#no i hate writing

[thepileofclothesonyourdesk]

"We have a new AI feature!" "With the power of AI..." "Our AI..."

I am going to abandon technology and start only inscribing things on clay tablets

[aniisol]

Grian three-ish years ago: hey Ren meet my friend Martyn. he plays fortnite

Ren a couple days ago: Martyn, I cannot bear to think of a universe where our souls are not tied. We're the earth and the moon, pulled into continual and unceasing orbit to one another. In your absence I become a lesser man. I will destroy the fabric of the world to bring you along with me, ignore the rules of the game. You will carry my banner, I will carry your soul.

Grian a couple days ago: hey what the hell

[punkitt-is-here]

transgender online

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[fazcinatingblog]

Might waste another $1000 on a CPA subject like Australian taxation just for the fun of it

[anqelrafe]

— ୨ৎ sleepover with secret bf!rafe

authors note: i got a request for this a few weeks ago but the ask deleted itself so I'm so sorry to whoever sent that! and i'm trying to get out of my writers block so enjoy...whatever this is. (not sure how I feel about this) not proofread!! content warnings: contains smut, 18+

“come over? just for a little bit?” rafe asked as he looked at you through the facetime camera. it's been a rough day for him and you were really the only person he wanted to see right now. but it was past midnight and you weren't supposed to be out of the house around this time, let alone going to his house.

you've been told by your parents to stay away from him—countless times, actually. rafe knew he had some...things to work on, but in his mind, he wasn't that bad. at least towards you. “dunno rafe...'m already in trouble for skipping school yesterday.” you frown, tapping your manicured finger on the side of your phone. rafe sighed, sitting up against his headboard “please? it'll be quick. i'll sneak ya in and out.”

you were hesitating and that's something rafe could see clearly, but he was desperate. you were one of the only people he actually cared about these days and he didn't want to be alone right now, especially not at night.

“please..? you're the only person i want to see right now.” he pleaded, almost begging in a way. he was never one to beg, but it was the only thing he could think of that could convince you to come.

you thought it over as you bit the inside of your cheek. you knew how it would end if your parents found out you snuck out of your house. “isn't sarah home though?” rafe was silent for a moment, his hand running through his hair “no...she's out. won't be home 'til morning” he murmured. that was one less obstacle so it was one good thing. but you still weren't sure. rafe was your boyfriend and you cared about him, but sneaking out wasn't the best idea right now. “but my parents said-”

“i know sweetheart and i'm not tryna get you in trouble, but i swear it'll be like thirty minutes.” he cut you off, his tone almost desperate. you bit your lip as you leaned back against your headboard. “rafe...” you trailed off with a sigh. you weren't saying no right away, but you weren't saying yes either. it was clear you were conflicted as you hesitated before adding, “okay, fine. but just for thirty minutes. not a second longer.”

rafe's face lit up as he heard you agree. he knew he could be convincing if he wanted to and he was so glad it worked this time. “thank you baby, be outside waiting. i'll come get you.” with that, he ended the facetime, standing from his bed as he grabbed a jacket and his keys. it didn't take long for you to change into some shorts and a hoodie and put your shoes on. you carefully crept out of your room and out into the livingroom, pausing to listen for any noises. once you were sure your parents were asleep, you opened up the front door and slipped outside, shutting the door quietly behind you. by the time you were out of your house, rafe was already parked outside.

rafe was leaning against the door of his car as he waited for you. he heard the door open and shut, looking up and seeing you walking towards him. he could see you were nervous, but it didn't stop him from pulling you into a tight hug. “hey,” he greeted, his voice tired but he felt better with you in his arms. you returned his hug, leaning into the embrace. “hey...” you murmured back, your tone almost equally as tired. you could feel the exhaustion in him as he hugged you and you felt the need to ask, “you okay?”

rafe let out a sigh against your shoulder, giving you a light squeeze before leaning back “not really...” he mumbled, releasing his hold on you reluctantly. he opened the passenger side door for you, waiting until you got in before shutting the door and walking around to get into the driver's side.

you got into his car, leaning back in the seat as you looked over him. you could tell something was bothering him by the look on his face and his tone of voice. it's been a long time since he sounded that exhausted. “...rough day?”

rafe ran a hand over his face, looking over to you wearily “rough life.” he mumbled, starting up the car as he pulled out from the curb. “seatbelt.” you hummed quietly as you reached out to grab the seatbelt, buckling yourself in. you decided not to ask more about what exactly was bothering him; in time, he'd probably talk about it.

the car ride was silent as rafe drove back to his house. you didn't mind though, figuring that he needed the silence in order to calm his head for a bit. a few moments passed before he parked in his driveway, unlocking the doors and getting out. he came around the side and opened your door for you, offering his hand to help you out of the car.

you slipped your hand into his, letting him help you out of the car. walking through his yard, he quietly unlocked his front door and let you in first. “wheezie's home so we're gonna have to be quiet” he said as he shut the door behind him, locking it again.

you followed him inside “gotcha” you whispered as you looked around. “is she awake? i don't wanna be the reason she doesn't sleep.”

“she's asleep.” he mumbled, nodding towards the stairwell. “come on..” he took your hand again, quietly leading you upstairs to his bedroom. once inside, he closed the door and locked it before turning on his bedside lamp and walking over to his bed.

you followed him to his bed, crawling onto it and moving to lay back against the pillows. you could still see the exhaustion in his body as he laid down next to you, his head resting against your shoulder as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “wanna talk about anything...?” rafe was silent for a moment, almost as if he was thinking about your question. he really didn't wanna talk about anything at all. all he wanted was to lay here with you, which he thought to himself as he shook his head. “nah”

you nodded once he answered, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you closed your eyes. you could tell he didn't want to talk and you were okay with that. you both laid there in comfortable silence, no sounds besides the sound of your breathing and the occasional passing of a car outside. “can i do anything to help?”

it felt good to lay here with you. it was the only real peace he's felt in weeks and it helped calm him a little. when you spoke again, he lifted his head to look at you, his tired eyes meeting yours.

he moved a bit closer to you, his arm around your waist tightening as his head rested on your chest. “this is more than enough for me, sweetheart” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your side. “i do have a request though”

you looked down at him, your fingers lightly running through his hair as you waited for him to speak. you could tell he was still thinking about something and you waited patiently before finally speaking, “what is it?” rafe's eyes closed as your fingers ran through his hair. he loved when you did that and it relaxed him greatly

he was still silent for a few more moments before finally speaking. “i need to relieve some stress.” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing against your waist once more before suddenly resting right above the drawstring of your shorts.

────୨ৎ────

“a-ah shit, rafe” your hands clench by your sides as rafe glides his tip between your drenched folds, looking down at you with this tongue between his teeth. “mmh...this wet already, darling? barely even touched ya yet.” rafe hummed, smirking down at you. all you can do is nod and let out a whimper as he tapped his cock against your cunt. “nuh-uh, words. none of that whimpering shit”

you were already a stuttering, whimpering mess as he ran his fingers over your clit. you needed more from him, wanted to feel more of him, but you knew that he wasn't going to give that to you until you answered.

you let out a shaky breath as you looked up at him, eyes wide. “yes!” you quickly whimpered, “been thinking about it all night. please, please rafe...” you whimpered, your hips bucking up in an attempt to get more from him. “i know baby, i know” rafe murmured, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he teased your clit with his thumb again “been so long since you've had this cock, yeah?”

you nodded rapidly, eyes pleading him to do something, anything. you wanted him so badly and you could tell he was just teasing, which was driving you absolutely insane. “rafe..." you murmured, your voice trembling a little. rafe chuckled softly, shaking his head “come on. don't get all shy with me now. tell me what you want” he said with a smirk, his fingers still moving over your clit, barely applying pressure. he could feel you shaking beneath him, which encouraged him to tease you a little more. “tsk tsk i want an answer. i know you know how to talk, baby. i just wanna hear your pretty little voice say it.”

you swallowed hard as you looked up at him from under your lashes; he looked so damn proud of himself. you were almost positive he got off on teasing you like this, and the last thing you wanted to do was give him that satisfaction. but your patience was wearing thin and you were getting desperate. you just wanted him to touch you already, but he was always so stubborn. you ran your tongue over your bottom lip as you met his gaze again, your voice shaking a little as you finally spoke up, “n-need you rafe…please...”

“mmh, that's my good girl. i knew you could do it baby.” rafe murmured, finally pushing his cock into your aching hole, causing both of you to let out simultaneous moans. “a-ah fuck” you gasp, gripping onto his biceps as he pushes all the way in, making you groan at the feeling, his cock slowly slipping all the way down, filling you to the hilt, “so fuckin' tight” he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his member.

you whimper as he remains motionless, denying you the much needed friction. “mmh what do we say after i give you something, baby?”

you could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he murmured the question into your ear. he knew what he was doing. he knew exactly how to get you to say what he wanted you to say, knowing how well he filled you up and how he wasn't moving. you moaned quietly, hands moving to grip onto his back as you looked up at him with watery eyes, “thank you.”

rafe hummed and nodded against your neck, lightly kissing just under your ear as he lifted his head, “good girl.” he said “you're welcome, my love. anytime.”

he finally pulled his hips back a little, thrusting back into you “you feel so damn good, baby.” he breathed before beginning to thrust into you harder, repeatedly hitting your cervix deliciously “been too long without having you.” he murmured, his hand gripping onto the back of your thigh, lifting your leg up over his shoulder. the change of position caused his cock to slide even deeper, making you gasp.

you whimpered at the feeling of him hitting your sweet spot, unable to speak clearly “oh...oh g-god rafe” you tried, your eyes already shut as you tried to move your hips in time with his. he could feel your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red indents. “look at me.” he murmured in your ear, his hand reaching down to grab your chin, turning your face towards his “look at me while i'm fucking you, sweetheart. ” your mind goes a little blank for a moment when he says that, only able to focus on the feeling of him inside you. it takes a few seconds before you manage to open your eyes again, meeting his gaze. rafe's eyes are focused on you, a small smirk on his lips as he sees you staring “there you are.” he hums, biting down on his lip once he feels you start to clench around him “shit, you gonna cum already?”

“yeah...mmh, so close ray.” you moan, struggling to keep your eyes on him as his hand reaches to press his thumb against your clit, rubbing tight circles. “so fast, sweetheart?” rafe murmured with a smirk “been that long, huh? gonna make a mess all over my cock already?” you don't even have time to respond before your orgasm hits you hard, your body shaking as the coil in your stomach snapped. eyes squeezed shut, walls clenching around his twitching shaft. the way your pussy cinched around him is all rafe needed to go over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside you.

“mmh ray?” you murmur, looking up at him with your glossy eyes. “hm?”

“think 'm gonna stay here tonight.”

taglist: @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl

© anqelrafe

[soleilsplanet]

do you ever just … picture a whole scene, a whole fanfiction in your head, you know how to place every single word of the english dictionary that you need (or your language dictionary), you know how to structure your sentences, you know just what your characters are going to say to each other and then… and then you just open microsoft word.

[hopelessvalentines]

“nostalgia is a villain that we are told is a hero, all it ever does is hurt.”

[izuqi]

how did trying to wrestle with your 6'3, buff boyfriend end up with you in a full nelson?

"f-fuck!" you scream, hips bucking against ushijima's hands. "ah- wakatoshi, y-your fingers are too big!" you moan, tears brimming your eyes from the pleasure of his long fingers curling inside of you.

he shushes your before pressing a kiss into your neck, "sh baby, you can take it." he whispers, lifting his head up and pushing his tongue into your mouth. it's hard to kiss him back when the only thing on your pretty little head is the intrusion of his fingers inside of your cunt. he almost chuckles into the kiss when you weakly stick your tongue out, trying to match the pace of his.

he pulls away from you and laps at your neck again, speeding up his fingers brutal pace. "oh my goddd," you slur, "m'gunna cum— feels so good!" you moan, throwing your head back, giving ushijima more space to craft love bites all over your skin.

"i know, touch yourself for me baby." you nod, bringing your hand to your clit and rubbing harsh circles into it, desperate for your release.

you bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut, "mphhh, i'm gunna cum, m cumming toshi." you pant. "cum for me, please." ushijima grins, curling his fingers straight into your gspot. you cry out, white spots filling your vision as your pushed over the edge on your boyfriend's fingers.

"ah, so pretty for me." ushijima smiles, pulling out his fingers and pressing a kiss into your temple. your still panting and trying to recollect your breath. "my gorgeous girl."

[havenshereagain]

DPxDC Idea

Danny working at Wayne Enterprises as some sort of engineer, uses the in-house app for all his blueprints and stuff

He starts getting notes from a coworker in-app, and assumes its this annoying older guy in his department who constantly undermines him because of his age, despite his education and past achievements (i feel like in this AU the Fentons react well to the reveal and they work together on a number of non-lethal ecto inventions that have Danny's name attached to them)

Except one day his coworker mentions never using the app, and Danny suddenly realizes there's only one other TD he could've been arguing with in the notes of the app

[readypanda]

Being a fan of stories that revolve around robots or AI in the 21st century is so weird now. Like how do I tell people I'm the biggest fictional robot appreciator and the biggest real life robot hater

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

HOT, SINGLE, UNSTUDIED SPONGES. 3000 NAUTICAL MILES AWAY. Come sail the distance and read Tiger Tiger!

[thechy-fychannel]

the house md writers rly missed an opportunity with the whole "universal donor/universal recipient" blood types thing by not having a scene where house is dying of blood loss and wakes up to an iv going straight from wilson's arm into his own

[gojoest]

nanami kento tries so hard not to fuck you on your first date, it makes him feel like a terrible man. he’s not like this, usually. you just frustrate every single cell in him, sexually — he can’t believe this is happening to him, honestly.

it’s a pain, he acts cold and distant — he’s simply trying to hide his boner half of the time. he zones out while you speak — your lips are distracting, he can’t hear a single word you speak. he can only think of the many ways your lips would shape and shift when you moan and whimper his name the deeper he sinks his cock in you. also, can you fit all of him down your throat? oh, can you—

fuck…

his cock gets hard under the table, forcing a sense of panic in him while he ponders whether he’s visibly leaked and stained his slacks or not. terrified to look down, because he knows. he’s so fucked.

he needs to wait a bit before you leave the restaurant, to cool off a bit, calm down. but it only gets worse from there.

he drives you back home, but doesn’t leave the car to walk you to your doorstep. his cock is hard again, aching so bad it limits his movements. besides if he steps out and stands tall before you — you will see, this time you definitely will. he’s embarrassed. and on top of that, he feels like an ass, the lowest of the lowest, for treating you so poorly.

the entire car ride was torturous to him, courtesy of your scent so close to him in the passenger seat, along with the way you tucked your hands between your thighs every now and then — perhaps the awkward silence got you nervous. he wondered all the way to your house how you smelled and tasted, down there.

you think the whole date was a disaster, and that he’ll never call you again but little did you know, the first thing he did when he went back home was jerk off — not once, not twice, but three fucking times, thinking about you. furiously.

later, he texts you. you blink a few times in utter disbelief.

dinner tomorrow? i’ll cook

dinner — at his place, that is. he’ll change the bedsheets in the morning with freshly washed ones, because this time — he’ll fuck you.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki who's always fixing the necklace he got for you. to him, it's a very clear sign that you're taken and he wants to make sure there's absolutely no mistake about it. it's like he naturally gravitates towards it, pulled towards you like a magnet whenever you wear it (which is all the time).

he's always just fiddling with it, absentmindedly dangling the cute little golden "k" around your collar bone and playing around with it while you talk, occasionally humming to let you know he's listening before letting it go with a satisfied sigh, not before making sure the first letter of his name was right in the middle of the chain. you were his after all, and he was gonna make sure everybody knew.

[sai-int]

[ pt 1 ] fwb!simon pt 2

--

you blink at him. once, twice, four times over, trying to make sense of the words he just said.

i’m in love with ya.

the words hang heavy in the air, thick enough to choke on.

“oh,” is all you manage at first. then, when the silence stretches too long and he’s still looking at you like that—like he’s waiting for something, hoping for something—you force yourself to shake your head.

“simon, i’m sorry,” you say, voice quiet, careful. “but i don’t feel the same way.”

you think saying it plainly will be best, will make it hurt less. but you watch his face, watch as the flicker of something in his eyes dims, and you realize there’s no easy way to crush a man like him.

he merely shrugs. nods. like you just told him it’s going to rain later.

so you nod, too, because what else can you do? you reach for your shirt, slipping it back over your head, shimmying into your shorts with hands that shake just a little. the silence is unbearable now, a thick, suffocating thing, and it only gets worse when you clear your throat and ask, barely above a whisper—

“do you want me to leave?”

his answer comes immediately. “yeah.”

you freeze for a second, embarrassment creeping up your spine, then you nod again (you’ve seriously got to stop just nodding) and scurry out of his room and to his front door, yanking it open and slipping out into the hallway. your heart is in your throat, your face burning as you rush across the hall to your own apartment, slamming the door shut behind you before pressing your back against it.

fuck.

fuck, that was so embarrassing.

you spend the night drowning in self-pity, staring at the ceiling as everything replays over and over in your head like a bad movie you can’t turn off.

why didn’t you stop it sooner? why didn’t you shut it down the second he started calling you baby instead of slut? why didn’t you flinch when he pressed his forehead to yours, when his hands stopped gripping and Çstarted holding?

you didn’t just let it happen—you basked in it. soaked it up like a sponge, let it fill you—let him fill you—and now you can’t tell if that was just muscle memory, a latent yet insatiable reaction to being wanted, or if it actually meant something.

fuck, if you weren’t already embarrassed, that would do it.

meanwhile, across the hall, simon doesn’t sprial. doesn’t even wallow in the face of rejection.

he pours himself two fingers of his finest bourbon, sits back on his couch, and sparks up a cig. inhales deep, lets the smoke curl through his lungs before exhaling slow.

he's got a plan.

the next evening, your phone buzzes.

simon: come over. door’s open.

you stare at the message for a long minute, heart thudding, stomach twisting itself into knots. this is it. this is where he tells you it’s over, where he curses you out for being a selfish cunt, for leading him on, for taking all he gave without giving anything back.

and you deserve it.

so you brace yourself, tugging on a light sweater, slipping into your shoes. every step across the hall feels heavier than the last, and by the time you’re standing outside his apartment, you have to take a deep breath before pressing your palm to the door.

you push it open.

instead of anger, instead of harsh words or something hauled at your head, you’re met with the warm, rich scent of something cooking.

what the fuck?

your brows pinch together as you step in deeper, looking around cautiously. “simon?”

no answer, but then you see him—standing at the small table in the center of his apartment, just finishing setting it. two plates, two glasses, candles flickering dimly in the low light.

what the actual fuck?

your stomach drops. maybe he poisoned the food. maybe this is how you’ll die.

“what’s going on?” you ask, wary, eyeing the plates like they might explode.

simon pulls out a chair. just looks at you, waiting.

you hesitate, then slowly pad over and sit. your hands fold in your lap, your throat feels tight.

he lowers himself into the chair across from you, elbows on the table, fingers laced together.

he watches you.

you both eat in silence.

the only sounds are the soft clinks of silverware against plates, the occasional scrape of a chair as one of you shifts. you force out a weak, “this is good,” because it is—really, it is—but also because the silence is suffocating.

simon just grunts. keeps eating.

so you do too. fork to plate, bite after bite. the food is great, but you barely taste it past the tight knot in your throat.

when you're both done, he wordlessly stands, gathering the plates and taking them to the sink. you watch him move—watch the way his muscles ripple under his fitted t-shirt, the way his blond hair is perpetually tousled, the way his face, bare of any mask, is set in quiet concentration as he rinses the dishes.

you don't even realize you're staring until—

thwap.

you flinch as he flicks your forehead, his thumb and middle finger snapping against your skin just hard enough to jolt you back to reality. you blink up at him, startled, as he stands in front of you, hand extended.

you hesitate, then slip your fingers into his.

he pulls you up, and before you can register it, he's on you—his hands firm on your waist, his lips swallowing yours entirely

you squeal at first, but his lips are so soft, so sweet and full of something heavy, something deep.

you melt into him.

and that's just stage one of simon's plan, to woo you.

that night he fucks you so good you can’t even think about leaving his bed, let alone moving. He splits you open on his cock, ravishing you to the nines. he takes his time, makes you feel it, makes sure you can feel every ounce of his devotion each time he makes you cum (6 times in one night, a new record)

by the time he's done, you're ruined. wrecked in the best way possible

when morning comes, you're knocked, body heavy and sore, limbs tangled in his sheets. you don’t even stir when he rolls out of bed, grabs your phone from where you dropped it the night before.

he types out a quick message to your boss

you: sorry, got covid. can’t come in for two weeks.

sent—delivered—read—probably fired, too (you won’t be needing a job with him around, silly)

you shift slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but you don’t wake.

simon smirks to himself, tossing your phone onto the nightstand.

(don’t ask how he knows your passcode)

stage two is integration.

the next time beckons you over to his place, you notice something’s… off.

your favorite coffee beans are sitting next to his cheap instant shit. your shampoo, your conditioner, your body wash—all neatly lined up in his shower. there’s a hoodie you thought the building’s dryer must’ve gobbled up weeks ago, just neatly folded on his dresser. The chapstick he’s tasted on your lips countless times now sits atop his bedside table.

you blink at the sight of it all, brows furrowed. you pick up the chapstick, turning to him with a questioning look.

he doesn’t even try to deny it.

“figured you’d be 'round more often,” he says, completely casual, completely simon about it.

like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like you’ve already signed a lease and are moving in next month (you are, you just don’t know it yet, doll).

you should argue. you should tell him ‘no, we’re not doing this’, but you don’t. instead, you swipe the chapstick over your lips, put it back where you found it, and pretend you don’t feel his eyes on you the whole time.

he smirks to himself, taking your silence for what it is. acceptance.

stage three of his plan? move out!

oh, but not him. 

you wake in your bed (for once) to find simon standing in front of your dresser.

your dresser.

he’s holding one of your shirts—some thin, worn-out thing you only sleep in—twisting the fabric between his fingers.

you rub the sleep from your eyes, voice groggy when you ask, “what the hell are you doing?”

he doesn’t even turn around. “doin’ you a favor.”

“a favor,” you repeat, voice flat.

he glances at you over his shoulder. “yeah. consolidating.”

and that’s when you notice—your drawers are open, half-empty, your closet missing key pieces. your things are gone.

panic flares in your chest. you throw the blankets off, stomp over to him, grab the shirt from his hands. "simon. where the fuck is my stuff?"

he shrugs, completely unbothered. "my place."

“your—” you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath, hands clenched into fists.

“figured it’d be easier this way,” he continues, like he’s explaining something obvious. “y'know, since y’spend all your time there anyway.”

you gape at him, dumbfounded. “you stole my shit?”

he tilts his head, considering. “nah,” he says finally. “just moved it.”

“without asking me.”

he steps closer, towering over you, eyes heavy-lidded and knowing.

“would you ‘ave said no?”

you want to say yes. you should say yes.

but the truth is, you don’t know. because when you think about it, when you really think about it—you never liked sleeping alone. never liked waking up to an empty bed.

and simon—your simon—he knows that. knows you better than you know yourself.

so instead of arguing, instead of pushing him away, you let him tip your chin up with two fingers.

“mine. got that, pet?,” he murmurs.

you nod.

{ people that expressed interest/taglist }

@pyxrin @xxrsi @skeletonsucker @spaceinvadernelly @coeurbrule @forgotmypasswordagain