves of your light blue dress and slowly slid it down, stepping out of your silver ballet flats. All you had on was a simple blue lingerie set, a gift from your boyfriend for Valentine’s Day.

“Come here, doll. Sit on daddy’s lap,” he said. You moved closer and sat on his lap, feeling how hard he was beneath you.

He grabbed your waist and unhooked your bra, cupping your breasts in his rough hands. “Your breasts are beautiful, so soft. Your boyfriend’s an idiot. He’s paying for me to fuck you, and here you are, taking off the dress and lingerie he probably gave you for Valentine’s Day.”

He slid your panties off, and you unzipped his worn-out jeans. He pulled down his boxers, and you saw his hard member—it was big and thick. You’d never been with anyone but your boyfriend.

“Ride me, sweetheart,” he said, noticing your hesitation. “Come on, do it, baby. Ride me.”

You climbed onto him, feeling the coarse hair on his legs and his rough hands gripping your waist.

You moved on him, your eyes locked on his face—weathered by time and age, his beard, every detail of him. You could see the pleasure in his expression. He had chosen you. He could have kidnapped any other girl, but he chose you. (I don’t know why, but this made me laugh.)

You moved as best as you could, his size making it challenging. You could feel your breaths quickening.

“Come on, baby, I know you can do better than that. I haven’t been bad to you. I think I deserve it,” Joel said, his words only motivating you to move more. He watched you from below, occasionally spanking you and smiling.

You let out a loud moan of pleasure as you rode him more recklessly. After a moment, you felt him grip your waist tightly and release inside you.

“You’re such a good girl for daddy. You made me come so good,” Joel said as he lifted you off him. His seed dripped out of you.

Joel held you, his strong arms wrapping around you in an embrace that seemed to say more than his words ever could. He didn’t know how he had gotten to this point, but in that moment, he didn’t care. Because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

“Don’t go,” he murmured, his voice heavy with vulnerability. “I don’t want to let you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, curling up against him. “I’m here.”

But reality soon caught up with them. The phone rang, and Joel knew it was time to collect his reward. He dressed quickly, avoiding your gaze as he left the room. He didn’t want to see you go, but he knew he had no other choice.

When he returned, money in hand, he found you sitting on the bed, looking at him with those eyes that seemed to see him for who he truly was: a broken man, lost in his own despair.

“What are you going to do now?” you asked, your voice soft but filled with concern.

Joel didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t have a plan, no place to go. But for the first time in a long time, he felt that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, sitting down beside you.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you took his hand and squeezed it firmly, as if you were trying to tell him that, despite everything, he wasn’t alone.

[anxious-chaos-art]

Something something there will always be love and joy and mundanity even in moments of strife

Something something even those in the worst possible place will still find it in them to love and be loved and have small joys

Something something there will be people who care for you and love you no matter what

Something something you will carry your dead with you wherever you go and they will shape you

Something something there is always love and nothing can change that.

[crushoncaleb]

Be my valentine

Rafayel x reader

Fluff

1.4k words

You try to ask Rafayel to be your valentine. The keyword is try.

A/N. First time I have written something for a holiday or event and actually managed to post it in time! Basically, I couldn't sleep, and Rafayel possessed me. Hope y'all enjoy!

Is this...rejection?

You'd spent some time planning it, even bribed Thomas to get Rafayel the day off. But when you and Rafayel arrived at your usual spot at the beach. He didn't seem to take note of the seagulls at all.

The seagulls you had somehow managed to train into landing in the right order so the letters you stuck to them would ask him to be your valentine. Now, you'd be the first to admit, the whole plan was a little crazy, but with your and Rafayel's history and connection to the seagulls choir, you'd thought it would be cute.

If it had been any more subtle, you might've believed he genuinely missed it. But it's quite hard to believe someone like Rafayel would not see the literal seagull choir the two of you were here to visit. So naturally, you had to assume he was letting you down easy.

Even being let down easy hurt. It completely blindsided you. You were absolutely certain something had been brewing between you and the artist. Hell, last time you'd spent time with him after wearing new perfume, he'd spent about an hour shoving his face against you to breathe you in. You were SO certain that crossed the line of platonic.

You start questioning if perhaps you'd been reading social interactions wrong your entire life, as next to you, Rafayel starts getting antsy.

"Cutie, as much as the sky is beautiful today and I would love to spend time staring at it with you, we should go get lunch now. Thomas' endless texting has tired me out, and I'm huungry. " He speaks, his tone light and whiney as always, and for a second, you consider him world's greatest actor.

You decide that what you felt for Rafayel combined with the effort you'd put into this plan was worth the risk of heartbreak, so in a final effort to get him to acknowledge you, you speak up.

"Don't you want to see your trusty choir first? They're right there behind you. I'm sure they've missed their conductor." You're not sure if you manage to keep your tone quite as light and playful as intended, desperation tinging the edges of your words, but you've spoken them, now he HAS to respond.

A pause, anticipation clogs your veins, and you practically feel your blood pressure rising. "...there's a boat ride with a buffet that might be nice today, since the weather is so nice and all."

Your eyebrows raise, the casual tone of his voice so steady that you almost start questioning if you even did bring it up at all. But the quick look he takes at you and the way he turns away tells you he is definitely doing this on purpose.

It was truly rejection then, your stomach twists and a buffet and a boat ride with Rafayel suddenly sound daunting. You could get over rejection, but maybe not within 10 minutes.

"Hmm, that sounds nice but I'm actually starting to feel a little off," you muse on your excuse "I think I might head home a little earlier than planned today, Rafayel, rain check?"

He turns to face you now, slowly. Eyes wide and brows furrowed, expression reminiscent of that time you gave him a single apple when he checked himself into the hospital. A mix between shock, offense, and a silent command to change your mind.

He grabs your wrist and starts pulling you along. His expression changes in a heartbeat, and it's like you never said anything.

"They apparently have like a super long waiting list, but I got in pretty easily. Guess being well known does have its perks after all, huh?" He keeps talking in that same casual tone of his, which is starting to frustrate you to no end.

"Rafayel, I get that a rain check for the boat might not be easy if it's like that, but I really need to go home." You plead, trying to pull yourself out of his grip but he just turns to you, gives you that same expression that you're convinced only Rafayel can make properly, and then keeps going like you never opened your mouth.

You're baffled at his behavior, and by the time you recover, the two of you are making your way onto the boat.

"Now, I'm going to need you to stop looking so surprised, cutie." He reaches out to gently smooth his fingers over the muscles of your brows, which you will admit are a little tense from how you've had them raised the entire way here. "I need you looking as cute as you always do for the pictures we're gonna take here."

It was one thing to completely ignore what was practically a confession, another to blatantly ignore your request to go home, but the audacity to tell you to not be surprised at his antics? That was too far.

He tries to pull you along again, but you hold steady. He shoots you a questioning look. As if you're the one acting out of the ordinary.

"Rafayel, I want to go home," and you're proud of yourself for standing on business, convinced there is no way for him to just ignore that. In your defense, he doesn't.

Instead, he huffs, his gorgeous features taking on that oh so familiar, annoyed expression. His response is a short "no, you don't" before he takes a step closer to you, only to link your arms and pull you along with the new leverage that gives him.

Then, before you know it, you're standing at the front of the boat as it slides through the water. With no way home except a very prolonged dive.

Rafayel entertains you, and the entire situation had been confusing enough to distract you from his blatant rejection, but now that his weird behavior seems to be settling, reality starts creeping in. You're stuck with him now, so you'll have to keep yourself together until you manage to get off this boat. How vexing.

His first cough doesn't shake you out of the deep thoughts you're in and neither does the second so, Rafayel resorts to nudging you with his elbow when a red fish surfaces with a bottle in its mouth.

You look at him, but he pointedly looks away, like he didn't just practically poke your ribs out. When you lean towards the railing, the fish jumps, and the bottle flies towards you.

You're not actually in the mood to catch it, but your hunter instincts kick in, and in the blink of an eye, the intricate glass bottle is in your hands. You can see a note neatly curled up and tied with a bow, resting inside it.

"Wow, cutie, those are some reflexes." Rafayel feigns being impressed and then presses on. "You should open it. You won the bottle's secrets fair and square once you saved its life."

You narrow your eyes at him. This could not possibly have been more obviously set up by him. Though you will say, his sheer determination to have things go his way is admirable.

You comply, already knowing the only other option was to face his huffing and puffing before then having to comply after all.

The cork takes more effort to open than you'd like, and Rafayel smiles fondly at the slight flush that rises on your face in result. Once you unroll the note, though, your eyes widen.

There, in Rafayel's eclectic handwriting are the very words you'd strung up on your seagulls.

A beat passes, and Rafayel looks at you expectantly. A cute expression on his face, and for a second, you are torn between accepting just to keep him looking like that and raining down righteous retribution on him.

You decide you'd do both. "Rafayel, of course I'll be your valentine, but did you really ha-" his lips halt yours before you could complain at all and you feel said complaints melting away.

The kiss is sweet, Rafayel brings you into his arms as he starts to deepen it, you'd always suspected he'd be a needy kisser, but he pulls away before he gets carried away.

"Sorry, cutie. Couldn't have you interfering with my plans though, you have no idea how long I've waited to make this move." His voice sounds breathy, and his eyes don't leave your lips. His words are so sweet you could almost ignore how he's pretending this was your fault. Almost.

Yet, you'll let it slide. Because as he leans in for another kiss, you just can't find it in yourself to be upset with him.