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owensbabygirl · 2 days ago

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#─:⋆˙⊹𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓!𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒

❛nsfw alphabet❜

⋆𝐀─ 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞

most of the girls chris sleeps with he knows for a very short time period, so he doesn't know what each one likes, but he always does what he thinks is the bare minimum. wipes you, asking if you're okey, getting you something to drink, eat sometimes. and if he really feels comfortable he will silently hint that he wants cuddles, and if you agree, he'll hug you and stroke your hair until you'll fall asleep, order some food over, the whole package.

⋆𝐁─ 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

with all of his love for thighs and ass, there's something about necks that turns him on, not the neck itself but the thought of the sensitive spots on it and how he could easily mark them, or the thought of someone else biting and marking him, even better.

⋆𝐂─ 𝐜𝐮𝐦

if you'll ask he will finish on your stomach, ass, neck, anywhere. but if it's up to him, inside. even after he's done he'll continue to move and stuff you full, he could even not pull out until he cums again.

another thing, when you cum there's nothing he loved more then to pull out and start to finger you, seeing you so oversimulated, he could cum just from looking at you.

⋆𝐃─ 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

a few years ago chris had a beard phase, he kept ot on for a few months and he really liked it, but unfortunately the front went red from a specific sexual activity, so he stole a box hair dye from a girl he stayed at, and he dyed his beard brown until he ran out of dye and decided it just shave it off to spare the bother.

⋆𝐄─ 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

if it wasn't obvious chris isn’t new to sex. but he always learns more, every time he does something new he discovers other ways to pleasure those girls and himself, when it comes to sex he's a perfectionist, always wants to be the best one you've ever had and will have.

⋆𝐅─ 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

depends. usually chris hooks up after a night out so when that happeneds doggy is his beloved, it's rushed, it's good, he has nothing more to ask for. but if it's the morning later, sideways. sloppy, tired, but he'll make you feel every second if it. or if it's a quicky then he'll probably just put you on his lap and move you up and down, anyway- it depends on the mood

⋆𝐆─ 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐲

goof king. he laughs after he lets out a strange moan, or when he's degrading you and he says something a little too mean. he'll cum on your back and try to make a smily face with it, not that he ever made it but, well- he's trying.

⋆𝐇─ 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫

he trims what needs to be trimmed, he keeps his slight happy 'trail' on but always trims the sides, never bald though, he tried it once and felt like a pale lizard.

⋆𝐈─ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲

chris is lustful, but he also sees it as an escape form, he only feels safe when he feels that close touch, you might call it meaningless or say it's just holding your hand while he's eating you out or giving you a kiss on the head after you swallow it. ❝fuckfuckfuck, that's it, fuck you're amazing❞. that is what intimacy is about for him.

⋆𝐉─ 𝐣𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟

he won't if he has another option, but if he doesn't? he got his right hand holding his phone, the other palming himself through his pants. scrolling down his gallery through all the videos he took of himself with others, where he could see all the face expressions and hear their hips clapping every other second, one time he jerked off on a phone call and accidentally came, as well, on the phone. . .long story, don't ask.

⋆𝐊─ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

(ⁱ ᶜᵃⁿ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ ᵖⁱᶜ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰⁱˢ)

he's there for everyone, of course he has boundaries but the line is very far to cross. his strongest one is degrading, but he doesn't mean to hurt, sometimes he feels bad for being too harsh and then he's switching to praising. ❝you're doing so good, you're so pretty under me❞. also, breeding. ❝look at you. . .god you look so beautiful with me spilling out of you, baby❞

⋆𝐋─ 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

it doesn't really metter honestly, chris craves the touch, he doesn't care if he gets it at a random bar's bathroom or in his bed, but of corse, he prefers his comfort zone.

⋆𝐌─ 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

when he makes a girl blush just from flirting, seeing her batch her pretty eyes and giggle, you know, the small things. he also knows what motivates others, the hand on the waist when just casually speaking, the small kisses on the neck while she take your her bra off, and using her own kinks against her. chris will do everything he can to see what exactly turns you on the most and use it so much you'll want to cry from pleasure.

⋆𝐍─ 𝐧𝐨

chris talks through it. he knows he might be too extreme sometimes, so the second he sees he's a little too rough he slows down ❝you're fine with this? you good?❞. even if he sees the slightest bit of hasitation in your answer he'll stop. even if he's just about to finish, he doesn't care, he'll never want it to hurt more than it should, he has a big respect for other's boundaries.

⋆𝐎─ 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥

messy. spit, tears, cum, everywhere. his hand holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail, the more straips of mascara running down your cheek the better. however, when he's the one giving it's the complete opposite. slow, sensual, maybe some soft music in the background. he takes his time, he's enjoying it way more then you are.

⋆𝐏─ 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞

depends how much he needs it. if it's been too long since his last time he's gonna go fast and hard, need to call in sick because it hurts to walk hard. if he's seeing a girl he matched with on a dating app or something and they decided to go to his place, or just out chilling? it's slower, he'll pull you closer to him while he whispers sweet praises to your ear, his hands roamed all over your body like he worships it, taking his time.

⋆𝐐─ 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲

chris kind of hates them. does that mean he doesn't enjoy them? not at all. he's doing what he would do normally just way faster. the only difference is the place. most likely a bathroom or the back of a house party, his wildest one was in a dressing room with a model an hour before she needed to open a show, still has a selfie he took of them both right after in his phone.

⋆𝐑─ 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤

does he like taking risks and have sex in public or a crowded place? absolutely not. why? no idea, but one time some girl called him a pussy, said he was just scared. want to know know what his ego said? ❝cm'ere babygirl, show me what you got❞. he challenged as he patted on his lap, he pulled her skirt up, panties to the side.

so what if it's on a couch in the middle of a club? he'll finish and put your panties back on before any of it could escape. smiling when he sees you walking with your thighs pinned so it won't drip down your lag.

⋆𝐒─ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚

endless. as long as you keep touching him, keep tugging him in, he’s not stopping. he actually enjoys watching you melt. seeing you all tired, hazy, barely able to move.

❝mm, done already, pretty? don’t worry, I’ve got you.❞ and even when you think you’ve hit your limit, he’ll draw one more out of you, just to show that he can.

⋆𝐓─ 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬

chris doesn't use toys often but he has this little drawer for them in case he's a little bored and wants to add something. gummy ropes, blindfolds, fluffy handcuffs, vibrators, remoted toys, and a cop hat, just in case. don't ask.

⋆𝐔─ 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫

sometimes he just plays, edging you with his fingers, kisses, even just sweet words, he could hear you whimpering and begging and still keep going, little did you know he'll give you all what you asked for later until you'll beg him again, to stop.

⋆𝐕─ 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞

loud. so loud he can't hear the playlist in the background, but sometimes he holds back and bites his lip just to hear you. nothing turns him on more then the noises you make, all from how good he makes you feel.

⋆𝐖─ 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝

sometimes chris groans even if you don't touch him or do anything special, but he actually does that every time he feels like he needs to burp and he didn't want to let the other person know.

⋆𝐗─ 𝐱-𝐫𝐚𝐲

he’s not the longest, but he’s thick. wide enough that the first push always makes you bite your lip. curves up a little but it hits the spot just right. there’s a silver barb through the tip, cold at first, then burning in the best way. he lives for praises, for knowing how good he feels.

❝yeah? too much? but you're takin’ it so well.❞ he'll smirk, stop all movement as he waits for you to repeat yourself. ❝say it again.❞

⋆𝐘─ 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

needyyy!!! there's nothing he hates more them showing it. no metter how cocky he'll try to be, he's still gonna hold a whimper when he feels your hand going under his shirt or tag him closer by his hair. lust!chris is a yearner.

⋆𝐙─ 𝐙𝐳ᶻ

the second he closes the door he jumps on his bed and that's it. if you stay then he'll just hint that he wants a little cuddle then wrap his arms around you and pull you close, probably offering to watch a movie when he already knows hes going to sleep loke a baby before it even begins.

a/n: boom ho I'm fucking back get the toys ready (it's been more then a month I know I got a lil rusty)

↻𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

tags: @frostmellow @starrii-sturns @sturnslutz @tezzzzzzzz @mattslvrxo @mattslutt @mattsslvtt @izzylovesmatt @ellssturn @adorechris @bernardsbendystraws @cupiidkills @mattsplaything @spaghettislut1 @h3arts4nat @courta13

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qinche-cvmslvt · 2 days ago

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Forbidden: Caleb

Content Warning: Eventual Smut, NSFW, Professor Caleb, Student reader, Emotional Relationship, Age Gap, Childhood Friends, Family Friends, Hidden Relationship, Slightly Yandere Caleb, Mentions of Mental Health and Traumatic Injuries. This relationship is a very risky concept, very taboo in nature. All romantic partners are over 18 but there’s heavy mention of the legality.

Tag list: @januke @mcdepressed290 @ikesimpleton

A/N: A New Year. A New Game. A New Forbidden Flame. Last year, the prestigious Linkon High was on fire. Whispers had flooded the hallways, interrogations and accusations were spoken behind the library doors. Eventually it was discovered that there was a teacher-student scandal and it nearly shattered everything.

But it wasn’t them that were caught.

Professor Sylus and his now former student turned official girlfriend walked through hell and came out the other side together. They’re happy now, thriving and living proof that sometimes the most dangerous love is the kind that lasts.

But that was their story. Now, it’s yours.

Chapter 1: Don’t call me Pipsqueak

You’ve always felt like the background character in your own story. You’ve always just been ‘Gideon’s little sister’. But that’s because your arrival into this world happened so late in your parent’s lives. 7 years between you and Gideon. You’re always the little one. Always the baby… even to him. Things a different now though, you’re 18, technically legal, and in your senior year of high school. Which also means you get to be in his classes.

Professor Caleb. Your brother’s best friend, the man who used to call you “Pipsqueak” and mess up your hair. Although, you swear last time you saw him he looked at you differently. No, you can feel it, deep within. Or maybe, now you’re old enough to understand what it all means.

The way his stares would linger on you, the tension when you and your mum spoke with him during the Senior Orientation day earlier this year. You noticed the way his jaw clenched when he looked down at the too short dress you were wearing. He knows he shouldn’t want you, you can see it in his eyes. Those violet purple eyes that you dream about every night. You know you shouldn’t want him either but you do and now you’ve got one reckless goal for the year.

Make Caleb break.

The car door clicked shut behind you. Heat bloomed the moment your feet hit the pavement. Summer was lingering like a secret across the asphalt, baking the school sign in a soft shimmer. Linkon High loomed ahead of you, all brick and metal and freshly trimmed hedges and blossoming flowers. It was all like looking at background set for a play. A school pretending to be normal despite having one of the worst scandals in history last year. Like it’s halls were still pure and hadn’t tasted sin.

But you knew better because if Professor Solana, the quirky art teacher could break, then so could Caleb.

You paused at the threshold and adjusted the strap of your bag. Your fingers twitching against the scratchy material. This was the same entrance you always took, the same walk and the same gates but everything felt different now. You weren’t a little girl anymore and you wanted to prove that. Not just for your family’s eyes but for his too.

The breeze caught your hair as you finally stepped through the gates. The temperature felt like it spiked a couple of degrees and the wind carried the whispers of your fellow classmates around you. They all milled around the courtyard, catching up with their friends that they didn’t see during the holidays and trying to pretend that they weren’t nervous about this new year. You weren’t nervous though.

No, you were waiting because today would be the first time you’d be in his classroom. That thought sent a shamefully addictive thrill down your spine. The scent of the blooming Gardenia envelops you, sweet and too seductive to be inside a school. Your heart pounds as you continue to walk through the school grounds. Making your way to the oval but you slow your steps. Your fingers curl around the strap of your bag as you think of Caleb. How would he react when he sees you this morning? Would he look at you like you’re still Gideon’s little sister? Or would he look at you the same way he did during that orientation day? The way hunger flickered through his eyes when stared at your bare thighs. You bite your lip and swallow down a whimper and you tell yourself. He will break and he will love it.

The hum of the aircon wasn’t enough to dull the awkward silence that lingered in the Linkon High staff room. First period hadn’t even started yet but the tension between the three men inside was starting to steep into every stale corner. Caleb sat with one ankle slung over his knee. He was absentmindedly spinning a pen between his long fingers. His hair was still slightly damp from his last minute shower this morning and his polo clung slightly to the curve of his biceps. Zayne was sitting by the counter, sipping on coffee like it owed him money, and flipping through the health departments agenda for the day. Then there was Sylus, casually leaned against the fridge, a smug look on his face as he stared down into his coffee cup.

Not being able to endure the silence anymore Caleb flicked his pen towards Sylus. “You’re awfully zen again. I still don’t like it.”

Sylus smirked over the rim of his mug. “What can I say? I had a good night again last night.”

Zayne finally looked up and chimed in, deadpan. “Nobody wants to hear about your sex life anymore, Sylus.”

All three men laughed, softly. The tension slowly slipping away between them. Last year really tested their brotherhood but honestly, that came as a surprise to Caleb himself. He knew they were close after years of working together but he never thought he’d help Sylus like he did. Covering up the secret scandal, risking his own career. Caleb felt a twinge in his arm and rubbed his wrist, one thought came to his head. Would they do the same for him?

Zayne’s voice broke through the silence. “So you’re staying then?”

Sylus paused and contemplated the question. “Actually, no. I’m transferring to The Zone in term two.”

Caleb’s spine stiffened, his brow furrowed. “Seriously?”

Zayne blinked as he looked between Sylus and Caleb, taking a slow sip of his coffee, like he expected this outcome.

“Why?” Caleb asked. “Jenna’s off your back now. You could coast, you won.”

Sylus nodded slowly as his eyes drifted towards the window. “Yeah, I could.” Then he looked back at his friends, his voice lowering. “But just because you win one round doesn’t mean you stay in the ring. She’s mine now, I’ve got nothing to prove and I’m not giving anyone an excuse to question it again.”

Sylus’ words hung in the air between them. Then Zayne gave a short hum. “That’s disgustingly healthy of you…” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m offended.”

Sylus’ and Zayne’s banter drifted off into background noise for Caleb. He didn’t laugh or join in like he usually would because something Sylus said twisted deep in his gut.

‘She’s mine now.’

Caleb instantly thought about you. He hadn’t seen you in a few weeks, not since that Senior Orientation day where you rocked up in a dress too short for his liking. Well, he liked it, but he didn’t like everyone else got to see you in it. He told himself then it was just that big brother attitude he adopted from all those years he helped Gideon baby sit you. But that was a lie because that phrase was echoing in his skull. ‘She’s mine now.’ It was creeping up his spine like a sickness, an unspoken pull that he always refused to acknowledge. He had been waiting for you. All this time.

All those memories of you curled on the couch squealing with laugher came flooding into his mind. The way you’d look at him like he hung the stars for you. Now, you’re a senior of this school, you’re eighteen, you’re ‘legal’. The second those thoughts flashed in his mind he hated himself for it. Because what does that make him? Caleb’s jaw tensed, he took a long sip of his coffee, praying the flood of caffeine could bury those unholy thoughts but it didn’t. It stayed gnawing at the pits of his stomach.

‘She’s mine now.’ The echo of Sylus’ words kept circling in his head like a wasp that wouldn’t die. Caleb shifted slightly in his seat and took another sip of bitter coffee that rightfully tasted like shame now. His fingers gripped the handle of the mug so tight, his knuckles turned white, like he could wring the thought from his head like this.

Then Caleb felt it. A pair of crimson eyes on him, a weight of being seen through like glass. Caleb raised his head and made eye contact with Sylus. Neither of the men said anything but Caleb could swear Sylus was reading his mind like he was an open book on nightmares and trauma. Caleb swallowed hard and blinked once before looking away, pretending to go through his phone. Scrolling through emails he wasn’t actually reading. He could feel his pulse hammering in his neck and his throat stayed dry. Sylus stared for a moment longer before turning his attention back out the window.

No more words were spoken but Caleb could feel it. That nonverbal confession that a man like Sylus was able to pull out of him. Zayne hadn’t noticed, or he pretended not to but Caleb could feel the truth settling over his shoulders like a second skin. Maybe they will catch on. Would they hate him for it? This wasn’t some teenager that he’s randomly gotten feelings for, no. You were a girl who’s known Caleb her entire life, he’s watched you grow. Whatever these feelings were… It was way worse than what Sylus did… perhaps even what Solana did too.

Caleb couldn’t take it anymore. He excused himself with some poor excuse about getting the oval set up for his first class but really he just wanted to get out of that stuffy staff room and away from their watchful eyes.

Caleb rubbed at his aching wrist again as he stepped out of the staff room, the cool summer breeze doing nothing to calm down the raging thoughts in his head. He took a deep breath and tried to focus. His first period was year 12 P.E. theory and light practical combo. Stretches, orientation and easing into the term and what’s expected of the seniors.

He barely made it halfway before a familiar voice hit him from the left.

“Hey Caleb.”

He froze mid-step, nothing too dramatic but just enough to show that his brain nearly collapsed. The voice was soft, warm and teasing. His eyes slid sideways and there you were. Wearing a Linkon High uniform that fit you a little too good. Your bag slung over one shoulder, your hair gently swaying in the wind, wisps curling around your cheekbones. Then that same smirk on your face that you used to give him when you were six and tried to race him on your bike.

Caleb’s lips twitched. “You shouldn’t call me that here. It’s ‘Professor’ to you now.”

You rolled your eyes as you fell into step beside him. “Oh please. I used to chew on your hoodie strings, I think I’ve earned the first-name priveleges.”

He choked on a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. Fuck, you still had it. That effortless sass, and that whip-smart tongue wrapped in sugar.

“And I used to tie you to a dining chair with jump rope so you wouldn’t run off during dinner. What’s your point?”

“My point,” You grinned, bumping your shoulder against his arm, “Is that you’re not that scary, Caleb.”

He side-eyed you, the bright purple darkening ever so slightly. “You’re pushing it, Pipsqueak.”

There it was, that nickname. That familiar sting and comfort in one word. Your heart gave a little squeeze and you laughed but it was tight around the edges. “Still calling me that huh?” You said lightly. “What happened to the whole ‘look at you, all grown up’ speech i was expecting?”

His smirk faded just a breath too long. He wanted to tell you that he noticed, that ever since that orientation day he went to bed with the image of your thighs burned into his mind but his mouth stayed shut. Your gaze lingered on his face for a moment before he cleared his throat and looked forward, breaking the eye contact.

“I noticed.”

The silence stretched between you again and your smile faltered slightly. You’ve had a crush on Caleb for as long as you can remember. Even before you knew what crushes were. Even back when he was the golden boy crashing on your family’s couch and teaching you how to ride a skateboard and play basketball. Now when he calls you ‘Pipsqueak’ it stings a little and leaves an ache in your chest. Because ‘Pipsqueak’ is Gideon’s little sister, is the baby, is the girl he’ll never look at the way you look at him.

You reached the edge of the school oval. You watch Caleb rub his wrist again and notice the tiny scarring, that makes your chest hurt too as your mind starts to drift with thoughts about that day…

But then Caleb’s voice cuts through your reverie. “You’re in my class?”

You shook the thoughts from your head and grinned at him. “Wow. Forget me already, ‘Professor?’”

Caleb stared at your name on the class roll. It was highlighted, circled and starred. He hadn’t even realised he’d done that. His mouth went dry again.

“Right.” He cleared his throat.”New year, new class lists. Still getting used to it.”

You gave him that knowing look. A wicked little smirk with just enough innocence to make him feel like the villain in his own story.

“Should I be worried? That my PE teacher is already forgetting me?”

He forced a chuckle, waving toward the stretch lines painted into the grass where the other students had started to congregate.

“Worried? No. Annoying? Definitely. Go warm up, Pipsqueak.”

You give a mock gasp. “Still with the Pipsqueak?”

His voice drops lower. “It still fits.”

Your eyes flashed something unreadable, something dangerous but you turned and jogged off to join the other students. Hair swaying and your skirt flaring just enough. Caleb stood there for a moment, his heartbeat thudding behind his ribs like a warning drum because you weren’t just in his world now. You were in his classroom, his jurisdiction and there were rules. So many fucking rules. That he was already aching to break.

The whistle sliced through the morning air like a blade. A flock of magpies scattered across the edge of the oval as Caleb paced in front of the gathered class. Clipboard in one hand, stopwatch in the other.

“Alright, let’s start simple.” He called out, his voice was deceptively steady. “First week means foundations. Partner up and start with dynamic stretches. Lunges, hamstring rolls and side bends. We’ll move into short sprints in twenty.”

Students peeled off in twos, laughter and chatter rising like heat from the grass. He should be watching all the students but he couldn’t. His eyes always landed on you. You could feel the way he watched as you were tying up your hair. His eyes lingering on the way your arms stretched overhead. The way certain body parts of yours moved when you bounced on your heels. A smirk formed on your face as you started to do a lunge stretch.

Caleb was moving between pairs of students, correcting form as he went along until he reached you. His eyes glued to the way your leg extended beautifully, too beautifully. Your shirt clung to your sides just slightly with sweat and your mouth was parted.

“Switch legs,” Caleb said, his tone clipped as he stopped next to you.

You glanced up at him with a sparkle in your eyes. “Am I doing it wrong, Caleb?”

You notice the slight flush crawling up his neck. “You know not to call me that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, ‘Professor’.” You started shifting into the next stretch but your balance tipped, maybe on purpose, and you stumbled forward.

Caleb’s reflexes kicked in instantly and strong hands caught you at the waist. Your heart pounded in your chest and your breath caught in your throat. Your hand caught his arm, fingers curling against his skin. His palms felt warm and big against your waist. The scent of his cologne filled your nose. Caleb’s eyes met yours. You can feel his thumb brush against your rib and it sent tingles throughout your entire body.

“Careful,” He said in a low husky voice. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt on your first day.”

You licked your lips before smiling. A wicked gleam in your eyes. “That’d be tragic, wouldn’t it? You’d have to carry me to the nurse’s office. Maybe give me mouth to mouth.”

“Stretch.” He practically growled and stepped back so fast it looked like he’d been burned.

You giggled as you watch Caleb turn around, forcing his attention back to the class but you noticed the clench in his jaw and the way he flexed his hands.

The rest of the class was a blur and before you knew it Caleb dismissed everybody early. Students cheered and started scattering across the oval. Making their way to their next class but not you. You watched as Caleb started dragging cones and hurdles toward the shed. His clipboard was tucked under his arm and his expression was blank. So, you sneak up behind him.

“You need a hand?”

He turned around slowly with an expression you couldn’t read.

“I’m good,” he said automatically, tossing a ball into the equipment crate but you were already walking toward him with your lips curled into that infuriating smile.

“C’mon, you used to beg me to help clean up when I was ten. You said I was the perfect minion.”

He snorted slightly as he crouched down to grab more equipment off the floor. “Yeah, and you used to demand three gummy worms as payment.”

“Inflation, babe,” You shot back. “I expect at least a smoothie now.”

Caleb paused and looked at you. That grin, the way you said babe, he let it all slide. Just barely.

“Fine,” He muttered, motioning toward the scattered cones. “Start with those.”

You worked in an easy and familiar rhythm but now, every time you bent over his gaze flicked. Every time you made a soft noise, his chest tightened.

Then, as you threw the last cone into the crate, you spoke. “Gideon texted me last night.”

Caleb’s jaw ticked.

“He still thinks it’s hilarious that I’m in your class.” Your fingers run a long the top of the crate. “Said I should call you ‘Cabbie’ in front of everyone.”

Caleb groaned. “God, I hate that name.”

You grinned. “You used to chase him around the backyard when we were little. Screaming that you’d never forgive him.”

“I still haven’t.”

You chuckled softly, a real laugh and for a moment it felt like old times. Backyard barbecues, playing with sprinklers, you clinging to Caleb’s arm during thunderstorms. Your finger tapped the metal as your smile faltered slightly.

“You miss it?” You asked quietly. “Being around us more?”

Caleb met your eyes. He knows what you’re actually asking. ‘Do you miss me?’ God, he does. He dipped his head and looked at his feet.

“I miss before things got complicated,” he said.

You tilted your head and for the first time since he called you Pipsqueak again you have hope shining in your eyes. “You think this is complicated?”

He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it straight away. A smile spread across your face. “Good. I was worried it was just me.”

Caleb’s fist clenched at his side, his jaw was tight and his knuckles were white. He still didn’t look at you.

“You can head off,” he muttered.

You didn’t move, you just watched him. Waiting for him to stop deflecting.

“Bell’s in five,” he added, trying again. “You’ll be late.”

“I’ve got time,” you said simply.

His eyes flicked up. You were leaning against the doorframe of the shed now, arms crossed, a little smirk tugging at your lips.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” You added. Your voice soft and level.

“Didn’t say you were,” he replied, too fast.

“No, but you keep treating me like one.”

That landed heavy between you. Caleb straightened his posture and brushed imaginary dust off his shirt to try and distract himself. Finally he spoke.

“You’re my best friend’s little sister. That doesn’t just… go away.”

You stepped forward slowly. Closing some of the space between you. Not all the way, just enough to make the air feel different between you.

“Maybe it doesn’t go away,” you said, your voice gentle now. “But you don’t have to keep acting like I’m made of glass. I’ve grown up, Caleb. Whether you want to see it or not.”

His chest rose and fell slowly. You took another step, and then another. Until you were right in front of him. Your eyes were bright and your cheeks were flushed. Not from the exercise you did earlier but from the proximity.

“We’re playing with fire,” Caleb warned, his voice low.

You smiled softly, “I know but aren’t you tired of pretending we’re not already burning?”

Caleb’s jaw flexed, his breath came in slow calculated pulls. The heat between you was maddening. The scent of your perfume and your sweat filled his nose. It sent tingles all the way down his spine, and heat pooled in his lower abdomen.

You looked up at him with hooded eyes. Your voice dropped again, barely above a whisper. “I’m not trying to ruin you.”

His purple eyes met yours. He looked tormented and almost like he was pleading you to stop.

“But I could.” You added softly.

“You already are,” he murmured.

A draft of wind curled through the shed, tugging strands of hair across your cheek. You didn’t blink as you continued to stare up at Caleb. Like you were seeing every version of him at once. The boy who used to sneak you cookies after dinner. The teenager who gave you piggyback rides during storm blackouts and the man who now looked at you like he couldn’t breathe without tasting you first.

You bravely, or stupidly, lifted your hand up and brushed the sleeve of his shirt. Barely a touch, just a whisper of contact but it set his skin on fire.

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked.

Caleb inhaled as he closed his eyes. Just for a second, like maybe that second in the darkness would help him lie. He opened them slowly and looked down at you and it was raw.

“I can’t want you.”

“But you do.”

Caleb didn’t answer, didn’t speak because if he did, it wouldn’t be words that came out of his mouth. It would be need. Pure unadultered, shameful need.

You stayed like that. A breath apart. Your head tilted just slightly and his fists clenched at his sides tighter than before. Like touching you might be the thing that unmakes him. A single step is all it would take. To close the distance. To feel his lips on yours. To cross that line that’s been drawn since the day you were born. Then, the bell rang. Loud and piercing. Jarring you both back to reality.

You stepped back, maintaining eye contact, your lips curving into the smallest smile. “Guess we’ll both be late now, huh?”

Then you turned and walked away. Leaving Caleb frozen and burning.

Your footsteps echoed down the empty hallway. You were walking slower than you should’ve been. The school bell had rung a second time, its final warning for the next period but you were still walking like your brain hadn’t caught up to your legs. Like you were moving through smoke.

Your hand was still tingling from where you brushed his sleeve.

His voice, god that voice, echoed in your mind. ‘You already are.’ You pressed your lips together trying not to smile. Trying not to melt from that confirmation of his feelings.

The door to your next class was still open, students already seated with their books out and the teacher was mid-roll call. You slipped in quietly with your head ducked low and you found your desk. You tried to relax into your chair but your body didn’t know how to sit still. Your legs were crossed too tightly, your breath came in short waves and your thighs were warm. Too warm.

You kept shifting and wiggling in your seat. Trying to focus on the board in front of you. It was math or science. Honestly, you didn’t know or care. All you could think about was how close he was. How he didn’t stop you. How his eyes looked like you were something he ached for, something he’d already tasted in his dreams. Your fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt under your desk. An idle and reckless movement. You thought about the way his voice dropped, the way his throat moved when he swallowed back his need. The way his hands flexed like they were dying to touch you and knew that he couldn’t.

Your thighs pressed tighter together as the last bit of your conversation with him looped over and over in your mind.

‘Do you want me to stop?’

‘I can’t want you.’

‘But you do.’

God, his silence spoke louder than any other answer he could’ve given. You didn’t know how you were supposed to survive the rest of the day, not like this. Not with your heart hammering and your stomach fluttering like it was fighting gravity. One was thing was clear though. Whatever you two were dancing around, it wasn’t going away.

Caleb spotted you before he even pressed the unlock button on his car keys. You were leaning against the passenger side of his car like you belonged there. Sunlight caught you in that golden-hour glow, making you look more like a dream than a student. He slowed his steps, trying not to clench his jaw or curse out loud. You had your bag at your feet, your blazer folded over your arms, and your skirt looked higher up your thighs. Too fucking dangerous and too confident.

“You stalking me now?” He asked, stopping a few feet from the car. Careful to maintain distance.

You shrugged as that lazy smile curled across your lips. “Depends. You offering me a ride or not?”

He blinked at your question and laughed dryly. “You’re seriously asking your teacher for a lift home?”

“You’re seriously pretending like you’re not going my way anyways?”

His keys dangled uselessly in his hand, the weight of your gaze was palpable, thick enough to breathe in. “You know we can’t be seen like this.” He said quietly.

Your smile sharpened as you pushed off the car slowly and deliberate. Walking toward him until you reached the end of the hood. The gap between you closing fast. “I thought we weren’t supposed to be doing a lot of things…” You whisper.

Caleb swallowed hard. Every instinct screamed at him to get in the car and drive away. Instead, he kept his gaze on you. His fingers flexed as he pressed the button on his keys. The sound of the car unlocking was louder than a gunshot.

“Get in.”

You didn’t hesitate, just smirked up at him as you opened the door and slid into the front passenger seat.

The car was too quiet. There was no music, just the soft hum of the engine and the sound of Caleb’s fingers clenching the steering wheel every few seconds. You sat beside him, legs crossed, blazer in your lap and your fingers tapping against your thighs. Still, no words were spoken between you. He kept his eyes on the road, the streets, on anything but you.

You finally broke the silence. “So, how was your day Professor?” Your voice lilted just enough to make it feel like a joke.

He huffed and still didn’t look at you. “Normal. Loud. Too hot.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes turned toward him even though he’s not returning the gaze. “Hot huh? Guess the heat really got to you today…”

His jaw clenched and you grinned, just a little bit. You watched the way his neck tensed as you spoke. You could see every little micro action. “Didn’t seem like you minded earlier,” You added. “When we were standing that close.”

“That was a mistake.”

You clicked your tongue. “Liar.”

“Don’t.” His voice was rough and low. He still wasn’t looking at you.

You shifted in your seat, angling toward him. “Why won’t you look at me?”

“Because you’re not making this easier.”

“I’m not trying to make it easy,” you said, and there was no more teasing in your tone now. Just raw and wicked truth. His fingers flexed on the wheel and you leaned a little closer. Your voice quieter. “Do you regret it?”

He paused at a red light and finally looked at you. His eyes, fuck, they burned.

“No.” It came out like a confession. Like a sin wrapped in silk. “I regret that I want more.”

The light turned green and he looked away. You stared at him for a long moment with your heart jackhammering behind your ribs.

“So do I.”

Another silence bloomed between you. It was loaded with everything you both wanted to say to each other but weren’t. He finally pulled up to your house but neither of you moved. The engine ticked softly as it cooled. Outside the windshield, the sun was casting long shadows across the familiar porch. The garden hadn’t changed, neither had the paint chipping near the front step and inside, through the kitchen window, Caleb could see movement. Your parents.

Your dad leaned against the counter, sipping from a chipped blue mug. Your mum laughed at something while tossing a towel over her shoulder. It was domestic and simple. It was home and once upon a time, it had been his too, Caleb continued to stare, his grip loosening on the steering wheel. He didn’t speak yet. His gaze drifted to the upstairs window. To your bedroom. How many nights had he stayed over here? Fallen asleep on the couch with Gideon after Halo tournaments? Woken up to pancakes? Held the exact same mug your dad now drank from?

This house had always been safe but now… He sat outside with you, in his car, after you looked him in the eye and said you didn’t want to stop. Caleb finally turned to you. You were already looking at him, like he was something fragile. Something just about to break open. His voice came low, rough and a little wrecked.

“You’re still Gideon’s little sister.”

Your stomach tensed. Like your heart was a rock that was dropped through water and sinking down. Your lips parted as your breath caught. You expected something else. Maybe a joke, maybe a ‘get inside’ but not that. You blinked a few times before leaning in slightly.

“Why are you still pretending that, that’s the only part of me that matters?”

This time it was Caleb’s breath that caught. His throat closed up. You didn’t look away or back down.

“Do you even see me, Caleb? Or are you just trying not to?”

That landed like a punch to the ribs because he’d been trying not to. Not since he saw you at orientation and not since you said his name in that teasing voice that wasn’t a child’s anymore. He dragged a hand over his mouth and looked away again, out the window and back at the house.

“I see you,” He whispered. “Too well.”

The words hung heavy between you. It was unfiltered and honest. You didn’t smile or gloat. You just moved slowly and softly. Your hand reached across the centre console, fingers brushed against his. Tentative at first, like you were giving him a chance to pull away and when he didn’t, you laced your fingers through his. That fractured something within him, painfully and silently. Because your hand felt so tiny and warm in his. The tenderness in your grip was sure and certain. Like you knew this was the moment that everything shifted. He stared down at your joined hands. The calluses on his thumb, the soft pink polish on your nails.

This didn’t make sense and yet it made all the sense in the world. His voice broke the silence, barely audible. “Shouldn’t be doing this.”

You didn’t flinch, “But you are.”

His eyes closed and a sigh of defeat fell out of him. Not because you were wrong but because you were right and it felt too good to stop.

“You were always stubborn.” He murmured.

You squeezed his hand gently. “And you always liked that about me.”

That drew the faintest laugh from him, barely a breath but it was real. He turned toward you now and finally met your gaze. The silence thickened as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. Your pulse spiked as your lips parted. His eyes glanced down to your mouth and lingered before returning to your eyes. Your breath caught in your throat as his hand lifted and his palm cradled your cheek. Warmth bloomed under his fingers and you leaned into it, instinctively.

“Caleb.” You whispered his name softly.

It hit him like a plea. He dipped his head, so close your foreheads brushed. So close you could feel the flutter of his lashes and smell his cologne again. You could hear the tiny hitch in his throat when he didn’t pull back.

He didn’t kiss you, not yet, so you moved. Just a fraction, just enough for your lips to graze and that ruined him. Heat surged up his spine and a groan curled low in his throat, caught somewhere between lust and self-control. His hand on your cheek tensed just enough for you to feel the strain of his touch.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you waited for the kiss. He tilted his mouth closer. Your breaths mingling. You were right there.

Then he changed course.

He pressed a lingering, hard and devastating kiss to your forehead instead. It wasn’t a kiss to stop you or what was happening. It was a kiss that said ‘I want you more than I should ever admit.’

Your breath shuddered out and you didn’t open your eyes the entire time his lips were pressed to your forehead. He lingered for several long burning seconds.

When he finally pulled away, his voice was hoarse.

“We can’t.”

But it was a lie and you knew it. Because if he truly meant it, he wouldn’t still be holding your hand like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

#love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace #lnds caleb #caleb smut #love and deepspace smut

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blxksun · 1 day ago

Text

18+, minors and ageless blogs dni

camboy!felix who wanted to, because he’s kind of a people pleaser (in his own little sick perverted way). people found him cute, innocent. he liked (a bit too much) the shock factor of when he spoke or accidentally showed skin. so, he made a second account on tiktok. first it was enough, just simple thirst traps, but when he realized his body had a reaction to people not seeing him in such an innocent light, he went along with the voice in the back of his head.

camboy!felix who was never loud about it—on his main tiktok. that one, lixfrmdwnunda, was strictly for challenges he wanted to try out and vlogs of his volunteer days. he chose the name because, well the obvious, but also for what it sounded like. usual comments there, nothing too crazy. "wannabdwnundalix: came from your other account, duality is insane", oh right, the other account.

camboy!felix who almost forgot (he didn't, he just doesn't ever admit to completely being aware) about the other account, kumfeelix, where he was very loud about it. not one video didn't show skin. those comments? the usual. he was..flirty there, always teasing, lifting a shirt up, holding that camera at that one angle, exposing the brand of his boxers, (the line that leads into them). liked every lustful comment and replied back with the same energy. 'raw, next question'= 'that was the only question, you pass', 'i hate seeing things i can't have' = 'you can have it, but can you take it?', 'until my dentist knows him by name' = 'what abt gyno?'. made every caption, ‘link in bio 🩵’.

camboy!felix who logged onto the site every day to notification bomb. print pics, hand pics, a foggy post-shower mirror picture of his hand wrapped around his dick, hair wetly resting on his collorbone, toned body teasing through the parts of the mirror that are defogging. and one word post, "can't wait to see you thursday 🩵".

camboy!felix who became the definition of hot people knowing they're hot. he knows he looks good and sounds better. he loves to get the people going, he quite literally gets off on it. so, he has a set schedule because he likes the idea that people anticipate seeing him, hearing him.

camboy!felix who likes making things as natural as possible. so, he does his lives at his desk with his pc set up (typically for his gaming) but right now, for the stream. once he pressed start, the viewers flooded in, constant ping! ping! ping! he was just sitting in his chair. hair pulled back by a headband, face bare (just shy of being hidden by his mic), some random t-shirt, and cotton sweat shorts.

camboy!felix who didn't even have to say anything because he conditioned his viewers to know exactly what to do. smirk pulling on his lips and eyebrow slightly raising, he replied to the chat teasingly, "oh yeah?, missed me and its only been a week?", "my voice makes you that wet, mmm, i should take responsibility?, yeah?", "you wish you could show me what i do to you, mmmm me too, maybe one day?", that last one made him laugh a little. he enjoyed ‘mocking’ them, because he knew and they did too, he would give them what they want.

camboy!felix who, like right now, was doing exactly that. reaching his hand into his sweat shorts, below his boxers, and pulling out his semi-hard cock to stroke it to full mast. ‘this want you wanted’, voice dropping a little lower into his mic. once again sending the chat into a frenzy.

camboy!felix who didn’t just focus on his body in the streams, but his voice too, sometimes streams less doing and more instructing. more or less guided mutual masturbation. "it's really unfair i don't get to see you, bet you look insane on your end", breathing coming out in sighs. he stops himself to lift his t-shirt over his head and immediately brings his hand back to his dick. "are your legs spread, baby?, spread them wider, i want to think about that. do that for me pleas-"

camboy!felix who mistakenly reads one final comment, that stops him from saying his next sentence. "wannabdwnundalix: i'm so glad i made it before you truly started, i had to charge my rose, it goes so good with the mold i bought from you~, wanna try to squirt for you lixie~".

camboy!felix who smiles big, because his favorite viewer was here. "good girl, try hard for me”. truly can't get that thought out of his head. he did that as a subscriber giveaway back when he first hit 5000 subscribers, this he actually forgot about.

camboy!felix who, several mind-numbing strokes in, realizes this isn't enough and he needs to feel more. tries his hardest to talk like they want him too, but he can only truly manage quick soft sighs and low groans. reaching into his box of stream props and pulling out a fleshlight and immediately replacing his hand with it.

camboy!felix who accidentally personalizes a public stream (not that the viewers notice, because he normally pretends the props are them). "fuck i bet this is how you're feeling, we're practically fucking each other right now, you feel so good, so fucking good". his hips are bucking up into it, his eyes low, mouth slightly ajar. "shit, i'm getting close, fuckkk, i'm gonna cum", his tilts his head. bumps to the back of his chair as his abs tighten.

camboy!felix who at this point is so in his head he doesn't even hear the pings. his hips aren't even bucking up anymore, he's full on thrusting. it's so sporadic, and he groans. "aauugh, shit shit shit, mmm" and he doesn't stop, his cum dripping out of the fleshlight, down onto his shorts. his bottom lip, finding a place in between his teeth and coming out as he almost soundlessly vocalizes 'fu'.

camboy!felix who overstimulates himself on accident and gets pitchy, cumming again, more dripping down onto his shorts. decides that's enough. his face his flushed, forehead shining slightly from sweat and he takes a moment to calm down. removes himself from the sleeve. he shows the camera, winks, "wish this was you huh?"

camboy!felix who follows that with, "could be, we're 100 away from 10,000. gonna fuck a fan" and he smiles big like he didn't just kill everyone behind their screens. goes in to kiss the camera. "see you next thursday". ends the stream.

blxksun2025 do not copy or translate my works. happy reading !

a/n here because of this poll. got a little long there (i got carried away). this is a work of pure fiction, nothing in this work is a true reflection of the real person this fanfiction is based around. i hope you enjoyed this. here is lee know. here is hyunjin (friday, 8pm est).

#stray kids #skz x reader #felix x reader #felix fanfic #felix smut #lee felix #skz felix #felix #skz #skz smut #skz fanfic #felix x you #blxksun felix #felix lee #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #lee felix yongbok #felix skz #felix stray kids

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eternalglitter · 3 days ago

Text

♫ Have Ya Babies - Smoke Moore

(3) Why has it been so long? Why has it been so long? Why has it been so long? Why has it been so long? Why has it been so long? Why has it been so long?

Aspen was adamant about wearing the color yellow. Ever since she agreed to go out with Smoke, the color of the sun was calling her name. Adrienne was also, quite literally, calling her name.

“So you’re ready to be back out there?” Adrienne asked sincerely. Aspen didn’t do casual. She didn’t like unpredictability. Everything about the Moore lifestyle screamed both. Even if Adrienne had no clue just who Aspen was easing towards.

“Yeah. I’m just agreeing to lunch.” She rushed out. She was grateful that they were talking traditionally rather than FaceTime, otherwise Adrienne would’ve clocked her hesitation.

“Okay.” Adrienne got quiet for a moment. “And I can’t see him again because of what?” She quizzed.

She wasn’t obsessed with Aspen’s love life, but if someone was taking her out, she deserved to know who — in case something went left.

“Adri.” Aspen sighed. “I’ll be fine. Promise. My location will be on.” She reassured.

A few more true crime stories later and Adrienne finally let it go.

“Just be safe.”

Aspen hung up, grateful. Her best friend, always full of concern, meant well but she was eager to pursue this independently.

The yellow dress matched the version of herself she wanted Smoke to see — confident, elegant, not trying too hard. It dipped low enough to draw the eye and stopped just short enough to let the imagination do its job. Appropriately dressed for lunch. A museum, maybe. Or anything else Smoke Moore might pull from his sleeve.

_________________________________

Stack eyed his brother in gentle curiosity. One thing missed about identical twins? They mirrored each other. Stack felt Smoke’s feelings and he wore them on his own face.

This time though, Stack was confused.

Smoke was expectantly blank all the time, but in times of celebration, worship, and praise he was a bit loose. Unguarded.

Stack felt that his brother looked off.

The lawsuit was dropped and they had the exclusive performer for the VS Fashion Show, two things that Smoke had been striving for. Smoke was quiet even for himself.

“You got better places to be?” Stack teased. Half jokingly, half concerned. Smoke never talked about his feelings. Not to Elias. Not to anyone.

In the past when his feelings were hurt he would just go mute. He’d toss his old trainers on and run for miles. Away from daddy. Away from responsibility.

“Elijah I done told you about being so hard on those shoes.” Disappointment in his eyes. “How you gone be a big brother and you doing the same stupid shit.”

“Yes sir.” Elijah replied, his head lowered in defeat.

He told Elias that they shouldn’t run in them but Elias was the only one who pushed his buttons.

“What you scared of? A challenge? Slow poke. Slow poke!” Elias taunted throwing little pebbles at his brother.

“Quit it.”

“Na slow poke. Slow poke smoke’s what we gone start calling you. Slow poke too scared of smoke.” Elias taunted repeatedly until Elijah planted his feet on ground and left Elias in a dusty, smoke-like, cloud.

“Man quit I wasn’t ready!”

The was the first time that Elijah clung to the name Smoke. The beginning of his resentment towards his father and guiltily — towards his brother.

“I’m satisfied Stack.” Smoke huffed out, still sounding grumpy, but aware of his brother’s observation.

Something was throwing him off. Was taking a woman out for lunch so foreign for him? That couldn’t be what broke his normal, blank expression. Not this early.

“You should be! Now I called Metro and they-“

“I got plans tonight.” Smoke cut him off. Smoke had no business being near Stack and Metro at the same time. Especially not today.

“Sammie said you’d say no anyway.” Stack sucked his teeth. “No fun.”

“Ay don’t be poisoning my cousin man.” Smoke looked up. Staring Elias in his eyes made his stomach churn sometimes.

“Whatever.” Stack’s eyes lowered. “What you doing that you so busy tonight?”

“Bye Stack.”

Stack sucked his teeth again. “Don’t go fatherin’ no kid and pin it on me!” Stack called out as he walked away.

That would definitely go the other way around if that ever happened. Luckily they didn’t have the same taste.

_________________________________

Smoke sat in her driveway in silence. He’d been there for a few minutes before he texted her. He scoped out the block. Made note of her car, cute. Texted her once his car was in park.

I’m here. Take ya time.

In no rush to speed up this evening, Smoke quietly sparked one up. Just a drag. Just to ease his mind. This was the first date in a while, his first of the year.

Aspen did her time. Enthralled by her own presence she hadn’t heard Smoke’s message come through. It was only five minutes though.

She sprayed a little bit of her favorite perfume, kissed her cat goodbye, and made her way downstairs to see Smoke.

To see Smoke.

That felt unreal. Smoke Moore was in her driveway. And only the two of them knew it.

How long could that last?

Smoke ashed the blunt as soon as Aspen’s front door opened. Got out of his own seat and walked around the passenger side to open her door.

His eyes swept over her like a slow draw. Yellow dress. Yellow heels. Yellow might be his favorite color.

“Ya look beautiful.” Smoke admitted once she was in earshot.

“Thank you.” Aspen smiled shyly. The warmth in his voice did more to her than the heat outside.

Smoke looked good too. Fitted white tee, tailored black bottoms, and a scent that made her thighs tense. He smelt like a man who needed to be taken care of. Handled carefully on hands and kn-

Aspen blinked away the haze. That was not where she wanted her mind. A man like Smoke had accessible sex. Would he really go through all of this if it was just for sex?

“Smells nice in here.” Aspen revealed, eager to break the tension. She felt like she could hear her own heartbeat.

“You smell nice. Look real nice too.” He complemented again. From the corner of his eye he could still see her eyes blink away what she was desperately trying to hide.

“You always this kind?” Aspen laughed, deflecting away from the fact that Smoke was sizing her.

“Only when I see a lady in a sundress.” He smirked as they approached the red light.

“Guess I should wear one more often then,” she said, biting back a grin.

“Absolutely.”

“So where we going?” Aspen asked. He said that he was taking her out but never specified where.

“I know a good spot. Good people.”

“I love good food.”

And Smoke knew how to use a highlight to make a decision.

He knew this could be trouble — but trouble rarely smelled this sweet.

_________________________________

♫ Now playing: Come Thru - Drake

“You still in school?” Smoke asked. He was trying to keep up with the titles being released from her mouth.

“One more semester to go.” Aspen smiled.

“Ya scared?” He asked genuinely. “For the weight of carrying other people’s burden?”

“You know what it feels like?”

It got quiet. Not awkward — just full.

The waitress appeared just in time, refilling their glasses before either of them had a chance to respond.

“On the house. Mr. Moore’s a good man.” The girl admitted looking admiringly at Smoke.

“So I hear.” Aspen’s eyes never left Smoke’s.

“Don’t flatter me Lis’.”

“Somebody has to. You sure won’t do it yourself!” She laughed walking away with the wine bottle.

“You don’t celebrate your wins?” Aspen asked once she walked away.

“Pay that no mind.”

“Mhmm that says no.” Aspen raised. “How come you not celebrating right now.”

Aspen heard about the lawsuit being dismissed. Some of her friends reposted the announcement on their pages. The lawsuit was effecting their efforts to headline Coachella, something every artist eventually wanted to do.

“I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Here’s to you Smoke. One of many accolades acknowledged.” Aspen smiled clinking her glass with an uncertain Smoke.

“Come on. Clink my glass or I’m calling the kid back out here.” She joked. Smoke sighed but he complied, lifting his glass to touch hers.

_________________________________

They stayed longer than expected. The plates were cleared, but neither of them made a move. Just two half-full glasses of wine, and a low instrumental playing in the background.

“I ain’t ready to drop you off yet.” Smoke admitted after enough silence had passed.

“I don’t have a curfew.” Rolling off her tongue with clear approval. She was having a better time than anticipated. This might’ve been the first time she felt seen as a grown woman and not just something pretty.

Smoke was a listener. He answered questions but rarely offered information unless asked. He listened to her words, imagined some of the places she’d been, and made mental notes of her interest.

Something about needing a pilates studio? He’ll figure that out later.

Smoke held the door open for her once they left the restaurant. Lunch was amazing and the owners had been good people just as Smoke said.

They didn’t drive far. Just a few blocks down. The sun had started to drop low enough to give everything that golden glaze. The light bounced off Aspen’s skin, almost if the sun was complementing her outfit.

Smoke slowed as they passed a faded blue storefront, easy to miss if you’re speeding. The windows were a bit worn, painted with various album covers.

“Thought that looked like a record shop,” he mumbled.

Aspen blinked. Then again.

“Wait.” Her voice high. “That’s— Jesus. That’s still open?”

“You been here?” Smoke eyed. He could hardly see the store being active based on the appearance alone.

“My brother and I used to come here all the time.” It rolled off her tongue so easily. She hadn’t meant to say the thoughts aloud. Not before she could dress it up.

“They had this back section just for underground hip-hop. He used to spend hours back there, trying his best to win Nas tickets.”

“Ya brother spit?” Smoke asked as he parked. Aspen couldn’t help but to watch as he turned his head to reverse into an empty parking spot. What a side profile.

Aspen didn’t answer right away. She just looked at the building like it would answer for her. Like it could wrap her in a tight hug and pull her back in time.

“No,” she said once Smoke looked over. “He just really loved music.”

Once they stepped inside a soft bell greeted them. Followed by the familiar crackle of something spinning from the back — Marvin Gaye filled the room just like did so many years ago.

Dust floated in the sunlight like memory particles. Aspen’s heels muffled against the old carpet. She spilt a coke here once on this very same carpet. Moving too fast, laughing too hard, enjoying the moments that she couldn’t get back now.

“Everything’s exactly the same,” she whispered. “Even the smell.”

Smoke watched her. Carefully. The way her fingers ghosted over the shelves. The way her eyes scanned the vinyl like they were searching for something that wasn’t even there. His eyes danced in precision as he walked behind her.

“Your brother,” Smoke started, walking closer to the vinyls that Aspen rummaged through.

“He the only family you mention,” he said. Not accusatory. Just observant. Just using the little knowledge that she revealed.

Aspen stopped. Just for a second. Her back still turned away from him.

“Yeah,” she said. That was it. She didn’t need to say anything else.

Smoke didn’t press. He didn’t need to.

He reached past her gently and picked up a worn copy of Illmatic. The one her finger had been silently brushing over.

“This his favorite?”

“The favorite,” Aspen said with a stiff laugh. “He used to say Nas taught him more than school ever did.”

Smoke studied the cover, flipping it over like it weighed more than it did. He knew this album. Knew some of the people on it too.

“Smart man.”

Aspen looked at him then, eyes just a little too shiny.

“He was.”

Smoke didn’t respond. He wasn’t too good at comforting people. Instead, he paid for the record and handed it to her without a word.

Aspen held it close during the entire car ride home. It was the first time in years she held a piece of Joseph outside of a memory.

The first time she felt physical comfort from something that reminded her of him. The first time that she felt seen in the eyes of grief. Smoke Moore was the one who did that for her.

_________________________________

@thefutureemmywinner

@coldeforprez

@rolemodelshit

#eternalglitter #elias stack moore #elijah smoke moore #mbj #michael b jordan #sinners #sinners au #sinners fanfiction #sinners!x black!oc #smoke moore #smoke stack twins

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glenthemes · 1 day ago

Text

Ten years ago today on July 16th 2015, I created glenthemes. Just to be clear: I'm NOT saying goodbye. You're all stuck in here with me. This is a look-back on my journey, the good, the bad, the ugly, and how I ended up where I am now. This short journal is mostly written in chronological order; if you'd like to skip to the parts you're interested in, here's the overview in which the the titles sound suspiciously like episode names:

humble beginnings

how I learned to code

glenthemes was problematic 💅

glenthemes logo

paid themes & pages

landing internships

Discord community

powerpoint guides

college & hackathon

featured on Tumblr's "Getting Started" page

tumblr changes / mobile & NPF era

design style & branding

“the friends we made along the way”

what's next?

10 years of glenthemes.

◍ humble beginnings:

During my early teens, I had a habit of changing my theme every other week (sometimes it would be every other day.) Back then, it was a way of showing my appreciation for my favorite fictional characters; every sidebar image or corner image would be a low res GIF or a poorly cut out mangacap, and that meant the world to me. It was a form of creative outlet during my troublesome high school years. My greatest coding achievement at the time was adding a sepia filter over my posts, but I was sold. I wanted to do more, make more. Some of the theme makers that inspired me to start exploring theme making and coding in general are:

@⁠7th-district

@⁠a--themes/@⁠dianthus-s

@⁠altairisthemes

@⁠cocorini (deactivated)

@magnusthemes

@octomoosey

@pohroro

@⁠redfox-themes

@⁠viwan-th

@yukoki (now @⁠xuethms)

@⁠zeldathemes (now @rachaelthemes)

The first base code (Tumblr theme code starter template) I used and continued using for a few years was by @⁠mrsthemes. Tumblr's theme documentation was confusing and daunting to me at the time, so having a base code provided by others to work from was a major blessing.

(If you're looking for a more up-to-date base code though, I recommend ones from @eggdesign; she's put helpful comments throughout the code! Check [this one here], or [this one] for NPF posts compatibility as well).

◍ how I learned to code:

This is by far the most popular question I get, I'm only touching on it briefly in this post; I have a #learning tag with linked resources if you're interested!

In my opinion, there isn't a "right way" of learning anything, and coding is no exception. While many learn from courses on CodeAcademy, others (like myself) learn from more hands-on projects and via experimentation. As mentioned earlier, I used a base code template; I tried rearranging things, breaking things, building things (you can learn a lot from breaking things, especially in coding) to see what happens. Another underrated resource is CodePen – a coding playground where developers share their mini projects with the full code available for you to study and edit (just remember to credit/link back to the pen link if you end up using it in your projects!).

As an avid gamer, I enjoy challenges and gamified learning experiences, so to further my studies into full-stack development (Node, React, DevOps), I looked to Zenva (they also have courses on how to develop games if you're interested!).

◍ glenthemes was problematic 💅:

I had...issues for the first few years:

Those of you who've been around for a long time may remember that I used to be rude when replying to asks or requests. Even if I was going through a rough period of my life, it doesn't justify the attitude that I had (to users and fellow theme makers alike), and for that I sincerely apologize. I like to believe I'm a better person now; no one is perfect but it doesn't hurt to get a little closer.

I used the smallest fucking fonts for my themes. This issue is arguably way less severe than the one I just mentioned, but there's actually a ✨ good excuse ✨ for that. I used a hand-me-down laptop to make my themes and the resolution was tiny. The text, from my screen, didn't look small; that is, until I finally got a new laptop and realized just how ant-sized everything was. (This was one of the reasons I decided to revamp my older themes).

◍ glenthemes logo:

In 2018, I commissioned my high school art classmate Julie (you can find her on Instagram at julieoolie_!) to make my logo. We went through a variety of different styles ranging from my blog initials ("GT") in a brush font to firmer, geometric shapes. In the end, I settled on the logo I've been using ever since: a 3D cube with its front-facing sides taking the shape of "G" and "T". I wanted to go with this subtle design quirk that makes you go "OH, that's what it is!" after taking a closer look at it. A box/cube with open corners is also a loose metaphor for my style – recognizable and familiar at first glance, yet willing to peek and venture "outside the box/norm" a little. Whether I've actually ventured outside the norm or not is up to interpretation, but I like to (perhaps foolishly) believe that after these years, my themes are at least a little recognizable and have their distinct feel/branding – not too minimal, but too over-the-top either.

◍ paid themes & pages:

In 2018, I released my first paid theme & page. I wasn't expecting much and was nervous – I'd never sold anything online prior to this. Although I started my shop on Gumroad, I transitioned over to Ko-Fi in 2022 as Gumroad's tax on transactions became ridiculous. As a creator that mainly provides free content, publishing paid content can be daunting. While I know that I should charge fairly for the work that I do and the time I've put in, sometimes I still feel guilty for setting a higher price than "expected". So I was pleasantly surprised to see that folks took a liking to my "Ignorance" and "Bliss" pack.

I'm a firm believer in "try before you buy", so I always put up free previews and guides for folks to look through before they make their purchase. Guides take a long time to make, but rest assured that I'll always keep them free. You have the right to know what you're getting into; the more complex a theme is, the more uncertainty there is. And even though I provide free support for any type of content that I do, if I was a customer, I'd feel more at ease if I had a handbook from the start.

It wasn't until this year (2025) that I actually...made my premium code packs available to be purchased as packs. Before this, all themes and pages in each pack were available for purchase separately. It sounds super silly now that I type it out, but hey – you can get each pack for 15% off now!

At the end of the day, it doesn't matter if a theme of mine is free or premium; my support / maintenance for them is the same. Premium themes don't get special treatment just because they're paid. If Tumblr comes out with an update that breaks a part of a custom theme, that will apply to all my themes. So there's only 1 goal and that's to keep everything up to date.

◍ landing internships:

I was grateful to have landed several internships despite not having any formal education in web development. The first was at a fashion boutique, where I was in charge of setting up their new online shop (from inventory management to the eshop's website). The second internship was at a software development company where I learned from and worked alongside full-stack devs, back-end devs, and design and marketing teams for the first time. It was an invaluable, eye-opening experience as it made me realize just how much I had yet to learn (more on that later).

◍ Discord community:

As time went on and more theme questions were sent in, I came to realize that a single "ask and answer" exchange is generally not enough to answer the question properly. So in March of 2019, I created a Discord server so users could join and ask questions in the chat. At some point, Tumblr removed support for code formatting in Tumblr posts and answered asks, which ultimately meant that any piece of code meant to be copied would turn into regular text and lose its syntax, and straight quotation marks (used in coding) would turn into curly ones. Since then, the server has guidelines on how to ask questions, gotten a server mod (hi Keith if you're reading this 🫵), has dedicated channels for art and content sharing, and amassed 1,000 members (a small and quiet Discord community, but a cozy home I've built nonetheless).

◍ powerpoint guides:

If there's anything that I want to be known for, it's this one right here. Guides. Manuals. "README"s. Whatever you want to call it. It's a notoriously detested activity amongst the coding community considering most of us are (jokingly) illiterate, but I love writing documentation. While my main motivation is to help users easily install and customize complex themes, another vital part of it is poor memory. Too many times has someone asked a question about a theme of mine that I barely remember making (10 years of coding and bad habits does that to you), so writing a guide helps pinpoint where I'd start looking. It's also helpful because I can just "tap the sign" and point users to which powerpoint slide in the guide they should refer to (...if I've covered that feature).

◍ college & hackathon:

As my earlier internships introduced me to how much more I could learn, I decided to pursue a formal education in web development. I was ecstatic to have achieved a distinction and went on to participate in my first hackathon. For those unfamiliar: a hackathon is where you (or a group of developers and/or designers) work on a program/coding project for a fixed amount of time, typically 24 hours. This particular hackathon was 9 hours. Many pizzas and energy drinks later, we presented WheelScout, a live accessibility reporting site that helps mobility aid users plan their journey in advance, and we were awarded 1st place. Since then, I've been working on making my themes and overall content more accessible, from best semantic practices to adding improved alt text.

◍ featured on Tumblr's "Getting Started" page:

In May of 2022, I noticed by sheer chance that I was mentioned as a recommended third-party theme maker on Tumblr's "Getting Started" page:

(The wording in this paragraph has since been updated by staff). One thing I'd like to clarify is that a "third-party theme" refers to any Tumblr theme that isn't on Tumblr's Theme Garden. I have many reasons for not publishing my themes through Theme Garden; most of it is due to the fact that I tend to push out updates/fixes and like to see them applied asap, but doing so through Theme Garden could take up to a month, as a member of staff needs to manually approve it. Regardless, being mentioned was an absolute honor, and I've been working to keep my themes up to date with all of Tumblr's changes (and will continue doing so).

◍ tumblr changes / mobile & NPF era:

This section's long, folks. Remember to take a stretch / hydrate / bathroom break if you've been reading since the start.

Tumblr has been gradually switching over to prioritize updates for mobile/app users for a few years now. Whilst the exact starting point is up for debate, Tumblr isn't the only one – most, if not all social media platforms have switched over to a mobile-first experience.

A while back, a poll titled "how do you use tumblr?" circulated:

So it's not just Tumblr staff prioritizing mobile features & updates – it's also in response to a growing number of mobile users. A lot of it attributes to the fact that many of us on Tumblr are in our twenties and early thirties – we just don't have the time to sit at our computer and scroll through our feed like we used to. So the next best quick and convenient thing? Mobile app. But it's not just convenience –

Here it comes – the rant.

Posts look normal on mobile. They look as intended. They're not squished. If there are multiple images in a row, they aren't stretched, pixelated or blurry (most of them, anyway). And the reason? NPF posts (posts made with the "new" editor which now applies to all users) look like shit on desktop themes unless you're using Tumblr's default theme or a theme tailored to accommodate NPF posts. And before anyone says anything akin to "well, just learn to adapt and make NPF posts look good 🤓☝️", it may be easy for some, but not for those who are accustomed to the legacy Tumblr documentation that was based on "blocks" system which allowed for a theme to be made with plain HTML & CSS. Now, all posts are considered "text" posts despite supporting various types of media (which is great! but that isn't the problem here) and theme makers have the following options:

Use {⁠block:Text⁠} (which is part of the legacy Tumblr documentation, but that includes every post made with the new post editor regardless of what type of contents there are), which is still HTML & CSS, and style things from there (this method is the most common from what I've gathered).

Use {⁠NPF⁠} which is also a Tumblr variable (albeit a newer one), which returns a string of the post's content and details in JSON format. This can then be dissected and extracted into displaying the post contents like they do on the dashboard. However, JavaScript knowledge is a must, and is completely different from how Tumblr themes used to be made.

Use Tumblr's API (v1) to retrieve posts (similar to how {⁠NPF⁠} is retrieved) and add them to the theme. Again, this relies on JavaScript as well.

So whilst NPF is not "bad" per se, a different (and arguably more advanced) skill set is needed, and acquiring these skills takes time; usually not enough for the coder of your theme (who isn't constantly on Tumblr and has more important IRL commitments) to update it to be NPF compatible by the time you've noticed your posts look off on your blog. Which is partially why I wrote a NPF fix (first released in 2020 but I've rewritten it so many times that we're on version 4 now) that can be applied to any theme (not just for theme makers, but for users too) in attempt to make NPF posts (images in particular) look tidier. But all things considered, the fix is flawed and is in no way a one-size-fits-all solution. Nowadays, most of the help requests I get are to do with my NPF fix applied on someone else's theme (which is fine, that was the intention!) since the HTML markup of posts is different depending on how the theme maker coded it.

Whilst I can't speak on behalf of every user who has chosen to turn off their custom theme at some point, in my opinion (and speculation) a lot of it is because of how unstyled NPF posts look on their blog theme. Although staff has had NPF in the works since as early as 2018, very little support or clarification for the actual changes were reflected on the Tumblr docs. Even certain legacy posts (which should have nothing to do with the NPF changes) were affected:

A legacy quote, at the time of posting or reblogging with the legacy editor, would show up as intended on your blog theme, but reblogging it with the new post editor not only destroys the quote formatting, but it restructures the HTML markup as well. Forget the "quote text" and "quote source", now it's just a plain blockquote (which is synonymously used when a user reblogs a post and adds a comment to it) and a paragraph tag. Its post type also changes from "quote" to "text".

A legacy chat post, at the time of posting or reblogged with the legacy editor, remains a chat post. However, reblogs made through the new editor turn its post type from "chat" into "text". Any additional reblogs with comments will also turn its type into "text". These, however, at least have a HTML/CSS class name you can work off from (.npf_chat).

But back to users not having custom themes enabled and just having the default in-dash / in-app blog view: it's not just a NPF issue. As of 2022, all newly created blogs have custom themes turned off by default. So newer Tumblr users either don't know about custom themes in the first place, or they're convinced it's not an important feature if it's turned off by default. Tumblr has been pushing users towards a mobile-oriented experience regardless of whether you have a custom theme or not. Let's say you visit a Tumblr blog on your phone's browser (e.g. Chrome or Safari and NOT through the Tumblr app), when you scroll down the blog a bit, an obnoxious purple toast appears that takes up a good 40% of your screen:

Personally, it makes me not want to visit the tumblr.com website again. And the sad part is that the same obnoxious toast popup is appearing across other social media platforms as well (staring at you with rage, Reddit).

So while it's easy to point fingers at staff or hold a particular party accountable, it's more complicated than it seems.

That being said, the NPF changes have had positive impact as well. Photosets no longer rely on iframes to be generated, audio snippets don't rely on iframes anymore either (...still unstyled, but at least we have names to work with), and alt text works very well on NPF images (I've only seen it bug out once). Legacy photos and photosets with alt text had a chance of being muddled with the post's actual caption text, so it's not clear which is the image description, making it harder to determine and display when the photoset lightbox is triggered in custom themes.

Since NPF posts became prevalent, I've revised my own base code many times, and the JavaScript fixes that I've applied behind-the-scenes is 3–4 times longer than the actual theme code. Not every theme maker is going to have tedious and repetitive JavaScript code like what I've come up with, but we've all got our own ways of doing things (I'm actively trying to make my code more concise whilst still being coherent!).

◍ design style & branding:

So you might wonder – how did I ever go from this:

I. A bare-ass minimal theme that has nothing in it (it's not available to download anymore),

II. To this, where no pixel dares to be left untouched and the user guide is 23ish slides long?

This may sound corny as hell (and it is) but the answer is just – practice. Stumbling. Realizing what hits well and what doesn't. It's embracing the pang of hurt when you've spent weeks nonstop on a theme and it falls flat on numbers. It's that odd mix of confusion and joy when a theme you didn't spend as long on does do numbers. It's about realizing that you can make something you enjoy, and make content that the audience enjoys even if you're not as enthusiastic about it as they are.

I've grown to learn that minimalism is not my thing. The only exception is if I accompany it with 100+ options for my users to fiddle with. Interestingly, I've had complaints about not having enough options, yet I've also received complaints about too many options. And I understand both sides well from a user's standpoint. However, there are plenty of minimal styled themes out there already, and I don't particular enjoy making them either, so I figured I'd find my own niche. It was rather simple – I just focused on what I would want in a theme.

A major aspect that forms my style is the color scheme / palette. If you look through my portfolio, you'll notice that each theme (mostly) follows either a monochromatic color scheme or analogous palette. It's made to appear that there might be 2 or 3 major colors there (and that any other color is a variation of it, e.g. a couple shades darker), but in reality (if you've used my themes more than once then you're probably aware) pretty much every color can be changed. Although I have a specific mood or feel when I personally envision a theme, users may set an entirely different tone based on their preferences, and I want to give them the ability to be creative with the building blocks I've provided.

In order to make as many colors as customizable as they can be, most components cannot be images. They'd need to be text, a background color, border colors, mask overlay colors or SVG path fill colors of some kind, which adds a whole new level of complexity. But at the end of the day, it's fun. It's like having a shit ton of sliders on a character creation/customization screen in a RPG and you're trying to make the foulest abomination mankind has ever laid eyes on without breaking the game.

Naturally, this extends to other options I offer in my themes as well. My earlier themes (pre 2019) not only have less options to choose from, but are also a lot messier. This was before I figured out how to make dividers / separators in the customization panel, so all the options (regardless of type or element) would show up as one huge list. Also, I hadn't made glorified instruction manuals to walk you through everything back then. It was sort of expected that you'd just know your way around Tumblr themes and how to install them (which is foolish, because imagine how new Tumblr users must feel, especially with the blog settings interface changing every now and then? I'd be pretty discouraged and avoid using custom themes altogether). I now have a handful of options for everything ranging from post widths to paddings to font sizes, gaps, margins, border sizes (both inner and outer), positioning, shadow strengths (if applicable), and many more. An unexpected yet welcoming outcome of providing a plethora of options is that it encourages me to be organized. If I have each part recorded as a variable (properly named, not some keysmash or random food name that I used to do, no matter how amusing it was to me at the time), it saves me a lot of time and effort to then go back and change things if something goes awry. It also helps users who are more familiar with CSS/HTML to edit things in the code if they wish.

This is also an appropriate time to point out that in my newer themes and revamps, toggle options no longer exist. This is because it's been a Tumblr customization page bug for years and still has not been fixed ("on" toggles will appear as "off" and vice versa, rightfully confusing the hell out of users), so I've given up on them. Besides, toggles only provide 2 options: on and off. So why not turn them into dropdown options instead, when you can have even more?

Sure, this makes my theme code super long compared to most other themes out there but I think it's worth it. Waking up and randomly spotting someone having customized the fuck out of one of my themes (positive!) gives me a rush of euphoria like no other (though if you're going to make layout-breaking changes, I do appreciate asking me first 😅). On the other hand, I completely understand those who prefer to have a theme up and running from the get-go without much editing and guide-reading. I have multiple side blogs for my different interests and I'm only using my own themes on half of them (I don't make that many minimal themes, and sometimes a blog does look better when a minmal theme is applied!).

◍ “the friends we made along the way”:

Of course, I wouldn't have made it this far without the power of friendship. I'd like to give a special shoutout to the following lovelies who I consider the closest friends I've made through theme-making (and the ones I talk to the most, always at the top of my DMs list):

Felix ( @nonspace ) — My edgelord partner in crime; the one I share all my soulsborne and metal music obsessions with. His themes are like manifestations of HEALTH album covers in the best way.

Ces ( @tanaka-drew ) — The chaotic and loving sibling that I never had. Not only is her rate of pumping out themes astonishing, but so is her ability (rate of fire) at sending me memes/reels. The friend who I'd help hide a body and vice versa.

Bridgette ( @eggdesign ) — Fellow villain enthusiast, holder of my deepest darkest secrets (only half joking). Queen/monarch of building murals and interactables with CSS. She also draws over at @⁠cornetespoir and is participating in her first artfight!

I'm extremely loved and grateful to have become friends with the theme-making community – and with users of my themes, too! I consider all of you my precious family!

◍ what's next?

For the foreseeable future, I'd like to keep on reworking my older themes so they're up to my current standards. Although I patrol them regularly to check if there's a Tumblr update that impacted the appearance (it's also thanks to you folks who report these issues!), most of my older themes are not an accurate reflection of my standards and abilities of the present day. I still cringe when I receive an ask concerning an old theme that hasn't been revamped yet (usually involves looking through the code again), but I now see it as an opportunity to improve everything from the ground up!

Revamping themes (and not just themes; widgets too) is also the perfect chance to get rid of any jQuery code for good. For me (and I think this is the case for many other theme makers on Tumblr too), I learned jQuery before JavaScript itself (jQuery is a library/extension of JavaScript that designers prefer to use over JS). Sadly, jQuery is outdated, unnecessarily bulky and is infamous for causing issues (e.g. if feature A gets broken, subsequent features will break too, even if they're in a separate function), so since college, I've been going "backwards" to learn core JavaScript so I can eventually eradicate all traces of jQuery from my content.

I'll be making new themes whenever the inspiration hits me! I know I don't release themes at the rate I did 9 or 10 years ago (which was definitely not healthy, at one point I released a new one every other week and they were never checked properly) but that's just adulthood. Nowadays we're elated to accompany our friends to the dentist just so we can spend some time together.

...And that's all 🥹

Thank you for reading (if you actually read the entire thing: are you okay??) and I love you all 🥹

If you'd like to get to know me when I'm "off-duty", here are my socials:

Personal blog / no-context chaos: @⁠devsmaycry

Discord server: discord.gg/RcMKnwz (feel free to lurk or chat as much as you want!)

Bluesky: glen-px.bsky.social

#announcements #gratuitous use of endash and brackets #“are you writing the-” “4.5k words for my decennial anniversary post? yeah i am”#*pinned

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deesseshesca · 21 hours ago

Text

PAC : First steps to get your spark back.

Just thinking about the good old time ...

PILE 1 (CLICK ON THE LINK FOR YOUR READING)

PILE 2

8 swords (reverse), Chariot (reverse), Lovers (reverse)

You guys are actually looking for each other. Let me be more clear, you are actively working to find your spark while at the same time still giving in to habits that don't fulfill you. I see 2 people that look exactly the same, in front of each other; so close they can actually kiss. Yelling at each other : Where are you? It is funny ( lol why did u laugh .. yes I laughed 2 but at the end of the day is a serious matter ( I was held at gun point by your spiritual team because I keep playing too much …) )

The first thing we can understand from all this is; yes, you are right, happiness is standing right in front of you but your perspective is wrong. You keep hating yourself because it is so easy to do the right thing alas you keep falling short since the issue is actually bigger than you allow yourself to be. The way you run away from victim state straight to survivor is actually hurting you. Yes you are in a better place and yes you are not being delusional by knowing you can be in a greater place but did you ever pause to see how much it hurted, how badly it hurted and how you can tend to your wounds. Babe … you've been bleeding. On your path where you are, there's dry blood and you are still bleeding. You are going to kill your spirit if you keep going. Your spiritual team knows you deserve to have all your manifestation but they refuse to give the key to your new door because your wounds are open. It is not because you are ignoring them that the world can't see them. Being weak was a traumatizing for you because is when you were in your most vulnerable that like fuck you up. You had to get up and choose yourself no matter what … KUDDOS TO U ! Now hun … you are safe so how about you allow yourself to cry, rest and FEEL. I am a firm believer that we need our shadow and light side so no I don't do that love and light because sometimes you have to check a bitch. I feel you are the same but babe you are too deep into the shadow, too deep into the sorrows and too deep into your wraith that you completely forgot how good it is to live under the sun. Comeback from the catacombs, you are not a demon or a vampire and more importantly you are NOT DEATH. It is time to learn what it means for YOU to not only be alive but to feel alive. Last step, stop chasing your next level. Learn to enjoy the journey. Right now you are running full speed but no one is after you. Yes I know you are running away from danger … but rn you are safe so why are you frightened ? You are good, take a breather and look around. Appreciate not only the environment you create for yourself but you for saving you.

Bonus (because a lot of people don't realise when you lose your spark you will never get it back. No don't worry not in the way you know her but in a new way. She is going to materialize in a different version to suit the person you are becoming) : What does your new spark look like ?

Ace cups (reverse)

It is time to indulge. Enjoy what you have created. Discover, laugh more, believe more, smile more; stop running away instead run towards whatever feels good, sweet and spicy. Let people in, dive into a new hobby, party more, love more, have more protected sex… Essentially the key to your new spark is for you to relish yourself.

PREVIOUS READING

COLLECTIVE READING (FREE) : Is meant to be !

3. What's your warning ?

4. BIG KO-FI SALE

(Go show some love babes ... XOXO)

PILE 3

8 pentacles, 5 pentacles (reverse), page wands (reverse)

You never thought you would have finished all alone. I feel that you are the reason why your middle school/highschool friend befriended your adult/uni friend but now they left you all alone claiming you are the problem. Frl … you dont give a fuck and honestly I admire that.

If you are looking to start a business go ahead especially now that you have all this free time … lol. A lot of y’all want to start a creative side hustle selling painting, nail tech, hairstylist and many more but instead you are comparing to girlypop online that have achieve 6 figure business and you dont think you are innovative enough to achieve this success or you may feel like everyone is become that … so the industry is saturated. Bitch who cares… first your spiritual team wanted me to tell you; girlypop in your area needs your talent ASAP (me: the shaaaade) but not only that your job dont have to be your whole identity. If right now, as you are reading this , you want a small business then go for it, who can say if it is worth a million as long as you want it fo get it. Exemple : do you know how many girlypop read tarot online … c’mon now. I just had to come and sparkle some of my fire .. u know. I dont intend to do this forever … (opps … anyways …) but for now it fills my heart and that’s all that matters.This is not under your power but your spiritual team is telling you that you are going to have a boost in your personal life. So take it and bask in all that good good. Last step, allow yourself to be a student. Your energy is very scattered because you expect an overnight Beyonce level of success just because you open your business. You expect to be living the life of a nepo baby just because you wrote ONCE in your manifestation journal. Girl relax, this is just the beginning and at the beginning everyone is a loser. I don't know why with you, I feel the need to show off my L but anyways. The first reading I posted on Tumblr got 13 likes. It took 3 months before having double digit notes and a couple more weeks before achieving a ‘’viral post’’ and averaging 200 notes after having that big 1000+ notes. You can scroll through my page ( you don't even need to go far), even with my big following … I still sometimes have posts that only get 100 notes (rookie number). C’mon now babe, your effort is not useless, it just is going to take more than just one good day.

Wheel of fortune

Stop peeking ! Stop looking at what others are doing, how others are moving or why your effort aint bringing as much gold as the other person. All of this is just making you a bitter messy human being for nothing. Focus on you, your craft; stay in your own lane and work your magic. Why you trying to ride the wave of somebody else that not bad bitch behavior … dont get me wrong, I know how frustrating it can feel but c’mon bitch there's so much creativity sleeping inside of you. Instead you are wasting it away micromanaging others. The key to your new spark is to focus your eyes on YOUR lane.

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3. What's your warning ?

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orellazalonia · 1 day ago

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could I please request a Yelena x fem pregnant reader

where she saves reader a few times from an abusive husband or partner and she just grows fonder and fonder for her along the way to the point they get in a relationship, but as that happens Yelena also begins to think about reader's pregnancy and have a bit of a crisis where she doesn't know if she can be a good guardian/parent to the baby considering her line of work and upbringing, but it all turns out good in the end?

Hello there! This was a sweet request, and I’m not sure if I was able to do it justice or not. I kept re-writing it a lot and adjusting the plot a bit to the point where I’m hoping for the best and that you enjoy! Thank you for the request and happy reading!!!

My Light in the Dark

Summary: After escaping an abusive relationship while pregnant, you find safety and steady love in your longtime friend Yelena Belova, who offers you refuge and slowly becomes your partner. As the two of you grow closer, Yelena confronts her fears about being a good parent, but through quiet care and unwavering presence, she becomes exactly what you and your baby need. (Yelena Belova x pregnant!reader)

Disclaimer: Abusive relationship with (ex) husband. Mentions/Depictions of physical abuse. Pregnancy. Reader gets injured. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Word Count: 3.8k+

Main Masterlist

You weren’t the kind of person who talked about personal things easily, not even with Yelena.

You’d known her for almost a year, thanks to a messy situation at a community defense event; her quietly making sure someone didn’t walk you to your car and you offering her a ride instead. After that, the friendship stuck, even if it never quite deepened past sarcastic texts, cheap takeout, and movie nights where she barely paid attention.

She was sharp, cold sometimes, blunt enough to leave you blinking; but she was solid. And when you laughed around her, it didn’t feel forced. It felt… real.

So it was strange how often you caught yourself lying to her or half-truthing so to speak.

“Where’d you get that bruise?” She asked once, during a movie night, pointing to the side of your arm.

You glanced down at it, the familiar purplish bloom already dull around the edges. “Cabinet door, hit it while grabbing plates.”

She looked at you for too long. “You keep fighting your furniture. Is it winning?”

You gave a short laugh and shrugged it off. “My clumsiness is undefeated.”

She didn’t push, not then.

But after that, you noticed the way she started paying closer attention. The way her eyes would scan your sleeves, your face, or the way you sat. You saw the way she started to linger outside when she dropped you off. The way she started texting more often, even if it was just a meme or a one-word check-in.

And the worst part? You knew she suspected something, but you couldn’t tell her. Not really.

Because it wasn’t that bad. Sure, he got angry. He had a temper. But who didn’t? Your husband had been stressed with work, bills to pay, and the baby, that wasn’t even supposed to happen. Not yet, at least. Not like this.

But you stayed.

Because there were nights when he would apologize, softly and sobbing against your shoulder. There were days when he’d rub your belly and say he’d do better, that he’d be better.

You wanted to believe him. You needed to. Because if it was all for nothing, if it was all wrong, then what did that make you? Stupid? Weak? It was easier to believe the lie: That this was temporary, that it was your fault sometimes, and that things would get better when the baby came.

You even smiled when Yelena asked how things were, tried to make jokes, and wave it off. She still didn’t buy it though. You knew because one night, she showed up at your door with your favorite tea and a concerned scowl stitched across her face.

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I’ve been tired.”

“You always say that.”

“Well,” You said, forcing a laugh, “Pregnancy kind of sucks.”

She looked at you, really observing your face. “You’re scared.”

You opened your mouth as a reflex, to deny her words, but your voice caught. So you turned away, letting her in as you focused on busying yourself with mugs and boiling water.

“I’m fine,” You stated, too fast. Too sharp.

Silence stretched behind you, you didn’t even hear her footsteps as she moved closer to you.

Then: “You know I’ve killed people, yes?”

You froze. “That’s… an intense change of subject.”

“I’m saying I’ve seen women cover bruises. I’ve seen them flinch before they even realize why. You don’t have to say anything,” She added. “But don’t lie to me, not about this.”

Your throat tightened and you didn’t answer. She didn’t ask again that night, but she didn’t leave right away either.

Almost a week later, it happened.

You hadn’t meant to call her. You didn’t even remember grabbing your phone, fingers fumbling as the screen blurred from the impact from maybe your cheekbone or maybe your lip. You didn’t stop to figure out where the blood was coming from. Your body moved on instinct, protecting the bump first as your hand hovered over your stomach even when your knees scraped against the hardwood.

“I told you,” He snapped, pacing a few feet away. “You don’t walk away from me when I’m talking.”

You were still shaking, heart pounding in your ears. He hadn’t touched your stomach. That was all you could think about over and over. He hadn’t touched your baby. It didn’t matter that the side of your face throbbed, that you could already feel the bruise blooming. He hadn’t hurt the baby. Not yet.

You crawled toward the hallway, telling yourself it was just to get space, just to breathe.

And then somehow your thumb hit Yelena’s name. It rang once. Twice. You almost hung up.

Then her voice came through: sharp, suspicious, and half-asleep. “Are you okay?”

And that was it. You burst into tears. Silent, breathless sobs as you tried to get the words out, tried to make her understand without saying it outright.

“Hey, hey–where are you?” She said instantly, her tone flipping into something clipped and deadly. “What’s happening?”

You gave her your address, not able to say much else. You didn’t know how long it took her to arrive, only that you flinched when the front door banged open and her voice cut through the house like a blade.

“Touch her again,” She started coldly, “And I’ll put you in the ground.”

There was a beat of silence. You could almost feel him sizing her up, calculating whether she was bluffing. She wasn’t. Something in her presence; calm, confident, and unafraid made him retreat. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at you. He just slipped into the bedroom and slammed the door.

She didn’t watch him go either. She looked at you. Kneeling down slowly, she reached for your wrist, eyes scanning your face like she was memorizing the damage.

“You’re coming with me,” She spoke softly.

You hesitated. “I don’t–he didn’t mean–”

Her eyes snapped to yours. “Don’t.”

Your lips parted, ready with another excuse, another lie to patch the bleeding truth. But you saw it on her face: not pity or rage. Something deeper. Concern.

“You shouldn’t be here,” She whispered. “And you don’t have to be.”

Her apartment was colder and much larger than you remembered with industrial walls, blackout curtains, and not a single photograph on the fridge. But she gave you a bedroom and a fresh set of clothes, even helped you settle onto the mattress like you might shatter if she moved too fast.

She didn’t press you for answers, didn’t ask about the bruises or the fear sitting like a stone in your gut. Instead, she made macaroni. Told you to take a hot shower and left out a first aid kit.

And when you finally emerged, clean but exhausted, wearing a loose hoodie she left out for you; she was sitting at the table with two mugs of tea.

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled.

She didn’t look up. “For what?”

“For calling you, for dragging you into this…”

“You didn’t drag me anywhere,” She said simply. “You called. So I came.”

You sat across from her, fingers wrapped around the mug even though you couldn’t feel the warmth.

“You really meant it, didn’t you?” You asked. “When you said you’ve seen this before.”

She looked up then, eyes steady. “Too many times.”

You nodded slowly, fighting the tremor in your bones. Then you said it, so soft it barely passed your lips.

“I think I’m scared of going back.”

Yelena reached across the table. Her fingers closed around yours, warm and solid with no pressure to speak more than you wanted to.

“You don’t have to,” She reassured.

And you believed her.

The morning after she brought you to her place, after you woke up with puffy eyes and that familiar ache of regret tangled with relief, she handed you a mug of warm tea and said, “Stay as long as you want.”

And you did.

At first, you slept a lot. Your body craved it after so many nights of tension, flinching at every creak of floorboards, and every shift in his tone. And Yelena kept quiet during those early days. She came and went, but you always knew she was close from her boots by the door or her jacket slung over the back of a chair.

Sometimes she left meals in the fridge with sticky notes sprinkled with her own charm: Eat this or I’ll force-feed you like a baby seal.

Eventually though, you managed to cut off all contact with your now ex-husband. Things ended smoother than you thought it would. After all, he didn’t bother trying anything else when he saw Yelena with you. And true to her word, she let you stay with her at the apartment.

And while her apartment still had that unfamiliar, impersonal feel of someone who didn’t expect to stay anywhere long, little by little, pieces of you began to appear. The soft blanket you brought out to the couch, a half-read book tucked beside the remote, or other small things left around the place to make the space feel like a home.

She never moved them. If anything, she started adapting around them.

When she came home from whatever stealthy things she did, never saying too much or just muttering about idiots and bad intel, she’d glance at your face and adjust her mood. Some nights, you’d find her in the kitchen after midnight, fixing toast or chopping something just to do something, like she didn’t quite know how to rest yet.

You also started to talk more. First it was small things like cravings, the weird way your back ached, or the stress of choosing names you weren’t sure you’d even use on your own. Yelena listened in her blunt, oddly gentle way.

“That’s a stupid name,” She said once after you mentioned one you’d circled in a baby book.

You raised an eyebrow. “You say that about every name.”

“Because every name in that book sounds like it belongs to a yogurt company executive.”

“You’re no help.”

She smirked. “Your daughter will thank me.”

That was the first time you laughed in weeks. And it came out of you suddenly, surprising and a little broken, but real. You had to cover your face with your hand to stop it, a little embarrassed.

Yelena didn’t laugh back, but she looked at you like she hadn’t seen you in years, like someone memorizing something beautiful.

A week passed, then another, and then another. Your bruises faded and your breathing evened out. Now every time you moved through her space, she adjusted without a word; moving knives out of sight, softening her tone along with never crowding you but never letting you feel alone either.

You found her once sitting at the end of the couch with your ultrasound photo in her hand. You hadn’t realized you’d left it out. She didn’t say anything, just traced the edges with her thumb before placing it gently back where she found it.

Later that night, she made you soup from scratch. You’d been nauseous all day, and she’d silently watched you stare at a plain piece of toast like it was your sworn enemy.

“You don’t have to do this,” You told her softly as she stirred the pot. Her hair was tied up and sleeves rolled back.

“Do what?” She asked.

“Take care of me.”

She didn’t turn around.

“I’m not doing it because I have to.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Then why?”

She finally looked at you, her voice was quiet but firm.

“Because I want you to be okay.”

You didn’t realize how much you needed a place to be small, to be safe, to be held, even if only through quiet actions and a steady presence.

And with every day that passed in her apartment, that presence started to mean something more. Something gentler, something warmer. You weren’t ready to name it yet and neither was she. But in the silence between her goodnight nods and the careful way she passed you tea without asking questions, you knew something was blooming.

And when both of your walls started to come down, there was no big confession. No sudden kiss or burst of fireworks.

It was in the way she started making breakfast even when she got home at 5 in the morning; exhausted, dark circles beneath her eyes, still shrugging off her tactical gear. She’d crack eggs one-handed and drop extra cheese onto your toast without asking. Her movements were quieter and gentler then.

You started to notice how often her eyes found your stomach. Not in the curious, detached way strangers did. But like it was some kind of compass. A fixed point she kept checking, over and over, to remind herself where she was.

And you… God, you tried not to fall. Tried to remind yourself that she didn’t owe you anything. That this wasn’t a romance. It was kindness or maybe guilt. Maybe it was her way of patching something broken in herself.

But then there were those little things that kept popping up. The way she always sat beside you, even when there was space elsewhere on the couch. How she’d rest her hand just an inch away from yours, close but not touching until you reached out first. How she would ask about the baby in a causal yet soft way.

“She kicked,” You whispered one night, frozen in place on the couch. You grabbed her hand without thinking, placed it against your bump. Her eyes widened in something between awe and fear.

“She’s strong,” She murmured.

You smiled. “She gets it from you.”

Something flickered in her expression, but she didn’t pull away.

It was weeks later when she kissed you.

It was late at night, after a day that had left you both raw and tired. Her with a bloody knuckle and a stitched brow, you with swollen ankles and a wave of hormones that left you weepy over a sad-looking dog in a commercial.

You’d curled up on the couch with your head on her shoulder, feeling a kind of peace you hadn’t known you were capable of anymore.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” You murmured, half-asleep.

Yelena had gone very still beside you. And then, softly, like she’d been trying not to say it for weeks: “I don’t want you to find out.”

You lifted your head to look at her. Her hand brushed a tear from your cheek as her eyes dropped to your mouth. And she kissed you like it wasn’t the first time, like she’d been doing it in her head for a long, long time.

You expected guilt the next day.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, there was her hand on your back while you stood at the bathroom sink, getting ready for the day. A shared look across the room when your laugh slipped out louder than expected. A slow ease between you both that made you feel like they were finally settling into place.

You didn’t talk about what you were now. There weren’t labels exactly. Instead, there was the quiet, steady knowledge that you were hers, and she was trying.

And then the crib arrived.

You hadn’t ordered one. It showed up on her doorstep one evening, plain and unassembled. She didn’t say where it came from, only muttered something about Kate Bishop having “too much time and a Pinterest account.”

But after it was built, the mattress set and the sheets tucked tight, your breath hitched just a little at the sight of it.

But something in Yelena shifted.

She started sleeping less and going out more. And when she was home, she was distant, distracted. Her gaze flickered between you and the room with the crib like she was watching a countdown.

You found her in the living room one night, sitting in the dark with her hands clasped between her knees. She didn’t look up when you entered.

“She’ll cry,” She said suddenly. “Babies cry.”

You sat down beside her. “They do.”

“I don’t… really know what to do when people cry.”

You were quiet, letting her speak.

“I wasn’t raised for this,” She went on. “There were no lullabies or bedtime stories. No one held me when I was scared. They taught us how to break things, how to survive. That’s all I know.”

“You’re surviving now,” You said gently. “But you’re also doing something else.”

She looked at you.

“You’re choosing to stay,” You whispered. “You’re choosing to try.”

Her voice cracked on the next words. “What if I hurt her without meaning to? What if I become the thing she’s afraid of?”

You reached out and took her hand, pressing it gently against your belly, where the baby had started moving again.

“She’s already not afraid of you,” You said softly. “You talk to her when you think I’m asleep. You bring home picture books and pretend you don’t. You make her world safer just by walking through the door.”

She exhaled, shaky. “I don’t know how to be a mother.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” You whispered. “Just be there.”

She looked at you then, like your words were something she’d never heard before.

And slowly, she nodded.

The next morning, you found her assembling a mobile. It was crooked and the stars hung lopsided. She swore under her breath in Russian, but didn’t stop.

And when she noticed you watching her, she smirked. Soft and tired, “I’m starting to get the hang of this,”

And somehow, you knew she would. Because the more time that passed, the more the cracks in both of you began to feel like spaces where something new could grow.

Some afternoons you’d lie on the couch, and she’d sit beside you in silence. Her hand often resting lightly against your bump, thumb tracing lazy circles without even realizing it. When the baby kicked, she’d always pause, like she was afraid she’d done something wrong, then look up at you with wide eyes.

“She knows your voice,” You told her once, half-asleep, fingers twined in hers. “I think she likes it.”

“She has bad taste,” Yelena mumbled, but her mouth twitched in that rare way that meant she was secretly proud.

At night, you read books together or tried to.

Yelena, dramatic and overconfident, insisted on reading the baby stories in a very serious Russian accent, which made you laugh so hard you’d have to pause and catch your breath. Sometimes she’d throw in completely made-up lines just to see if you were paying attention. You were, always.

Yelena was also learning to laugh more too. It wasn’t the tight, sarcastic laugh you’d first met her with, but something softer. Something that lingered even after the moment passed.

And when she slid into bed behind you, her arms wrapped gently around your middle, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“You’ve made this place feel like a home.”

You turned your head slightly with a soft smile.

“No,” You whispered back. “You did.”

There were still moments, of course. Doubts that crept in. You saw it in the way she sometimes stared too long at the baby clothes laid out in neat piles. The way her eyes lingered on the curve of your stomach when you were fast asleep, as if she were still trying to picture herself in this story. Still trying to believe it was hers to live.

But for every moment of fear, there was one of joy.

There was the day she found a tiny music box in a market, tucked it in her coat pocket, and didn’t say a word about it until you found it on her nightstand. There were the times you caught her sketching something on scraps of paper. When you asked what it was, she shrugged and said, “Doodles.”

But later you saw them: a onesie design with little planets, a baby-proofed bookshelf layout, a silly cartoon of you both with the caption Team Tiny Human.

She wasn’t just staying. She was dreaming now. And somehow, against every odd and every voice that had once told you love would never last… it was.

It was real and it was only just beginning.

When the baby came, it was fast.

The world blurred into hospital gowns, clenched fists, sweaty palms, and her voice steady at your side through every wave of pain. You remembered very little of the delivery itself, but you did remember thinking: She stayed.

And she was still there, hours later, sitting beside your bed with your daughter swaddled against her chest like she was made for it. Yelena was completely still, more still than you’d ever seen her. Her face unreadable, her eyes fixed on the impossibly small bundle in her arms.

“I think she likes you,” You whispered hoarsely.

“I’m not doing anything,” She said, but her voice cracked a little.

“Exactly,” You said. “You’re just… holding her and she’s calm.”

She glanced down at the baby, then back to you. “I’m afraid to move.”

“You don’t have to,” You said, smiling softly. “You’re already exactly where she needs you.”

Back home, things weren’t perfect.

There were long nights, wailing, d that somehow defied logic, and bottles that had to be heated to exactly the right temperature. You both fumbled. You both snapped. You both had moments where the exhaustion was so thick it felt like wading through fog.

But then Yelena would walk the baby in circles around the apartment at 2 a.m., muttering nonsense in Russian until she finally dozed off. Or you’d wake up to find her already dressed, a bottle ready, and your girl asleep against her chest, both of them tucked into the armchair like they belonged there.

There were baby giggles and Yelena grumbling about formula prices while secretly buying the expensive kind anyway. There were quiet mornings in bed, your daughter curled between you both like a tiny sun you orbited. There was love: messy, real, and earned.

And when your daughter smiled for the first time, really smiled, it was at Yelena.

You didn’t even feel jealous. You felt At home.

Sometimes, in rare moments of stillness, Yelena would sit beside you on the couch, the baby sleeping on your chest, and she’d rest a hand on your leg. Her voice always came low then, like she was afraid to wake the baby.

“I don’t know how I got this lucky,” She murmured once.

You turned your head toward her, speaking softly. “You didn’t get lucky. You helped me, saved me. You worked for this.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “She doesn’t know what I’ve done or who I’ve been.”

“She doesn’t care,” You whispered. “She knows you love her. She knows you love me. That’s enough.”

Her hand slid to your fingers, threading through. “It is?”

You nodded, resting your cheek back down. “It always will be.”

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake

#yelena belova x reader #yelena x reader #yelena belova #yelena black widow #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #request fulfilled #thank you for the request!#no use of y/n #pregnant!reader #tw physical violence #tw physical abuse

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bunnyrights · 13 hours ago

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PAC reading - let the fresh air in

hello there! it's been a while, i hope you've been well. i feel recharged and ready to share the messages that have been brewing within me. i purposefully took time away because i didn't want to approach the cards with a heavy, biased energy, and it's done me good. this feels like the perfect way to share the joy!

take a deep breath and ask yourself which group has a message relevant to you. it is okay to be drawn to more than one as this is a general reading. if you want to book a personalized one, go to my pinned post. <3

group one

queen of pentacles + the moon + temperance

you aren't resistant to change, and it can get obnoxious being asked to just think positive thoughts – it isn't as easy as people make it seem. firstly, let go of the idea that you're failing at feeling better; are the people you're receiving this advice from giving it from a place of having been through what you have? it isn't easy to get over something that damn near haunts you, and you can start by accepting that.

practical advice you're being given is to take care of your physical needs in a way that is attentive to your comfort. although that sounds like an elaborate way of saying #practiceselfcare, it is not that simple. you're being asked to implement more grounding exercises in your day, both in the morning and just before you sleep. deep breathing, walks in nature, even walking in your space barefoot. if you have a pet, do cuddle it more. while it may be difficult to confront your ruminations by choosing not to entertain them, it will be a little easier to do things that remind you that you're here right now, and your thoughts, while scary, are not concrete at all.

group two

eight of swords rx + nine of cups + knight of wands rx

you are so afraid of your wildest dreams, and you don't even realise how avoiding reaching out for them is what's making you miserable. as grim as it sounds, you could die at any time and you will be known among the people closest to you as totally different to what and who you know you are – that is genuinely far scarier than the embarrassment and judgment you fear is waiting for you to dare to try. you are truly in your head here, and you're being asked to have the bravery to admit to those wild dreams and chase them, fuck what other people think.

it is easier said than done, especially with how big and elaborate these dreams and goals are. you won't reach them immediately and your attempts aren't going to be perfect, so dead the idea of only being worthy of achieving what you want when you are different. there are plenty of chances to experience or try out these goals, even if they don't seem like it at first. what comes to mind is someone who wants to be a published author but isn't even submitting (and even writing) short stories to local and online spaces. as trite as it sounds, it will begin small and you are not too good for that, so lose the ego too.

group three

five of pentacles + the star + three of swords

you have been worn down and hurt, and you have every right to dwell in that, but you can't stay there. you have every reason to not bother believing you can be full of hope and desire again, but you can't give up on yourself so soon. you have your entire life ahead of you, and i'm begging you to try to believe that maybe things can work out for you. all the time may feel unrealistic to declare, but with how pragmatic you pride yourself in being, i'm sure you can agree that sometimes is level-headed at least. just that first step of believing that there can be good on this world for you, that's basically half the battle.

you have been carrying this grief for too long; you deserve rest and relief. you deserve to wake up and stretch, to eat a meal in appreciation of you greeting another day. you deserve even the littlest joys the world has to offer, and remembering that will make it easier to believe and even begin to hope for brighter days. you should speak to someone; i do get the sense you feel and are alone, so consider online spaces like 7cups.com and local helplines. i promise, you are not alone on the world, and you do have people who are interested in seeing you happy. you cannot give up on yourself, fren. 🫂

#tarotblr #tarot #spotify #pac reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a card #intuitive tarot reader #intuitive messages #intuitive guidance #intuitive readings #Spotify

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sparkbirdmusic · 2 days ago

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I saw a video sharing criticisms of Certain Birds, and found it interesting and wanted to respond! And I want to say up front that I'm not offended (except by the claim that my music has the vibe of 2010s Christian music /lh). It's a thoughtful critique, so I felt inclined to give it a thoughtful response. /gen

The person said:

...if I'm being totally honest, I didn't really like it. 😓 It's incredible that this sounds nothing like any of them individually, but instead a mixture of all three of their musical styles. Unfortunately, it was not in as much of a thrilling way as I'd hope. For how unique and provoking these artists have been in their work, this one just seems to fall flat for me. Honestly, the main chorus, the 'the end is falling' parts are a good idea. Having each artist join together in a harmony to show how together things are stronger. I think that is a cool idea! But the execution, to me, just falls short. It reminds me of 2010s Christian music, which *is* actually the vibe of a lot of Sparkbird's music. And while I don't think that it's self is necessarily a bad thing, it's just not my preference. The vocals individually are wonderfully done, I particularly love FIAB's singing, I think it really fits the vibe of nocturnal birds. And the beginning of the song sounded like something i could've really liked! I think if they had just leaned towards the more creepy, haunting sound that they had in the beginning, this could've been a lot better! But they instead went for a more upbeat kind of song with a message basically meaning 'If we just stick together, we can do anything!' that was my interpretation at least. Which, again, feels very 2010's pop music. It also feels like it's pandering to fandoms using their songs for edits, instead of making music for the casual listener to listen to and enjoy. And while fandom music isn't a bad thing, it just feels forced sometimes. I much prefer songs that tell their own story rather than someone else's. All in all, I don't think this song is bad. It's just, well, a little disappointing. If it had just been a little different, I would've adored it."

My response (which I commented):

I can definitely understand and appreciate your thoughts on it! I’d never written a song with anyone else, and it’s definitely a very different way to do things. Throughout the whole process, there have been times where I felt super excited and times where I felt more lukewarm about it.

One thing that didn’t help was taking a year to release it, because it built the expectations up higher (imo). I can say, though, that while writing it we talked for many hours every day about every single lyric and the story we were trying to capture, and it was written to capture that story and not specifically shaped for edits or fandoms. The closest we came to that was my using the word ineffable in my verse (which was Good Omens-inspired but I had other reasons)

Anyway, all this being said, I think the place this song shines is in a community setting. It was really meaningful to record, because it was genuinely the first time I’d felt so close to a group of people in so many years. It seems like that was a feeling we all had, and the lyrics reflected that experience. Back home, I felt less certain about the song. Then on tour, singing it all together with a room full of people every night, I fell in love with it again. I get the sense that a lot of people who enjoy the song are people who heard it and sang a long on tour, so maybe that’s an important component to feeling connected to it, I’m not sure!

I do think that Dusty, Shayfer, and I tend to go to a pretty different place lyrically and emotionally in our solo work (compared to what we wrote together). I think we’re all normally much more introspective and internal and isolated in our processes, and the theme of this song (togetherness, community support) might have been inevitable under the circumstances. But with this more mushy song out of the way, I’ll be interested to see what wacky stuff we might come up with together in the future.

EDIT (an afterthought): I would also add that you can tell it wasn't written *for* edits/fandoms because we hold out each word of the chorus so fucking long, no one's waiting for that, they're scrolling past and moving on with their lives

#sparkbird #sparkblr #certain birds

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superbassbuck · 11 hours ago

Text

Making Out for America

Chapter 6: Life is Beautiful, but You Don’t Have a Clue

masterlist || one || two || three || four || five || six

I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x America's Sweetheart!fem!reader

Mentions: 18+, enemies to lovers, slow burn, set during thunderbults*, sexual tension, forced proximity, arranged marriage, panic attacks, mental health issues, angst (lots of it), no y/n

Word Count: 4.4k

gif by hoult-nicholas || dividers by cafekitsune

“You two are so obnoxiously adorable,” Voss gushes as she waves the freshly printed engagement photos in the air. “And that kiss? My god, it looks so natural.”

Voss slides the photograph of you and Bucky kissing tenderly across the table, in between the both of you. You glance down at it, biting your lip nervously before taking a glance at Bucky for his reaction. He looks down at it with an amused and quiet hum, briefly glancing at you before looking back at Voss again.

You’ll take it. Better than being completely shut out like last time.

“Did you two rehearse before the shoot?” Voss crosses her arms, letting out a low and impressive whistle. “Because, wow—it shows. Just look at you two!”

You glance at Bucky again, and this time, he meets your eyes. His expression is unreadable, as it always is, but you offer him a gentle smile anyway to test the waters. To your surprise, he gives you one back. It's faint, not quite reaching his eyes, but it’s still something.

Since he kissed you in this exact office a few days ago, things have been very, very awkward and tense. You two hadn’t spoken about it since, and the rare moments you did speak, it was through short and curt text messages about business and schedules.

That was it.

You’re not sure where Bucky’s head is at. But you keep replaying that soft moment exchanged between you two from the photoshoot, how his eyes softened when he looked at you, how that second kiss didn’t feel like an act. Deep down, you felt like he didn’t regret it.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

“Anyway,” Voss clears her throat, noticing the silence. “The engagement’s sticking with the press, but people are going to want more from our Congressman.” She gestures to Bucky. “More casual appearances, a few staged pap shots. Maybe even an exclusive home interview.”

She pauses for a moment, her eyes flicking between the both of you to see, gauging how her next words will land.

“That means moving in together.”

You paused. Sure, you knew this would happen eventually—this whole engagement stunt was bound to demand it sooner or later—but this soon? You sneak a glance at Bucky, searching his face for any sign of what he’s thinking. As usual, he won’t look at you. Instead, you catch his jaw clenching just slightly and the way his hand curls into a tight fist for half a second before he loosens it again.

God, sometimes you wish you could crawl into that complicated head of his.

You clear your throat, speaking carefully. “Isn’t that… a bit fast?”

Voss shrugs. “It’s fast because it’s working. The public loves you two right now. The momentum is there, and we’re not wasting it,”she points a finger upwards for emphasis. “So, what do you think?”

You rub your chin for a moment. Honestly, you don’t have much to lose by moving in with Bucky. If anything, it finally gives you the excuse to move away from that empty cold shell that you call a home—stuck with your mother.

And it also gives you the opportunity to be closer to Bucky, but most importantly—Bucky’s cat.

“I don’t mind it,” you say finally. Then you glance over back to Bucky subtly. “If he’s okay with it.”

You hold your breath trying to read him. Right now, judging by the tension and the stiffness in his shoulders, you’re not convinced he is okay with it.

“Congressman?” Voss pushes, eyebrow arched as she waits for him to confirm it out loud.

Bucky glances at you just for a second. And for a moment, you see his gaze soften just slightly—you think he might say something, anything, that feels remotely real or sincere. But he just shifts his gaze back to Voss, his voice steady.

“Whatever it takes,” he says flatly, with a single nod.

“Look at you, Barnes! Already getting cozy with your fiancée, I love it!” Voss grins widely, clasping her hands together in approval. She glances between the both of you. “I’d get started on packing and settling in as soon as possible.”

She slides another folder across the table toward Bucky—probably his schedule for the day—before standing up, already pulling out her phone and tapping away as she walks to the door. She doesn’t even say goodbye, just quickly says “You two play nice,” over her shoulder before she’s gone.

You glance at Bucky and he isn’t looking at you. Instead, he reaches for the folders and begins sorting through them like you weren’t here. The whiplash is insane—how he kissed you and looked at you lovingly not that long ago, and now, he won’t even look at you.

Back to square one.

“Bucky,” you let out a quiet sigh. “I think we should talk.”

“The move-in process should be fairly simple for us,” Bucky begins, his eyes fixated on the papers in front of him. “I’ll arrange a moving truck to come by your house today—”

“No, I don’t mean the—”

“And Alpine might throw a fit about sharing her territory, but she didn’t seem to mind you too much—”

“Bucky,” your voice cuts through his rambling, firm but gentle. “This isn’t about us moving in together.”

Though, you were kind of happy to hear that Alpine didn’t mind you—but that’s besides the point.

He finally paused, glancing up to look at you. He swallows hard, like he knows exactly what you’re about to bring up, but he’s been doing everything he can to avoid it.

“When you kissed me in this office,” you begin, your voice calm and careful as you feel him tense beside you. You continued on anyway. “We haven’t talked about it since. And then at the photoshoot… we kissed again, and I kept telling myself it was just for the cameras. But the way you looked at me—”

You trail off for a second, your fingers picking at the hem of your skirt just to keep your hands occupied. “The way you looked at me, Bucky… it felt like it meant something more. And I don’t know if I’m imagining that.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his silence only makes the ache in your chest tighten even more. You press on anyway, because if you don’t say this now, you’ll keep wondering forever.

“Ever since then… I don’t know. It’s like something’s changed. I catch myself thinking about you, missing you. And every time I see you on TV, fumbling your words, all I want to do is stand beside you again and just… be there for you.”

You look at him, searching his face for any sign of what he’s feeling, or anything at all. “I need to know if this is just part of the act for you, or if...”

Bucky clears his throat and tears his gaze away from you, focusing on the papers in front of him instead. “There is no ‘if,’” he says gruffly. “The kiss was just something we’ll have to get used to. For the media.”

“I don’t believe that,” you say, a frown tugging at your lips. “You were the one who kissed me. You made the first move—and you apologized for it, but you held me like I actually meant something to you—”

Bucky interrupts you by saying your name. “Stop it,” he mumbles. “No more—”

“Just tell me, Bucky,” you plead softly, resting your hand over his on the armrest. You lean in, trying to catch his eyes again. “Is there… anything between us? Even just a little?”

Deep down, you know dropping this right before moving in together is reckless, but you’d rather lay your heart bare on your sleeve now than live in the silence of “what if”. You’re about to share a roof, share spaces, share everything, and you’d rather face the sting of rejection now than wonder forever.

Because as much as Bucky is denying it now, you know that kiss meant something to him. He just needs to let his walls down for you, even just for a little bit.

He finally looks at you, and for a second there’s softness in those usual cold blue eyes that makes your breath hitch. He exhales slowly, his gaze flickering all over your face—studying you. His eyes drop to your lips, then back to meet yours again.

Your heart leaps. This is it, you tell yourself. This is when he’ll finally let me in.

You lean in closer, testing him—and he doesn’t pull away. You give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Bucky?” you whisper, your voice soft and gentle while your eyes locked on his.

He leans in just barely, drawn in by the same pull that’s been tying you in knots. His eyes flicker back down to your lips, and you feel his thumb brush lightly over your knuckles where your hands touch.

Your heart is beating so fast, it could leap out of your chest. You can almost feel him, feel the way his mouth would fit yours again—

Then in a sudden movement, his hand slips out from under yours. He leans back into his chair, breaking the closeness between you.

“No.”

You furrow your brows. “What?” you ask, even though you heard him perfectly.

He looks back at you, and the softness that was once in his eyes disappeared—replaced by the steel walls that he always builds up around you.

“There’s nothing between us,” he says in a low and rough voice. “We can’t… this can’t be anything more than what it already is.”

You feel your chest tighten painfully. “Why can’t it be?” you ask in a shaky voice, trying to keep it together. “Bucky, I know you felt it too—”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he pressed his lips together and looked down, like it physically hurts him just to say it. “It was a mistake, all of it. I’m sorry.”

You pull back, blinking fast, fighting off the tears burning at the corners of your eyes. You’re so tired of this. Tired of the constant push and pull, the way he reels you in only to shove you away. One moment he can barely stand you, the next he’s kissing you and holding you in his sleep and then pretending none of it ever happened.

You were foolish to think this could be something more. This was an arrangement from day one. Love was never part of the deal, and you can’t force someone to feel something they don’t want to feel.

But at least you can say you tried. You’ve been trying from the very beginning and you don’t need him to spell it out again. You understand perfectly well where you two stand now.

“Okay,” is all you say, nodding firmly and composing yourself—because that was what you always did best.

You push back your chair and stand, already stepping away from him. “I’ll have my things ready to go today,” you say, your tone as if you’re discussing nothing more than business. “Just let me know when the truck’s coming.” You reach for the door handle, refusing to look back. “Thank you, Congressman.”

You slip out without a single look over your shoulder.

If he wants to keep his walls up, then so will you.

Later that evening, Bucky had returned to his quiet home. He already sent the moving truck for you, and by now it was probably hauling the last of your things. Any minute now, you’d arrive, and your life and all its pieces were about to merge with his.

He sprawled out on the couch, tie loosened messily around his neck and his blazer discarded somewhere by the door. The top buttons of his white shirt were undone, sleeves lazily rolled up his forearms. He looked around his living room with tired eyes, knowing that soon this space, his safe, private corner of the world, would be filled with all things you. Your clothes in his drawers, your shampoo in his bathroom, your scent lingering on the pillows. Strands of your hair tangled with Alpine’s white fur.

But it wasn’t your things that bothered him—it was how much harder they’d make it to resist you.

It had taken everything in him to turn you away earlier. He knew he loved you, and he had already made peace with carrying that secret alone. It hurt, but it was manageable. But hearing you feel the same way nearly broke him. He hadn’t expected that at all, and it hurt him. Badly.

Because he knew he couldn’t have you. Not after what he’s done to you.

Every day he didn’t tell you made it worse. But how could he? How could he look you in the eye and confess the truth when he knew it would make you hate him, make you run like everyone else always did?

He didn’t care about the boost in polls or how good he looked on camera with you at his side. None of that mattered compared to what he could possibly lose, and telling you that he was the one who killed your father would be the one thing that drove you away forever.

It was selfish to keep you close under false pretenses, but he couldn’t help it. He needed you in his life badly.

Alpine, sensing her dad’s distress, jumped up onto the couch, settling beside him.

Mrroow!

Bucky’s expression softened as he stroked his knuckles over her silky soft head. “Hey there, baby girl,” he coos. “Daddy had a long day at work.”

Alpine purred, pressing her head into his palm before climbing onto his lap, curling into a warm loaf as her fluffy tail batted lazily against him.

A low, pained chuckle escaped his mouth as he kept petting her. “There’s gonna be another lady sharing your space soon,” he said quietly, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “You won’t get jealous now, will you?”

Alpine rolled over, tiny paws stretching out as she showed him her soft white belly.

Mrrow.

Bucky let out a faint laugh, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ve met her before. You really liked her,” he murmured, draping his arm over the back of the couch. “She’s technically your mom now. I’m gonna marry her soon.”

Meow.

Bucky lets out a heavy sigh, staring at Alpine who’s now sprawled out like royalty across his chest. He pokes her side gently.

“You know, you’ve got it easy, kid. You just nap, eat, knock my water glasses over at three in the morning… meanwhile, I’m over here pretending I don’t want to kiss your new mom every five seconds.”

Alpine blinks at him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. She’s way too good for me,” he mumbles grumpily. “She’s gonna take over the bathroom, I bet. There’s gonna be fancy soaps I’m not allowed to use, skincare and all that crap. I guess that’s what keeps her smelling so sweet.”

Alpine stretches, not caring at all. She bats her paw at his undone tie.

“Don’t give me that look. I know I sound pathetic,” he tips his head back against the couch, scrubbing a hand over his stubble. “But what am I supposed to do, huh? She’s going to be at my side every waking moment and I’m gonna be standing there pretending I don’t wanna grab her and—”

He cuts himself off with a groan, dragging a palm over his face. “God, I’m so screwed—”

Alpine’s little ears perk up right before the doorbell goes off. She jumps off Bucky’s lap and starts padding her way over there, sitting politely by the door—like she knew you were coming from a mile away.

Bucky gets off the couch with a tired groan, his heart thumping in his chest as he steps closer to the door, knowing that you’re on the other side. He pauses at the doorknob, sucking in a deep breath before pulling it open.

You’re standing there with a suitcase at your side, looking exhausted and far from happy. Before he can say a word, you speak, your tone flat and cold.

“The movers are bringing my stuff in,” you say, hiking a thumb over your shoulder. “If there’s anywhere that’s off-limits, let me know now. Otherwise, I’m putting my things wherever I want.”

Your voice was cold and distant. It wasn’t the usual softness or playful snarkiness that Bucky knew and loved. He understood the drastic change—he deserved it, especially after how he rejected you earlier today. He steps aside, clearing his throat.

“Come in,” he says gruffly.

You brush past him without even a glance, eyes scanning the living room until they land on Alpine perched by the doorframe, big blue eyes staring up at you.

And just like that, a one-eighty switch flipped inside you as you knelt down, letting out the biggest and longest “Awwwwwww,” as you began scratching the baby’s chin.

“Hi Alpie!” you coo, your voice filled with affection as Alpine immediately starts to purr, pressing her head into your hand.

Bucky stands to the side, crossing his arms as he looks down at you and his cat. A part of him is happy that you still have that spark in you—even if it’s not for him. But another part of him was jealous that he wasn’t getting any of that attention from you.

He huffs out a humorless laugh under his breath. Funny. Kind of ironic how he told Alpine not to be jealous when he, in fact, is the jealous one right now.

“You can put your stuff wherever you want,” Bucky says, trying—futilely—to sound casual and included. “There’s nothing off-limits for you here.”

Except the man who owns the house, clearly.

You stood up straight with a quiet sigh, still not looking at him. “Okay,” you say flatly just to acknowledge him.

There’s an awkward pause now. Your back was facing him, your attention was solely on Alpine, and Bucky was just… standing there, staring at you like he’s hoping you’ll turn around. Alpine flicks her tail and glances between you both, like even she could feel the tension in the air.

Bucky clears his throat, desperate for something to do. “I’m… gonna go help with the moving truck,” he mutters, coughing into his fist as he brushes past you toward the door. “You know where everything is, right? Just make yourself at home.”

And just like that, he’s gone—still half-dressed like a Congressman, now hauling boxes faster than the actual professional movers outside.

You glance down at Alpine, bending your knees so you’re closer to her. “Wanna show me around again, Alpie?”

She looks up at you and lets out a soft purr but doesn’t move an inch. You laugh softly, giving her one last affectionate scratch behind the ears before grabbing your suitcase and heading down the hallway toward the stairs

A few minutes later, Bucky stomps back in carrying a massive box like it weighs nothing. He drops it in the living room, then spots you as you’re just about to ascend the stairs. He’s at your side in seconds, grabbing the suitcase right out of your hands without waiting for permission.

“Next time, just wait for me, okay?” he huffs, already turning away and hauling it up like it’s nothing.

“I could’ve handled that,” you muttered, trailing after him.

He stops at the top, setting the suitcase down gently. “What’s in this one?”

You meet him, letting out a soft breath. “My clothes,” you shrug. “Most of them are still in boxes, but these are my favorite ones.”

“Right.” He nods stiffly.

You brush past him and flick the hallway lights on. As you take a few steps closer to his room, you pause. Your eyes catch on a picture frame that wasn’t there before.

It was a framed photo from your engagement shoot.

It’s the one where his hands are cupped around your face, thumbs grazing your cheeks, holding you still as he kissed you gently.

Bucky pulls up the handle of your suitcase and starts walking toward his room too. “I’ve already cleared out a few drawers for you. I even made some space in the closet too. Just fill them out however you want—”

He pauses when he realizes you haven’t moved. His eyes follow yours to the framed photo on the wall, and he freezes.

“I… I thought it’d be good to have up, you know… in case someone comes by. Or for when we do those home interviews Voss mentioned,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck and refusing to meet your eyes.

A part of you wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The same man who insisted your kiss meant nothing has it framed and hung on his wall in his own home like a trophy.

“Right,” you say, your tone teasing. “Because you just have guests wandering upstairs all the time? Or the interviews are going to happen in this tiny hallway?”

You glance at him and Bucky shifts in his stance, looking down at his feet. You can physically see that bionic brain of his trying to compute, trying to come up with another sly excuse, but none clearly comes to mind. You let out a small snicker, leaving him to fluster by himself as you grab the suitcase from his hands and push the bedroom door open yourself.

Bucky clears his throat and trails after you, gesturing stiffly at the drawers. “You can use these, and half the closet’s yours too,” he says, pulling them open to prove it.

“Got it,” you say, already kneeling to unzip your suitcase.

He stands there for a second, like he wants to say something else. Then he mutters, “I’ll, uh… go help with the rest of your boxes.” And he ducks out, leaving you alone in his room while you sort your things out.

A couple of hours later, the last box had been dragged inside, and the movers were finally paid and gone. Now the bedroom was scattered with half-unpacked suitcases and boxes, a few clothes draped over the drawers, and your skincare bottles were already taking up half the bathroom counter.

Bucky lingered downstairs longer than he needed to, cleaning up imaginary messes in the kitchen, pretending to check work emails he didn’t even open. He could hear faint noises upstairs. Your footsteps, drawers opening, your muffled voice as you talked to Alpine like she was your roommate instead of his cat.

When he finally gathered the courage to head up, the hallway lights were already dim. He pauses outside his own bedroom door, taking one last glance at the photo frame, then cracks the door slightly—cautiously, and peeked his head in.

You were curled up on his bed, the blankets pulled high around your nose. Alpine was sprawled on your chest like royalty, purring happily. You were scrolling through your phone, your hair a little messy from the shower you had just taken. You looked… settled. Like you belonged here all this time.

Bucky has seen you in nearly all forms—your professional attire, your casual clothes, your bedtime look, and somehow, every version of you still managed to knock the wind out of him. He didn’t realize how long he’d been standing there, staring at you until you pulled your phone just slightly away from your face.

“Are you going to bed?” you asked softly, your voice soft and drowsy, your mouth barely peeking out from under the covers.

It was too much for him. The softness of you, the sight of Alpine curled up on your chest, the domesticity of it all—he knew he should offer to sleep on the couch again, but he also knew how that turned out for the both of you last time.

“Uh, yeah,” he muttered, finally stepping inside the room. “I’m just… gonna take a shower first.” He kept his gaze down as he moved to his dresser, pulling a drawer open to grab some clothes.

“Okay,” you murmured, already turning your attention back to your phone, voice muffled by the blanket.

Bucky instinctively opens a drawer where he usually keeps his underwear, reaching in without thinking, but pauses for a moment when he feels silk against his touch.

He furrows his brows in confusion, slowly lifting the unfamiliar fabric up and his eyes going wide once he realizes what it is.

It was a silky little nightslip, a dark blue with delicate lace trimming at the top. The silk dangled between his hands, his fingers instinctively rubbing against the fabric. He swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the dress.

He totally forgot that this drawer was technically yours now. He could just picture you wearing it, even though he shouldn’t—but the image popped in his mind anyway. You, curled up under his sheets, the thin strap slipping off your bare shoulder, the lace tracing the curve of your breasts—

He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard again. Behind him, you didn’t notice a thing. You were still occupied on your phone, Alpine lounging on your chest.

Bucky carefully folded the slip back up and slipped it back into the drawer, hoping you wouldn’t notice. He cleared his throat, opening the other drawers and grabbing his clothes like he was supposed to.

“Uh… I’ll be quick,” he mumbled, voice catching a bit in his throat.

You just made a soft, tired noise of acknowledgement without looking at him. Alpine gave him a slow blink, unimpressed.

He turned away so fast he nearly bumped into the door. Shutting himself into the bathroom, he braced his hands on the sink and stared at himself in the mirror.

Fuck. Were you wearing something like that right now? And if you’d packed the rest of your clothes away in boxes, that meant slips like these were your favorites. How the hell was he supposed to share a bed with you, under the same covers, knowing you were draped in something so soft and skimpy?

And… tempting.

But Bucky knew you weren’t doing it to tempt him. Maybe you just liked feeling pretty? But that didn’t make it any easier for him. He could only hope that by the time he came out of the shower, you had already fallen asleep, turned away from him, so he wouldn’t get the urge to pull you against his chest and bury his face in your neck.

With a resigned groan, he turned the shower on and slipped inside.If he was going to have any chance of surviving tonight beside you, he needed to clear his mind and take care of his… physical, throbbing problem first.

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candypot · 24 hours ago

Text

I don’t know if you like me, sometimes i think you might hate me.

⋆𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ｡⋆ “sometimes it feels a bit awkward cuz we don’t have much in common.”

Rafayel

♱⋅── synopsis: Rafayel finally found his beloved bride, but for his surprise she turned out to be very reserved and somewhat suspicious of his behavior. Even with all his tentatives she’s still very closed off and distant.

♱⋅── warnings: some light spoilers might be mentioned.

The first time you met it was very hard to tell if you were just shy or really introverted given your simple and short answer, but with time Rafayel started to realize that the lack of openness in your behavior was actually part of your personality and it had nothing to do with being embarrassed.

At first Rafayel tried to convince himself that with a little sympathy and the occasional support of Thomas things would go more smoothly between you and him, i mean, he was charming and got a lot of interesting things to impress you with. Sadly, it didn’t matter what he did you were always very formal and unapproachable, the direct and aseptic way you responded to his comments were gut wrenching.

He even started to dose his bratty behavior around you to prevent the awkward moments that usually followed afterwards. Rafayel wanted you to at least like him a tiny bit, he waited centuries for it, but now even the small laughs you gave seemed more like fear to be fired from your new job as his bodyguard.

He carefully crafted this trajectory so you could be by his side again, he even made up an excuse to have you working for him as way to keep you close. How could you be so unfazed and frigid about him and everything he did? Most of the time it felt like he was only being tolerated by you.

Your coldness towards him was so evident that he even started to question his own expectations about you. Was it really worth all this indifference? Did he really worked this hard to be treated like with such apathy for someone that should love him? How come he sacrificed so much for someone and longed for so damn long to be recompensed with nothing but dismissiveness?

Were you really his beloved bride? No, of course not. How could you be the caring and kind girl he met in the past? Did you even like him? No, better: did he even like you? Or was it all just an idealized version of you he kept trying to believe it was real?

But even when the frustration started to kick in and rotten his heart out, he still couldn’t deny that deep down you were the one he truly loved. He could feel it in your laugh, the way your eyes wandered when you were lost in thought, or even how you hold you necklace when you were feeling insecure. Despise all those changes, he could see the other half of his soul was still there. His devotee, his bride, his lover.

How could he not notice how your eyes wandered around his face with such intensity when you thought he wasn’t looking? It was as impossible to forget that time you pointed out the moles that not even he payed attention to, even though you did it with such cordiality.

You were different, of course, but that was only an opportunity for Rafayel to learn how to love the new versions of yourself . Obviously, having a little bit more of patience with your unresponsiveness was nothing he couldn’t do.

#rafayel x reader #love and deepspace #lads #lads mc #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x mc #lads x reader

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forty-servants-free-readings · 2 days ago

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Pick a pile

How will your future spouse behave when they're sick?

Pick a group to find out, your reading is under the cut. If you're interested in a short, free oracle reading - feel free to send question to my askbox, anon is on. Answers are extremely slow due to demand and busy personal life, from time to time I go on hiatus. There is also paid offer, explained in my pinned post - those readings will be prioritised. If you want to support me there is a PayPal link in my bio.

Pick a pile masterlist

Group 1 - The Carnal

Your future spouse will be very needy each time they will get sick. They will want to give their body all that it needs to get better and might be even too indulgent. They might eat many good things to help their organism get stronger, will not stop resting in bed and can get whiny. Might demand cuddles despite the illness. Will be concerned about if they still look attractive to you when they're ill.

Group 2 - The Balancer, The Chaste

They will not be overly caring about themselves, might want to concentrate on more important things then their body, like their work. Luck of balance between rest and work could've been the reason why they've gotten sick to begin with. Will do their best to not infect you. They can be very fixated on hygiene tho, I see them desinfect things around the house after they heal, they will make sure to not make any mess despite running nose or increased sweating or fatigue.

Group 3 - The Road Opener, The Protector

Their main concern is to not spread the illness, especially towards their close ones. They might not want to go outside, at least not without a face mask. They will definitely choose to sleep in different room when they're sick to not infect your bedroom. They might even use different kitchen utensils during this time. If they travel a lot sometimes they can get sick due to eating food they're unfamiliar with.

Group 4 - The Seer

During their sickness they will try their best to listen to their body. If it wants to rest they give it rest, they eat when they're hungry (not when you tell them), and if they feel like taking a walk they will certainly do so. Good luck trying to convince them to do anything they don't feel like doing. If they still feel bad once their sick leave has ended, they will stay home for a few more days regardless.

#free oracle reading #forty servants #pick a card #pick a pile #cartomancy #divination #future spouse #pick a picture #tarot

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enbyscript · 2 days ago

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18+ MINORS DNI SFW jack abbot x transmasc emt!reader

kinda short, a lil shitty. first time writing for abbot, took a while to figure out where i wanted this to go. enemies to ?? somethin’.

you work as an EMT; generally get along with everyone you meet at the hospitals your ambulance makes visits to, mostly Ptmc In particular; everyone except doctor abbot. he refuses to soften his words when giving suggestions, doesn’t give you the respect you deserve when bringing him patients, alive, to be tended to. something in your stomach that finds him incredibly irritating. his stares make your hair stand on end and your palms sweat; his eyes scrutinizing every little thing you do. once he called your life saving heroics a ‘fucking hack job’ and griped every time he saw you for the next week that he wasn’t paid to clean up your shit. he pissed you off.

jack abbot, for as good of a doctor as he is, sure loves to get under your skin. seeing you try to hold back sarcastic retorts or biting comments whenever you’re in proximity to one another gives him a rush. sometimes he’ll push, asking you questions to test your knowledge even though he has a perfectly intelligent med student following him around like a puppy dog. but that med student doesnt roll their eyes at him like you do, or meet his stares the same way that makes his skin prickle under your attention. he doesn’t challenge his med student the same way he challenged you, knowing you’re an incredibly gifted EMT; everytime he does, though, he sees your work getting better, you getting faster.

nobody understands why abbot is such a dick only to you. robby has seen in at turn over and was shocked at the way jack talked to probably one of the best EMT’s in the business, and he offered no explanation at robby’s prodding.

it was a busy night when you came rushing in, your partner pushing the gurney while you straddled your patient doing compressions. your forehead had your hair sticking to it, your arms burning at the exertion, but you refused to stop. you couldn’t, not until this person was back. you kept up the compressions as shen and the nurses moved around you. finally the heart rate came back, sinus rhythm began to steady, and the really tall nurse you remembered as jesse helped you down.

you tried to catch your breath, closing your eyes and leaning forward on your knees while your partner handled the paperwork with the charge nurse. everything was so busy around you when you heard it; a deep, booming voice shouting. just below it a voice that raised your hackles anytime it was in your vicinity: abbot. you looked up in time to see some red faced asshole pull back a mean swing going straight for the night shift attending.

time slowed, almost to a snails pace. you couldn��t tell if this guy was a patient, a family member, all you could see was that he was angry and looking to cause problems. specifically by punching jack abbot. you fantasized about that, sometimes. not that you’d ever do it, but it was cathartic to think about shutting his mouth up after a scathing comment directed your way. unfortunately, all the precious air you worked so hard to get into your lungs held there and burned. you felt your stomach turn at the thought of somebody actually hurting doctor abbot, whether he deserved it or not.

with your breath held in anticipation your legs moved on autopilot as you slipped in between the two men, shoulder bumping abbot out of the wag before the other man’s fist landed squarely on the side of your head. your head snapped to the side, pain blooming in your skull at the quick impact, the emergency department going silent for a half second. you couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in your ears. you righted yourself in a flash before yanking your head back and clamming your forehead into the assailant’s nose, blood splattering across both your faces before he went down.

everything in the emergency department stopped at the spectacle you’d finished. could almost hear a pin drop if you listened really hard. your chest was heaving with exertion, head throbbing and your ears ringing as you tried to compose yourself. suddenly, everything sprang back into life. people were shouting, pointing, even gawking at you. a few security guards ran in to grab the man, still a bleeding mess on the floor, and hauling his ass out. you felt hands on your face before you could recognize what was going on, dry skin from overuse of sanitizer but warm against your flesh. a voice trying to break through, a face coming in to view beneath gray curls.

“jesus fucking christ kid, you’re fucking bleeding,” it was abbot, standing much too close to assess your injuries. were his eyes always hazel?

“not—,” you breathed. “not mine.”

abbot prodded his thumb against your eyebrow and you flinched at a sudden burning you failed to notice before.

“no, some of it is,” he mumbled in the space between you. “c’mon rocky, gotta look ‘atcha.”

your could see your partner start in your direction before you raised your hand to hold back. too tired to argue or fight back, abbot gripped your uniformed shoulder and dragged you into the closest free room while everyone else got back to work now that the show was over.

you slumped into the nearest chair, not wanting to have to sully an exam table that was better used for someone who really needed help. you watched abbot make his way around the room, spine rigid, lips downturned as he ran on autopilot to collect his necessary supplies.

“gonna need a ct scan after, make sure nothin’ else is going on up there,” he sat himself on a rolling stool and pushed his way to crowd your space once again, cleaning up the blood on your face to see what was yours and what wasnt.

“is that a dig? callin’ me stupid?”

you don’t think you’ve ever heard abbot laugh before. low, deep in his chest, barely there with his lips quirked up slightly to show his amusement. your chest tightened, probably from all the excitement.

yeah, the excitement.

“i’d never say that, ‘specially not to my hero of the night,” now it was your turn to chuckle, cheeks warming at the comment. you winced as he dabbed at your eyebrow with gauze. must have been the burning from before.

“sorry.”

abbot continued with your treatment, numbing the area before prepping a needle for sutures.

“didn’t need to do that, y’know. i can take a punch.” his voice sounded off, not the usual tone when giving you shit. it was softer, dare you say almost guilty?

“if anyone’s gonna sock you it’s gonna be me, not some asshole off the street,” you tried to sound aloof, like you weren’t replaying the scene over and over again in your head. as if your fists weren’t clenching in your lap as you let yourself feel the anger pulsing through your blood at the alternative if you hadn’t gotten in the way. you couldn’t see anyone swinging at the guy that kept you on your toes most nights. that you almost looked forward to clashing with when stepping foot inside the ED.

abbot did’t respond, focusing on stringing your flesh back together. the room grew quiet, your breathing seemingly the only sign of life. you let your eyes trace over the doctor before you, taking in the details and contours of his face. you never noticed the freeckles across his nose and cheeks, only visible at this short distance. they matched the ones on his forearms in your periphery. steady as he worked. his cheeks were stubbled with gray, probably a day or two old if you had to guess.

“think you broke is nose.”

“what,” you slipped back into yourself, not quite catching what had been said.

“that guy, you’ve got a fuckin’ hard head. had to have broken his nose with all that blood,” abbot clarified.

“he’s lucky that’s all he walked away with,” your words were clipped, that anger still simmering just below the surface. abbot almost looked taken aback, his hands stopped moving before resuming their work. he was acutely aware of the fact that you said nothing about the first half of what he said. a light blush dusting his cheeks at the recognition.

your partner came knocking on the door once doctor abbot had finished your sutures and was cleaning up, letting you know that they called dispatch and your supervisor was sending a replacement, for you to go home after your scan and get some rest. your head was too sensitive still, so you opted for a thumbs up as opposed to nodding.

“right, lets get you up there for that scan. then i can give you a lift home,” abbot slipped off his soiled gloves in the trash, as if what he said was the most casual thing in the world instead of the least normal thing he’s ever spoken to you.

“y-you don’t have to do that, i can get home myself,” it almost felt like you were on the defensive, anxious that he could hear the uptick in your heartbeat at the idea.

“no way cowboy, you come to my rescue i get to pay it back anyway i want,” the lightness of his tone made your insides feel funny. and when he looked at you with a real smile you know that take another punch, as many as needed, to keep him looking at you like that.

#the pitt #jack abbot #dr abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x transmasc reader #jack abbot x trans reader #x reader #the pitt x reader #x trans reader #x masc reader #x transmasc reader

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junwhispers · 12 hours ago

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Naruto headcanons

✨️How they react to you in their clothes✨️

Requested by lovely @jefth3kilr

Cw: suggestive, 18+

Characters: Kakashi, Sasuke, Gaara, Shikamaru, Naruto, Kiba, Rock Lee

Kakashi

- instantly red under his mask

- seeing you in his dark longsleeve does something to him

- like, that's his everyday uniform, he's so used to it

- but on you... oh my god, he can't even form his thougths

- you look so cute because the sleeves are too long

- but so hot because you fill it so differently than him

- he's right next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close

- and discovers his shirt barely covers your butt, so his hands can't help themselves

- he lifts you, hands on your ass; you instinctively wrap your legs around him

- and he presses you against the wall, one hand wandering over your body, testing how it feels under the thick fabrick

- bonus: try wearing one of his masks and see what it would do

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Sasuke

- when it comes to him, I imagine his wardrobe is full of two types of clothes: rock band t-shirts and elegant shirts

- and he loves his t-shirt collection even if he wouldn't admit it

- anyone who'd touch it would probably get killed

- but when you enter the bedroom wearing only his retro BFMV t-shirt, he stops breathing for a second

- there are only two thougths in his mind: you're perfect for him and you're too far away

- he won't tell you ofc - it's Sasuke, but you know what that intense stare means

- he's like hypnotized when you come to him, sit on his lap, legs wrapped around his hips, arms on his shoulders

- he's just watching - almost like he's too stunned

- but one quick move of his body and you're trapped under him, lying on your back on the bed

-"I don't remember letting you borrow my stuff," he mutters; "take it off"

- so you do

- from now on, you'll sometimes find his t-shirts on your side of the wardrobe, waiting for you to wear them

---------------------------------------------

Gaara

- he's more than happy when you borrow his clothes

- it makes him feel like you're so close; he wants to share everything with you

- and he likes to wear his hoodies and sweaters after you because they smell like you, and that makes him happy

- and he loves how you look in them, so cute his heart can barely take it

- you can take whatever you want, whenever you want, without asking

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Shikamaru

- he likes when you're wearing his t-shirts and sweatshirts as your pajamas

- he thinks you look great in them

- besides, when you're wearing them without shorts, he can watch your ass and legs all he wants

- if you're wearing them without panties, it's even better

- he definitely prefers casual clothes over something fancy, and he's happy when you dress like that at home

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Naruto

- one day you asked him if you could wear his orange jacket, and now it's yours,

- you take turns wearing it

- it's an important piece of his wardrobe, but when you put it on, he feels so proud

- because it's like you don't mind that everyone will know you're with him and that makes him warm inside

- he likes to brag about you as his girlfriend and he's happy you do the same

- of course, he thinks you look absolutely stunning in that jacket and always lets you know about it

--------------------------------------------

Kiba

- he's over the moon when you show up in his sweatshirt

- because now you can have his smell on you everywhere you go

- it makes him calmer and strokes his ego a bit

- he likes the thought that everyone knows you're his girlfriend

- plus, it makes him want you so bad you can't escape his hands all day

- he drags you to the bedroom at the first opportunity. And at every following opportunity, to be honest

----------------------------------------------

Rock Lee

- luckily he owns more clothes than his green jumpsuit, so you have things to steal

- when he sees you in his t-shirt, he's so happy and thinks that's the sweetest view in the entire world

- you're so cute he wants to protect you and hold you all the time

- and if you want to surprise him in his jumpsuit, well

- that will guarantee you some fun

- hours of fun with Lee's stamina

- but from now on, he'll blush everytime he sees his sensei in the same damn outfit - you kinda ruined it for him:D

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notreallymyselfrn · 7 hours ago

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And yet again...

Summary:

Zoey needs to know that she's loved. That she's enough. That she belongs.

TW: anxiety, weapons, killing, angst, lol I don't know it's literally almost just fluff, bad writing, English not first language<3

Don't make eye contact, keep your keys in your hand, avoid going out after dark, cross the street if you see a man walking your way and don't go into less popular alleys even if it's a short cut. These and many more were the rules of survivor that Zoey just like any other woman grew up with. She always felt that it was unfair, the way she had to assume all men were dangerous. But now this has changed. Now she had to assume everyone was dangerous. And honestly? She was overwhelmed.

Mira and Rumi noticed pretty early on their friendship how Zoey would avoid going out after 8 pm and how she'd be in highest alert if they'd manage to convince to go. At first they didn't mention it since they weren't that close yet and over time they got used to it and didn't question her.

The truth is that most of the time Zoey was paralysed by fear of sorts. She didn't sign up for that whole demon hunter thing. She just wanted to belong somewhere finally. And her unnie always said "it's better to try and fail then stay wondering what could be". So she tried and she got in. At first she couldn't believe it. A k-pop group with someone raised by former sunlight sister? And with someone as cool as Mira? But then it all came crashing down when she learned about the demon part of her new life. She wasn't a violent person. She wouldn't even call herself a fighter. But Rumi seemed to already know everything and all Mira said was 'sick' and started checking out her new weapon.

Her abandonment issues were another thing they didn't talk about and just accepted it. She always needed to be in the same room as one of the other girls. Always looked up for reassurance as if one wrong move and her girls would leave her behind for some demon to hurt her. Sometimes she'd wake up in the middle of the night with this weird feeling in her chest that wouldn't go away unless she quietly checked if Mira and Rumi were still in their rooms. And then there were the nights where the feeling wouldn't go away instead it'd only grow until it felt as if her insides were exploding. At those nights she'd check on the girls multiple times through the night until she'd pass out next to one of their doors.

And yet again Rumi and Mira pretended not to notice how Zoey seemed uncomfortable while talking about killing fighting demons. She was a hunter after all. The Honmoon chose her. They all felt it when they were together, this weird tingling sensation. And yet again over time all of them got used to that part of their life. Even Zoey in her specific way. By special I mean she closed her eyes and took a deep breath only to be met with the harsh truth. The same thing she'd do with her parents in the past.

The first person to find her after one of those nights was Mira. At first surprised, she didn't know what to do but then she lifted up the maknae and carried her to Zoey's room. Next time it happened she wasn't even surprised, Rumi mentioned finding her in similar positions a few times, she just took her into hers bed and went back to sleep with the youngest in her arms.

Yet they didn't talk about it. Even in the morning when Zoey would wake up crushed by the weight of someone else (always Mira since Rumi still was weird about her privacy). All she said was 'the best in a long time' when asked if she slept well. Over time her stuffed turtle that Rumi bought for her found its place in Mira's bed as Zoey became a regular user of it. And for a while everyone was somewhat happy. Mira didn't have as many nightmares, Zoey slept through the night. But Zoey couldn't help but look longingly at Rumi's doors. They were missing Rumi. She was their missing piece besides the fact she wasn't missing. She was right next to them. Just not as close as they'd wish.

But then the idol awards happened.

When Mira drew her weapon on Rumi something inside her broke. She wanted to scream. She didn't want that. All she wanted was to be silly and finally belong. To sing some songs and sign some posters. And she didn't think that Rumi was a demon. At least not the kind they were supposed to kill. No she was their Rumi. And her patterns were beautiful. She wanted to hug her and tell her that it was all okay, that she loved her no matter what. But then she'd remember all of the rules she'd ever learn. Keys in hand. Reassurance in Mira's eyes. Scared dangerous Rumi demon. And she felt so small in that moment. And the rules, so loud in her mind.

Then everything happened so fast. But she was glad it didn't took any longer. She was glad it was all over. No more pain, no more lies, no more hiding.

After the new Honmoon was sealed they finally talked. About Rumi's patterns. About Zoey's fear. About Mira's nightmares. About the night. About Jinu and Celine. And finally on a lazy night when both of the older girls were sprawled on the couch while the Maknae was sitting on the floor with her Turtle hugged thight to her chest, Rumi's hair was down so Mira could play with them and Zoey was tracing the patterns on Rumi's hand.

"I wish we could stay like this." Zoey said it more to herself than anyone in particular but the girls already heard her. Rumi shifted slightly to take a better look at the youngest's profile.

"we aren't going anywhere." Mira said softly although she already knew what Zoey meant. Zoey turned to look at her with something in her eyes. As if part of her still didn't believe Mira. As if it was telling her 'you're just saying that'.

"Zoey just because the hours will pass and we'll have to eventually get up doesn't mean it will end." Rumi said firmly and squeezed her hand.

"what exactly won't change" she needed to hear them saying it. Confirming it meant to them as much as to her. Now all of them were sitting and Mira lifted Zoey up to sit next to them.

"We won't. What is between us won't. Our... Our love for each other." Rumi's voice was sure. As if she already said it before.

"I really thought I lost you guys... I don't know if I could do it all without you." The reference to the night of Idol awards made them all tense. Zoey unintentionally looked for reassurance in the girls but was taken back by what she saw. Love, admiration, care. Was she really worth all of that from people as great as her girls. Her...

"You could never lose us. Not really." Both Rumi and Mira had to stop themselves from apologising all over again.

"I just hope to be enough for you guys to not change your minds..." Zoey whispered and this feeling in her chest seemed to explode all over again. Just this time Rumi and Mira were there to pick up the prices.

"Zoey you are perfect being the person you are. Not too much, not too little. Perfect." Mira's voice seemed almost hard while saying this. Not in the annoyed way but in the 'I'm so sure that, nothing is gonna change my mind'

"You, Zoey, are the love of our lives because of who you are. Not because of who you could be or who you pretend to be when you feel the world watching. We love you for you." Rumi wiped the tear that was rolling down Zoey's cheek. Then she kissed it. And her forehead. And her nose. And her chin. And her temple. And somewhere between those kisses their lips met. And then when they couldn't breathe and pulled away from each other, Mira kissed her too.

"I love you too guys."

#polytrix #mira x rumi x zoey #rumi kpdh #mira x zoey #mira kpdh #zoey kpop demon hunters #angst with a happy ending #fluff #anxi4ty #love #writing in the middle of the night #probably should just go to sleep #i don't even know if i like it

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