#decoding desire

[breykurenei]

Does anybody else play honey magazine?

[marketxcel]

A Study on Futuristic Smart TV Preferences in Delhi, Mumbai, Bangalore, and Across India

Explore the intricacies of consumer expectations for futuristic smart TVs in key Indian cities – Delhi, Mumbai, and Bangalore. Dive into the trends shaping the future of home entertainment as we decode preferences, innovations, and technology adoption in the dynamic landscape of the Indian market.

[aicollider]

Rewriting One Hundred Years of Solitude (Gabriel García Márquez) as Biography in Mystery genre

Title: The Mystery of Macondo: Uncovering One Hundred Years of Solitude Chapter 1: The Enigma of Macondo’s Origins In the small town of Macondo, secrets lurked beneath the surface, weaving a tangled web of mystery and intrigue. Hidden away from the prying eyes of the outside world, the Buendía family had been the custodians of these enigmatic tales for generations. José Arcadio Buendía, the…

[pshmisu]

Drop The Act! | P.Sh x Reader

|| You hated Sunghoon for how perfect he is. For how he makes your stupid heart feel. For how he makes you feel like a fucking high school girl, all smiles and blushes. But man, was it hard to keep acting like he didn’t occupy every one of your thoughts.

|| Or…where Sunghoon finally gets you to break the act. Who knew all it took was for him to roll up the sleeves of his hoodie?

Characters: childhood friend!Sunghoon x reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warning(s): Both reader and Sunghoon are down BAD for each other but hoon’s better at controlling his emotions. Strong language. Heavy sexual tension between the two. Sunghoon walks in on reader touching themselves. Reader is implied to have a fem anatomy. Fingering, soft dom!hoon, he watches you masterbate , pussy slapping (but it’s more like a tap), slight name calling (he calls reader a whore like once) super fluffy i cringed while writing and then cried cause none of my relationships made me feel this way. Happy ending!

Fuck Park Sunghoon. (Literally)

You’d always worried how long it would take for you to just give into your desire to pin him against the wall and just kiss him all over his face.

Why? Because that’s how you felt your entire life. Or for as long as you’ve known Sunghoon.

He’s always been perfect. You’ve known that since you met him for the first time during your shared skating classes.

He’d never reach out to you first, you being a loud kid and him, the only boy in an ICE skating class. And so you’d approached him when he pulled out his lunch box filled with mini heart shaped pancakes.

“That looks so cute! Can I have one?”

And that my friends, marked the start of a very promising friendship.

Turns out Sunghoon wasn’t really a quiet kid, it just took a while to decode his very questionable persona and that kept you entertained for a while. It was a nice distraction from how adorable of a kid he was.

But his personality failed to keep you from noticing how he’s budded into an absolute brood of a man.

Sure, he’s always been a good looking kid. But man did he age like a fine wine. All throughout high school, and your shared teenage years he gave off a cute loser vibe and now?

Oh man, if gods had a favorite, it’d definitely be him.

“For fucks sake, are you evening listening?” That ought to snap you out of your stupor.

Sunghoon glared at you from his position on your lap. That look’s supposed to make you laugh at your success in annoying him but god does he look hot pissed off.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you to your present predicament.

Sunghoon had come in earlier to complain about how Jake absolutely ruined his day by delaying practice, pulling Sunghoon down along with him when he tripped on the sidewalks and how Jake blah blah blah you weren’t really listening.

How could a person look absolutely gorgeous adorning a simple black hoodie, some grey sweats, his hair all long and messy but perfectly framed and his face, oh his face; you’re this close to risking it all to press tiny kisses on his cute little moles that just makes him look even better.

His build doesn’t help either. With the new group of friends he’s been hanging around (which includes the said “Jake” he was bitching about), Sunghoon has been a regular to the gym. And his previous track as an athlete gave him a head start at building an absolute unit, accompanied by his height? You wouldn’t be surprised if Sunghoon pointed out that you were visibly drooling.

Because Fuck Park Sunghoon. (Again, literally)

“I am, I am trust me” You finally reply, looking everywhere but directly at him

He narrows his eyes slightly, staring at you intently before his lips curl into a subtle smile, closely bordering on a smirk, “Sure you weren’t staring at my lips again?”

Right, about that.

This is not the first time you’ve been caught just staring point blank into his soul.

You’re not sure when it is that you started noticing a shift in your thoughts towards Sunghoon. Or was it that his energy shifted in a way? You’re not sure.

It started with a small lingering look, you’d stare at his face a few seconds longer than needed. Flush a little when he’d adorn that stupid smirk that makes your knees buckle. How he’d purposely brush your waist, or your arms, or the small of your back while walking past you.

How you’d have trouble getting words out when he looks at you with those half hooded eyes and a lazy smile. How you now fail to keep eye contact with him for more than a few seconds. How he’s gotten much bolder with initiating skinship with you. How his confidence seemed to have grown so much, a stark contrast to that quiet boy you first encountered. His presence overwhelmed you. In a good way, of course but man, fuck park Sunghoon.

When you gave him a look, much alike a deer caught in headlights, he let out a hearty laugh. “You need to stop looking at me like that, Y/n”, he sat up straight, adjusting his hoodie a little before shifting his attention back to you.

“Like what?”

“Like you’d get on your knees the second I flick my wrist.” Those words left his mouth so casually you’d think he was telling you a fact like the earth is round or something.

You hate that he’s not wrong, it would quite literally take not more than a look from him, for you to drop everything and please him until he deems fit. But the way he said it? Definitely did not help your pool of arousal. Or your budding feelings for him.

“Hoon, what the fuck?!” You squeal, swatting aimlessly at the air, at him in hopes to land a few hits, only for him to laugh even louder at your flushed self, all agitated and worked up and he hasn’t even said anything more than a handful of words. “I’m just saying, you’ve been giving me that look a lot lately. If you want me to do something about it, you just have to ask, doll”

Fuck Park Sunghoon.

“You wish I wish for you to fuck me. -You’re unbelievable” you glare at him, ready to swing again when he gets off the couch, heading to your kitchen with long confident strides. “whatever you say, doll, whatever you say.”

That stupid nickname again, as if you weren’t already all wet and ready from how he kept stroking your legs while he laid on your lap, his voice did nothing to help, and neither did his gaze but the nickname? Oh you hope he doesn’t notice how often you rub your thighs together to ease the tension if not even a little bit.

You know what’s worse? You’ve always imagined how he’d go about fucking you. If he’d take it nice and slow, give you little praises here and there, call you his good girl.

Or if he’d be an absolute menace about it, take every chance to tease you much alike he does now, if he’d edge you, make you beg for it and then still deny you of your release and go about that cycle until he gets you to cry for him.

You don’t know which one you’d prefer because honestly? At this point you just want him to touch you, fast or slow that wouldn’t make a difference as long as you got to keep him close to you.

You get up to follow him to the kitchen, not before fixing up your own hoodie that goes right below your ass, and your excuse of a shorts that is barely visible underneath the hoodie and you’re willing to bet your soul that there’s probably a stain right at the crotch. “What are you doing?” You ask, squirming uncomfortably as you lean against the counter with your elbows resting on it.

Sunghoon leans forward, his palms on the counter, “Trying to see how long it takes until you finally admit you’re soaking for me” he turns around and reaches for your snack cabinet “And cooking ramen, you want some?”

You get a whiplash from his attitude. How does he keep saying stuff like that like it’s second nature and then pretend he didn’t say it at all?

You take a while to reply, still flabbergasted, “N-no I’m good, thanks”, he turns around with that fucking smile of his again, clearly enjoying the sight in front of him. You were positively panting now, finding it very difficult to look at him and instead, fixating on the tiny penguin shaped fridge magnet.

“You sure?”

“Mhm”

“Sure Sure?”, “Yes, hoon! oh my god stop asking.” You huff out, finally looking at him, only to see him roll up the sleeves of his hoodie, and what a sight to behold was that. “Suit yourself” he gave a nonchalant shrug, fixing the bracelet around his wrist before getting on with his task.

You felt like a Victorian man seeing a women’s ankle for the first time because, the sight of his hands, his very veiny hands, all thick and pretty was your last string.

You let out a whine before beelining it to your bedroom, offering no explanation to Sunghoon for your sudden departure. But you heard a faint chuckle and you’re not sure if it’s your mind playing tricks on you.

Fuck Park Sunghoon, you really wished you could.

At the comfort of your room, you start panting. The ache between your legs bordering on painful, the subtle rubbing of your thighs only offered so much relief.

His hands, his smile, his smirk, his eyes, his words, him.

God you’re sure you’d worship the ground he walks on if he asked you to.

You barely make it to your bed, plopping down on it, before clutching at your hoodie, vigorously humping the air as you start to feel hot and heavy. You knew it was risky what you were about to do. But knowing Sunghoon and his insatiable appetite, he’d probably be too engrossed in eating to pay attention to your shenanigans.

With a quiet promise to not so much let a whimper out, your hands slowly inch their way down to where it hurts the most. Immediately failing to keep your promise as you let out a loud whine of relief at the pressure, shutting your eyes tight.

You press against the crotch of your shorts, confirming your suspicions that it was indeed all wet and clammy with arousal.

Not wanting to torture yourself further, you immediately get on with pleasuring yourself. Pushing aside your soiled panties and shorts, rubbing tight quick circles onto your clit.

You imagined it to be Sunghoon pleasing you as you easily stuff yourself with two of your fingers, your arousal helping you accommodate them with no resistance. Your other hand finds its place inside your hoodie, tugging at your hardened nipples. The thought that your best friend is just a door away only aided to your bubbling climax. Eyes still screwed shut.

A low whistle from the entrance of your room has your body locking up. (Locking reminds you how your dumbass forgot to LOCK the door before touching yourself with the reason of your arousal right THERE)

You slowly open your eyes, to see Sunghoon leaning against your door frame, sleeves still rolled up, arms crossed in front of his chest as he licks his lips once, twice and then straightens his posture.

“By all means, continue.” He speaks, his voice carrying a dark tone, his eyes glazed and his smirk permanently plastered on his lips.

Mortified, you sit up straight to come up with a sorry excuse, “Sunghoon-“

“I said continue.”

Is all he says before he’s walking towards you, his smile dropping, his eyes shades darker than you remember, his demeanor heavy to a point you can barely breathe. And through it all, you just stare at him, chest heaving up and down as you try to catch your breath. Eyes slightly glossy as you just accidentally edged yourself, cheeks flushed and your fingers wet with your arousal.

“I’ll say it one more time before I do it myself, Y/n. Continue. And scream my name as you cum” He repeats, his tone leaving no room for disagreement. You bashfully try to cover yourself up, trying to pretend it was nothing, and that’s all it took for Sunghoon to pin you to your bed, his knees pressed up against your crotch to keep you from hiding yourself.

“None of that, you hear me? You pulled strung me along for so long, only for you to act like a dirty little whore with me in the house? You can drop the act now, baby. Tell me what you want”

With his heat so close to you, you can’t help but succumb. His lips right beside yours, teasing you with an almost kiss but not really fully giving in. His smile back on his face when he sees you finally lose your resolve, trying to connect your lips. “Sunghoon, please” you whine.

“Please what, doll?”

You didn’t want to admit it, this is definitely scenario 2/2 on how you imagined he’d fuck you. You knew he’d be a teasing little mf but experiencing it first hand? You could cum with just him talking to you.

You buck up your hips with an attempt to find some pressure by rubbing against his knees, his body over yours offering not much room for movement. “Please” you let out feebly again. Your hands squirming against Sunghoon’s grip making him let out an airy laugh.

“Just say the magic words, Y/n and I’ll give it to you

Not wanting to drag it on any longer you finally admit to your deepest desire, “Please, Hoon. Please make me cum”

And that’s all it took for him to finally connect his lips to yours, hands unleashing your wrists as they roam about freely, exploring every inch on your body. The kiss was nothing short of rough, feelings pouring in through a hot and messy clash of your lips.

His cold hands (sleeves still rolled up btw) make their way under your hoodie, hissing when he realizes how you just spent the entire day around him with nothing but a hoodie and no bra.

Your lips part in a loud gasp when his fingers flicker your hardened nipples, Sunghoon takes the chance to slide his tongue into your mouth, further deepening your kiss.

Distracted by the feeling of his tongue you failed to notice his hand trailing down to your very bothered pussy.

Sunghoon breaks away from the kiss first, to sit up straight and drag your excuse of a short and panties down your leg, you lift your hip to help him out.

“Fuck, would you look at that?” He says with a raspy voice, his fingers immediately feeling around your arousal, “All that for me? Just from me showing you my fucking arms?”

You moan his name out loud when you feel his palm connect with your pussy in a gentle smack, thighs clamping together for a second before they’re pried open by Sunghoon again.

“Sunghoon, please!” You felt like a broken record at this point, repeating the same words with hopes he’d drop the teasing and just get on with it. And it seems to be working, for his patience’s also seemingly close to snapping.

“Only because you beg so pretty” is all he offers before he eases a single meaty finger into your pulsating hole. Oh it was already so much better than your fingers, and definitely better than what you’d imagined.

He sets a steady pace, pumping in and out completely, watching your face contort in pleasure and he uses his other hand to push your hoodie up, his mouth immediately latching onto your exposed nipples.

The pleasure has you seeing white, “Sunghoon, hoon-fuck!” Is all that you can seem to get out with how he’s working your body. Like he’s done this a hundred times before.

He continues before slipping in another finger, the added stretch only aiding to push you closer to your edge, and fuck! He uses his thumb to press down on your clit, causing you to arch your back deliciously.

“Who’s making you feel so good, pretty?” He mumbles against your chest, looking up through his eyelashes as he waits for your response.

He nips at your bud slightly at your lack of response, which makes you yelp, “Answer me, doll”

“Y-you Sunghoon, fuck, it’s you!”

He hums with satisfaction, pressing a tender kiss to your boobs before his lips find their place on your neck. The pace of his fingers increasing a tad bit, causing your eyes to roll back.

“Who does this pussy belong to, hm?” He asks as soon as you mumble a quick ‘I’m close’ in a rushed tone.

“You! Only you, hoon!” You offer immediately, body spasming as the coil in your stomach tightens unbelievably.

Sunghoon continues to mark your neck, his fingers working relentlessly. He lets out a low groan as he feels you squeeze his fingers, not wanting to hold back your climax from you (Also because he wanted to see how pretty you’d look when you cum for him)

“You close, love?”

You can only manage a “mhm” before you feel the coil begin to snap, you quickly open your eyes, to find him looking at you already. His gaze, so full of lust, so full of admiration, so full of love was your final thread.

“cum for me, Y/n.” Almost like your body was waiting for him to say those words, you immediately reach your high, feeling pleasure like none before, your mouth muttering a constant chant of his name, your eyes practically at the back of your head at this point.

And fuck what a sight to behold was that. Sunghoon would have you coming around his fingers, his mouth, his cock, anything at all times just to look at your pretty fucked out face.

His fingers slowly come to a stop after dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could until you began shaking with slight overstimulation. You heave heavy sighs to catch your breath. Sunghoon waiting for you to look at him before he brings his soiled fingers right to his mouth, sucking off your arousal. His mouth curling to a subtle smirk as you whimper at the sight.

For a while you both watch each other in silence as you couldn’t find to courage to use your voice after your best friend just made you have the best orgasm of your life. But apparently you had nothing to worry about, as he flexes his arms above his head,

“So it was as simple as exposing my arms to get you to drop the act?” He smiles at you, a shit eating grin adorning his face the second you cover your face with your hands with a loud groan of annoyance.

Man truly, Fuck Park Sunghoon.

(Because you’ve finally gotten a taste of it and you’re not willing to stop at just that)

[nereidprinc3ss]

baby names

in which spencer comforts you after you wake from a good dream about becoming a mother

fluff! warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader sort of wants to be a mom sort of doesn't, they discuss having a child in the future, talk of pregnancy stuff, I think that's it! a/n: another short sweet fluff piece that is by no means going to get me a pulitzer but is cute nonetheless!! love u!!! let me know if u enjoyed!!

Spencer wasn’t in the room when you fell asleep into an impromptu nap, induced by the pattering rain, the low light of your bedside lamp, the warmth of your favorite throw blanket—but he is when you wake up. Home from work, sprawled on the bed next to you, long legs crossed and as close as he thought he could get without disturbing your slumber. 

“You came home,” you whisper groggily, curling into his side and letting your sleepy eyes flutter shut again. 

He pulls you closer against him, rubbing your arm. “I always do.” A low, affectionate chuckle that buzzes from his chest and dizzies you. “You tired?”

You hum a distant affirmation. Visions of diaphanous pink, of sweet cooing, of a haloed Spencer doused in warm light and smiling down at a some blanket-bundled creature in his arms, still burn behind your eyelids, fading with every passing second. The gentle classical music you’d been playing earlier now blends with the sound of evening rain tapping ceaselessly against the window. Spencer is warm next to you, scent familiar and comforting and only contributing to your drowsiness—but a lingering sort of sadness still claws at your stomach. Emptiness. It bites like a shock of icy water. It’s just a small thing. You feel silly for being upset, but you are upset, and you want to tell him. 

“I had weird dreams.”

Spencer offers a hum of his own (perhaps a habit you’d picked up from him) and you open your eyes, watching him watch the rain. The stark angle of his jaw, the sweet slope of his nose. Any baby he had a hand in creating would be absolutely cherubic. “You know, Carl Jung said dreams are hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul.”

You fiddle with the knit of his sweater, and he covers your hand with his own, looking back down at you, deep eyes full of easy contentment. Like as long as you’re together, he can’t imagine a thing to be worried about. 

“Wait—the dreams are the door? Where does the door go?”

His brows pinch slightly as he recalls what is no doubt an exact quotation. 

“Uh—he said they led to a primeval cosmic night, that is soul long before there was conscious ego, and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.”

You frown, sleepy head aching as you twist your brain into knots trying to decode the ornate language. “Was he the weird incest-y one?”

Spencer chuckles again. “Nope. That was Freud. Jung was essentially saying that there is something primal and instinctual about our dreams. He said they were our way of accessing the unconscious, which can process things the conscious psyche can’t, and our consciousness was a ship on the great sea of unconsciousness.”

“You’re losing me, Dr. Reid.”

The corner of his mouth flickers up. 

“He just meant they offered us an unbiased look at our lives. Our desires, our needs, unburdened by conscious ego.”

Our desires. Our needs. 

You chew your lip. 

“What does dreaming about having a baby mean?”

You say it because Spencer is your closest friend as well as your partner and you trust him completely with every thought in your head—but the way his hand pauses on your arm makes you nervous. 

He takes a moment to dissect your answer, digging for a hidden meaning like a precious gem, and then, once he decides there are no landmines, proceeds cautiously. 

“Well… some people say that a baby in your dream is a representation of you. It could indicate a desire to nurture, or a need to be nurtured.” Again you make a noise of vague acknowledgement. His hand starts back up again on your arm, and he delves gently deeper. “Why? Did you dream about having a baby?”

For a moment, you can only nod. Suddenly you’re choked up, releasing an exhaled, “Yeah,” as tears cloud your vision. He gives you a moment, just holding you as you try to find the words to continue. “It felt really real. I mean—I think I knew it wasn’t, but I was so happy that I didn’t care. I—she—” You laugh tearfully. “I’m being ridiculous, I know, I just… I miss her. Is that crazy?”

“That’s not crazy,” he says quietly. A stretch of silence follows, and the brief deluge of tears fades to trickling stop. Spencer is probably used to you enough so that he’s not surprised when you huff dramatically, trying to dispel your melancholia with a hefty dose of drama. 

“I wanna have a baby!”

Your boyfriend releases a surprised laugh as you bury your head against his chest, but it only takes him half a second to root his hand in your hair and hold you there. 

“Because of your dream?”

“Yes!” You sniffle into his sweater. “She was so perfect, ’nd sweet. I wanna have a baby so much.”

“With who?”

You look up at him tearfully and visibly frustrated. His eyes betray only fondness. “You, Spencer! Who else?”

“No one! No one else.”

You collapse again, satisfied with his answer. 

“You were such a good dad. It was—oh my god, you were so happy. You were holding her, and smiling at her, and—can we please have a baby?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” he coos, half chuckle, voice tinged with pity. His hand sweeps over and over your hair in a soothing pattern. 

You pout, hiding even further away against him. “That’s not an answer.”

“We can’t have a baby right this second, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

“Why not?”

He hums, pretending to consider the question, hand still carding gently through your locks, detangling. 

“You’re not pregnant, for one thing.”

“I might be.”

“I doubt it.”

“I could be.”

He angles your head up, smiling. Those warm brown eyes of his are full to the brim with sparkly affection. “Do you have something to tell me?”

“No, I’m saying, we could have a baby.”

The curve of his mouth lessens though doesn’t entirely dissipate, and the subtle lines next to his eyes soften as he regards you. There are a thousand reasons you shouldn’t have a baby right now, but Spencer knows you know that, and it’s still not what you want to hear right this second. 

“We could.”

He’s not being serious, but your heart flutters anyway. 

“Really?”

“Sure. Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

“Spencer. I’m not joking. You’re not taking me seriously.”

Spencer pulls you closer, and though you’re mildly annoyed, you allow it with a huff. 

“I am taking you seriously. Like the plague.”

“I know you want kids.”

“I do.”

“We can have kids.”

“Angel. We have time. I believe that you want a baby, and I’m overjoyed that you want one with me. And you know we’d need more time to talk about it.”

Of course, you probably will change your mind tomorrow, and again the next day, and Spencer will love you then and every time you change your mind thereafter. 

“Do you love me?” You ask softly, bunching the fabric of his shirt in your hand and not looking at him. Just to make sure. His eyes are liquid adoration on you. 

“More than anything in the whole world.” And maybe, you think, you’re okay with keeping it that way. For just a bit longer, at least. Spencer squeezes your arm. “I do think you’ll get to meet her again one day. I’ll get to meet her.”

You smile to yourself, imagining your little dreamy baby girl back in your arms. “One day.”

He kisses the top of your head. 

“Did we name her in your dream?”

“Elizabeth. But only because in my dream your mom’s name was Elizabeth, for some reason? I don’t… I can’t explain that.”

“Hm... I love my mom, but I don't know if I'd want to name my baby Diana. Feels too prophetic.”

“Hold on, I have like, a hundred baby name ideas. Can you hand me my phone? I’m gonna tell you all of them. First and middle name combinations.”

Spencer reaches for your phone on the side table. “Boy and girl?”

You scoff, settling into the crook of his arm, head on his shoulder, so he can see your phone screen. 

“We’re not having a boy, Spencer.”

“Oh. My mistake.”

You smile and tangle your legs with his, searching through your notes app with your non-dominant hand for your list of ridiculous baby names. 

“I can’t believe you would even suggest that. You're obviously going to be a girl dad.”

“Am I?”

“Yes! Oh my god, I’m so glad I'm not pregnant because you’re clearly not ready. You have a lot to learn. Okay, how does Artemisia Valencia October Reid sound to you?”

You’re lucky he loves you so much.

[beautifulplaceofyouth]

SPECIAL SERVICE

Synopsis : A surprise visit from your childhood best friend is always a nice surprise but when the usual hair routine turns to spicy confession, all the bets are off. Pairing : Yandere! Obsessed!Caleb x Reader (both red flags) Genre : Childhood friends to lovers!au Word count : 13k (Oneshot) Warnings : 18+ Fluff which turns into a smut, Caleb is Yandere and literally obsessed with you and you both have secret feelings for each other, the love confession is a little angsty and full of jealously, Caleb longs for you so much that it's hard to resist you, you fear of losing him the second time makes you admit your true feelings, reader a little crybaby at first, inexperienced reader!first time, pet names (pipsqueak a few times, princess, baby, good girl), praise kink, french kissing, Caleb uses gravity evol for an apple, female!receiving, male!receiving, big size cock, raw unprotected penetration(reader on the pill), creampie, sweet aftercare in the shower and just both of them being red flags. a/n : So...I've been obsessed with love and deepspace game lately and especially with Caleb. Sorry not sorry, I don't regret writing this.

The insistent rapping at my bathroom door nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. I’m pretty sure I levitated a good inch off the shower floor, clutching my soapy chest like I was auditioning for a dramatic opera.

I wrestled the tap to submission, silencing the watery cascade that threatened to drown out any potential sounds from the other side. My heart hammered against my ribs, performing a frantic drum solo. Was it a burglar? Xavier? Or worse...A wanderer?

I shook off the last thought immediately because then my hunter watch would have alerted me of any energy fluctuations.

Then, a voice, blessedly familiar, cut through the humid air, punctuated by another, slightly less aggressive, knock.

“Pipsqueak?”

A sigh, the kind that deflates a hot air balloon, escaped my lips. It was just Caleb. Only Caleb. As if "only Caleb" wasn't a phrase loaded with enough emotional baggage to sink the Titanic.

My childhood best friend, my confidante, my ride or die companion… and, of course, the unsuspecting subject of my deeply buried, highly inconvenient, and perpetually unrequited crush.

He, bless his oblivious heart, had no clue about the butterflies that staged a chaotic flash mob in my stomach every time he was near.

Lately, he’d become a major distraction. Calculus? Forget it. Literary analysis? Nope. All brainpower was currently dedicated to decoding Caleb’s every move, searching for hidden meanings where there were probably none.

“Caleb! Don’t scare me like that!” I yelled, trying to inject a healthy dose of irritation into my tone. “I’m showering!”

Even through the thick wooden door, I could hear the low rumble of his chuckle. It was a sound that usually sent a pleasant shiver down my spine, but right now, it was just adding to the general chaos in my nervous system.

“Sorry. Just wanted to know if you’re alive. I arrived like five minutes ago and no one answered the door.”

“You didn’t announce your arrival, so I didn’t know you were coming. It’s not my fault you had to wait,” I grumbled, knowing full well that I was being completely unreasonable. I probably should have left a note warning people I may be taking a shower.

And since I gave him my spare key, it wasn’t surprising to let him visit me unexpectedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Finish your shower and then come out. I’ll cook something in the meantime,” he said, and before I could shout my specific culinary desires (specifically, anything involving copious amounts of chocolate), his footsteps faded away in the direction of my kitchen. Dammit.

He always managed to preempt my sugary cravings.

Once I was fully de-grimed, a miniature steam engine puffing away, I vigorously toweled myself dry, wrapped myself in my comfiest, oversized loungewear (strategically chosen for maximum cuddle-ability), and ran a comb through my sopping hair.

No time for a hairdryer. I had a much better, and infinitely more attractive, alternative in mind.

Caleb.

He always dried my hair. It was a weird tradition we’d started years ago, involving gentle towel-drying, a scalp massage that bordered on the divine, and a level of comfortable intimacy that simultaneously filled me with bliss and existential dread.

And since he was here, in my apartment, radiating pure "boyfriend" vibes, I was going to exploit the situation to its fullest potential.

With a towel turban perched precariously on my head, I ventured into the kitchen, which now smelled like a symphony of deliciousness – herbs, spices, and something vaguely reminiscent of culinary magic.

A tall figure, all broad shoulders in a casual outfit of dark jeans, white T-shirt with some dark abstract art on it and a dark jacket on top, he was focused concentration, standing at the counter, expertly wielding a knife as he diced vegetables with the precision of a brain surgeon.

Hearing my hesitant footsteps, his head lifted, and that intense, almost intimidating, gaze softened the moment he saw me.

“Look at you. All cute and soft. Couldn’t you dry your hair before coming to see me? I know you missed me, but you’ll catch a cold that way,” he scolded gently, his lips twitching with amusement.

He always called me "cute and soft." Like I was some sort of fluffy bunny or a particularly appealing marshmallow.

I pouted, because pouting was apparently my default mode when dealing with Caleb, and padded closer to him. Once I was right behind him, practically glued to his back, I leaned over his shoulder, inhaling his woodsy scent, and peered at the cutting board. “What are you making for me?”

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through me. He tossed the knife aside and pointed to the cutting board, revealing a colorful medley of carrots, celery, and some apple slices already neatly cut into bite-sized pieces. He then grabbed a towel, meticulously dried his hands, and turned around. Before I could even think about taking a step back, he closed the distance between us, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me close.

My heart decided to take up competitive speed racing. It was currently vying for first place in the “world’s fastest palpitations” category.

He hugged me tightly to his chest, burying his nose in my shoulder, almost like he was desperately trying to inhale my scent. It was a gesture that was simultaneously comforting and utterly, earth-shatteringly, devastatingly romantic.

“Caleb, what are you…” I started to ask, my voice a breathless whisper.

“I missed you. I haven’t seen you in a whole month! Let me have this,” he breathed, his words sending a wave of heat through me.

My heart gave up on the racing and decided to launch itself straight out of my chest. Slowly, tentatively, I hugged him back, my hands creeping up around his neck, my fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair.

“You’re being silly. It’s not like I’m gone. You have your duties in Skyhaven as a colonel, so don’t blame me if you have no time for me,” I pouted again, because apparently, I was now a professional pouter.

His hold on me tightened, and he let out a deep sigh that tickled my ear. “I always have time for you, but wanderers up there are causing more trouble, killing innocent people. I had to deal with them before I come visit you. So… did you miss me too?”

There was a soft hesitation in his last words; a vulnerability that made my heart clench painfully.

“Of course, I did.” The words were out before I could even think about editing them for maximum subtlety.

“You finally said it. Don’t regret it now.” There was a playful warning in his tone.

I smiled. Never.

Once we were separated, he looked at my hair with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Do you need me to do your hair, like always?”

I sheepishly smiled, feeling my cheeks flush with warmth. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and sending delightful shivers down my spine. “You really like to use me like a hairdresser,” he teased, grabbing my wrist and gently tugging me along.

He led me out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

After I sat on the couch, he patiently went to the bathroom to retrieve the hairdryer and then came back into the living room, wielding it like a weapon of mass seduction.

Sitting down beside me, he patted the spot between his outstretched legs, motioning towards the floor and looked up at me expectantly.

I raised an eyebrow. “There?”

“It’ll be easier that way. So don’t stall; sit,” he ordered, his voice laced with that authoritative "Colonel" tone that always made me weak in the knees. It was also the voice that could launch a thousand ships, or at the very least, convince me to perch uncomfortably on the floor.

Well, fine. If I had to sit between Caleb's legs, so be it. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

Grumbling, I grabbed a throw pillow for cushioning, plopping down with as much grace as a disgruntled cat. His thighs immediately radiated warmth against my sides as he leaned forward. Apparently, it was hair-drying time, and my wet locks were the enemy. He relieved me of the towel with startling efficiency.

“You’re ordering me around like I’m a fleet officer under your command,” I complained.

Honestly, the nerve of the man!

A sharp tug on my hair, delivered with playful force, snapped my head back. Upside down, I met his gaze, those mesmerizing turquoise eyes swirling with shades of purple. It was a look I couldn't quite decipher – a mix of amusement, exasperation, and something…else.

He leaned down, our breaths mingling like mischievous conspirators. “If you were a fleet officer,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “You couldn’t be this close to me.” A pause, and then, “I never offer to dry anyone’s hair like this, so give me some credit, won’t you?”

My breath hitched. I tried to formulate a witty retort, but my brain seemed to have taken a vacation. All coherent thought vanished when his hand slid down my throat, tilting my chin upward, his fingers gently grabbing my jaw.

“Did I make myself clear? You’re the only one who has this privilege,” he stated, his gaze intense.

My eyes fluttered closed as his free hand tangled in my hair, his fingertips making soothing circles on my scalp.

"Not fair," I whispered, leaning back until my head rested against his chest. The solid thump of his heartbeat was surprisingly comforting.

He kissed the crown of my head. "Nothing is fair when it comes to you," he murmured.

And just like that, the moment was over. He pulled away and, as if nothing had happened, began to comb my hair. The hot air from the dryer blasted strands in every direction, a chaotic ballet of frizz. I must have drifted off for a moment, because the next thing I knew, something was gently tapping my head.

I realized, with a jolt, that my cheek was resting against his thigh. Oh, the indignity!

“Did you fall asleep, princess?” His voice was soft, quiet, but laced with warmth and amusement. “I need to comb your hair, but I can’t do that if you use my leg as a pillow.”

He gently stroked my hair, and I resisted the urge to purr. Sleeping on Caleb's leg was infinitely better than being awake without Caleb's leg to sleep on.

“But it feels so nice,” I protested, my voice muffled against his jeans. My argument was compelling, I thought.

“I’m sure it does, but we’ll never get this done if you don’t lift your head,” he chuckled. It was a low, rumbling sound that vibrated right through me.

With a monumental effort, fueled by sheer stubbornness, I managed to lift my head. Only to have it drop back against his chest a microsecond later.

His fingers brushed my cheek. His voice, close to my face, was a delicious torture. “I’m happy to be your pillow, but you’ll fall asleep again soon. I’ll have to stop this five-star service then,” he warned.

My eyes snapped open. The thought of losing this…this experience was unbearable.

“No, please! Five more minutes, and then you’re free,” I pleaded, flashing him my most convincing puppy-dog eyes.

He shut his eyes and groaned. It was a sound of beautiful, glorious defeat. “You’re so lucky that I love you,” he admitted, his voice laced with exasperation and, dare I say, something more?

Before I could even process his words, he resumed combing my hair, adding in a scalp massage for good measure. The feeling was so gloriously, exquisitely good that a soft moan escaped my lips. I hadn't meant to make noise, but I was relaxed and it left my mouth before I could stop it.

Caleb stopped. I heard him exhale sharply, as if he were in pain, but he kept going anyway, his fingers working magic.

“What will your future boyfriend say if you keep asking me to do these things for you, huh? I’m sure he won’t be happy how much you love this,” he joked, but there was a definite edge to his voice. Interesting. Time for a little playful prodding, just to see how he’d react.

“That’s easy. You’ll be my boyfriend then,” I said casually, trying to sound completely nonchalant. Inside, however, my stomach was doing acrobatic flips of anxiety and, perhaps, a touch of hopeful anticipation.

His fingers stilled in my hair. His breath hitched for a fraction of a second, but he quickly composed himself. With his fingers, he tipped my head back to look him in the eyes.

“Don’t play games with me, princess. I take those jokes very seriously,” he warned. And then he did something I definitely wasn’t expecting, something that sent a jolt of electricity through my entire system.

He grazed his thumb across my lips, tracing their shape with excruciatingly slow precision. “If you start…” His voice was a husky whisper. “I’ll only bite back.”

My lips parted, and my tongue, traitorously, darted out to lick his thumb. I breathed heavily with each brush, each look, each gesture.

His eyes glinted, a dark fire igniting within them as he refocused on me. “You’re giving me strange ideas tonight, and I’m afraid you’ll regret it later.”

I shook my head. He was the one giving me strange ideas tonight, sending signals that were far from subtle. I’d never really thought he’d be like this, so forward, but somehow his gaze felt…familiar. He’d been looking at me with such intensity ever since he came back from the dead.

He’d been presumed dead, killed in explosion and then months later he was back. Like a stranger, he was different but still Caleb.

Those buried feelings had resurfaced from the moment we reunited, and I realized I could read him easier now. He wanted something more, and I could finally see it, openly, brazenly.

“What about you? Will you regret it?” I challenged, throwing down the gauntlet.

It was like flipping a switch.

One moment I was kneeling on the floor, the next I was sprawled on the couch, pinned beneath him. His face was feral, his eyes burning with an intensity that both thrilled and frightened me.

“What are you doing, pipsqueak? Are you trying to see me snap?” he growled, his voice tight with barely suppressed emotion.

I shuddered, a delicious shiver that ran all the way to my toes. “No. Just wanted to tell you the truth. I have no need for a boyfriend if I already have one,” I flashed a teasing smile. “You basically treat me like a princess all the time. We just didn’t put a label on it.”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze searching mine. Then, he laughed.

An ominous feeling washed over me as those gorgeous lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

“A boyfriend, you say?” He laughed again as his eyes wandered down my body, igniting a wildfire within me. “Then, I guess, I have the privilege to do this, right?”

I frowned, suddenly uneasy. “What do you–”

My gasp cut off my words as he lifted my oversized nightshirt, his hot fingers skimming across my stomach, dangerously inching closer to my bare breast.

It was a strategic maneuver, designed to deprive me of oxygen and coherent thought. It was working. My brain was currently operating on a combination of adrenaline, panic, and a deep, undeniable longing that I was trying very hard to ignore.

"Caleb," I breathed, my voice barely audible. "What are you doing?"

His eyes met mine, and the intensity was back, stronger than ever. "Claiming what's mine, pipsqueak. And maybe proving a point or two along the way."

Before I could formulate a response, before I could decide whether I wanted to run screaming for the hills or surrender to the inevitable, he lowered his head, his lips brushing against my ear. "Consider this your official boyfriend initiation."

His other fist tightened around a lock of my hair, pulling gently as he inhaled deeply, like preparing for a battle. Then, Caleb claimed my mouth.

My blood pressure seemed to stall, alongside my breathing, as his lips met mine. All thought dissolved like smoke, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of his mouth parting mine, his tongue exploring with a hesitant boldness. The kiss was a chaotic blend of pain, longing, jealousy, and raw, barely-contained rage. It felt like he’d been hoarding these desires for me for a lifetime.

I was utterly immobilized, pinned beneath him, my wrists trapped above my head. All I could do was receive the onslaught of him. His taste, like crisp, slightly tart apples, flooded my senses, leaving me dizzy.

I'd always fantasized about this, but never truly believed it could happen. We were practically family, raised under the same roof. If Granny knew, rest her soul, she'd be utterly scandalized. Even I couldn't quite grasp the reality of this moment.

"Fuck," he breathed, finally breaking the kiss, dragging his mouth away after a long, heated moment.

He stared down at me, his eyes almost crazed with a possessiveness I’d desperately tried to ignore for months, but it was undeniably there. It was as if he'd been waiting his entire life for this. To be honest, I was feeling the same.

His hand moved to the curve of my jaw, his thumb tracing the outline of my swollen, red-kissed lips. "Do you regret it now?" His voice was gruff, almost rough.

I pulled a shaky breath and shook my head. "No."

He locked his gaze on mine, his eyes burning with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The longer he watched me, the faster I flushed, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable under his scrutinizing attention.

When the silence stretched, an unfamiliar anger flared within me. I strained against his hold, trying to push him away. "What are you doing?" I struggled to regain control, using anger as a shield against the raw vulnerability I felt. Was he playing some kind of game? Was this a test?

He tilted his head, unfazed by my resistance, still firmly pinning me down. A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "What am I doing? I'm trying to read you."

"What do you mean?"

He leaned down, his fingers tightening on my jaw, his breath hot against my lips. "Are you not resisting because you want me, or because you have no choice but to obey since I forced myself on you?"

I furrowed my eyebrows, confused and hurt. "You're not making sense. Why would I just obey you? Do you think I'm that easy to control?" I hissed, leaning forward, his lips ghosting against mine.

I felt him grin, his hold on my jaw tightening just slightly. "So…are you saying you like me?"

I swallowed, the question suddenly thick in the air. "And what if I do?"

His eyes darkened, his breath quickening. "Since when?"

I averted my eyes, a wave of shame washing over me. But he wouldn't allow me to retreat, tapping my cheek with his thumb, growling softly. "Eyes only on me."

I met his gaze, the honesty of the moment demanding it. "Well…always," I admitted, the word hanging in the air between us.

He clenched his jaw, mulling over my confession, his gaze drifting somewhere above my head as he struggled to compose himself. His breathing deepened, steadying. When he regained control, he locked his gaze on mine once more.

"Always? Even when you received love letters from other guys? When you pretended you wanted to go on dates with them too?" He spat, the words laced with jealousy and anger, but I didn't flinch.

"What about you? You've always been the popular one. What about all those gifts and love letters you always piled up in your room? There was plenty of proof that you had your share of secret admirers," I countered, my own anger rising to meet his.

His jaw ticked. "Yes, but it doesn't mean I dated any of them. I accepted those gifts because they were snacks, and you love snacks. That's why I didn't reject them. I gave them to you. And those love letters? I didn't even read them. I always threw them away, but the mail was always overflowing. Maybe I missed some," he reminded me. "And I promised you that I wouldn't get a girlfriend as long as I had you by my side. I didn't lie to you."

“I never seriously considered the other boys too, never wanted to go on dates with them, Caleb. I just…needed you to see me as a woman. Not just a kid who needs protection all the time,” I confessed.

My heart had always belonged to Caleb, and since he never revealed or even hinted at his feelings, I'd resorted to trying to make him jealous.

Caleb simply stared at me, then let out a short, disbelieving chuckle, covering his mouth with his hand. "You succeeded then. I wanted to kill every single person who even looked at you that way."

"Caleb…"

"No, let me finish," he interrupted.

He shifted, his weight still pinning me, but his grip loosening slightly. "I was a coward, I admit it. Afraid of ruining what we had, afraid of rejection. Years we wasted, playing stupid games, both of us too stubborn to admit the truth." He looked down at me, his expression softening. "So, pipsqueak, let's get this straight. You're mine. Always have been, always will be. And I'm yours, whether you like it or not."

He paused, searching my eyes. "But... I shouldn't have forced that kiss on you. I let my jealousy and frustration get the better of me. I wanted you so badly that it clouded my judgment. I'm sorry." His apology was gruff, but sincere.

I swallowed, the fight draining out of me.

"It...it's okay," I managed, even though a part of me still felt a little shaken. "But no more forcing. And no more games."

He nodded, a flicker of a smile reaching his eyes. "Agreed. No more games." He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. "So, where do we go from here?"

I took a shaky breath, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Caleb, the boy I'd secretly loved forever, my closest friend, actually felt the same way. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

"I...I don't know," I admitted. "We've been living in the same house as practically family for years. This is going to be complicated."

"Complicated is an understatement," he chuckled softly. "But worth it, right?" He lifted his head, looking at me expectantly.

I met his gaze, and this time, the intensity didn't feel threatening. It felt...right. "Worth it," I confirmed, a small smile spreading across my own lips.

"Good." He moved, finally releasing my wrists and shifting his weight off me. He didn't stand, though, remaining close, kneeling beside me.

He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear,” So, official boyfriend initiation round two?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. "This time, with consent?"

I laughed softly, the tension finally easing. "Maybe. But you're going to have to work for it."

He grinned, a genuine, mischievous smile that made my heart skip a beat. "Oh, I intend to." He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above mine. "Consider this my official courting process, pipsqueak."

His kiss was a brand, searing into my soul, and this time, I met it head-on. The raw power emanating from him, coupled with the intoxicating scent that clung to his skin, spun me into a dizzying vortex of pure, unadulterated lust. His right arm, a relentless band of steel beneath a deceptive layer of flesh, snaked its way up my body, a possessive claim against my skin. The fabric of my shirt became an unbearable barrier, a tormenting tease in the face of such primal need. And then, he was there, his quest fulfilled. His hand, long and slender, yet possessing an undeniable strength, cupped my bare breast. His fingers kneaded, squeezed with a confident possessiveness that stole my breath, my gasp swallowed by his hungry mouth.

He broke away, and the sight that greeted me was like staring into the heart of a storm. His eyes, pools of liquid darkness, almost swallowed the amethyst depths within. A flush crawled across his cheekbones, a testament to the fire raging within him, mirroring the inferno consuming me. I struggled to draw a breath, my lungs starved for air, yet desperate to be filled with him.

His gaze raked over me, possessive and intense. He seemed drunk on the sight of me, pliant, willing, utterly and completely beneath his control. The yearning that burned in those dark eyes sent my heart into a frenzied rhythm, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated against my skin. He leaned closer, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path from my jawline to my temple, each touch a spark igniting a thousand desires. He inhaled deeply, stealing my scent as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “Are you mine?”

I could only nod, words failing me, lost in the overwhelming tide of sensation. His touch on my waist, beneath the hem of my shirt, sent shivers dancing across my skin. The cool, smooth surface of his mechanical arm, perfectly disguised as flesh, was a stark contrast to the heat he ignited within me.

“Say the words, princess,” he pleaded, his voice thick with a desperate longing that resonated deep within my soul. He buried his face in my hair, his breath warm against my ear, inhaling my scent as if trying to imprint me onto his very being.

“I’m yours, Caleb,” I whispered, the words a fragile offering, yet charged with a truth that grew stronger with each passing moment. Being with him had etched those words into my core.

He exhaled sharply, a sound that spoke of relief, of triumph, of a desperate need fulfilled. “God. She’s mine,” he breathed, the words a possessive mantra that sent a painful tug through my heart. It was as if he needed to hear it aloud, to confirm the reality of the moment, to assure himself that I, completely and irrevocably, belonged to him, and that this wasn't a figment of his desire.

His left arm, the one of flesh and blood, reached for me, his touch tentative at first, then growing bolder, more demanding. His fingers traced the delicate curve of my jaw, the sensitive skin of my neck, each caress a deliberate exploration, a slow, tantalizing torture.

I shivered, a delicious tremor that betrayed the depth of my longing. He knew me so well, knew exactly where to touch, how to tease, how to unravel me with a single glance. He held the keys to my desires, and he wielded them with a masterful precision.

The living room, usually a sanctuary of soft colors and comforting textures, was transformed into a battleground of desires, a space charged with unspoken longing. The air crackled with an energy that threatened to consume us both.

I arched against him, my fingers digging into his back, my nails tracing patterns on his clothed spine. I craved the feel of his skin against mine, the raw intensity of his touch, the unyielding heat of his body pressed against mine.

I wanted him, needed him, craved the feeling of his weight, the sensation of being crushed beneath his power, consumed by his presence. I wanted to lose myself in him, to surrender completely to the burning hunger that gnawed at my insides.

He obliged, pressing me deeper into the cushions, his body a hard, unyielding force against my softer curves. I gasped, the air catching in my throat as he shifted, settling his weight more fully against me.

“Do you want me, baby?” He rasped, his voice rough with barely contained desire. His fingers tightened on my hips, a possessive squeeze that sent a jolt of electricity through my veins.

“Yes,” I didn’t hesitate, the word torn from my lips, an honest declaration of the yearning consuming me.

“I’m glad you came back to me. Whether by accident or fate, you’re still here with me,” he murmured, his voice laced with a vulnerability that pierced my heart. He closed his eyes, his forehead pressed against mine, savoring our close proximity.

The words hit me deep, a wave of emotion washing over me. His longing was so raw, so palpable, that tears welled in my eyes. It felt like a wound, a deep, unhealed ache in his heart, and in that moment, I felt it too.

His love was a suffocating blanket, a weight I wasn't sure I could bear. Looking into his eyes, now filled with concern, the reflection of my own tears mirrored back at me, the truth of his feelings slammed into me with the force of a physical blow.

"Why… why are you crying?" he asked, his voice laced with a tenderness that only amplified the ache in my chest.

I couldn't articulate the whirlwind of emotions tearing me apart. The grief of a potential future stolen, the realization of a love I had been blind to, the sheer, overwhelming relief of him being here, alive, in my arms. All I could do was cling to him, burying my face in the crook of his neck, the sobs wracking my body. The thought of a world without him, a world where I never knew the depth of his feelings, was unbearable.

His arms tightened around me, a comforting, possessive hold. His hand found its way to my hair, stroking it in a soothing rhythm as we lay entwined on the couch.

"Princess…" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, almost a question. He seemed to be searching for the right words, lost in the labyrinth of his own feelings.

"I love you. I love you so much," I choked out, the words tumbling from my lips like a desperate plea. His breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that spoke volumes. I felt the tremor that ran through his body, a tangible manifestation of the shock and disbelief that gripped him. He burrowed his nose into my hair, inhaling deeply, as if trying to absorb my very essence.

"My love…" he breathed, the words barely audible, a whispered prayer.

I could feel the frantic beat of his heart against my own, a frantic drumbeat mirroring the turmoil within him. The words he had longed to hear, the affirmation he had dared not dream of, were finally spoken, hanging in the air between us like a fragile, precious thing. He must be feeling like he was in a dream he desperately didn’t want to wake up from.

She's finally with me. She loves me. She's mine.

The words echoed in his mind, a mantra of disbelief and desperate hope. Was this real? Or was it a cruel jest of fate, a fleeting illusion destined to shatter and leave him with nothing but the bitter taste of what could have been?

His mouth crashed against mine, a kiss born not of tenderness or affection, but of raw, unadulterated need. A searing, desperate kiss that stole my breath and left me reeling. It was a kiss that demanded, that consumed, that threatened to obliterate everything in its path. There was no gentleness, no pretense of courtly love. Only a primal hunger, a desperate yearning for connection that had been denied for far too long.

All the pain, the doubts, the anxieties, were momentarily eclipsed by this overwhelming need. This desperate longing for something real, something tangible, something to hold onto in the face of the darkness that had threatened to consume us.

Clothes became an unbearable constraint, a barrier to the intimacy we both craved. They were discarded with a frantic urgency, a desperate shedding of inhibitions and restraints. Buttons popped, zippers screeched, fabric tore, each sound a testament to the escalating frenzy that gripped us. The cool air kissed my skin, heightening my awareness, making every nerve ending sing with anticipation, anticipation for what was about to come.

The warmth of his skin against mine was intoxicating. His body, lean and muscular, was a masterpiece of raw power and sculpted grace. I traced a path from his face, down the strong column of his throat, across his defined collarbone, and over the hard planes of his chest. His abs were a testament to his discipline, a source of envy for men and a source of swooning pleasure for women.

His broad shoulders stretched like mountains, blocking my view of everything but him. He was my world, my focus, my everything in that moment. The only other thing that caught my eye was the silver chain I had gifted him, still around his neck, the dog tags rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing, a constant reminder of the man beneath the warrior.

I didn’t dare to look lower. Not yet. But I could feel his hardness pressing against my thigh, a silent promise of the pleasure to come. The anticipation was a delicious torment, a burning ache that demanded to be quenched.

Caleb's eyes burned into mine, a dark, hungry gaze that promised both ecstasy and oblivion. There was a possessiveness in his eyes, a fierce protectiveness that sent shivers down my spine.

"God," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "You're so fucking stunning. More so than I imagined while feeling the guilt over the years, thinking of you that way." He swallowed hard, his fingers brushing against my nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I swallowed my moan of pleasure and he continues, "I thought… I would die never knowing this feeling."

I leaned in, kissing his lips softly, letting my breath mingle with his. "Yet, I'm here. In front of you. With you as you touch me like you want me to," I whispered against his mouth. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my skin in a possessive claim.

He wanted to possess you, body and soul, to claim you as his own, to erase any trace of the world beyond your shared desire. He wanted to mark you, brand you, make you his in a way that transcended the physical. He wanted to lose himself in you, to forget the pain, the heartache, the years of longing. He only wanted to be in this moment, with you, forever. The darkness can engulf you both later.

“You’re my princess, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” I breathed, the single word a confession, a surrender. It was the truth, stark and undeniable. Every cell in my body vibrated with the knowledge that I belonged to him, Caleb. Completely and irrevocably. And in that moment, shrouded in shadows and consumed by a desire that felt both dangerous and divine, I didn't want to be anything else. The idea of belonging to someone had always seemed like a prison, a cage built of expectations and limitations. But with Caleb, it was different. It was a liberation, a feeling of being truly seen, truly known, and accepted – even celebrated – for the darkness that resided within me.

His teasing grin returned, that familiar curve of his lips that always sent a swarm of butterflies erupting in my stomach. It was a smile that held a universe of promises, of shared secrets and unspoken desires.

"You're awfully sweet right now. Be careful," he warned, his voice laced with amusement, a hint of something possessive lurking beneath the surface.

I flushed crimson, unable to meet his intense gaze. I knew he was teasing me, but the effect was undeniable. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm echoing the anticipation that pulsed through my veins.

His eyes, dark and fathomless, raked over my body, lingering on every curve and hollow. It was a slow, deliberate appraisal that made my skin prickle with awareness. He knelt back on his haunches, muscles flexing beneath the dark fabric of his briefs. That's when I noticed it – the hard ridge straining against his underwear, a blatant display of his desire. His cock.

It was huge. Unapologetically, undeniably huge. The outline was unmistakable, a testament to the raw power he possessed, a power he wielded with such effortless control. My gaze snagged on it, drawn by an invisible force.

As if sensing where my attention lay, my lips parted, breath catching in my throat as Caleb tugged his briefs down, freeing his shaft from its confinement. It sprang forth, a dark, throbbing entity slapping against his abdomen, a pearl of pre-cum already glistening at the head, a tantalizing invitation.

The curve of the tip was perfect, sculpted like some forbidden fruit, promising a pleasure that transcended the ordinary. I imagined the feel of it, the weight of it, the way it would fill me, stretch me, consume me. I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away, mesmerized by its potent allure.

"Like what you see?" he smirked, his voice a low, guttural rumble that vibrated through me. I flushed again, a wave of heat washing over me. I was caught, my desire laid bare for him to see, and I didn't know what to say. The deep chuckle that rumbled in his chest was my only response, a sound that sent shivers down my spine.

He wrapped his long fingers around his cock, giving it slow, deliberate strokes as I watched, completely enthralled. But then, his eyes shifted, a new glint in their depths, and his hand moved away from his cock.

Without waiting for an answer, his gaze drifted to the fruit bowl on the nearby coffee table. It was a still life of vibrant colors and enticing scents – oranges, bananas, a cluster of grapes. But my eyes were drawn to the apple, a single, perfect specimen, red like a ruby, nestled amongst the other fruits. It seemed to pulse with a life of its own, drawing me in with its irresistible allure.

Then, as if by magic, it happened. The apple lifted from the bowl, floating effortlessly through the air, guided by an unseen force. My breath caught in my throat, a gasp of disbelief escaping my lips. It was Caleb's power, the gravity evolution he controlled with such ease. Usually, it was a source of deadly fascination and awe, a display of his immense strength. But now, in this moment, it felt different. It felt like a tool of unbridled obsession, a way for him to exert his control over me in the most intimate and tantalizing way.

He manipulated the apple's trajectory with a subtle flick of his wrist, drawing it closer, closer, until it hovered just above my mouth. He met my gaze, his eyes now burning with an intensity that threatened to consume me.

"Open," he commanded, his voice a husky whisper that sent shivers dancing across my skin.

I obeyed, my lips parting slightly, anticipation building within me like a fire. The apple descended, the smooth skin brushing against my lips, the sweet scent filling my nostrils. It was a heady mix of innocence and temptation, a perfect representation of the man who controlled it. He guided it into my mouth, the cool, crisp flesh a stark contrast to the burning heat that coursed through my veins.

I bit down, the juice exploding on my tongue, the sweetness a momentary distraction from the inferno that raged within. The taste was almost cloying, but I couldn't pull away, couldn't break the connection he had forged between us.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise hitting me like a jolt of electricity. My core tightened, a wave of heat flooding my loins. The simple words, spoken in that low, possessive tone, were enough to shatter the last vestiges of my control.

He watched me, his eyes filled with a predatory gleam, a hunger that mirrored my own. His hand, warm and calloused, slid between my legs, fingers finding the wet heat that awaited him. I gasped at his first touch, the pleasure intense, almost unbearable. He started stroking me, teasing me, bringing me to the edge of madness with his relentless touch. The apple remained in my mouth, a tantalizing object of both pleasure and control, a constant reminder of his power over me.

His eyes flickered downward, watching as his fingers parted my folds like the petals of a flower. I was slick, so incredibly slick, my body betraying me with its desperate need. I started gushing around his fingers, a clear testament to the pleasure he was inflicting.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. He looked back at me, seeing my pleasure-filled face, wanting to capture every expression, every flicker of emotion that crossed my features. The shyness that usually clung to me was gone, banished by the intensity of the moment. I was raw, exposed, completely vulnerable to his gaze. "So responsive. Who would have thought?" He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light.

The words were playful, a teasing caress, but beneath the surface, I sensed a possessiveness that made my breath catch in my throat. This wasn't the Caleb I thought I knew, the charming, considerate man who had always spoiled me or taken care of me. This was something darker, something untamed, and a part of me, the part that craved the forbidden, was desperately curious.

"Last chance. Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Tell me you don't want this."

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a dare. But I couldn't. I was paralyzed, caught between fear and a desire so potent it threatened to consume me. I wanted to say no, to regain control, but the word died in my throat. His touch was doing things to my body which never happened to me before.

He seemed to take my silence as consent. While his warm fingers stroked my folds, his other hand moved lower, tracing the line of my ribs, the curve of my hips, igniting a firestorm in their wake. I gasped, arching into his touch, my body betraying my wavering resolve. He chuckled, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment, allowing him to dictate the pace.

"Open your eyes, pipsqueak," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "I want to see you when I touch you."

The command sent a shiver racing down my spine, a delicious blend of fear and excitement. He wanted to witness my surrender, to see the effect he had on me, to claim me utterly and completely with his gaze. And I, a willing captive, obeyed. My eyelids fluttered open, my gaze locking with his intense amethyst eyes, pools of simmering passion that threatened to drown me in their depths.

He was a study in contrasts, a beautiful paradox. His features were sharp and angular, hinting at a dangerous edge, yet softened by the curve of his lips and the intensity of his gaze. His skin, tanned and taut, stretched over muscles honed to perfection.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The apple which was in my mouth, fell out and it rolled down to the floor with a thud. The sudden climax hit me like a tidal wave, a surge of pure, unadulterated pleasure that ripped through my body, leaving me gasping and breathless. He had sunk two fingers inside me, stroking me deep and good, pushing me over the edge with his relentless expertise.

My body wasn’t in control anymore. It was fully his to manipulate, to worship, to break if he so desired. And in that moment, I knew I would let him. I would surrender everything, every last shred of resistance, to the man who held my heart captive in his dark and beautiful hands. I was his princess, his to command, his to possess, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

The aftermath left me weak and trembling, my body humming with residual energy. I laid there, spent, and Caleb leaned over me, his lips meeting mine in a soft, tender kiss that belied the intensity of what we had just shared.

"You look beautiful when you come," he murmured against my lips, his voice thick with emotion.

I could only blush and bite my lip as he watched, the heat rising in my cheeks. It was mortifying, to be so exposed, so vulnerable, yet at the same time, there was a thrilling liberation in casting off my inhibitions for him. He watched as my teeth sank into my plush bottom lip, the small act of self-inflicted pain arousing something primal within me.

His nostrils flared, and he knelt back, settling into a kneeling position between my legs, his briefs still pulled down, leaving only his magnificent erection exposed. The sight of him, so raw and uninhibited, sent another shiver of desire through me.

He was impatient, though. Not wanting distractions, my gasp is loud when he takes the fabric and tears it in two with his bare hands, his underwear now destroyed. The sound ripped through the air, a primal declaration of his need, and it echoed within me, setting my nerves on fire. I hadn't expected this level of intensity, this blatant disregard for anything but the moment.

"Caleb, what-" I started, my voice a breathless whisper but me cut me off.

"I need you," he rasped, the words rough and guttural, like a caged beast desperate for release but I don't let him touch me again.

I push against his bare chest, looking up at him as his eyes furrow. Confusion, and what might be hurt, flickered across his features, but I steeled myself, pushing past the guilt that threatened to overwhelm me. This was my moment, my chance to reciprocate, to explore the depths of our desire on my own terms.

"It's my time to touch you," I said, the words trembling slightly in the air.

His lips parted, his surprise for a second almost making me giggle. It was a small victory, a brief glimpse of the power I held over him. But I swallowed my nerves down when I watched him gulp, his fisted hands at his sides clenching.

He was so powerful, so in control, yet in this moment, I held the reins. The realization sent a thrill through me, a sense of empowerment I had never experienced before.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," I replied, my voice firm, resolute.

His amethyst eyes darkened then, blazing with an intensity that both thrilled and intimidated me. His legs spread wider in that same kneeling position on his heels, making him even more fiercer, more imposing. 

"Then look," he commanded, his voice a low rumble.

I looked down, my gaze drawn to the magnificent display of his masculinity.

"See what you do to me?" He whispered, noticing my eyes wandering over every inch of his exposed skin. He reached down, gently guiding my attention towards his obvious arousal. "Only you can make me this hard." His voice was rough with desire. "You want to touch it?"

He knew the answer before I even spoke. He knew the hunger that gnawed within me, the desperate yearning to explore the contours of his body, to taste the forbidden fruit of his desire. But still, he asked, giving me the choice, acknowledging my agency.

“You should know that I have never…” I trailed off, my voice laced with uncertainty.

"I know," he said softly, gently brushing my hair away from my face. "You're innocent... and that makes me want you even more." His hand guided mine to gently touch him. "Just... explore, if you want. No pressure." His breath caught slightly at my tentative touch, a visible reaction to my hesitant caress.

The weight and heat of him in my hand was startling, unfamiliar, but undeniably intoxicating. I felt a surge of power, knowing that I, with a simple touch, could elicit such a strong reaction from this powerful, dominant man.

I sit up, emboldened by his invitation, and wrap my hand around him.

His head tilted back slightly as my hand made contact. A hesitant touch, almost shy, as my fingers curled around his length. He was thick, unbelievably so, dwarfing my small hand. My fingers barely managed to encircle him once. His violet eyes, usually alight with playful mischief, were now dark pools, fixed on my face. He watched every flicker of emotion, every subtle change in my expression, noting the widening of my eyes, the slight parting of my lips. He saw my surprise, my innocent curiosity, and something else… a budding desire mirrored his own.

He was a creature of raw power, a wild animal barely leashed. The purple of his eyes was clouded with a potent desire that both thrilled and intimidated me. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscles working with a barely suppressed intensity. His abs, usually hidden beneath tailored shirts or his uniform, rippled with each heavy breath he drew, a testament to his barely contained energy. He looked as though he wanted to devour me, to pull me onto his lap in a possessive claim, wrapping his large arms around me, never letting go. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest.

"More," he commanded, the single word laced with a desperate need that sent shivers down my spine.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with an electricity that crackled between us.

My hand moved, exploring the length of him with newfound confidence, my fingers tracing the rigid contours. His hips twitched forward instinctively, a silent plea for deeper contact. A slick pre-come, pearly and thick, leaked out, coating my hand in a warm, viscous film. He was already so close to the edge, the precipice of his control, my innocent touches pushing him closer to the brink. He reached down, his large hand engulfing mine, his fingers strong and sure as he guided me in slow, deliberate strokes.

"Just like that..." he breathed, the words a ragged sigh against the heavy air.

"Like that?" I echoed, my voice barely a whisper, laced with uncertainty and a growing fascination.

His abs clenched and unclenched rhythmically as I followed his lead, stroking him slowly, deliberately, feeling the heat and the tension that vibrated beneath my touch. His face was a mask of exquisite torment, contorted with a pleasure that seemed almost painful. His purple eyes rolled back slightly, revealing the whites, as though he were lost in a world of pure sensation.

He spread his legs wider, granting me better access, offering himself to my touch with a primal abandon. "Yes... just like that," he groaned, his voice thick with barely suppressed passion.

Somehow, I had never imagined this. Never envisioned him like this, so raw, so vulnerable, yet so overwhelmingly powerful. The sight of him, teetering on the edge of control, ignited a fire within me, a desire to push him further, to watch him surrender completely to the pleasure I was now wielding. The longer I stared at him in this moment, the more I wanted him to lose control. To shatter the carefully constructed facade of composure and reveal the wild, untamed beast that lurked beneath.

Caleb’s breathing grew heavier, ragged gasps that filled the suddenly silent room. With each stroke of my hand, his control seemed to slip further, his body arching in response to the escalating pleasure. He was utterly lost in the sensation, his eyes glazed over, his jaw tight, the only evidence of the iron will he usually possessed. Then, with a low, guttural growl that resonated deep within my soul, he suddenly seized my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, halting my movements.

"Enough..." he rasped, his voice strained, his eyes burning into mine. "Enough, or I'm going to cum right here."

"Sorry…" The word tumbled out, a reflexive apology born of inexperience and a fear of overstepping.

"Baby, don't apologize," he chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

He released my wrist, his touch lingering for a moment before he let go completely. I hesitated for only a moment before resuming my ministrations, slowly pumping my hand over his engorged length. He watched my face with an intensity that made my heart pound, studying my innocent features, the slight parting of my lips, the small hand wrapped around his impressive length. His hips moved slightly forward, meeting my touch with a subtle urgency. He was teetering on the edge again, his self-control hanging by a thread.

"It's so big…" The words escaped my lips before I could stop them, a simple, honest observation that seemed to electrify the air between us.

His eyes darkened at my words, the violet transforming into a deep, almost black, purple. A slow smile spread across his face, revealing a flash of white teeth. He loved how innocent and sweet I was, even when I was touching him like this, when I held his power in my hand.

He reached down, his large hand enveloping mine once more, his fingers interlacing with mine, trapping my hand against his throbbing flesh. He began to move my hand faster, his hips thrusting up to meet my touch with a desperate need. "And it's all yours," he murmured, the words a husky promise whispered against my ear.

"Mine?" The question was barely audible, a breathless gasp of surprise and burgeoning desire.

I licked my lips, suddenly parched, the taste of him lingering on my tongue. Before he could anticipate my intentions, before he could stop me, I sat up, knelt on all fours, and leaned down, my breath warm and moist against his skin. With a slow, deliberate movement, I traced the head of his erection with the tip of my tongue.

Caleb let out a loud a surprised groan, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, as my tongue made contact. He buried his hands in my hair, his fingers threading through the strands, holding me gently but firmly against him as I repeated the action, my innocent exploration sending shockwaves of pleasure through his entire body. "Fuck, baby..." he groaned, the words torn from his throat.

He moved then, his hips jerking forward, forcing his length deeper into my mouth as I licked and teased him with my tongue. He was so close to the edge, his control shattering with each passing second.

The innocent depravity of my touch, the sight of my small mouth wrapped around his engorged flesh, pushed him closer and closer to the precipice. He started to thrust gently, his hands tangled in my hair, guiding me, controlling the pace and depth of my ministrations. "Suck me, baby…" he commanded, the words a desperate plea and an undeniable command.

Caleb looked down at me, his amethyst eyes dark and intense, devouring me with his gaze as he watched me struggle to accommodate his size. The sight of my eyes watering, my body trembling, the slight gagging sound as I took him deeper, only fueled his desire, pushing him closer to the edge of oblivion. He wiped away the tears that streamed down my face with his thumbs, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the raw intensity of his movements.

"You're doing so well, princess…" he murmured, his voice a husky encouragement.

He groaned loudly, a sound that bordered on pain, as I tightened my lips around him, my tears spilling down my cheeks, a testament to my effort and his overwhelming size. He was so close, my mouth and the sight of my tears pushing him over the edge. With a final, guttural cry, he thrust forward, his body arching, and he came, his hot seed erupting in shuddering waves, spilling into my mouth.

"Swallow it," he commanded, his voice raw and desperate.

Without hesitation, I obeyed, my throat working as I swallowed every drop, accepting his essence, taking him fully into myself. He watched, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath, his body trembling in the aftermath of the intense release. He wiped away the remaining tears from my face, his touch gentle, almost reverent, his mind reeling from the experience. He lifted me up into his lap, cradling me against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me as though he never wanted to let me go.

"My sweet baby, you took it all…" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"W…was it good?" I whispered, my voice shaky, my body trembling in the aftermath of the intense encounter, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for his response.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through my body. "Good? Princess, it was beyond good. It was…perfect." He tightened his grip on me, burying his face in my hair. "You're an amazing little thing, do you know that?"

His words were like a drug, soothing the raw edges of my fear, fueling the part of me that craved his attention. I wanted to believe him, to bask in the warmth of his praise, but a nagging doubt lingered in the back of my mind. Was it genuine, or was it just another manipulation, another way to keep me under his control?

He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark pools, unreadable and intense. "I can't wait to have you, princess," he said, his voice a low growl. "I want to feel you wrapped around me, every inch of you."

A thrill of anticipation shot through me, mingled with a healthy dose of apprehension.

It mingled, however, with a healthy dose of apprehension, a stark reminder of the power he held over me, the potential for both exquisite pleasure and devastating pain. The reality of his size, his sheer physicality, crashed back into my consciousness.

"Can we even fit?" The question blurted out before I could censor it, a nervous, almost comical query that shattered the carefully constructed tension. "You're...big." The word hung in the air, a testament to the undeniable scale of him, a daunting prospect that simultaneously terrified and intrigued me.

A slow, predatory smile stretched across his face, a silent promise of the pleasure – and the challenge – that awaited. "Oh, baby," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of something more primal. "We'll fit. I promise you, we'll make it fit." He shifted his weight, subtly pressing against me, a deliberate provocation that sent a renewed wave of heat surging through my veins.

He reached down, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of my hip, sending shivers dancing across my skin. "Don't underestimate my… ingenuity," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "I know how to make things… accommodate." The double entendre was unmistakable, a blatant and deliciously wicked tease that left me breathless.

He continued his tantalizing exploration, his fingers moving lower, tracing the line of my thigh with agonizing slowness. "We might have to get creative," he murmured, his voice a husky rasp. "A little bending, a little guiding… perhaps even a little persuasion." Each word was a deliberate stroke, painting a vivid picture in my mind, arousing a potent mixture of fear and undeniable excitement.

"And don't think for a moment that I haven't thought about every single angle, every possible position," he continued, his voice a hypnotic drawl. "I've imagined you beneath me, above me, beside me… twisted in ways you never thought possible." The images he conjured were both shocking and undeniably alluring, pushing the boundaries of my inhibitions, igniting a fire within me that threatened to consume me whole.

He pulled back slightly, his lilac eyes burning into mine. "Trust me, princess," he said, a dangerous glint in his gaze. "We'll find a way. We'll make it work. And it will be… unforgettable." He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above mine, a silent invitation to surrender to the intoxicating darkness he offered.

My breath hitched in my throat, my body trembling with anticipation. The fear was still there, a nagging undercurrent, but it was being drowned out by the overwhelming tide of desire. I knew, deep down, that giving in to him, allowing him to take control, was a dangerous game. But the allure was too strong, the temptation too irresistible. I wanted to experience the full extent of his power, to explore the depths of my own desires, to lose myself in the intoxicating darkness that he embodied.

With a shaky exhale, I closed the distance between us, my lips meeting his in a hesitant, tentative kiss. It was a silent agreement, a surrender to the inevitable.

He lowered me slowly back onto the plush velvet of the couch, his movements deliberate, each one a promise and a threat. He positioned himself over me, a dark silhouette against the dim light filtering through the curtains. His lips, usually so quick to form a smirk or a biting remark, were dry, almost cracked, and he worried them with his teeth as he watched me, his gaze intense and possessive. It was a gaze that stripped me bare, not just physically, but emotionally, leaving me vulnerable and exposed.

Lifting my right leg, he draped it over his broad shoulder, the angle both compromising and exhilarating. The stretch was uncomfortable, a sharp reminder of the boundary I was crossing, but the anticipation, the undeniable pull towards him, overshadowed the pain. He pushed himself closer, the heat radiating from his body branding me, and my eyes were drawn, almost against my will, to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. His cock, already rock-hard from the first time, pulsed with a life of its own, a stark contrast to the controlled, almost detached demeanor he usually presented.

Sweat beaded on his biceps, glistening in the subdued light. Rivulets traced paths down his sculpted abs. The silver chain he always wore, a constant reminder of my love for him, swayed slightly with each movement, catching the light like a fleeting spark of rebellion.

"Caleb, are you sure…" The question escaped my lips, a whisper of doubt despite the fire that raged within me. The sheer size of his cock, the undeniable reality of what was about to happen, sent a shiver of apprehension down my spine. But he only chuckled, a low, dark sound that resonated deep within my chest, sending a tremor of both fear and excitement through me. It was a crazed sound, a sound that hinted at the darkness that lurked beneath his carefully constructed facade.

He gripped his length, his hand a possessive caress that made me gasp. Positioning the tip against my entrance, he leaned over me, his weight pressing me into the cushions. My leg strained against the unnatural angle, the muscles screaming in protest, but the pain was a distant hum compared to the roaring in my ears. He breathed against my lips, his breath hot and ragged, laced with a hint of desperation. "You will take it like a good girl, without objections, hm?"

His words were a command, a challenge, and a promise all rolled into one. They ignited a fire deep within me, a primal response that silenced my doubts and amplified my desire. I was already wet, slick and ready, his slicked, swollen head brushing against my folds like a sinful kiss.

"What about protection?" I managed to whisper, the question a last-ditch attempt to cling to some semblance of control.

He didn't hesitate, his answer immediate and unapologetic. "I don't have any with me. I didn't envision us being naked tonight," he mocked, his voice a dark, teasing whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "So our first time will be raw. So I can feel your virgin walls tighten around me." He punctuated his words with a kiss, a searing brand that sealed my fate. "It's too late to back out, you know?"

A whimper escaped my lips, a sound that betrayed the conflict raging within me. Fear warred with anticipation, doubt battled against desire. But deep down, I knew he was right. It was too late. I couldn't wait any longer to feel him inside me, to be filled with him, to experience the raw, unbridled connection that had been building between us for so long. I desperately needed him.

"Then what are you waiting for?" The words were a surrender, an invitation, a plea.

Without warning, he pushed the tip inside me, and I gasped, the unexpectedness of the sensation stealing my breath. He chuckled, a sound laced with triumph and a hint of something darker, something that made my heart pound in my chest.

"That's for being sassy, you little ungrateful brat. Will you be good for me?"

I nodded, my movements small and submissive. Our saliva dripped between our parted lips as he stroked his tongue between my words, tasting my surrender.

"Good girl," His praise was a weapon, a tool he wielded with precision, knowing exactly how to elicit the response he desired. The words made me whimper again, a sound that quickly morphed into a choked moan as he sank another inch, the painful stretch almost blinding me. It was a pain unlike any I had ever experienced, a tearing, burning sensation that threatened to overwhelm me.

"Shit," he cursed, the word a harsh rasp against the sudden silence.

He could feel you, tight and resistant, and his cock pulsed with the overwhelming urge to release, to find release in the sweet confines of your virginity. But that would be a waste, a cruel denial of the pleasure he craved, the pleasure he wanted you both to experience.

"It…it…hurts," I moaned, my nails digging into his shoulders, drawing blood without him even noticing.

He was consumed, lost in the moment, oblivious to everything but the feel of you, the taste of you, the overwhelming sensation of being connected to you in this primal, forbidden way. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of sensation, forcing himself to slow down, to savor the agony and the ecstasy.

The sweat between us was hot, a slick film that bound us together.

His right hand, the one that had been caressing my jaw, now tightened around my throat, the metal of his fingers cool against my skin. The pressure was subtle, a gentle reminder of his power, his control.

"You're doing so good, baby. Just a little more," Caleb grunted, pushing himself even deeper, lost in the intoxicating haze of the moment.

He was too far gone to stop now, consumed by the realization that his darkest fantasy was unfolding before him. You were beneath him, naked and vulnerable, raw and breathtakingly beautiful. He wanted to freeze this moment, to hold onto it forever, to never let you go.

Tears streamed down my face, a mixture of pain and pleasure, of fear and exhilaration. It wasn't just the physical discomfort that brought them forth, but the overwhelming emotion of the moment, the profound connection that was forming between us. It was a joy to finally feel this, to feel full, to feel complete in a way I never had before.

Caleb moaned again, the sound guttural and raw, sending shivers down my spine. He removed his hand from my throat, bracing his forearm beside my head on the armrest of the couch. His fingers were clenched into a fist, a testament to the self-control he was exerting. With his other hand, he guided his cock deeper, inch by excruciating inch.

"Caleb, oh-" I couldn't stop myself from moaning his name, the sound a desperate plea that spurred him on even more. He suddenly rammed himself fully inside, all seven and a half inches of him breaching my virgin walls.

The pain was shocking, a blinding wave that washed over me, stealing my breath and leaving me momentarily paralyzed. My lips parted in a silent whimper, my body arching against his.

Caleb froze, completely still, like a statue of steel against my trembling flesh.

"I'm sorry, baby. You just feel so good," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. He looked down at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of remorse and desire. He wiped the tears from my face, his touch gentle and surprisingly tender. "Just a moment, and the pain will fade away, all right?" He kissed my temple, a soft, lingering gesture that offered solace and reassurance. I shifted uncomfortably beneath him, and the pain began to subside, slowly transforming into something else, something almost…pleasurable.

"You can move…I think…" My voice was hoarse, my throat dry.

Caleb clenched his jaw, staring down at me with an intensity that made my heart pound. He pulled back slightly, his cock dragging against my sensitive flesh, teasing me, torturing me. He retreated until only the tip remained inside, hovering just at the edge of my entrance. The sensation was exquisite, agonizing, unbearable. The feeling of being almost empty sparked a desperate need within me, a primal urge to be filled again, to be consumed by him. I clenched around his head, my muscles contracting in a silent plea, begging him to sink back inside. I dug my nails into his skin, desperate for purchase, desperate for release.

He watched my expression, his eyes dark and knowing. And then, without warning, he thrust forward, burying himself deep within me.

My clit met his pelvic bone, sending a jolt of pure pleasure through my body. We both moaned, the sound a primal symphony of pain and ecstasy. Each thrust was more intense than the last, each drag against my sensitive flesh driving me closer to the edge. He seemed drunk on my pussy, lost in the intoxicating sensation of being inside me. The look in his eyes was feral, untamed, as he fucked me with a desperate hunger, as if he had been starving for this moment for his entire life.

My whimpers and moans grew louder, the sounds punctuated by gasps of breath. Words became gibberish, meaningless sounds that escaped my lips as I surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. His chain swayed between us, a distracting glint of silver against the darkening landscape of our passion. He caught it between his teeth, the metal cold against his lips, and grabbed my leg, lifting my hip to ram even deeper, his balls slapping against my ass with each thrust.

"Your pussy's so...fucking...good," he grunted, his words raw and unfiltered. He looked feral, his eyes glazed with desire, his face flushed with exertion.

The air crackled with a dark, erotic charge. He teased, tormented, pushing me to the edge, then pulling me back, denying me the release I craved. He demanded my surrender, not just of my body, but of my will.

"Beg me to come, princess. Then maybe I will allow you to fly."

Too weak to resist, I obeyed.

"Please," I whimpered, the word a desperate plea torn from my throat. "Caleb, please…"

He ignored my pleas, increasing the pace, the force of his thrusts. Each stroke was a calculated torment, designed to push me closer to the precipice. The anticipation was excruciating, a delicious torture that stretched on for an eternity. I clawed at his back, my nails digging into his flesh, desperate for purchase in the storm raging within me.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Caleb relented. He unleashed the torrent, allowing me to teeter over the edge. The world exploded in a kaleidoscope of sensations, a blinding rush of pure, unadulterated pleasure. My body convulsed, my muscles tightened, and a strangled cry escaped my lips as I plummeted into the abyss.

He didn't stop there. He rode the wave with me, meeting my climax with his own. With long, powerful strokes, he pushed me further, deeper, until I thought I would shatter into a million pieces. And then, finally, he unleashed his own storm, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside me, filling me to the brim. His seed pulsed within me, a tangible symbol of our transgression, a dark promise of the bond we had forged in the crucible of lust.

My whimpers were loud now, fueled by the aftershocks of the orgasm that still coursed through my veins.

"Such a good girl." He praised me, his voice rough and low.

He savored the moment, not wanting to waste a single drop of his essence. He thrust back inside, deeper than before, his eyes locked onto the juncture of our bodies. He stared down at the place where we were joined, where my virginity had been sacrificed on the altar of his desire. My blood, a crimson stain against the cream coloured couch, seemed to give him a deep satisfaction, a confirmation that he was the first, the one who had claimed you.

Exhaustion washed over me, a heavy blanket that threatened to pull me under. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, to escape the intensity of the moment, to retreat into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

But Caleb had other ideas. He wasn't finished with me yet.

He scooped me into his arms, carrying me towards the bathroom. "I'm going to take care of you now," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear. That same caring, affectionate Caleb was back, reminding me of the old days again.

He promised me of the "special hair drying care" again which he had started when he first came to my apartment tonight, a dark threat veiled in a promise of pleasure. I was too weak to resist, too lost in the aftermath of our encounter to fight him. I complied, surrendering myself to his will, accepting my fate as his captive, his possession.

Under the warm spray of the shower, he washed away the evidence of our sin, but not the memory.

Each touch, each caress, was a reminder of the power he held over me, the dark desire that bound us together.

The warm water swirled around me, a comforting embrace that did little to soothe the unease coiled tight in my stomach. Caleb’s touch was feather-light, a deliberate caress as he guided the soapy sponge down my arm. "Are you warm enough, my love?" he murmured, his voice a silken thread weaving through the steamy air. "The water's just how you like it, isn't it?"

I leaned into him, the familiar scent of his sandalwood soap filling my senses. "Perfect, Caleb. Just perfect."

His hands moved to my hair, the suds cool against my scalp as he began to massage. It was a familiar ritual, one I usually found deeply relaxing. Tonight, however, a tremor of something akin to apprehension ran through me.

"Mmm, your hair smells like honeysuckle again," he said, his voice dropping a register, becoming intimately close. "I love it when you use that shampoo. It reminds me of the times when we were young and naive. Thinking back..it was like fate."

A smile touched my lips, a fragile thing. "It does feel like fate, doesn't it?"

His fingers stilled for a moment, the gentle rhythm broken. When he spoke again, the lightness had vanished from his tone, replaced by an intensity that always left me breathless. "It is fate. You were always meant to be mine. Do you understand that, princess?"

I turned my face up to his, meeting his gaze. His eyes, usually a warm purple, were now dark pools, reflecting a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. "Yes, Caleb. I do." The words were a reflex, a response I knew he needed to hear.

He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing slow circles on my cheekbones. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, yet there was an underlying strength, a claim being staked.

"Good. Because sometimes… sometimes I worry. I see the way others look at you. They don't understand. They don't see what I see. They don't deserve to see."

A chill, unrelated to the water temperature, prickled my skin. I reached up, placing my hands over his wrists, my fingers pressing against the pulse that throbbed there. "They don't matter, Caleb. Only you matter."

A relieved sigh escaped him, a gust of air that ruffled the damp tendrils of hair framing my face. "That's right. Only me. And you… you are only mine. Every inch of you. This beautiful skin…" He dipped the sponge again, his touch lingering on my shoulder. "…these soft curves…" His fingers trailed down my back, sending shivers dancing across my spine. “…all mine."

"Yes, Caleb. All yours," I whispered, the words a surrender, a promise.

He pulled me closer, the water cascading over both of us, plastering my hair to my face. His voice was a low murmur against my ear, a secret shared in the intimacy of the moment. "No one will ever take you away from me. Do you hear me? No one. They can try, but…" He paused, the darkness that lurked beneath the surface creeping into his tone. "…they will fail."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me: fear, yes, but also a strange sense of security. There was a raw power in his words, a certainty that both terrified and thrilled me. I wrapped my arms around him tightly, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor in a turbulent sea. "I don't want anyone else, Caleb. I only want you."

He kissed my temple, his lips lingering against my skin, branding me. His embrace tightened, possessive and demanding. "And you'll always have me. I'll always be here, watching over you, protecting you. You can't run from me, even if you wanted to."

Tilting my head back, I looked up at him, forcing a soft smile onto my face. "I don't want to run. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be." It was a lie, perhaps, or at least a half-truth. There were days, nights even, when the weight of his devotion felt like a gilded cage, beautiful but confining. But the alternative, the thought of not being with him, was even more terrifying.

His grip tightened further, his knuckles white against my back, but his voice softened again, becoming almost achingly tender. "My sweet, precious… You are my everything."

The sound of the water continued, a constant, swirling symphony that filled the silence as Caleb held me close. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feel of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart against my ear. It was a silent promise of forever, a forever that both comforted and haunted me.

I knew, deep down, that Caleb's love was a dangerous thing, a consuming fire that threatened to engulf everything in its path. But I was drawn to it, mesmerized by its intensity. He saw me, truly saw me, in a way no one else ever had. He cherished me, protected me, even if that protection came at a cost.

And perhaps, I thought, as I leaned further into his embrace, that was enough. Perhaps being his, completely and utterly, was a price I was willing to pay. The alternative, a life without his fierce devotion, was a bleak and desolate landscape I couldn't bear to imagine. So I stayed, bathed in the warmth of his possessive love, and prayed that the darkness that flickered in his eyes would never consume us both. I prayed that my love would be enough to keep him tethered to reality, to prevent his obsession from spiraling out of control.

But deep down, a chilling voice whispered that it was already too late. That I was already caught in his web, bound by threads of love and fear, and that there was no escape. And perhaps, a small, secret part of me didn't want to escape. Perhaps I was as addicted to his darkness as he was to my light.

[sematarygirls]

🍼 ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ ─── rafe thinks academic!reader wants a baby

   Rafe was absolutely certain that you were trying to subtly hint at wanting to have a baby with him. At the first comment, he assumed you were ovulating because you always did get a little bit of baby fever when you were, but then, you just kept showering him with random facts about the development of infants and toddlers to the point that he started to believe you were dropping hints.

Rafe wasn't someone who liked to play games. He preferred to be told things straight up, no beating around the bush, but being with you, he'd noticed that you had a habit of trying to subtly slide what you wanted into conversation, so you didn't have to directly ask. Almost like you were trying to make him think it was his idea, not yours—apparently, those psychology classes were really paying off.

It had gotten to the point where he had confided in Topper and Kelce, asking them if that's how it sounded to them—bad idea, Topper and Kelce are the last people to go to for relationship advice—to which they both agreed that it definitely sounded as though you were trying to suggest Rafe should get you pregnant.

The idea was completely out of the blue. You both were still so young, and you were still in school trying to get your degree in psychology. You two had only been dating for a couple of months and had never discussed marriage or engagement because it all felt so new to both of you. After all, Rafe was still reforming from his playboy ways and party lifestyle, and you hadn't been in many relationships prior to being with him.

He had originally decided to try his best to ignore your little comments, hoping you would eventually drop the subject altogether. Rafe had never really thought about kids, and he definitely didn't think he was dad material, his fear of turning out like his own father overshadowing the desire deep down to have a child—one he often pushed aside and tried to ignore.

But, you hadn't given up. If anything, it seemed like your mentions of children became more and more frequent—whether that was true or he just believed it was because he was hard-core stressing about it remained unclear. Eventually, Rafe decided he had to address it and make sure you knew that he wasn't planning on having kids with you antime soon, even if it seemed a little harsh to say considering how enthusiastic you seemed.

"Did you know after about a year, the pace at which children learn words accelerates rapidly, and by eighteen months, the average child is learning a new word every day?" You tore your gaze away from your phone screen to look over at him, a bright, proud smile on your face. You were sat in the passenger seat of his truck after he picked you up from your classes, intending to bring you back to Tannyhill, so you two could hang out.

"Okay, you've really gotta cut that shit out," Rafe said, a lot harsher than he intended to. He had already had a bad day, and he just wanted to relax with his girlfriend, not try to decode you and your baby talk. He was tired of dancing around the issue, and his stress only brought that out, making him snap at you.

Your brows furrowed, smile faltering at his words. He had never spoken to you like that before, and you couldn't for the life of you figure out why a little fact of all things had elicited such a reaction. He usually loved hearing all about your little facts, constantly telling you how sexy your intellect was to him. "What?" You simply asked, too hurt and confused to vocalize why his outburst seemed so completely out of the blue.

"Listen I," he took a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel tightening for a moment before he relaxed again. "I don't want to have a baby with you," he said bluntly. Noticing how cruel that may have sounded, he decided to add an: "Atleast... not right now, alright?"

Your face was a mask of pure confusion. You weren't so much hurt anymore as utterly lost. Where did the topic of you two having children come from? "Rafe, what are you talking about?" You asked, not understanding where he could have possibly got the idea that you wanted to have a baby with him.

He glanced over at you, his own features morphing into an expression that mirrored yours. "All the baby facts and shit. I thought," he paused, wondering if he had read the situation all wrong, but that didn't make sense. It had been pretty fucking apparent to him, Topper, and Kelce that you were dropping baby hints. "I thought you were... yknow trying to tell me something."

You processed the new information for a moment before bursting into laughter to which Rafe glanced rapidly between you and the road, his brows only furrowing farther as he watched you laugh as if he'd said the most hilarious thing conceivable. "Oh, baby," you said softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder when your fit of hysterics finally died down. "No, I definitely was not hinting at anything. I am so swamped with school and work that I barely have time for you, let alone a child."

"What?" Rafe asked, relief flooding through him at your confirmation that you weren't trying to subconsciously trick him into wanting a baby with you through your little psychology tricks. Simultaneously, he felt extremely dumbfounded as to your motivations. "Then why have you been talking about kids so much recently?" He quirked an eyebrow, pulling into the driveway of his family's estate.

"Because we're covering the development and learning unit in my psych course, which obviously focuses a lot on the earlier stages of life aka infancy and childhood," you explained, watching realization dawn on him like a light bulb turning on in a dark, empty room. "I didn't think I had to spell that out for you since i'm always hitting you with random facts from class."

Rafe parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt so he could turn to face you. "Okay, so just to be crystal clear, you weren't trying to use fuckin'...i dont know- subliminal messaging and weird psychobabble voodoo to like, make me want to get you pregnant?"

You laughed, unbuckling your own seatbelt, so you could face him too. "No, you idiot. You're so ridiculous," you grinned, leaning over to give him a peck on the lips. "I promise you I don't want children right now, and if that ever changes, I will talk to you about it and not use subliminal messaging or weird psychobabble voodo."

"Okay, good," he nodded, opening his car door. "Topper and Kelce swore that you were trying to play some kind of mind game."

"Why would you listen to Topper and Kelce of all people?" You asked, following suit in getting out of the car, your brows furrowing as he mentioned the two people who have yet to hold a stable, healthy relationship for any period of time. "They're the world's biggest idiots."

"Yeah, you're right," he grinned, walking over to you and slinging his arm around your shoulder as you two walked to the front door. "I'm sorry for snapping at you," he murmured. pressing a kiss to your temple.

"It's okay," you reassured him, sliding your hand onto his back and rubbing soft, soothing circles. "Just promise you'll talk to me next time instead of letting it build up and fester until you get to the point where you feel like snapping."

"I promise," he vowed, ushering you into the house. "Now let me show you—my beautiful, intelligent, and amazing girlfriend—how sorry I really am," he gave your ass a little tap, making his intentions clear as he steered you toward the staircase, your giggles echoing through the empty house.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @xoxohoneymoongirl / @bradshawed / @fallbhind

[limerlove]

≛ LONELY IS THE MUSE!

❝ ABBY!CENTRIC ONE SHOT ❞

feat. bodyguard!abby x famous actor!reader

warnings. eighteen+, suggestive nsfw content: reader fell first nd and abby fell harder, some angst, fluff, slightly coded fem reader, personal trainer!abby, just two idiots pining. i saw the discourse for some romance and i wanted to do my part. enjoy friends.

LONELY IS THE MUSE, entangled in an endless web of a high profile life, everyone waiting on you hand and foot, hollywood’s star in their prime — everyone needing a piece for themselves. yet the mysterious blonde who has not a clue to who you are catches the eye of the lonely muse.

wc. 8k

“You know you don’t have to stand this close to me.” Abby counters, but her words didn’t make you move an inch. Not that she really thought they would. Secretly, she enjoys your gentle touch. She likes how comfortable you feel around her. The downpour in New York has your arm entangled with her own, your hand gripping her bicep as she holds the umbrella.

“Maybe, but I don’t want to ruin my hair.” You replied gently, as you rested your head against her relaxed bicep.

“God, forbid your hair be in ruin, sweet girl.” Abby’s wet lips look inviting, especially when she’s smirking at you. Delectable, enticing, desired seeping underneath your soul as you try your best to keep them at bay. 

“Now that would be positively tragic, wouldn’t it? Just a paparazzi’s wet dream. Need my hair in ruins for them to get a handsome payday.” Abby shakes her head, the budding smile threatening to reveal itself. You can see how it grows, despite the effort she makes to disguise it. 

“I think you do enjoy my company. Paid or not, I bring some light into your life.” You play with the ends of her hair. The blonde feels a tingle pricking at her skin. She ignores it. 

“I can see that smile.” 

Better than anyone, Abby knows the gleam in your eyes is too dangerous to entertain, so she looks forward. It’s what she's paid to do, to keep you safe. Not to entertain some weird crush that will soon pass when you move on to the next actress, artist, or producer. She doesn’t need a reminder of how different your world is, she’s already abundantly clear on where the both of you stand. Worlds apart from each other, even if you’re leaning against her, the greedy hands of the public grab onto you first, mercilessly sucking the life out of anyone who enters your life. 

All it does is isolate you, making your life incredibly lonely. Trapped on the throne you built with your raw talent, but the industry is a double edged sword, as much as it appears to lift you up, it impales any sense of normalcy at a private, peaceful life. You take pride in these little moments you have with her. It’s the only time you get to have a taste of normalcy, even if you did have a bodyguard, which wasn’t entirely normal. Yet, Abby is a gentle reminder of a life she wishes to have. Someone who is kind, and loving; a soul that exists for no selfish gain, greed, or selfishness. 

Sometimes, you take advantage of it. 

Abby knows you crave physical affection. Ever since your messy break up, you’ve been finding any little excuse to justify it. Abby didn’t really mind at all. Even if she tried to deny it in her head, she’d miss it if you stopped. The incessant need you have to be close to her at all times, your essence bleeding on to her, suffocating her with everything she wants, but knows she can’t ever let herself dip into the deepest edges of you. 

Especially, not when you are still attempting to decode the wreckage of your last relationship. 

Abby hates seeing you like this, but she knew there was little she could do to help. All she could do is let you ride the wave of heartbreak, take in the silent tears hitting full cheeks, and hope it would all end soon for you. For now, she would allow immediate proximity.

You’re hurting. You need it.  

The first few weeks, even a couple months after, she expects it. Now it’s month four, and you were still touching her all the time. Lame excuses falling from your lips daily and Abby was sure you didn’t even believe them. She thought about bringing it up to you, establishing healthy boundaries before she crosses a line.

Yet, it feels…nice.

It felt good to be needed. The reason she had taken this job in the first place. It wasn’t what she had imagined for herself – a bodyguard of a famous musician. She jokes about it now, but it's a twisted fate for the two of you. Your eyes shine bright whenever someone asks, and you always take the lead.

Abby has always been more reserved, and your personality is as bright as the sun. She liked Abby the second she laid eyes on her. Not because she was beautiful or the most gorgeous human she’d ever seen.

Which she is.

No.

Her stupid pounding heart, the one she felt beating violently out of her chest, loves you, has no idea who she is.  She had thought possibly the blonde stranger was putting on a front, some did. They liked to conceal their intentions behind greedy eyes and malicious intent.

But Abby turned out to be different.

When a blossoming friendship turned into a job opportunity, it took Abby through a loop. It was the very last thing she was expecting from you. You’d kept her in the dark and when you announced exactly who you were, Abby really didn’t know. Never was she really a fan of social media, didn’t really partake in it unless someone was showing her the latest trend going around. She’s a little old fashioned but she likes it. It worked in her favor when it came to you. Unknowingly, for the first time since your fame struck as quick as lightning, you had the pleasure to befriend someone who had no idea who you were. 

As fresh as breathing your first breath of air, you took pride in the circumstance. Someone enjoying your company for who they are and not just for your social standing, fame, or most importantly the money. Before either of you could really even fully come to it, Abby has become such an influential person in your life, and then you were attempting to entice her with a job opportunity, and she accepted. 

You thought it would take longer and knew from the moment you had asked. But her life was uprooted by you, and she felt guilty about how much it fills her up with glee. 

In the last year, Abby became the only person worthy of your trust, the only one who would keep your confessions confined, not letting the secrets drip like cheap wine down the drain. Rather more as if she was out in the vineyard, carefully hand picking the grapes for the wine as she crafts it herself. Giving it the love, care, and attention it needs to flourish into fine beverage. From one sip alone, knowing she would crave for the taste. 

Getting to know you in ways some would dream of. Often, the mass of the public did, but you’re more selective who you let in your life now. Swiftly, you noticed how easily Abby listened. 

Listening and seeing you for who you are, not some strewed version the media made you out to be.  

She understood why you felt the need to and maybe why you felt comfortable with her. You spent time with her more than anyone. After two years together, she had learned every little detail about you. Where you liked to get your morning coffee, your favorite brunch spot, which bar you like to frequent when you had a night to give, which gym was your favorite, and to not speak with you until you’ve had said coffee. 

It’s these little things Abby remembers, constantly getting her in trouble.

When paparazzi are around, you always accept her hand as she guides you through the swarming crowd. Abby knows you despise it. How inhumane it makes you feel. You feel like an attraction, an object the masses had come to see rather than being viewed as an actual person. In these moments, you cling onto Abby the most. While she’s intimidating to all, there leaves a small exception for you, never has she once been anything to you more than just a sweet, gentle giant she wants close to her at all times. 

Her stature is standing a little over six feet tall. Her arms always looked too good against the tight fabric of her shirt. The one you grip onto as she is navigating through a crowd with you in tow, she’s always focused. The remainder of your team was behind you, while she was always in front of you.

At all times, protecting you.

But it was moments like today, you were grateful for. You blended with the hectic life of the city. You were just two people waiting at a crosswalk, waiting to get to your next destination.

Abby tries not to pay too much attention to how you’re squeezing her bicep, with a strong grip further indication you weren’t letting go anytime soon.

She supposes it’s better than feeling your hand in hers. There were times when Abby deemed it necessary. She would grab it whenever she needed to get you through from point a to point b, quickly. It made you follow her pace instead of lingering behind. She didn’t even know how she was supposed to feel with your head resting against her arm, your body so close to hers.

How was she supposed to act normally?

The rumors were already getting bad. You denied them when asked, and you did gracefully each time.

All Abby could think about if this moment was captured, it would be perceived as intimate. It felt like it was, but she didn’t want the entire world to see. Not when she felt the two of you walking this very nimble line of friends, something professional, and something more. She didn’t need thousands of eyes giving their two senses in a situation she didn’t even fully understand yet. All it took was one person to snap a photo if she gets too close to you. If her touch stayed on you for too long, or if she let the love reach her eyes. The ladder was the most difficult to control. It’s a part of her just as much as the air in her lungs.

This life is new to her. At times, Abby wondered if she’s biting off more than she could chew.

The only reason she’d left was for you. She had a small, quiet life. Abby’s life was very average, a cloud of normalcy hovered above her before the two of you met. A personal trainer full time and she resided in a cabin about half an hour from where she worked. She chopped wood to relieve stress, Her girlfriend liked it at the time, and she did too. She had her two dogs, and a darling kitten. 

She enjoyed the privacy. The isolated countryside her sweet family could reside in. Abby had built this life she was proud of, and it made her happy. For a time, it worked. She was genuinely content with where she was. There wasn’t a need to stress or control where her life was going. It felt like a huge relief. She tended to live inside her own head, not be present in what she has right in front her.

It had been months since she felt like that. It’d felt good and she was proud of herself for not succumbing from within and really coming to terms with what she had built around her. This was the most difficult route for her to take. To allow herself to be open, even if there was a chance of her falling.

Abby really should have felt remorseful for leaving it all behind.

Nora was sweet. The most caring partner she ever had, but there wasn’t much she could compare it to. Besides her, there had only been two, and she didn’t even count Owen. A long misstep until she landed where she needed to be. He did care for her, and he seemed to be more kind-hearted than most men, but the bar was set so low, he should’ve exceeded expectations.

And he did, in some areas.

Others, he fell more than flat but there was little to nothing he could do about it. Abby likes girls and he wasn’t one. Her sexuality shattered their relationship into a million pieces – leaving neither of them any option but to move on.

Nora felt real. This genuine connection she’d never experienced before. Abby knew it one year into their relationship. The pair had built this life together, one where she didn’t feel trapped in, and one Abby could be proud of. She felt acknowledged and loved Nora. There wasn’t a sliver of a doubt in her mind this where she needed to be.

She tells Nora when she needs space, and she isn’t ashamed of it. If she didn’t want to go out, Nora wouldn’t guilt trip her into it. Abby didn’t feel pressured to intertwine her identity with Nora just because they were together. Nora hardly ever gave Abby a reason to be upset. She showed up like partners were supposed to, even when Abby didn’t.

But it was a heavy weight to carry for Nora. Being her first serious queer relationship, Abby was left stunted in areas where Nora had to lend a helping hand. She never made Abby feel bad about it, but the two of them could feel the string keeping them threatening to snap.

Often, it frustrated Abby. To always be the one receiving help and never giving it. She didn't blame her partner, but she was left at a crossroad. 

She never understood Owen more and it really pissed her off.

To no fucking end.

But Nora was far more patient than Abby had ever shown. Maybe it was the testament to love or maybe Nora was just a good person and Abby is shitty. She had more patience than Mother Thersea herself, and it amazed her. Always guiding Abby with a gentle hand, never getting upset with her even when she let her anger shine through.

It makes her feel undeserving of a love she could never earn.

This pure and untainted love had never touched her before, and she’d never fallen this hard. Abby didn’t want to be anywhere but here. She really thought this could be it. Nora could be the one. They could get through those hardships together, right? 

Then you came and overwhelmed her like a tsunami.

She was running late, which was completely out of the ordinary for Abby. Instead of her neat braid, her sun kissed-blonde hair was in a low bun. Underneath her eyes was evidence of her lack of sleep. She hadn’t been getting any as of lately and the bags only seemed to get deeper.

Abby wouldn’t call the fights constant, but it sure did feel like it.

The back and forth, having the same fight consistently. Abby was more than frustrated. The biggest efforts she made were dismissed by Nora, even making her upset at times. She was trying too hard and being annoying, or not doing enough and then it meant she wasn’t present in the relationship.

Abby felt her stuck at a wall, Nora on the other side of it and she couldn’t hear a damn thing.

So, she was running late.

One of the many fights  they’ve had with each other as of late. Nora is tired of dealing with a “baby gay” as she likes to remind her in the heat of their arguments. Abby gets offended, her lips forming into an even deeper pout, her porcelain skin flushed in anger before she gives them both space. 

Contemplating about the future of their relationship in the shower, causing her to be late to work in the process. 

Astronomically behind – her client arrived at the gym she worked at half an hour ago. The most recent argument with Nora plagued her morning. All they seem to do is argue, trapped in what they both need from the relationship, but all the two of them could do is argue, argue, argue.

But neither of them makes a move. They are still as the eerie silence that carries them into questioning. 

It’s when she’s too inside her head, fearing about the future, when she violently bumps into you. Body colliding with yours, Abby’s stone-like build causes you to crash into the pavement, your belongings scatter along with Abby’s. 

“Fuck. Are you alright? Sorry, I’m in such a hurry, I’m sure I wasn’t even paying attention.” You let her pick you from the ground, she does with ease. She looks right through you and you expect the excitement, the excited tears, or to be asked for a picture but it never comes.   

“For a moment I thought I ran into a wall—” You giggle to yourself. “Really, I’m alright.” You spoke softly. You pick up both of your belongings that had slipped from both of your grips, returning it to its owner. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Abby asks again. 

You think it’s cute how much lace of concern is conveyed in her cerulean eyes, full of light and wonder, so beautiful it stops you in your tracks. 

“No no! I’m fine! Really don’t worry about it.” 

Honestly, you’re still in amazement she has no idea who you are. It makes your fondness of her grow even more. The two of you depart quickly, go about your day, and you think nothing of it until you go to unlock your phone to message your manager and it’s not a picture of the moon you’d taken during the eclipse, it’s the mysteriously hot and kind woman you’d run into before. 

Shit. She has my phone. 

Lucky for you, Abby was coming to the same realization. Ready to bring out the workout she had planned out for her first client, opening her phone to access where she had written everything out only to find this isn’t her phone. Well, fuck. 

Abby hollers at Dina to take over the client for a moment, excusing herself for a moment before retreating into the office to call from her direct line. 

Idiot Anderson. Now you get to make an idiot of yourself, twice. 

Way to go. 

She calls her phone and it rings a few times before the familiar voice chimes through the speaker, the one she heard this morning during her fit of anxiety. 

“Please tell me this is the woman I ran into earlier or else I’m going to be even more embarrassed for answering a stranger's phone.” 

“Well you’re in luck.” 

“Oh thank fuck—” You curse yourself before being so vulgar with someone who you didn’t even know. “Sorry! God, this is all my fault. I must have swapped our phones when I picked them up and didn’t even realize.” 

“It’s okay, really, if I was paying attention where I was walking this morning it never would have happened. Did you wanna meet?” 

“No! Let me. Please, this is all my fault. I should at least be the one who makes the drive.” 

“Are you sure? It’s really no trouble. I don’t mind.” 

“I’m really sure.” 

Abby offers the address of work, thinking once after she does if it’s a good idea, a total stranger knowing where she works but she’s already giving the street name and suite number before she can even make her mind. Abby usually doesn’t get nervous but this situation has sent her into a frenzy, thinking about how dumb she could have been. Nora will get a good laugh out of it she thinks, then she is reminded of the fight the two of them were still in. She wonders if she’s even tried to reach out to her yet or if Nora’s just waiting until Abby’s anger rolls over. 

More favorably, the ladder. 

Until the two of them have the comfort of their lives, the cushion they have between their shared friends and the home they share twenty minutes out of the state, until it comes up again and they’ll be contemplating it all over again. Anxiously, the front desk girl, Bevs, the younger girl who has a crush on her, shyly comes up to her. 

Bevs says what she assumes is your name, confusing Abby in the process. 

“You know her?” 

“How could you not? She’s one of the most famous actresses ever.” Abby is stunned to say the least. Truthfully, she had no idea. Her lack of social media keeps her out of the loop and as much as her friends tease her about, if Abby knew who you were the first time around, she’s sure she wouldn’t have been able to say more than two words. Clearly, you’re a fresh face to her. Already, Abby knows Manny is going to have a field day when Bevs lets this information spill in her sheer excitement. 

Great, she thinks. 

“Oh.” 

“I put her in your office. Some of the clients were already starting to have questioning looks, putting the pieces together. Hey! Maybe they're as clueless as you.” 

“Bevs, go back to the front desk.” With a curt nod and realizing she has pushed too far, with a tail between her legs she retreats back to her post. 

Okay, Anderson, let’s get this over with. 

Abby smells you the minute she steps foot in her office. It’s not the usual pinewood scent the candle in her office radiates. There’s a lingering smell of lavender with just a hit of vanilla. It’s sweet as it engulfs her nostrils, she finds herself sniffling slightly, a silent beg for more of it. You’re standing the minute you’re aware of her presence. Painfully, Abby is aware of her lack of clothing. The tight sport jacket is left unopened, her black sweatpants, accompanied with her sports bra, abs on display as she watches your eyes examine her carefully. 

She’s not sure how to feel about it. 

There is a moment, a short one where your eyes go to her chest, the silver barbells constricting against the small fabric, clear as to what lies beneath. 

Abby does smirk at that. She’s only human. 

You keep staring at her for a minute longer, well it feels like one but Abby deems it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” 

“It’s really not a problem.” The more time goes on, the sweeter you are. “It’s pretty close to where I live.” 

Abby didn’t know it then but you were lying straight through your teeth. The trainer didn’t know you moved around your entire day to make the phone swap or the butterflies swarming your stomach from just how attractive and nice she seemed to be. There was something about her that sent your caution flying to the wind, drifting in the leaves with the rest of your pride. 

“Well I appreciate you coming out this way, even if it’s in your area. I really wouldn’t have minded taking the drive.” Abby pulls out your phone as she hands you yours. It’s simple, transactional, and it should have just been left at that but you had a fondness of putting your foot in your mouth. 

“Are you a trainer here?” 

“Uh, yeah. Been doing it for a few years actually. I spent so much time here already, now I get paid for it. Can’t really complain.” 

“Do you ever do private sessions?” 

“Um-” Abby scratches the back of her awkwardly, not sure if you’re asking her genuinely or if you’re trying to insinuate something else entirely. 

“Oh fuck no! I didn’t mean it like that. I just have a….job opportunity I have to get in shape for and you just look like you know what you’re doing.” Abby thought you might as well point to her physique but if anything she was flattered. It was always nice knowing something she’s been working on for years, her longest standing commitment besides Nora, is appreciated. 

“Sure, we could work something out.” You slightly smile before you exchange phones, this time on purpose, to put in the other’s number. Normally, she didn’t give out her number to clients, but Abby makes an exception for you that day. To this day, she’ll never outwardly admit why she did, not even to herself. 

- 

Two years later, she’s single from her life being turned upside down by you. The casualty being her own relationship, leaving Nora behind was one of the hardest decisions she’s made. Nora never agreed on Abby taking the job. As much as Nora wished for Abby to be more open about their endeavors, as soon as she accepted an offer that could drastically expand the trajectory of their life, Nora couldn’t be asked to compromise another thing. 

That was that. Not even two months into Abby working for you and Nora had called it quits. Abby never talked about it, only you knew she had a girlfriend she used to talk about when you began training with her, and then it was just silent. Back then, you didn’t know her well enough to pry, so you didn’t. 

Even as time passed, the two of you became friends through your employment, spending all your time with her during press season for your upcoming film, Lonely Is The Muse, together. Today was the only day you had off, even if it means Abby technically had the day off, you insisted that both of you leave the hotel and go out for the day. It's the most peace you felt during the European leg of the tour. Only one more day of dealing with your sensory issues, people in your face telling you when and where to go, or the distasteful question regarding your past public breakup instead of the work you were promoting. 

Some interviewers were kind enough to let the drama go but some wanted to get their own viral moment, waiting for you to say the wrong thing. As the industry likes to say, any publicity is good publicity. 

When you’re America's sweetheart actress of the century, such luxuries can’t be afforded. 

As your manager likes to remind you, there’s a reputation you have to protect. 

“Would you like to head back now? Long day tomorrow. Last day of interviews and then your flight leaves first thing in the morning.” 

“Did Stassie put you up to this?” 

“Maybe.” 

“I thought you were supposed to be the fun one.” 

“Mhm, your definition of fun is letting you do whatever you want.” 

“And the problem with that is?” 

All Abby can do is chuckle. 

“What do you want to do then?” Abby asks. She takes note of the sparkle in your eyes, as blinding as the sun but obtaining the serenity of the moon. “I’m all ears sweetheart.” 

It’s how the two of you end up here, a rooftop party, a friend of a friend you said. The party was lowkey, more than the typical ones you would get invited. Maybe because you weren’t in Los Angeles, Miami, or New York — but tucked away on another continent — or perhaps everyone here is just discreet. 

There’s only two fans that come up to you instead of twenty. You’re thankful for some sense of normalcy, one night where you can just feel normal. It still never gets old, people coming up to you as they confess the impact you’ve had on their life. It feels unbelievable at times but you’re grateful for the luxury life you’ve been granted. 

“Here. No liquor tonight.” Abby hands you a glass of red wine, your favorite beverage of choice when you couldn’t have tequila. 

“Yes Ma’am.” You playfully salute her. More than anything, you enjoy the not so subtle chuckle. “Not that I don’t love your company but isn’t Stassie supposed to boss me around?” 

“She felt under the weather. Plus, we both know you don’t listen to her.” 

“And I listen to you?” Your hand plays with her loose blonde hair, smoothing out the white button she’s wearing. 

“Yeah, you do. I wonder why that is.” Abby is playing with fire tonight. Possibly due to the fact that you wouldn’t leave her side, not even for a moment, keeping your body close, practically gluing yourself to her. Yes, she’s charged with keeping you safe and protected but it seems you find enjoyment bringing it to another level entirely. 

“You’re much nicer to look at, that’s all.” It’s light, a quiet whisper, not meant to be heard by anyone — not even for Abby to hear. “Don’t wanna make my handsome bodyguard upset.” 

Faking your pout as you let the words leave your lips, Abby chuckles as you get closer to her, her body standing strong as you push your weight onto her. Stoic as always, while you lean on her, she keeps her eyes peeled. Ensuring your safety at all times. 

“Flattery isn’t going to get you a shot tonight.” 

“I’m just stating the obvious.” 

Abby chuckles, again. She’s delighted you’re enjoying yourself, even if it comes at her expense. There’s a soft jazz song playing outside, couples dancing to the music, you zone out for a moment as you look upon one in particular. 

They are older, possibly in their forties, raven hair beginning to gray, fine lines crinkle when they smile at each other but it’s hard to take note of anything else but the way the couple looks at each other. Your mind wonders how long they’ve been together, if it’s been for years, months, a couple weeks. 

It doesn’t really matter. You just want that. 

The feeling isn’t lost on you, especially when you’re in the arms of the woman you love. For her, she’s being protective, doing her job but you wish it was different. A bubbling desire dripping off your tongue, a need to have her close to you but because she wants. Not because she’s paid to. 

“If I can’t have any tequila shots, god forbid, you have to dance with me.” You down the rest of your wine, placing the empty glass on the bar. “C’mon, you can give Stassie an earful later.” 

Pulling her towards the makeshift dance floor, Abby leads as your head rests against her chest. The steady, soft heartbeat soothes you, a reminder of the safety you feel with her. Caught in the riptide of her kind eyes and heart full of gold. It’s what makes her so unique, so loved, so her. With a surprisingly good tone, Abby sings to the music softly before twirling you around and spinning your body back to her. 

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Your hand rubs lovingly on her lower back as she holds you in her arms. You take pride when it doesn’t feel transactional. When she holds you and it feels as if she was meant to. There’s nothing else comparable to it, her frame melting into yours as your soul finds solace in her warm embrace. 

“There’s plenty of things.” Playfully, Abby smirks. 

“Oh yeah. I’m sure.” 

The sarcasm practically drips out of you as her smirk grows wider. 

“Can I ask you something?” You hesitate for a moment as you find her beautiful blue eyes staring into your soul. It’s only then does everything troubling might dissipate while she holds you — secretly hoping it’s forever. 

“You can ask me anything.” 

You give yourself a moment to collect your thoughts as you move to the delicate beat. “Do you ever wish for a life where you could have had a normal life? I wonder if things could be different.” 

Immediately, Abby answers. 

“Not anymore, no, not for a second.” 

If it was even possible, Abby pulls you closer to her, not urging a word more. It’s how she is, cold and distant to some but they don’t feel the stutter in her breath when you’re near or the soft pad of her thumb rubbing soothingly on the back of your hand. Or the soft words of encouragement when you’re having a difficult day. 

They hear none of it. 

She dances with you for a couple more songs, before you find solace on the couch. You lay beneath the moonlight, your body cuddles into her side as you stare up at the sky. 

It’s lost on you how you’ve ended  with her, someone as kind and untainted as her, wanting to spend her free time with you, but you’re grateful for it. Whatever god you have to thank, you’ll get on your knees to praise their alter for bringing Abby into your life. She’s the best thing to ever happen to you and she doesn’t even know it. Albeit, she hardly knows the extent of how wonderful she is. 

“Why here?” 

“It’s a good night, nice weather. Why not?” 

A question with a question. It’s the most straightforward answer you’ll ever give her. Innuendos for the sweet girl to piece together, but with the soft circles being drawn her stomach with the pad of your finger leaves little to nothing to decode. 

“It’s nice, yeah.” 

Abby always has so little to say but her mind swarms with a thousand reasons why this is a bad idea and a million of why this is where the constellations in the jaded sky have led to you. Straight into the pits of innocence, a heart that’s been hurt more times than she can count but still as golden and whole as one could be. 

“What do you think of Italy?” 

“It’s nice.” 

“Nice? That’s all I get?” 

Abby smirks but her body stills when you play with the waistband of her trousers before gliding back to the security of her abdomen, carving the liner of her defined abs. The ones she tries so hard to cover up, but you saw on the very first day you met her. 

“Do you want more?” You ask, an eyebrow raising in suggestion. Abby knows it’s a double edged sword, one she doesn’t want to be injured with. 

“You’re playing a very dangerous game.” Cautiously, Abby warns. “I’m not sure that last drink was a great idea.” 

You rest your head on her sternum, sapphire eyes looking down at you as her hand finds home on your waist, the blunt of your nails scratching softly at her stomach. 

“They always seem like a great idea at the time, don’t they?” With a gentle hand, you caress her scarred cheek, the pad of your thumb gently tenderly kissing the freckled skin. Outlining the softness of her jaw with your left, while your right one refuses to leave her stomach. 

“I don’t see how anyone would ever want to leave you.” Abby hums, not giving you much to go off of, tight lipped as she’s always been. The Nora situation has always been on your mind. One day, Abby’s speaking of her like she’s the love of her life and the next? Abby stiffens so tight when you bring up her name you promise yourself to never speak of it again. Until now, almost two years later, you’re more curious than you have ever been. The fatal ending, not belonging to you, but still you paw for the answers with your greedy palms. 

“You can just ask me if you want to know. I can see the look in your eyes.” 

“What look? I don’t have a—” 

Abby tilts your chin with your palm, leaning into her touch as you often do. 

“Yes, you do.” 

“How do you know this look?” 

“Hm.” Her thumb pulls at your bottom lip, “You’re just trying to get me in trouble now.” 

Your tone shifts, your eyes become transcendent, more crystal clear than they’d been all night. 

“What happened between you and Nora?” You ask, treading lightly on the ground you’re skating upon, in fear the ground beneath you might just crack if you apply too much pressure. 

“Why is it so important to you?” 

“It’s not that it’s—” You face plant into her chest, giving yourself a moment to breathe. Fuck, even her chest smells good. 

“You don’t ask about anything unless it’s of value to anyone. You don’t waste time, you’re very adamant about it. Painfully so.” Blonde eyebrows relax as she closes her eyes for a moment, but her touch on you soothes you. It’s gentle; a somber comfort bleeding into blissful joy. 

“But I’ve spent a lot of time with you.” 

“Yes, you’ve spent a lot of your time with me.

Abby opens her eyes to see you, your head tilted to the right, as you look upon each carve of her angelic face, the one that could only be carved by the gods above, resembling an angel on earth. As pure as the snow with the biggest heart of gold you ever have had the pleasure of knowing. 

“What?” 

“I didn’t say a thing.” You smile slyly. 

“We didn’t break up because of you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Abby sighs, “You’re not some homewrecker. My home with Nora was already wrecked before we met.” 

“Are you just saying it to make me feel better?” 

“No, I’m not.” You play with the ends of her golden hair, it hurts to be this close to what you want but knowing it’s so clearly out of your reach, league even, all of it will end the same. “Nora wasn’t fond of her being my first relationship with a woman. It caused a ripple effect, me feeling like I wasn’t good enough and her feeling like she has to carry me in the relationship, emotionally anyway.” 

“Is that why you broke up?” 

“No.” 

“It was because of me.” You state, as a matter of fact, knowing there is no other truth to be known. With tears welling up in your eyes, an ache  in your heart, one that made you ache all over. The dread of the guilt weighing heavily on your heart, time and distance still isn’t enough for you to run from it. 

“It was a job that was a great opportunity. Alright? It wasn’t you, even if I hadn’t, we both wanted different things. I didn’t even realize it until after but I wasn’t happy. I promise, it has nothing to do with you.” 

What Abby didn’t know, you needed to hear her say those words. In the back of your head, a monstrous demon unleashes in your mind, telling you crashed her relationship. You were the problem and her inevitable doom, but she’s assuring you it wasn’t the case. 

“We hardly knew each other back then.” 

As pathetic as it sounds, Abby can’t imagine her life without you. 

“Yeah hardly.” 

There’s that look again, pouring into Abby’s soul as it eats her up whole, the gleam in your eyes begging for more. It’ll complicate things if Abby gets involved, she knows this, but it already seems like she is despite her best efforts not to be. 

“Did I do good? You always say you miss stargazing with your brother back home. I know it’s not as quiet as the cabin you have, but I thought it would be okay for now.” 

“The view isn’t bad, not one bit.” She admits as she lets you rub her abdomen, the goosebumps crawling upon her skin the more Abby lets you touch her as if she’s yours to hold. “Lev would like it. I’m convinced the kid likes you more than me now.” 

“As he should. I’m pretty damn amazing.” 

“He asks too many questions though.” 

“About what?” 

“I dunno…..things.” Abby retreats back into her shell, the layer of protection she uses to protect herself from getting hurt. Most of all, out of everyone the gods could torture her to be confused about, of course it has to be you. Everyone in your life is always begging for pieces of your time, pieces of your affection and bits of your time to suck you dry. Abby has always wondered how you juggle it all. It feels cruel to even think you would put her in the mix. 

Painfully, there’s nights like tonight, where she sees the desire swarming in your eyes — every part of her pleads to give in to the temptation. Give into something she’s never even let herself think about until the last few months. As thick as drywall, there was a barrier keeping her heart from you, one she kept to protect you and herself even. 

The absolute last thing she wanted was to wreck everything this has to offer. If she makes the wrong move, all of it can come crashing down on you…it’s the last thing she wants. Make you a martyr in her story, one she thinks and dreams of often but knows you’re too big for her to exist in your life. The circles you run in don’t even exist in the same planet, the same fucking universe if Abby’s being honest. 

“What things?” You pout, your hand traveling south, caressing her thigh with a familiarity Abby wishes you didn’t have. She wishes for a lot but they never come true, that’s all you can be, a dying wish Abby curses upon a fading star.  

“It’s just stupid shit, not worth mentioning.” 

“Abby…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I—” You take a deep breath, your voice already shaky and you haven’t even told her yet. “I don’t think you even know how much you mean to me.” Abby isn’t sure where you’re going with this, terrifying her instantly. 

Have you finally had your fill of her? Were you gonna fire her? Now? 

“Lev doesn’t just talk to you about us.” 

“Us?” Nervously, Abby stomach clenches, unprepared for where this conversation is heading. 

“Why are you so scared?” 

Abby visibly and loudly gulps, almost making you giggle slightly. 

“I-I’m not.” 

The stonewall she attempts to hide behind but you won’t let her, not tonight. Slumping in the shadows, waiting for you to find someone else to love as she watches your happiness from a far, that’s what she allows herself. Nothing more and nothing less. 

“Abs, look at me.” She meets your eyes, away from the constellations in the sky, afraid if she looks for a moment too long she’ll be stuck here forever. “Talk to me, m’right here, not going anywhere unless you want me to.” 

Instantly, Abby grips your hips, keeping you in your place. 

“No, that’s not—” 

“What?” 

“I’m not what you want. I’m surely not what anyone needs. Hell, I’ve only been with one woman which is deemed to be for not being enough, right? I’m the girl who came out too late, who doesn’t have enough experience but because I’m built like some fucking adonis I need to know whatever the fuck I’m doing but I don’t. I never know what I’m doing. The only thing I know how to do is protect you, that’s all I’m good for and I’m not gonna screw that up just because I—” 

“Because what?” Your pelvis is on top of hers, your face coming closer to Abby’s, watching as you are irrevocably close to her, closer than you’ve ever been, wet lips ghosting over her pouty pink lips. Abby doesn’t even know when you moved, how you got so close, too lost in her own head to register your movements. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Abby puffs out. 

“It matters to me.” You sink into her, further, if it's even possible. “No one matters more than you, alright?” 

“But there’s people.” Abby looks for an excuse to get up, she comes up enough so she’s sitting up against the armrest of the patio couch, holding your lower back as she does so, leaving you straddling her hips. 

“I don’t care. All that matters is you.” You push a piece of blonde hair away, seeing her beautiful cheeks more clearly, her shining blue eyes finding its unique path to your heart, the one especially made for her. “Here just let me talk, alright? You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.” 

Abby is nearly crying, practically purring as you run your fingers through her cascading blonde hair. It’s too much but not enough. Although she is sure of one thing, the one thing she wants more than anything. 

“I’ve always been one for pretty girls. I had a reputation around Hollywood, always chasing one after the next, never reaching my fill or as the tabloids like to say.” You chuckled half-heartedly; the wound cutting deeper than you would have liked. “My publicist having to pay paparazzi an obscene amount of money to get these photos from ever hitting online, month after month, it was pathetic really. Just trying to fill a hole, one I didn’t even know how to fill.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“It’s not something I’m proud of and I never wanted you to see me differently but I’m not ashamed anymore though. I’m not that person anymore. I haven’t been since I met you.” Abby falls silent, her cheeks turning crimson before she can try to hide it “You not knowing how I was, it's just the humbling I needed. Not to mention you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen— you still are— but you had a girlfriend so I kept my feelings silent. Something just felt different with you and then you were single and I was afraid of you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I didn’t want to ruin you so I made a promise to myself. I would never start anything with you, not unless I was in love with you.” 

“You love me?” 

“It’s impossible not to.” You sigh into her, forehead pressed against hers, her strong hold not letting go. “You don’t have to say anything or do anything. I don’t expect anything in return. I just can’t live in a world where you think because you’re not experienced as some, you think you’re less than people who are.” 

“It’s true, I’m not there with everyone else and it shows.” 

“Abby, you’re not getting it.” 

“Well, no shit. I’m not good enough for any of this, you especially.” 

“It’s not…” You bite your lip as you reach for her hands on your waist, intertwining them with your own. “Abs, it would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.” Your lips ghost over her lips again, but this time Abby inches closer, her breath warm as it hits your mouth. 

“What?” 

“If I was a patient person and waited for you.” 

More than before, Abby’s breath is heavy as the rise and fall of her chest is rapid, trying to calm herself down but it’s impossible when you’re this close. It’s a lot for her, maybe she’s overly sensitive, but your touch is practically lighting her on fire. Abby wonders if it will ever be able to be put out or if your magnetic touch will leave her scorned. 

Puppy eyes inwardly pleading for an ounce of your touch, so sweet as she supports your weight with her strong thighs, anchoring you to her — never quite letting go. A single glance detrimental to the layer of protection she built around herself. 

“There’s no more waiting, m’right here.” Abby closes the gap indefinitely, lips connecting with yours as they move in perfect harmony, as if this is what she was made for. Involuntarily, she whimpers in your mouth as you gently tug at her bottom nibble at her bottom lip, your tongue sliding in as it dominates her own. It happens too quickly — the way her very being melts into you. 

Like honey to a bee, there’s nothing that’s ever been so sweet. 

This is all you need. 

“Abby?” 

“Yeah, angel?” 

“Let’s get out of here.”

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[screwitbaby]

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader (fic)

day 1/7

[part 2]

summary: a short story about the boys’ trip to curaçao. hamzah’s oblivious with girls and you’re not one to turn down a challenge.

contains: SFW content

wc: 1.8k-ish

~

The first thing that crossed your mind when you met him was that he was hot. Way too hot. Like, he must have the worst personality (and/or stroke game) behind closed doors to still be single. He truly is an enigma.

A pair of pale legs comes between your view of a shirtless Hamzah walking out of the water like he's in a sexy cologne commercial and blocks you from staring at him any longer. You whine and look up to see Martin with his arms crossed over his pasty chest.

"Enjoying the view?" he asks sarcastically. He sits on the beach chair next to yours.

"I was," you say, pulling your sunglasses off your face and placing them atop your head. "Then you had to go and ruin it."

"I think I made it better, actually,” he says. He lays on his side with his hand on his popped hip. You nearly gag.

"Jumpscare warning next time, please?"

"Ha-ha." He flips to lay on his back. "So go to talk to him."

"Hell no," you say. "He needs to come to me."

"You're delusional." Martin shakes his head. "And Hamzah's oblivious. He friendzones every girl he's interested in. It's really painful to watch, honestly."

"This is your best friend you're talking about," you remind Martin. "Shouldn't you at least talk him up to me a bit?"

"I'm not a good liar," he sighs. "But I know one thing."

"And that is?"

"He likes you."

Your head whips in his direction. "Don't mess with me."

"I'm not!" He squeals. "Seriously, he's bad at showing it, but I know him. He gets a certain way around girls he likes."

"You better not be bullshitting me," you point at him. "Because I will be taking that and sprinting with it."

"Mhm, go for it." Martin puts his arms behind his head, acting suave. "I'm good with this type of stuff. It's a heavy gift to bare."

"Didn't Mandy have to make the first move with you?"

"She told you about that?" He sulks. "I told her not to..."

"Bros before hoes." You throw your hands up defensively.

Deciding you've had enough of this rascal, you throw your lacy cover up over your bikini and walk down the beach to meet the object of your desire halfway.

"Hey," you greet, digging your toes in the sand.

"Oh, hey," he replies. You catch a glimpse of him looking at your legs from over his shoulder. "Welcome to my humble abode."

You eye the limp sand castle he's building with one of the empty margarita cups you guys ordered a round of earlier.

"Looks structurally sound," you joke, plopping down next to him.

"It's a work in progress," he defends himself. "Here is the start of the moat, and here's the tower I'ma save a damsel in distress from.”

"And who's the damsel in distress?"

"I don't know," he says, turning to make eye contact with you. "She'll make herself known sooner or later."

You raise your eyebrow and wonder if there's some deeper meaning that you're supposed to decode beneath his expression. Then, you remember Martin's words and shake the thought from your head.

The two of you work on improving his architectural masterpiece. It proves to be a difficult task considering the fact that the ocean waves keep knocking the castle walls down. Perhaps the location should've been reviewed before you sunk so much time into perfecting it. All you know is that every time he leans over to fix something on your side and your thighs make contact, your stomach flutters.

The Curaçao sun sets and you guys pack up your belongings, stopping by the bar to grab one last mixed drink before heading back to the hotel. Martin attempts to carry Mandy bridal style and trips, sending them straight into a bed of flowers. He says it was because of his flip flops in an attempt to cover up how much of a lightweight he is when it comes to alcohol.

With rosy cheeks and tired limbs, you say your goodbyes to the couple at their suite and make your way back to your room. Hamzah offers to walk with you so you're not alone in the dark and you accept his gracious offer because his shirt is tossed over his bare shoulder, long forgotten. Oh, and your safety, of course.

"My feet are killing me," he groans. "I stepped on, like, a billion seashells."

This triggers a "sally sold seashells by the sea shore"-off between the two of you, keeping you entertained while you clumsily make your way up the stairs of the hotel. You may or may not have been swaying your hips a little extra when you were ahead of him.

Hamzah insists on walking you to your room even though his is a floor lower. When you make it to your door together, you say goodnight and enter the air-conditioned room with a sigh.

You immediately strip and step under the shower head, washing the sand and sunscreen off of your body and massaging your sore extremities. You'd gone sight seeing with the whole gang for the past three days and it took a toll on your body. Despite that, you were the happiest you'd been in a long while. It was a good kind of exhausted. Content.

When you step out of the shower and into a complementary robe, you hear a sudden knock on your door. You frown because you were certain you had placed the do-not-disturb sign on the handle. You put slippers on and shuffle over to open it.

"Hey, again," he sighs.

Your eyes widen, "Hamzah. What's wrong?"

"I lost my card for my room," he explains as you let him in. "And my ID's inside, so I couldn't even prove that it's my room to the front desk."

"Shit," is all you can say. "What do we do?"

"I tried calling Martin ‘cause the bookings are in his name, but he didn't pick up. I think they knocked out already."

He sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. "And I'm still fucking tipsy."

This makes you laugh, even though you know you should be sympathetic towards the poor guy. He lifts his head to look at you and smiles.

"I'm glad you think this is funny," he says, leaning back on his elbows. "Because in case you hadn't already pieced it together, that means I gotta sleep in here."

Your heart skips a beat and the laughter fades from your throat. "But there's only one bed."

He furrows his brows in thought. "I can sleep at the foot of the bed."

"No, you freak, you're not a dog," you say, sitting beside him. "Y'know what? We'll just share."

"Is that okay with you?" he questions. "I don't wanna, like, overstep..."

"What other choice do we have? And I'm certainly not letting you sleep on the floor."

"I guess you're right."

You both sit still for a moment, eyes on everything except each other. It's cliche, really, but you couldn't let him wake up with a crook in his neck or something. Then the next day of activities would be sullied. At least, that's what you tell yourself.

"So.... can I use your shower?"

"Yeah, go ahead," you say. "But, um, do you want to borrow some clothes, or?"

"I doubt your clothes would fit me." He snorts. "I'll go buy something from the gift shop."

"I think I packed a pair of comfy sleeping shorts if you want to try?"

He shrugs, so you walk over to your luggage and search for the shorts. You find them bunched up underneath one of your dresses and cover your mouth with your palm. It was a good thing they were stretchy because they definitely were not going to be his size.

You hand them to him and he holds them up to inspect them. Then he looks at you with squinted eyes.

"Thanks." He retreats to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You take a deep breath and decide to go watch some TV.

Once you hear the water turn off, you cross your legs nervously. The door cracks open.

"This is crazy," Hamzah shouts. "They fit!"

He steps out fully and your breath hitches. He stands there, water still dripping from his curls and onto his chest, only in your tight shorts that barely reach the tops of his thick thighs. It was like a replay of the beach, but better. You cross your legs tighter and try to avoid staring for too long.

"Yay."

He dries his hair with the towel and asks if there's a spare toothbrush. You point to the drawer below the sink and avert your gaze when he bends over to grab it. He finishes up and walks over to the bed.

"The shower floor is destroyed. I think I had 3 pounds of sand in between my ass cheeks."

You burst out laughing and so does he, climbing under the sheets. "Me too, honestly."

You sit up against the headboard, watching some random Dutch family show that was on. You don't understand much, but your phone is charging so you have no choice but to tune in. Hamzah pretends he knows what's going on and creates a riveting plot for the characters that is infinitely funnier than whatever they were actually doing. At some point, the both of you start yawning. You decide it's probably best that you sleep, even though every part of you would love to stay up all night and listen to him ramble on.

You grab some pajamas from your suitcase and turn to him.

"Could you...?" You gesture for him to turn around.

"Oh, yeah, course." He lays on his side facing the wall.

You quickly throw on an oversized tee and shorts, wincing when the bands of your underwear smack loudly against your skin.

When you're fully situated in bed next to him, you turn the TV off and nestle into the sheets. You stay on your side and he lays on his back. All there is to hear is the sound of your breaths and the crash of the waves from the open window.

"Today was fun." He yawns, running his palms over his sun-kissed face. "I wish we could stay here forever, just doing stupid tourist-y shit and hanging around the beach."

"I know," you agree. "I'm glad I got to come on this trip with you guys. I really needed it."

Your chin is tucked under the blanket. He blinks slowly and even in the darkness, you see his big brown eyes find yours.

"Well, I'm glad you came, too." You don't know if it's just the amount of drinks consumed between the two of you, but you swear you see his eyes on your lips. "I like spending time with you."

You don't know what to say, so you say nothing at all. He turns onto his side after one final "goodnight" and the two of you fall asleep in the glow of the moonlight.

~

a/n: did i have to include the one bed hotel room cliche? no. did i anyway? i’m just a girl… lmk if u liked it or if u hate my guts and want to curse my bloodline !!!

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

18+ Synastry: Baby-Making Placements & Aspects “ I Want You To Have My Baby”

Some were born out of love. Some out of lust. Some through force. And some through rare, fateful circumstances.

But no matter the story, we all originated from the same place. Whatever the intention behind our conception was, it’s not always ours to question. The truth remains: we were all born from sex.

Yes—some parents barely knew each other. No middle names exchanged. No shared memories. Not even a mutual understanding of who the other really was. And yet—you’re here. Isn’t that fascinating? A little intriguing. And maybe, a little alarming too.

When it comes to synastry—the astrological art of comparing two charts—there are clues. If you want to understand how some of us came to be, look into your parents’ synastry chart. Within it lies the unfolding of your creation. Perhaps your soul was simply eager to come to Earth—longing for the human experience.But your parents?They may have wanted something entirely different.

A thrilling night. A moment of divine passion. A romantic evening. A sacred, intricate, even tantric experience. Or perhaps something darker. A forceful, eerily violating encounter. A drunken haze. A high. A quick fix for a need. And boom—you’re here.

Synastry can decode how you got here. Because there are planetary interactions—certain collisions in the sky—that awaken something primal. Something overwhelming. Something magnetic. The kind of chemistry that should probably come with a warning label—and a Plan B on standby.

Sometimes, that chemistry leads to love. Other times, it’s a side effect of violent passion. Passion that is rejected, contorted, or crosses into the unacceptable. And yet—it births you.

Today, we’re exploring the synastry aspects and placements that can lead to baby-making. And no, we’re not talking about the kind where you track your ovulation, count cycle days, and prepare your body with careful intention. We’re talking about the kind of synastry that hits you in the face. That leaves one parent looking at the other in disbelief: “I thought we were just having fun. I thought this was just one night.” And suddenly, they’re parents.

Let’s dive into the synastry aspects behind unexpected conception—the cosmic collisions that create life.

Venus-Mars

This is the placement of primal magnetism. Picture two people whose love is so raw and electric that the moment their eyes meet, the world around them fades. They’re always one breath, one glance away from losing themselves in each other. Even in public, there’s a pull—one grabs the other’s thigh, their eyes lock, and soon after, so do their lips. These are the lovers who disappear into each other. The passion is so undeniable that restraint becomes a foreign concept. Mars is intoxicated by Venus’ beauty and allure; Venus is captivated by Mars’ drive, heat, and sensual dominance. The result? Touch becomes inevitable, and often, so does creation—a baby born not just of impulse, but of sacred intensity.

Moon-Mars

When the Moon meets Mars, it’s mother meets father—the archetypal creators. The Moon becomes more fertile around Mars, emotionally and physically. Mars, in turn, becomes entranced by the Moon’s mystery, aching to uncover, to possess, to merge. This placement births a chemistry that is emotionally volcanic and physically primal. There’s tenderness and savagery in their intimacy—“I love you and I’ll caress you, but I’ll also wreck you with desire.” When it’s over, they’re breathless, disheveled, lying in the aftermath of an eruption wondering, “Are we expecting a baby now?”

Moon-Venus

While this doesn’t scream “baby-making” in the animalistic way Mars does, this is where nurturance births desire. The Moon and Venus adore one another. They give, they listen, they soften into each other. This is a relationship built on emotional intimacy and mutual admiration, and that kind of love leads them naturally to the bedroom. They enter slowly, gently. But once there, they fully give. The Moon whispers, “You’re my forever.” Venus replies, “Let’s ground this love.” And grounding often looks like creating something permanent—like a child born from devotion.

Moon-Jupiter

Here, expansion is emotional. The Moon feels seen, held, and uplifted by Jupiter. Jupiter feels nourished and stabilized by the Moon. Together, they believe in a future—they see their love as abundant, blessed, and filled with potential. They talk of homes, children, and the life they’ll build. Even if they hadn’t planned to, a baby becomes a symbol of everything they feel together: growth, luck, joy. The Moon brings fertility, and Jupiter multiplies it. They don’t just imagine one child—they dream of many, of legacies, of laughter echoing through the hallways of a home they’ve built together.

Mars in the 5th House

This placement screams spontaneity and heat. These are the “it just happened” people—the ones who get carried away in the moment and find themselves pregnant after a wild, passionate encounter. Mars energizes the 5th house of pleasure and children. Sex is fun, fast, and frequent—and every time, the possibility of a baby looms. They might not mean to, but the chemistry is too strong. Fertility follows fire.

Moon in the 5th House

This placement brings emotional intimacy straight into the realm of creation. The more emotionally connected these two become, the more they crave a family. Sometimes they want it, sometimes they don’t—but when the emotions are flowing, so is fertility. Their desire for children ebbs and flows with their emotional tides, but when the tide is high, they dream of parenthood, of bedtime stories and holding tiny hands. Ultimate baby-making potential.

Jupiter in the 5th House

Jupiter in the 5th is an amplifier—it expands everything it touches. These two are passionate adventurers, always seeking joy, always craving more. More love, more laughter, more life. They’re affectionate, exuberant, and never far from one another. Their love is visible, radiant, and full of enthusiasm. And eventually, they want to grow something tangible from it—children. Not just one. A family. A tribe. Jupiter makes the love feel so bountiful that creation becomes inevitable.

Mars-Pluto

This is a relationship built on sex. This is a relationship built on magnetism. This is a relationship forged in the molten pull between two souls who cannot resist one another. It is the quintessential “I’m wrecking you—and I don’t even mind.” It’s transformation through sex, an unspoken demand for surrender. One seeks to dominate in overt, physical ways—demolishing, devouring. The other conquers in covert currents—through presence, aura, silence, and words that hypnotize. This is not merely bedroom activity. This is a battlefield. Here, chains are not props—they are metaphors. Each lover competes for control while secretly craving submission. And in the end, neither submits—not fully. Not entirely. They circle each other, burning, breathing fire into flesh, mind, and spirit. The passion becomes addictive. The intensity defies language. Orgasms are insufficient; they’re just intermissions. Round after round, they lose track of time, lose track of self, lose track of the line between pleasure and undoing. It’s animalistic. Primal. But also deeply intentional—A sacred ritual of domination and exposure. They leave the room not knowing what, exactly, they’ve done—Only that they’ve undone each other in every way imaginable. And this is the kind of sex so consuming, so repetitive, so charged—that it doesn’t just stir the desire for creation…It insists on it. You can’t touch that kind of fire without risking a spark that becomes life.

Moon-Pluto

Here, Pluto ruins the Moon. The Moon is sanctuary. A temple of comfort. A home, a haven, a sacred inner coven. And Pluto doesn’t care. Pluto doesn’t come to preserve. Pluto comes to destroy—and then rebuild. It has visions the Moon has never dared to imagine. Where the Moon seeks safety, Pluto seeks transformation. And Pluto doesn’t arrive loudly. Pluto arrives silently. With eyes that hypnotize, with words that undress. Pluto speaks to the hidden parts of you—the ones you’ve never shared with anyone. And somehow, Pluto already knows. It sees through your pain. Through your softness, your stories, your carefully tended self. It strips you down to your rawest essence—then spits you out: guts and glory. This is the kind of love where the Moon tries to run. Because Pluto is danger. Pluto is the part of us we hide from the world. But Pluto doesn’t chase. Pluto consumes. Easily. Quietly. Completely. The Moon is seduced—to the highest highs and the darkest, most primal depths. Pluto awakens the taboos, the fantasies the Moon swore it would never explore—unless trust ran deeper than blood. And Pluto earns that trust with just a gaze. The Moon submits, not through force, but through revelation. And in that surrender, the Moon feels… nourished. In a place no one has ever touched. This is sex that isn’t just physical—It’s ancestral. It touches the unconscious, the dream realm, the inner child’s wounds, the cries of the foremothers, the shame buried deep in bone and blood. This kind of sex stirs. It unravels. It says, I will break these generational curses. I will unchain us. I will create through you. It’s not just orgasmic—it’s alchemical. This is not sex you forget. It makes you obsessive. Addicted. Changed. You crave more not out of desire—but because it feels like your soul is being rewritten, Like something ancient is being summoned through you. And so, the child conceived here—isn’t born just from passion. But from awakening. From a force that demands legacy. That says: Now that we’ve touched the fire—let something rise from the ash.

Neptune-Mars

These are the kinds of lovers who never fully know where one ends and the other begins. Boundaries blur. Reality bends. And logic? It’s often the first to dissolve. This is the kind of connection that becomes sticky, surreal—where sex is not just an act, but an escape. Sometimes, it’s an escape from their own relationship issues. Other times, it’s a refuge from the dullness of ordinary life. When life feels grey, they paint it in shades of ecstasy behind closed doors. Fantasies rise like smoke between them, emerging as their bodies collide—sensitive skin against sensitive skin, each touch feeling like a soul crossing. They pierce each other not with pain, but with presence. There is no veil. No distance. They become one—orgasmically, spiritually, physically demolished and reborn. They cry out names, moan in longing, but in their minds, they’re not just lovers. They are myths in motion. Mars brings primal power—urgent, rough, consuming. It stirs the carnal hunger neither knew they carried. Neptune wraps it in mysticism, in elusive tenderness, turning every movement into a spiritual offering.The rhythm of their love—sometimes fast, sometimes slow—becomes sacred. Their sex feels faded, fated. A tantric marriage of body and soul. Kisses blur, limbs intertwine,And they lose the ability to separate flesh from feeling. For them, sex is communion. A dream wrapped in sweat and stardust. Half-animal, half-angel, they fall into each other over and over again. They’re addicted—not just to each other, but to the high. The escape. The drunkenness of divine lust. Their bedroom becomes a temple of illusion. A cup overflowing, a taste of forbidden wine, a room filled with smoke that fogs the mind and frees the spirit. In this union, they forget. Plan B is forgotten. Birth control becomes an afterthought. Even their former resistance to parenthood dissolves. Because in their haze—the sacred delirium of pleasure and union—they birth more than orgasms. They birth children from the safe haven of release.

North Node–Moon

This is not a casual meeting. There’s nothing ordinary about two souls chosen to carry the weight and wisdom of ancestral memory into the future. This is the kind of love that dives deep—through lifetimes, through bloodlines, through the echoes of generations past. Together, you break the cycles that once hindered you. Together, you create something new. Not just for yourselves, but for the lineage you both carry—and the one you are destined to birth. This is not just fated love. This is evolutionary love. Love that births a new family line, rooted in healing, in consciousness, in renewal, in rebirth. Sex with this person is not merely physical. It is ritual. It is trance. It is sacred ceremony under divine surveillance. The gods, the ancestors, the angels, the spirit guides—They watch. They bless. They witness. Sex becomes a sacred transmission, a moment where time dissolves, and something eternal speaks through your breath, your cries, your motion. The pull toward each other is at times uncontrollable, the union overwhelming. Emotions rise—tears, outpourings, release. Memories resurface—some not even yours. Sex feels like remembering. Like coming home to something your soul has known for lifetimes. It feels divine. Plotted across timelines. Lit by God’s own light. And though it is physical, it is also a spiritual sanction—a vessel for calling in new souls. Souls waiting to arrive. Souls ready to change the course of the world. These moments together carry the weight of that destiny. There is nothing casual about this. This love is novel—yes. But it’s also ancient. It carries a divine intelligence, a spiritual orchestration far beyond this plane. It calls forth evolution. It births sacred beings. It builds families not just by DNA, but by emotional resonance, soul kinship, and divine design. Sex between these lovers becomes meditation, a merging beyond the veil, a connection that stirs discomfort, because it’s so much bigger than desire. And yet, they fall into it—again and again—because they must. Because this is how new life begins. How new timelines are birthed. How transformation becomes embodied. And the only possible result? A child. A soul. A new world, born from sacred fire.

Uranus–Mars

This is a highly charged interaction between two lovers. Electric. Explosive. Erratic. This is combustion, orgasm seated deep in the soul, rising to the surface whenever they’re near. It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t wait. It erupts. This is the awakening of primal, animalistic energy—the part of you usually hold back, afraid it might destroy someone. But not with this lover. With them, you don’t hold back. They don’t want you to. They don’t care where it happens—anytime. Anyplace. Public or private. Under sheets or against walls. When it rises, you must act. It pulsates through you, overtakes you, keeps your body hot, your cheeks flushed, your eyes glistening. And they know. They feel it too. That aching, soul-deep craving. That hunger that can’t be denied. You find yourselves parking the car at midnight, just to feel each other. To lose yourselves in the exploration of touch, of fantasy now turned reality. Everything you’ve imagined, now embodied, now acted out. You speak of future timelines that don’t even exist, But the mere idea of becoming something together makes you magnetic to one another. Mental sparks become physical ones. Stimulation of the mind turns into one pinning the other down—a seamless transition from conversation to carnal collision. This is sex of the minds and the bodies. Manipulating through words, minds reading each other’s intentions, tongues spilling truths and fantasies. Long moans tangled with meaning. Ideas turned into foreplay. This is the kind of passion that ignites the fire and brings the air to keep it burning. Not quick, not forgettable. This sex builds. This sex compounds. It becomes more every time. These are the lovers who find each other on opposite ends of the earth, yet somehow reunite under moonlight just to awaken the wolf between their legs. This is the wild cry of, “demolish me. Destroy me.” This is erratic love. The summer flame that never quite dies. The situationship that lingers. The sneaky link that stretches into years. The magnetic pull between them is unstoppable. They’re drawn again and again—Into long nights of pounding hearts, sweaty limbs, pulsing need. And eventually, amid the madness, between their casual returns to daily life—There it is: Morning sickness. Tender breasts. A missed period. A pregnancy test. And the electricity of desire becomes something else entirely: A life sparked in chaos. A soul born from the thunder of touch.

Uranus–Moon

This is a love story written across timelines. Future lovers with ancient souls. A fusion of past and future, merging somewhere in the middle—in the electrified, emotional now. One brings wild vision: A mind full of innovation, rebellion, and dreams too big for words. Uranus—the disruptor, the futurist, the spark. The other, the Moon—rooted, grounded, soft and slow. A soul who just wants to simmer in stillness, to feel deeply and stay close to the earth. But Uranus won’t let the Moon stay quiet for long. It yanks the Moon from its cocoon, spins it forward through time, and together, they collide—eletricity meeting water, idealism meeting emotion, awe meeting comfort. This is a relationship where ecstasy and joy are fused with ancestral memory. They feel like they’ve known each other forever, And yet they dream of futures they’ve never spoken aloud—timelines and prophecies they’ve both imagined before they ever acted them out. These are the lovers who, at random times—in the car, at the kitchen sink, during a lull in conversation—feel emotion rise like a wave. And from that wave, comes the hunger. A simple “I love you” spirals into an urgent, unspoken call to collide. Bodies glide. Souls stir. They make love not just from passion, but from prophecy. Sex, for them, is not casual. It is transformation. It is the seed of something greater— a lineage shift. A future child. A dream made flesh. They crave each other at the strangest times—not just from desire, but from alignment. The brushing of a hand. The soft sound of teeth against lip. The glimmer in each other’s eyes—suddenly, they’re undone. Their sex is mentally electric, emotionally soft. They cross veils together, time and time again. One speaks in ideas, the other in feelings. Then suddenly, they’re tussling in the bedroom—laughter mixed with moans, memory mixed with novelty. They try new things, explore fantasies, but they also return to the tried-and-true: The positions that promise release, the movements they know will unravel one another. It’s all woven in—past pleasure, future promise. They lift and throw, push and pull. There’s laughter in the air—a kind of mischievous joy. Because this isn’t just sex. It’s a rehearsal for their future: As parents. As guides. As creators of a new lineage. They dream of raising a child— Emotionally secure, brillant beyond their years, destined to transform the world. This is not just a relationship. It’s a meeting of destinies. Explorative. Explosive. Fated. And each time they touch, each time they merge, they whisper to the universe:“We are ready to birth something new.”

[cube-cumb3r]

part 2: What's the deal with Manneq- SIMULTANEOUS PARALLEL REALITY THEORY IM CRAZY IM CRAZYIM CRAZY IM CRAZY

This is the second part of me trying to make sense of the Mannequins in ENA. Read pt. 1 here, if you want. Or don't!

I'm not entirely satisfied with the explanation of "Mannequins are spawnpoints" because it doesn't really explain how the Mannequins got there in the first place. How did so many Mannequins coincidentally end up near locations where it just so happens that Ena is likely to respawn?

I pondered a little bit about the role of Mannequins in the Youtube series as well, and if I could tie that into their role in the game. To my knowledge, there's only one episode where the Mannequins make an appearance, and that's Temptation Stairway.

I don't think about Ulysses often. The most I think about him is the fact that the song that plays when Ena talks to him is such a peculiar banger. But, given that he's the first character in the Youtube series to mention Doors before their existence got fully elaborated on in the game, perhaps more of his dialogue isn't just ominous and strange nonsense.

One of his lines is (paraphrased) "But heed this warning: desires are never fulfilled, nor quenched. You will fail. Like the rest of them."

So who is the rest of them? (other than Moony?) Taking the video at face value, the answer seems pretty simple, it's the Mannequins. They can be seen climbing the Great Runas in the beginning of the episode, and then later on her way, Ena walks past some lifeless ones in various places in a similar manner they are found in Dream BBQ, or they're... lamenting? In this strange space?

Other than that, without any further context, there doesn't seem to be that much to say about the Mannequins in Temptation Stairway, they seem to just be Mannequins. They're these sort of anonymous and ambiguous figures that also seem to have the same goal as Ena, reaching the Great Runas. All of which are failing, it seems.

After Ena meets Ulysses, she of course meets the Shephard who says her infamous "Arghh... another ENA troublemaker." line, which has of course been interpreted to mean millions of things. That being said, literally moments after this scene, we see other Enas when Ena enters the holy code. It seems sensible to assume these are the Enas she's talking about. (Because of Species Theory TM, no one ever really asks how they got here, why they look nearly identical to our Ena, and why they're unmoving. But that's besides the point.)

Most importantly for the purpose of this post, for some frames, they glitch into Mannequins.

(I would be remiss if I did not mention that right after this sequence, there's a data matrix on the wall that when decoded says "FORGET YOUR PAST". Make of that what you will.)

We already know there are multiple simultaneous instances of Ena in some manner, given that the Shepherd has met multiple of them. Given where the Shepherd is located and based on her dialogue, it's likely too that the Enas she met were also attempting to reach the Great Runas as well. That's another set of individuals that are attempting to reach this divine being, other than the Mannequins (and Moony).

So, when Ulysses says "You will fail, like the rest of them", maybe he's talking about the lifeless Mannequins that Ena walks past on her way to the Great Runas. Or, maybe he's talking about the other Enas that can be seen in the holy code. Or you know, both.

Or, perhaps, there's no difference between the two.

Time and reality seems to be a bit weird in the world of Ena. When talking to the remnants of the former Genie, she will offer her memories, to show Ena a reality where Ena did succeed. And this "reality" is (presumably) the reality where Ena had successfully reached the Bathroom, and the events play out the same as if you had done so.

This seems to imply that despite the fact that the sequence of events that led to Ena successfully reaching the Bathoom was not something the Ena you're currently playing as ever experienced, given that the Genie describes it as "her memories", from her perspective, it still happened. Both realities seem to co-exist.

What does that have to do with Mannequins? Well,

Here's my crazypants Theory. Rather Mannequins being a "spawnpoint", they're rather sort of... glimpses of other realities or timelines.

This Mannequin is found on the path that Ena was quite literally walking on before she stops, and she nearly gets caught under the falling structure from above. Perhaps in another alternate sequence of events she didn't stop, and kept walking. And that's what that Mannequin is.

Or this Mannequin found on the other side of the bridge, underneath the floating platforms leading up to the Orb. Perhaps in alternate sequence of events, Ena did end up falling while attempting to ascend to the Orb.

In fact, you can even experience this in-game. If you fall while attempting to climb up, you will "teleport" back to various checkpoints at different points of the ascent. So what if it's not "teleportation" that is happening, but rather you are being "transported" to a version of reality where she didn't fall. Whatever you just experienced did not happen to this Ena. But, you can still see evidence of this having happened, in some version of reality, when you look at the tops of these buildings.

(edit 5/5/25:) A new patch came out today which added a new interaction with the file compressor, where you can compress files more and more until they explode, causing Ena to stumble backwards after which you "respawn" in the center of the roundabout again.

Interestingly enough, with this new interaction they also a new lifeless Mannequin, which can be found dismembered exactly where Ena would've been blown up by this zip bomb. Even more interestingly, this dismembered mannequin is already there even before you've interacted with the zip compressor. As if it's already happened. But not to you. (Yet.) (end of edit)

(Now, I am aware that it's an absurd claim to suggest every single Mannequin here is parallel Ena. That might not be plausible. But I think it's sensible to assume at least some of the Mannequins we see across the series and game may be.)

When the broken Genie shows you a different reality, if you talk to Unforgiven Frank next to the ship, he will still recall your earlier interaction, despite the fact that in the reality where you succeeded in reaching the Bathroom, you would've never encountered him in the Lost Village.

So, it seems these are not distinct and separate realities, but somehow both true at once. Similarly to how the realities where Ena fell in a river or a pit, and the realities where she didn't, are both simultaneously true. And similarly how the Shephard has already met Ena, even if this Ena has not met the Shephard.

Does she retain anything across iterations? Does she collectively experience all of them at once, or just one at a time? It seems for the most part, Ena does not have information that she would've obtained in any parallel iteration of herself, because she needs to ask for it, this is the case in both Temptation Stairway and Dream BBQ. But it seems in some cases she does have information from sequences of events she herself has not experienced, like how she can aspire for Frank's forgiveness despite never having met him (though of course, maybe they already met prior to the events of Dream BBQ.) Perhaps it's as the Shaman said, while perhaps she can, if she were experiencing all of them simultaneously, she would be lost in her own mind.

This theory is not rock solid, there's some things that still don't quite make sense. If you're up on the Orb Island after ascending, you can quite literally jump down all the way to the bottom and be fine, so why would another iteration Ena not make it from falling during her climb? Or, if Mannequins are supposed to represent Ena from other versions of reality, wouldn't you expect lifeless Mannequins to be found at, say, the bottom of the rivers and pits, rather than hanging off the edges? Though, since the Mannequin "inside" Ena seems to be able to "emerge" from her body, perhaps that could be the explanation for this conundrum.

With all this said, there seems to be a natural conclusion to this theory. Under the assumption that the Enas we see suspended in the holy code in Temptation Stairway are Enas that "failed" in their task, like the rest of them (like the rest of them) like the rest of them... What does that actually mean for Ena at the end of Dream BBQ?

I'm sure everyone has noticed the shot we see at the end of the game is nearly the exact same as the one in Temptation Stairway. There's other Mannequins as well, also suspended in the holy code. The conclusion of this theory seems therefore to suggest that the Ena we see at the end of Dream BBQ never actually made it out of Uncanny Streets at all. She got stuck behind the Lonely Door. Failed, like the rest of them, alongside the other Mannequins we see floating in that space.

It's a sensible assumption that the hand that reaches out and grabs this Ena-Mannequin is "taking" her and "placing" her back in the body of the Mannequin in the hub. But what if even that isn't true? What if the Ena "emerging" out of the Mannequin in the Hub isn't her "respawning", but rather, she is an entirely different instance of Ena that never left the Hub in the first place? Whatever happened to the Ena in the Lonely Door still happened, but not to this Ena.

Which seems to prompt a question that no other theory would need to ask. Where is that hand taking this other Ena?

[sweet7simple]

Mech Pregnancy and Protoform Development of Gestating Sparklings

Here is what I have compiled on Cybertronian "reproduction" from More Than Meets the Eye, specifically the Holiday Special and Volume 5:

Holiday Special:

So this would be the protoform development for a forged sparkling and it lends support to that, if Cybertronians gave birth to their own Sparklings, then they would likely be an egg-like form (yes, I know it's not actually a sparkling, but can we all agree that Swerve is strangely well-informed on protoform development for forged Cybertronians?)

So what would slide out from the gestation tank has no discernable features yet and still needs hours if not days before the protoform resembles an adult Cybertronian, but I still don't have an answer for the size of this thing - at what point does it reach its full size? Cybertronians before the war went to academies, so what point does the protoform receive an education instead of having relevant information jammed into its brain module right before deployment like a MTO cold construct?

(More under cut)

But, let's be honest, I am going out of order here. Let's go to Volume 5 where we encounter a hot spot of re-ignited sparks on the moon:

So this is being constructed cold.

And this is forged - as well as the official story for how cold constructed bots were made, which apparently differs from the truth. Here is the truth for how cold constructed sparks were actually formed:

So all cold constructs were made from the matrix - but what if they did come from igniting healthy sparks to make new ones?

What if you used the energy of two sparks to create an entirely new one and that sparkling attached itself to a parent spark for some time before it dropped to a gestation tank (this is common in fanfiction and I love it so much, it makes the most sense)? As these two orbs of immense power and life resonate with one another, creating waves of energy that can be interpreted as pleasurable for the interfacing bots, excess energy could gather itself into a separate orb that borrows the life code from both parents, becomes randomized, and this creates a new life code for a separate entity. It stays in the spark chamber for a period of time - I don't know, decoding or storing energy or something, I am very bad with electronics - before dropping down to an artificial gestation tank.

And this is where the valve/plug comes into play if you so desire because now we have the issue of, where is the spark going to go? It needs a protoform. It needs the materials to make a protoform. It also needs liquids.

Cybertronians seem to live off energon and anything you can make from energon, but there have been references and images in the comics of Cybertronians have oil as a waste product, so they need a separate compartment for oil away from their energon tank and they also are said to have (in fanfiction, at least): oral solvents, lubricant, transfluid, optic fluid, etc... All those will require their own compartments and they will all have either been diluted from the energon or will have an origin in a separate liquid that isn't mentioned. Let's keep in mind that they will also need some sort of oil for their hinges and their nanites for upkeep.

So I believe these gestation tanks are where the Sparklings develop their egg-like protoform with all these liquids that they themselves can't make yet, and I think they get what they need from nanite colonies as there is no umbilical cord (not unless you want the bots to have belly buttons). I like to think of them as nannyites - nanites that, once a protoform hits the gestation tank, have latent codes that becomes active and now have protoform-related tasks versus whatever tasks they did beforehand. The nannyites will likely take these resources from the carrying parent, everything from fluids to energon stores to living metal that the nannyites will adapt or make compatible for the sparkling.

So this carrying parent suddenly has fewer nanites colonies themselves, a thinner layer of living metal, and depleted storages of fluids.

Hear me out, hear me out: Valveplug interfacing helps the carrying parent because transfluid will contain necessary materials for the protoform.

I am going to take it a step further and say that it is that first shot of transfluid into the gestation tank during spark and valveplug interfacing creates input that electronically signals to the receiving parent to gather the excess energy from the spark play via centripetal force like a satellite and that force signals the excess energy to turn on life codes it recycled from both parents and create its own life code. That transfluid inside of the gestation tank also turns on those latent codes for the nannyites to get the compartment prepared. It's that first dose of necessary materials and every dose of transfluid after that is stored in the gestation tank for the protoform.

Which brings me to the idea that I have seen on AO3 where bots go into heat:

What if a mech goes into heat as a way to store transfluid from their partner?

I am largely talking out of my ass here because I don't know anything about how machines work, but I know there are a lot of hormones and signals and work that goes into human pregnancy.

The downside of this is that, if all bots were once forged and now they are, let's say, "birthed", then these constructs would be artificial: the gestation tank and the fertile centripetal force with its satellite sparkling and the interface array with its gestational passage and the nannyites and the transfluid. These would have to be constructed cold and surgically added, and you would have to create codes that turn on these cascading or stacking protocols (I don't know the correct computer term for when one event triggers another event triggers another event and so on) and you would have to manufacture filters and tanks and lines for the creation of gestational lubricant and transfluid.

This is just me rambling because I can't stop thinking about all this, but I am not ready to write a mechpreg story.

Please talk to me about Cybertronian reproduction, I am not normal about this.

[yzzart]

"𝐀 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫."

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x F!reader.

summary: how does a snowflake carry so much possessiveness?

warnings: explicit content, explicit words, playing with nipples, mention of erection, and mentions of manipulation + take a look at the masterlist!

word count: 944!

The smell of wet wood accompanied by the typical aroma of fresh earth invaded your nostrils; It was a new situation and coexistence, but it was pleasant and welcoming. — A cozy home.

Together, the sounds of wood being trampled upon with disoriented, blind footsteps with a possible goal of reaching the old-fashioned bed of the place had surrounded your ears. — That definitely bothered you. — There were unstable and old parts of the floor that complemented louder noises; it sounded so unacceptable and abominable.

But absolutely nothing could take away or take away the attention and disposition you received and gave from Coriolanus' lips. — Lips that were wise, sapient and so sweet, with cautious and dignified words; and also so dangerous. — You delighted in the sweet and poison of Snow's mouth.

Coriolanus kissed you with a flaming passion, a description so ironic, that it slowly burned your proud and dissatisfied chest; he kissed you as if his life really depended on it. — And for the Snow boy, these words were part of an affirmation in his heart and soul.

A mixture of feelings, sensations were involved and welcomed in that kiss, something easy to analyze. — Snow never knew how to explain what he actually felt or saw in his veins and heart, so when he met you he discovered how he could do that.

Your tongues moved in such a sudden way, fighting against a space that would not be properly used and animalistic; this strong word was in the right place to be used. — Not to mention the distress of contact between your teeth. — God, it seemed like it was the first time you two kissed.

For the first time, at that moment, there was a mediocre separation between your lips and those of Coriolanus; the empty, incorrect and cold sensation walked through your mouth. — Your mind closed, distressed by the absence, and a taste of despair expanded on your palate.

Those blue eyes observed your lips, already red and shiny caused by the mixture of saliva; they demonstrated desire, possessiveness and something very deep. — You didn't know how to decode what it was, at least not at that second. —But it was mesmerizing, a trap set for you.

"I have you." — He whispered with a distant and small smile, an action that used delicacy in your eyes along with the hot and uncontrolled breath that debated against your face; Coriolanos was giving you all the affection that coursed through his thin and surviving body. — "I'll always have you, right?"

Perhaps those words were an affirmation, a certainty that was written in an honorable and never disrespected book; or also a cryptic or wrong assumption? — You didn't know, much less had an answer that justified it and you didn't care about your trivial assumptions. — Your only action was to nod in silent agreement, earning a proud smile from your lover.

"My good girl." — A constant chill revealed itself in your belly when you heard that, then it was replaced by the relief of feeling Coriolanus's lips touching your again.

The kiss had much more pressure and strength than the previous one, there were conflicts in the middle of it; however, more desire, pleasure and intensity. — Emotions, feelings and reasons mixed between both sides. — A delightful tension.

Coriolanus, who was guiding your to the old and poorly cared for bed, reached his goal without releasing or interrupting the kiss. — God, you mentally thanked me for that. — And, quickly, he got comfortable on the mattress; placing his large hands on your waist in order to direct you to his lap and you didn't waste a single second.

The roughly worked fabric of Coriolanus's pants scraped your thighs and, surely, afflictions would appear later in the day. — In addition to feeling the bulge of his erection punctuating the thin noble fabric of your shorts; he had a privileged opportunity to feel a moistened region in that place. — Coriolanus would go mad and you were the cause of it.

While your arms were around his neck, a way of supporting yourself and getting deeper into him, the Snow boy directed one of his hands through the edge of your thin and noble shirt. — Passing under your, feeling your warm skin that avoided his cold fingers, until he stopped at one of your nipples.

Of course you were scared, it was surprising, in a pleasant way, and in the middle of the kiss, a few low whimpers were released from your mouth. — Like a bird on its singing day. — Snow was pinching your nipple, enjoying the soft, appetizing flesh; It wasn't easy for you.

"Coryo…" — A moan, this time loud and clear, with his name was the first thing you said when you stopped kissing him and it was the only thing that happened that day, little head. — Another pinch followed by a simple and frank affection.

Coriolanus's thumb walked along the tip of your nipple as if he were playing with a shirt button. — A very precious and rewarding t-shirt. — He was a damn man.

"Oh, Coryo…!" — Moving your head involved in such pleasure and excruciating pain, your neck was exposed and it didn't take long for you to become a fragile target for the Snow boy.

Small kisses, as if they were an apology that in reality they were not, prolonged seals and exultant bites filled the area. — Coriolanus marked you with vigor and exuberance, in a seductive passion; a prey that fell in love with its hunt. — He applied his scent to you, such an animalistic action.

It was sick, unhealthy and over the top. — It was the love that Coriolanus felt for you.

[tiredandlonelymuse]

The altered timeline of my life has a lot to do with when people *find out* rather than when it *happened*. Sometimes it’s weeks or months later, from a “source” against my desire. Sometimes it’s a year or a few, in a song that will get decoded or I will explain. I’ve retreated into privacy for my own peace of mind, but the strange side effect is the public parallel timeline happening by my side. The animated corpse of past-me (dressed as present-me) doing and feeling and saying things quite some time after I’ve already lived them. I’m on a leash and they’re interpretive dancing through an adapted-for-TV version of it all. Weird. Not bad. Not good, really. Just…weird?

[sacha-bug]

Written in the Stars

Arcane Characters × Gn! Reader Astrology Headcanons | SFW | 1.7k | Part 1/3 *Reposted from an old blog of mine!

- What Signs are they most likely to date? - How long do they stay together? - What are their relationships like? Featuring: Vi , Jinx , and Ekko

VI ⋆ Aries , Cancer , Capricorn , Aquarius

Vi was born December 19th! Thus, she's a Sagittarius! The fire element truly suits her personality-- brave, bold, and sometimes a little too hot to handle. A few of her traits align very well with her sign, too! She's free-spirited and yet grounded in her sense of duty. She struggles in relationships that feel too clingy or walled-in, though in her heart's heart, Vi dreams of a partner that will remain by her side no matter the adventure.

ARIES ⋆ Fiery & Genuine ⋆ 8 Months - 2 Years

Fire for fire, heart for heart. Vi's relationship with an Aries would come on hard and fast-- and is likely a relationship of circumstance. With two strong personalities, Vi and her Aries are sure to get a lot done together regarding their personal goals.

However, when trouble comes, it comes on just as harshly. Split goals can be the thing to crumble their connection, as Vi needs someone who can stay on her page, and unfortunately, lacks a lot of give when conflict hits. If you want to be the Aries to conquer that 2-year mark... You'll have to be ready for hellfire, and ready to promise her that you'll still be there, even when she is being a bit unreasonable.

CANCER ⋆ Loyal & Intuitive ⋆ 2 Months - 5 Years

The road to heaven is a rocky one. Unlike the whirlwind romance of Vi and Aries, Vi and Cancer take time to develop. Though a Cancer with a sharp eye can decode Vi with a few spare moments and an eyeglass-- Vi struggles a lot more to bond fully with her Cancer. They're intuitive, and deep, but tend to keep that vulnerability composed when they're just getting to know someone. That can be very frustrating for Vi, who struggles with more poetic relationships.

But once Vi's Cancer learns to let her in, Vi is an apt learner. She may not say it aloud, but Vi remembers every single inch of her Cancer, from their favorite color, to their favorite cut of shirt. That's when a Cancer can really dive into Vi's vulnerability, too, leading to many late-night talks about things Vi hasn't told anyone else.

CAPRICORN ⋆ Responsible & Balancing ⋆ 1 Year - Forever

Stability starts with trust. Vi's relationship with a Capricorn very likely starts as friendship. Before Vi can love her Capricorn, she has to learn to appreciate how balanced she feels, by the earth sign. While Vi is a very fiery, active Sagittarius, her Capricorn can give that fire a stage to burn on without getting out of control.

Once Vi learns stability with her Capricorn, the only way to lose her is by never showing her your own need for stability, as well. While Vi loves having a pillar of confidence at her side, she begins to doubt herself if you don't show her that you, too, need her. If Vi's Capricorn can let their walls down and allow Vi to take the wheel-- they're bound to be together forever.

AQUARIUS ⋆ Independent & Thoughtful ⋆ 6 Months - 7 Years

United under the same cause. Vi and her Aquarius are another case of circumstance-- united under their same desire for equity. Aquarius can frequently pose as the planner behind Vi's action, and many may not know it. Until stated aloud, many may not even realize Vi and her Aquarius are a couple, because they're so driven to the work they do together.

Things become much more intimate in the later years, if an Aquarius makes it so far. Things begin to take shape when Vi begins to learn to let herself be vulnerable in front of them-- leading to a very fulfilling sense of mutual understanding. Overall, very fulfilling and sweet-- but you may have to push for additional affection, if you desire it.

JINX ⋆ Taurus , Gemini , Leo , Pisces

Jinx is an October baby! The tenth, specifically-- making her a Libra! I find her Libra-ness to be so interestingly contradictory! Not to say she isn't like a libra... But that it's so clear that she is one, although terribly wounded away from the diplomatic, social nature they're known for. Due to her struggles, it shows through primarily in her grudge-holding ability, and in how much she hurts when she's stuck by herself. Jinx needs a loving hand-- and one that will not waver.

TAURUS ⋆ Patient & Devoted ⋆ 1 Month - Forever

Survive the storm, then smooth sailing! Jinx inherently struggles with forming real, true relationships. A Taurus is genuinely the perfect match for her-- to supply the stability and empathy Jinx so deeply desires. At first, Jinx will self-sabotage, testing her Taurus just to see how far they can be pushed before they jump ship. No one would fault the Taurus for leaving-- but a real stubborn bull can bring her home.

Once she realizes that there's no amount of fighting, crying, kicking or screaming she could do to chase you off, the storm clouds fade. Jinx still has her bad days, and will need extra assurance then. But rest assured, once Jinx knows you would never abandon her, she'd do just about anything to keep you. Expect many, many, many handmade gifts.

GEMINI ⋆ Affectionate & Gentle ⋆ 3 Months - 5 Years

Not forever, but never forgotten. I don't think Jinx would find her life partner in a Gemini. However, I do think Jinx would learn so much about loving herself and others from one. Gemini marks the gentle hand of her first sweetheart, and reminds her that it's okay to be gentle and sweet, as she once was.

Jinx and her Gemini teach each other so much about the good and the bad of love, and they do it all together. Though Jinx is a holder of grudges, she will never forget the whirlwind of flower petals her Gemini lovers always flurry her way.

LEO ⋆ Passionate & Cozy ⋆ Never or Forever

The truest match. All I'm saying is, if Jinx finds a Leo, the other signs don't stand a chance. Chances of Jinx dating a Leo are very, very low... But if she gets even a little too captured by the passionate, yet adoring nature of a Leo, she's going to be smitten for eternity! Jinx and her Leo understand perfectly both the softness, and the insanity, of each other. A mutual understanding leads to a lot in common!

Leos can provide for Jinx the passionate crazy of a fire sign, but with a handful of the security and devotion she's attracted to in earth signs. This leads to a relationship that challenges her and her ideals, while also providing her with a feeling of safety and security.

PISCES ⋆ Compassionate & Intuitive ⋆ 2 Years - 3 Years

Weigh your consequences, and you'll make it! The selfless nature of a Pisces makes it relatively easy to make it into Jinx's circle, but beware! Jinx's desire to succeed in her plans makes her more likely to not see you as a partner, but an aid. She doesn't have bad intent, but she's greedy when it comes to her intentions-- and they may just be bigger than the two of you combined.

If you're able to draw a line between doing Jinx's bidding and helping her when she needs it, she'll learn to only call upon you when she needs you. Fruitfully, her needs become less of a reliance, and more of a desire for your kind, flowing energy in her space.

EKKO ⋆ Libra , Scorpio , Sagittarius , Virgo

Ekko was born May 28th, making him an adaptable, quick-witted Gemini. Though Ekko puts on his tough, determined face when fighting for freedom with the Firelights, that little kid is still alive and well within! This just means he's chock-full of passion, and also plenty of silliness he may only show around those he loves most.

LIBRA ⋆ Cooperative & Peaceful ⋆ 3 Months to 1 Year

Collaborators... And more. Ekko's bond with a Libra is precious. It reminds him of his youth, and makes him feel free. His Libra works with him at his side, to reach common goals. You seldom fight (Dear Libra, your habit of leaving minor issues unspoken can poison Ekko rotten), and often fill nights with long-winded conversations about your ideas and beliefs.

Libra, though, is very committed. Ekko is not ready to settle down, and while that doesn't mean he plans on screwing around, he simply isn't ready to commit to a forever partner. This can dishearten his infatuated Libra, and may even be the final unspoken disagreement that ends their relationship.

SCORPIO ⋆ Powerful & Assertive ⋆ 8 Months to 6 Years

Honesty, always. The bond between Ekko and his Scorpio will never be tarnished by lies or lack of communication. Their shared practicality leads to easily shared goals and aspirations, making Scorpios the most common of Ekko's date choices.

I do think they conflict a little, in the common Scorpio desire for physical affections. Ekko prioritizes time spent together, and can sometimes forget that bed isn't just for falling into, exhausted, and ending the night. Remind him that you need that physical assurance, and things will retain nicely.

SAGITTARIUS ⋆ Generous & Intellectual ⋆ 1 Month to 6 Months

Short lived, but passionate. Ekko's relationships with his Sagittarius tends to be one of shared ideals and interests, but little deep emotional bond. The two enjoy being together, working together, and chatting-- but the two find it hard to bond on a deeper level. The free-spirited Sagittarius is predisposed to getting bored of this lacking bond.

If you're the special case he decides to let his walls down for, though, it can be very fulfilling. Ekko and his Sagittarius challenge each other in every way-- opinions, intelligence, and all. It's an incredibly energetic relationship, with lots of gentle teasing and prodding.

VIRGO ⋆ Loyal & Stable ⋆ 4 Months to Forever

Two sides of the same coin. Typical of an earth sign, Ekko's Virgo offers a sense of security and stability in routine and presence. They bounce off of each other very well, learning that maybe being a little less this and a little more that can round them both out very well! Ekko can bring a quiet Virgo out of their shell and into the spotlight, while the Virgo can teach him that sometimes, it's okay to step back and watch the big picture as it comes into light.

However, Ekko and Virgos both share a similar issue-- Unending aspiration. Ekko's priorities can make things inconsistent, while Virgos tend to prioritize their goals in a way that leads to comfortable change and strict ritual. Ekko can't promise those rituals will always be around, and it poses a serious risk for the both of them.

[makingqueerhistory]

The Perks of Loving a Wallflower

Erica Ridley

As a master of disguise, Thomasina Wynchester can be a polite young lady--or a bawdy old man. She'll do whatever it takes to solve the cases her family takes on. But when Tommy's beautiful new client turns out to be the highborn lady she's secretly smitten with, more than her mission is at stake . . . Bluestocking Miss Philippa York doesn't believe in love. Her heart didn't pitter-patter when she was betrothed to a duke, nor did it break when he married someone else. All Philippa desires is to decode a centuries-old manuscript to keep a modern-day villain from claiming credit for work that wasn't his. She hates that she needs a man's help to do it--so she's delighted to discover the clever, charming baron at her side is in fact a woman. But as she and Tommy grow closer and the stakes of their discovery higher, more than just their hearts are at risk.

(Affiliate link above)