#added a curves layer and called it a day...

[taeraekims]

241122 JAY ☆ TOENZE: LEFT-HANDER !

[levisjinchuriki]

always will be - toji fushiguro

summary: you know the key to a man's heart is through his stomach. toji is no exception

warning: fluff!!!!!!, kisses

written separately, but can be read as pt. 2 of more to love!

toji had always been intimidatingly fit. his sharp abs, toned arms, and broad chest reflected years of discipline and a lifestyle that demanded he stay in peak condition. it wasn’t something he flaunted—walking around shirtless in his own home was just how he lived. he didn’t think much of it, and neither did you.

after deciding to move in together, subtle changes crept into his life, ones he hadn’t anticipated. every night, he came home to a hot and ready meal. you always made sure it was his favorites, learning his preferences without him needing to say much. and the snacks—that was his biggest weakness. you were thoughtful enough to have something sweet or savory on hand, excusing it by saying “just in case you get hungry later.”

now, as toji pads around your shared home, shirtless as always, you can’t help but notice the differences in his physique. his abs are softer now, the faintest hint of a tummy forming where there used to be none. his arms, still strong, have lost some of their definition.

the late-night snacks you share, the hearty dinners you insist he eats after long days, and the lazy mornings spent curled up in bed instead of at the gym— all of it has added up.

at first, toji doesn’t think much of it. he’s always had a big appetite—one you happily indulge. but over the weeks, the changes become harder to ignore. his pants fit a little snug, and the shirts that once fit comfortably now cling to his chest and stomach.

toji glances down at his stomach, giving it an experimental poke. his finger sinks into a soft layer that wasn’t there before. he grunts in realization, muttering to himself “guess i’ve been slacking.”

but it’s not slacking—it’s comfort. love. the ease of sharing a life with someone who makes him feel whole.

“babe” your voice calls sweetly from the kitchen. “breakfast is ready!”. the smell of sugar and cinnamon hits him as he makes his way to the kitchen. and then he sees it– the biggest, gooiest cinnamon roll he’s ever laid eyes on, sitting proudly on a plate you’re setting on the table.

“you’re trying to fatten me up, aren’t you?” he accuses with a smirk.

you glance up, genuinely confused. “what are you talking about?”. cooking for him has always brought you joy.  watching him devour every meal you set in front of him, finishing with a satisfied hum and going up for another serving makes you feel like you’re doing something right. he’s never complained once, and the empty plates he leaves behind are all the validation you’ve ever needed.

toji gestures at his waist, where the elastic band of his sweatpants sits noticeably tighter than it used to. “these don’t fit anymore”.

your cheeks flush. you know full well you’re the reason for the changes, but it’s not something you feel guilty about. if anything, it makes you proud.

“not my fault” you protest, crossing your arms with a playful pout. “you’re the one who goes back for thirds”. your eyes wander over him, noticing how his facial features have softened in the time since you moved in together. his jawline isn’t quite as sharp as it used to be, and there’s a slight fullness in his cheeks now—a small change, one you can’t help but adore.

it’s not just his body that’s softened. there’s a new ease to him, a sense of comfort and peace that wasn’t there before. it shows in the way his shoulders relax when he walks through the door, in the way his laughter comes more freely these days, and in the warmth of his teasing smirk now.

“i think it’s cute” you add softly, your lips curving into a warm smile. you mean it, too. toji might not have the razor-sharp physique he once did, but he’s still the man you fell in love with—strong, handsome, and completely yours.

“cute?” toji raises an eyebrow. “i’m supposed to be intimidating, not cute” he retorts, his deep voice tinged with mock offense. but even as he says it, he knows the truth—he’s gone soft being with you, in more ways than one.

“yeah” you tease, stepping within reach. you stroke his cheek with your thumb. “but you look happy”. 

you’re not wrong. for the first time in his life, toji feels truly content. he doesn’t have to keep his guard up or keep himself for the next battle. instead, he has you, a warm home, and a life that no longer feels like a constant fight for survival.

if it costs him a few extra pounds, he can live with it—because for the first time, it feels like he’s really living.

he smiles, the sincerity in his expression reaching his eyes. “i am happy” he says quietly.

your heart swells at his admission, warmth spreading through your chest. your own smile mirrors his as you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“you better be. or i’ll stop feeding you” you tease after pulling away.

toji’s eyes narrow, his brows drawing together in a warning. “don’t you dare”. 

before you can react, he pulls you into his lap, guiding your back against his chest with ease. his grip tightens around your waist, and you settle into him, feeling the heat of his body pressing against yours. you both share a few playful, soft and lingering kisses before toji reaches for his breakfast. 

he breaks off a piece and offers you the first bite, feeding it to you with such tenderness. his lips hover near yours as he leans in to steal a quick kiss, humming in appreciation of the sweet frosting that sticks to you. 

if you’re being honest– you’ve noticed the changes in him. the extra pounds that have slowly added up, the snug fit of his shirts, the softness in his once-defined features. but it’s not something that bothers you. in fact, it only makes you love him more. the softening of his body is a symbol of the comfort, the safety, and the ease he’s found with you.

you rest your head against him, loving that he’s comfortable with you, comfortable in this space you’ve created together. toji doesn’t have to be the intimidating, hardened man he was before. he’s allowed to relax, to soften in all the best ways.

“i think you look perfect” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

the edge of toji's smirk falters. perfect. it's not a word he’s used to associating with himself. toji knows his scars, his flaws, the rough edges he’s tried to smooth out over the years. perfect was for things he never thought he could have, for people he never thought he deserved.

but here you are, saying it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

toji tightens his grip around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. he doesn’t speak right away. instead, he lowers his head, his nose brushing softly against your temple, as he repeats the sentence in his head.

“you really think so?” he asks, his voice hesitant.

you tilt your head to meet his gaze, your smile warm and unwavering. “of course. you’ve always been perfect to me. always will be".

the sincerity in your voice is enough to ease his worries. he believes you, knowing you'd never lie to him. he doesn’t know how to respond—how to put into words what your belief in him does to his heart.

so instead, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours. he's gentle, even as he deepens it. it’s not just a kiss; it’s a thank you, a promise, and a confession all rolled into one.

“guess i can live with that” he murmurs against your lips, his smirk returning, softer now. there’s a warmth in his eyes, an acceptance of something he’s still trying to believe.

---

a/n: thank you for reading. happy new year!! <3 what are your resolutions this year?

[lisasmuts]

Unforgettable

Rosie x male reader

4.6k words

( Photoshoot filled with cum shoot )

(A/N - on the request of @matthewwwsblog, although please ignore mistakes and flaws made it while being sickk🤧🤧🤧.)

On a busy street as Rosie was walking down it, a the stranger suddenly kissed Rosie with growing fervor, his hands roamed her curves, eliciting soft moans of pleasure from her. The passion between them palpable, and he could feel the tension building in Rosie. Reluctantly, Rosie broke the kiss, a coy smile playing on her lips.

“My, My. You’re a certainly hungry fan,”

She purred, her voice dripping with seduction. With a playful wink, she hugs him, her hands roaming his masculine figure.

“Well then, mr. stranger.”

Rosie said, her Australian accent adding an extra layer of allure to her words.

“Why don’t we take this back to your place? I’ll be glad to be all yours for the night.”

She reached out a hand, silently beckoning him to follow as she sashayed the streets, her hips swaying with each step. The anticipation was palpable, and he eagerly cope up with Rosie and then lead the way, eager to indulge in a night of passion and pleasure.

As soon as they reached his home, Rosie’s pent up desire could no longer be contained. The moment the door closed behind them, she jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. Rosie’s lips crashed onto his in a hungry, passionate kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth with fervent need.

Breaking the kiss, Rosie gazed up at him with lust-filled eyes.

“I can’t wait anymore,”

She growled, her voice dripping with raw want.

“Start fucking me, now!”

Without another word, Rosie swiftly removed her clothes, tossing them aside carelessly. She then hooked her fingers into the waistband of his shorts, yanking them down with urgency.

The two lovers were soon a tangle of naked limbs, their bodies pressed together as they gave in to their carnal desires.

As the passionate night drew to a close, he finally reached his climax, filling Rosie’s eager body with his hot release. Rosie’s eyes widened with delight as she felt him pulsing inside her, a satisfied smile spreading across her face.

“Mmmm, that’s what I needed,”

She purred, nuzzling against his chest.

Just then, Rosie’s phone began to ring. Reluctantly pulling herself away from his embrace, she checked the caller id and her face lit up.

“It’s my manager!”

She exclaimed, quickly answering the call.

“Hello? Yes, yes of course, I’ll be there. Thank you!”

Ending the call, Rosie turned towards the stranger, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“I have a photoshoot for skims today! I need to get going, but I had such an amazing time with you”

She leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before begrudgingly starting to gather her clothes. Rosie’s body was still flushed from their lovemaking, and he could see the satisfaction radiating from her.

Few hours later, Rosie stood in front of the vanity mirror inside her spacious photoshoot van, admiring her reflection. The tight, white dress she had chosen clung to her curves in all the right places, accentuating her slim waist and toned legs. As she turned this way and that, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of confidence and pride.

“Wow, I look absolutely stunning.”

She murmured to herself, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. Reaching for her phone, Rosie snapped a few quick mirror selfies, capturing the way the dress hugged her body in all the right ways. Slipping the phone back into her purse, Rosie took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the upcoming photoshoot. She knew the skim team would be expecting nothing less than perfection, and she was determined to deliver. With her radiant beauty and impeccable fashion sense, Rosie was confident she would knock this shoot out of the park.

Rosie’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the van door. Taking one last look in the mirror, she straightened her shoulders and opened the door, ready to face the day’s challenges with her signature poise and grace.

Upon reaching the skim photoshoot set, Rosie was informed that she would need to change into the pink outfit instead of the one she had initially chosen. A slight look of surprise crossed her face, but she quickly composed herself.

“Alright, everyone, please look away while I change.”

Rosie announced, her voice carrying an edge of authority. As the crew dutifully turned around, you one of the camera operators couldn’t resist sneaking a peek, your eyes hungrily roaming over Rosie’s figure as she began disrobing.

Rosie caught the sly glance and a mischievous smile played on her lips. Deciding to put on a show, she slowly peeled off the tight white dress, deliberately drawing out the process and ensuring that you got an eyeful. Once she had changed into the pink outfit, Rosie struck a series of alluring poses, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places.

“Alright, you can all turn around now,”

Rosie called out, her tone dripping with a hint of satisfaction. As the crew faced her once more, Rosie couldn’t help but a feel of surge of power, knowing she had successfully caught you in the act and turned the situation to her advantage.

As the crew began the photoshoot, Rosie seized the opportunity to tease you subtly. Between poses, she would steal glances in your direction, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous gleam. Whenever the remaining’s back were turned, roise would seize the chance to wink at you coyly, her full lips curving into a coy smile.

At one point, as the crew adjusted the lighting, Rosie discreetly ran her hands down the sides of her body, caressing the curves of her hips in a way that was clearly meant for your eyes only. She arched her back slightly, pushing out her chest in a way that accentuated her ample bust, all the while maintaining a professional demeanor for the camera.

Throughout the shoot, Rosie continued to find subtle ways to tease and entice you, her actions just subtle enough to avoid detection by the rest of the crew. It was clear she was relishing the opportunity to put on a private show, her gaze locked with yours as she exuded an aura of sultry confidence.

After the completion of the shoot, she heads towards back.

As Rosie sashayed back to her vanity van, she discreetly slipped a folded piece of paper into your hand. Your heart raced with anticipation as you unfolded the note, revealing Rosie’s private vanity number and a tantalizing invitation. Unable to contain your excitement, you quickly approached the crew head and requested a brief break, citing a personal matter.

With a nod, the crew head granted your request, allowing you the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. Your feet practically carried you to Rosie’s vanity van, the anticipation building with each step. Reaching the door, you took a deep breath and knocked, eager to see what delights awaited you inside.

The door swung open, and there stood Rosie, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Without a word, she grabbed the front of your shirt and pulled you inside, the door slamming shut behind you. The two of you were finally alone, free to indulge in your desires without prying eyes.

Rosie’s teasing gaze pierced through you as she chided you playfully.

“Tsk tsk, someone couldn’t follow my simple instructions earlier, hmm?”

Her voice dripped with a sultry tone that sent shivers down your spine.

Before you could even stammer a response, Rosie pulled you into a searing, passionate kiss. Her soft lips molded against yours as her tongue danced with yours in a heated exploration. Your body responded instantly, craving more of her touch.

Breaking the kiss, Rosie gazed at you with hooded eyes, her voice low and seductive.

“Fuck me, y/n. I can’t wait any longer to have you ravage me.”

Without waiting for your reply, she captured your lips again, the urgency in her kiss leaving you breathless and aching with desire. You knew in that moment you were powerless to resist her allure. This was going to be a photoshoot full of unbridled passion and pleasure.

Rosie hurriedly sank to her knees, her fingers deftly unfastening your belt and lowering your pants and boxers. Your eager cock spang free, bouncing against her face, and she let out a delighted laugh.

“Oooh, someone’s excited,”

She purred, biting her lip seductively.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to love getting destroyed by this cock.”

Without further delay, Rosie parted her lips and took your throbbing length into her warm, wet mouth. She began bobbing her head back and forth, her tongue swirling and caressing your shaft. Her hands worked the remainder of your cock that couldn’t fit in her mouth, stroking and teasing you relentlessly.

The sensation of her skilled mouth and deft fingers was overwhelming, and you knew this was going to be an unforgettable experience. Rosie was clearly intent on fulfilling her promise to ravage you, and you were powerless to resist the allure.

As Rosie’s skilled mouth worked your throbbing length, you could feed the intense pleasure building within you. However, you held back, not wanting to be too rough or cause any harm to the famous idol. But Rosie had other plans.

Between hungry sucks, she gazed up at you with hooded eyes, her voice dripping with filthy words.

“Come on, y/n…. don’t hold back. I want you to ravage me, to use me like the plaything I am.”

She punctuated her words with a particularly hard suck, her tongue swirling around your sensitive tip.

“Forget that I’m some big idol. Right now, I’m just your dirty little slut, begging to be used,”

Rosie panted, her hands stroking your shaft in time with her bobbing head.

“So stop holding back and give me what I want. Destroy me, y/n!”

Her lewd encouragement and wanton display of desire were too much to resist. Throwing caution to the wind, you gripped Rosie’s hair and began thrusting into her mouth, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure.

As you surrendered to your primal urges, you began to fuck Rosie’s mouth with reckless abandon. She relaxed her jaw, allowing you more room to thrust your throbbing length deep into her throat. Rosie’s skilled ministrations were relentless, her throat constricting around your cock, sending waves of exquisite pleasure through your body.

Sensing your impending climax, Rosie hummed around your shaft, her eyes practically begging you to release your load deep inside her.

“Is it okay if you cum in my mouth, y/n?”

She managed to gasp between thrusts.

You didn’t need to be asked twice. With a guttural groan, you felt your cock twitch and pulse as you erupted, filling Rosie’s throat with your hot, thick seed. She swallowed eagerly, milking every last drop from you as you rode out intense waves of your orgasm.

As the last drops of your seed drained into Rosie’s eager mouth, she lapped them up hungrily, savoring every last taste. With a tantalizing flourish, she opened her mouth wide, showing you the fruits of her efforts – not a single drop remained.

Rosie’s eyes sparkled with wanton desire as she took your softening cock back into her mouth, gently cleaning it with a series of slow, sensual sucks. Her gaze remained locked with yours, silently communicating her insatiable craving for more.

“Mmm, you taste so good, y/n.”

She purred, her voice dripping with filthy delight.

“I could drink your cum all day long. But I’m not with you yet…”

Releasing your shaft with an audible pop, Rosie rose to her feet, her movements lithe and graceful. Reaching down, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her short, slowly peeling the fabric away to reveal her glistening, dripping pussy.

“Now, it’s your turn to satisfy me,”

She breathed, her hips swaying invitingly.

“I need you inside me, y/n. Make me your dirty little plaything.”

Rosie’s eyes widened slightly at your hesitation, as you reminded the time left that is 5 minutes, but she quickly reassured you with a mischievous laugh.

“Don’t worry, y/n. I can pleasure you so much that you’ll be done in just 2 minutes.”

She teased, her voice dripping with confidence.

Your brow furrowed at her mockery, and before she could react, you brought your hand down in a firm slap against her ample ass cheeks. Rosie let out a surprised gasp, but her eyes sparkled with excitement as you aligned your throbbing cock with her glistening dripping pussy.

“Look at how much you’re dripping, you dirty little slut,”

You growled, positioning yourself at her entrance.

“And for a stranger’s cock, no less.”

Rosie whimpered needily, her hips bucking against you.

“Then stop teasing and fuck me already, y/n.”

She begged, her voice laced with wanton desire.

With a feral growl, you gripped her hips and thrust forward, burying your entire length inside her tight, welcoming pussy. Rosie cried out in a mix of pleasure and pain as you stretched her beyond her limits, setting a relentless pace that left her breathless.

“I tell you bitch, I won’t be done in 2 minutes,”

You warned, your fingers digging into her flesh as you pounded into her without mercy.

“Get ready to be thoroughly used, you insatiable whore.”

As you pounded into Rosie’s tight, welcoming pussy, she cried out in a mix of pleasure and pain. Her filthy comments spilled from her lips, spurring you on.

“Yes, y/n! fuck me harder, ruin me for anyone else!”

Rosie begged.

“I’m your dirty little slut, use me however you want!”

Your grip on her hips tightened as you drove into her relentlessly, determined to thoroughly satisfy your carnal desires. Rosie’s cries of ecstasy echoed through the confines of the vanity van, her body writhing beneath yours.

“That’s it, y/n! destroy my pussy, make it yours!”

She moaned, her eyes alight with wanton need.

“I can’t get enough of your cock, it feels so good!”

Your primal grunts and the obscene sounds of your bodies colliding filled the air as you chased your shared release. Rosie’s insatiable hunger only fueled your own, driving you to new heights of passion and depravity.

As the sound of a subtle knock on the vanity van door reached your ears, Rosie’s eyes widened. She quickly shouted,

“I’m coming!”

Before turning to you.

“y/n, we need to finish up the shoot first. But I just can’t get enough of your cock,”

She panted, her voice dripping with need. Rosie hastily began redressing, her movements hurried yet graceful.

Unable to resist, you delivered a hard spank to her ample ass, leaving a clear handprint on her flesh which left out of her dress. The fabric of her outfit strained to contain her curves.

“See, you haven’t even come close to finishing me off. And it’s been what, five minutes? Stupid slut.”

You mocked.

Rosie let out a breathless laugh.

“That’s okay, y/n. It just means I get to enjoy your cock even more times,”

She purred, winking slyly.

Growling, you spanked her other cheek, imprinting your hand mark on her other ass cheek.

“That’s right, you filthy public use whore. This body belongs to me now.”

Rosie shivered with delight, her eyes sparkling with wanton desire.

“I can’t wait, y/n.”

She breathed, before slipping out of the van to return to the photoshoot, leaving you aching to ravage her again.

As you returned to the set, the crew head quickly directed you back to your photography duties. Rosie, ever the professional, carried on with the photoshoot seamlessly. However, in the midst of the session, she would subtly wink in your direction, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Rosie’s expressions grew increasingly provocative, her gaze smoldering as she mouthed filthy words that only you could see. She arched her back, her movements dripping with wanton sexuality.

Though the rest of the crew remained oblivious, you could feel the heat of her desire radiating towards you. Rosie was putting on a private show, teasing and tempting you with her shameless display of lust.

Your fingers tightened around the camera, struggling to maintain your composure as you captured her alluring form. The anticipation of what was to come once you were alone with her again was nearly unbearable. Rosie had awakened a primal hunger withing you, and you knew there would be no resisting her seductive siren’s call.

As the photoshoot wrapped up, the crew head granted Rosie a brief 5 – minutes break. However, the idol had a more salacious idea in mind. Beckoning you over, Rosie led you to a chair and table area, out of direct sight of the crew.

Discreetly, she slid her hand under your pants, her fingers wrapping around your cock in slow, sensual strokes. You couldn’t help but moan softly at her touch.

“You’re loving this public setting, aren’t you?”

Rosie teased, her voice dripping with wicked delight.

“The risk of getting caught….”

She let out a soft laugh, her eyes sparkling.

“I have to admit, I’m loving it too. My pussy is dripping just thinking about it.”

Your breath caught in your throat as she continued her tantalizing ministrations, the threat of discovery only heightening the thrill. Rosie was clearly intent on pushing the boundaries, her insatiable desire overriding any concerns. This was going to be a daring and unforgettable encounter.

As the crew head’s shout echoed, Rosie’s pace quickened. Her strokes grew faster and more urgent, her grip tightening around your throbbing length. Sensing your impending release, she hurriedly freed your cock from your pants and engulfed it in her warm, wet mouth.

Rosie’s skilled tongue swirled and caressed your sensitive flesh as you erupted, filling her mouth with your hot, thick seed. She swallowed greedily, not spilling a single drop, her eyes locked with yours the entire time.

The risk of discovery only heightened the intensity of the moment, Rosie’s wanton hunger fueling your own. When she had drained you completely, she pulled back, licking her lips with a satisfied smile.

“Mmm, delicious as always.”

She purred, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Now hurry, I have to get back before they start to wonder where I am.”

With a final, playful wink, Rosie rose from her seat and sauntered back to the set.

Upon finishing the next shoot Rosie got a long break, you both hurried to her vanity van.

As soon as you and Rosie hurried into the vanity van, the urgency of your desire took over. Without hesitation, you pinned her against the wall, swiftly removing her delicate pink outfit. Rosie’s eyes gleamed with wanton anticipation as she gazed up at you.

“Get ready, slut.”

You growled, your voice dripping with primal hunger.

“Now you’re done for the rest of your shoot.”

With a feral roar, you thrust your throbbing cock deep inside Rosie’s welcoming pussy, immediately setting a punishing, brutal pace. Her cries of ecstasy spurred you on, the threat of discovery only heightening the intensity of your coupling.

“Yes, y/n! Use me, destroy me!”

Rosie moaned, her nails raking down on the vanity wall.

“I’m your filthy slut, your plaything to use however you want!”

The obscene sounds of your bodies colliding filled the confines of the vanity van as you ruthlessly claimed Rosie’s willing form. Her insatiable desire matched your own, driving you both to new heights of carnal bliss.

As you continued your relentless pace, Rosie’s cries of ecstasy grew louder. Between gasps, she admitted,

“Yes, y/n! I have such a praise kink. I need you to tell me how much of a filthy slut I am!”

Growling with primal desire, you obliged, your words dripping with lust.

“That’s right, you dirty whore. You love being used as my personal fuck toy, don’t you? Your greedy little pussy is made to be ravaged by my cock.”

Rosie shuddered with delight, her walls clenching around you ass you brutalized her. She moaned wantonly, urging you on.

“Yes, y/n! I’m your insatiable slut, your personal cum dumpster. Destroy me, make me yours!”

Your pace grew even more punishing, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the van. Rosie’s praises only fueled your animalistic hunger, driving you to claim every inch of her willing body.

Your grip on Rosie tightened as you continued your brutal assault, your words dripping with dominance and depravity.

“That’s it, you filthy slut. Take my cock like the greedy whore you are. Your needy little pussy was made to be stuffed and stretched by my thick shaft.”

Rosie’s cries of ecstasy grew more frantic, her walls clenching around you as you ruthlessly claimed her body.

“Yes, y/n! I’m your insatiable cum dumpster, your personal fuck toy. pound me harder, use me until I can’t walk straight!”

Your primal grunts and the obscene sounds of your coupling filled the air as you chased your shared release. Rosie’s wanton need only fueled your own, driving you to new heights of carnal bliss.

“Good girl, take every inch of my cock. You’re such a dirty, cock-hungry bitch – my dirty little slut.”

Rosie’s eyes rolled back in her head, her body trembling with unbridled pleasure. She was completely at your mercy, reveling in the humiliation and degradation you heaped upon her.

Rosie’s shameless pleas for harder, faster pounding only served to stoke your domineering lust. You sneered down at her, your grip tightening painfully on her hips.

“Look at you, you filthy slut. Is this what you crave? To be used and abused like the cheap whore you are?”

You spat, your hips snapping forward with brutal force.

Rosie’s eyes rolled back, her mouth agape in a wordless scream of ecstasy.

“Yes, y/n! treat me like the dirty cum rag I am! I need your cock to ruin me!”

Your lips curled in a cruel smirk as you mercilessly pounded into her quivering pussy.

“That’s right, beg for it you insatiable cock-hungry bitch. You’ll take every last inch until you can’t walk straight.”

The van echoed with the obscene sounds of your coupling, Rosie’s wanton cries only spurring you on to new heights of depravity. You would leave her a trembling, used-up mess, a testament to your dominance.

As you pounded into Rosie’s quivering pussy with relentless force, she suddenly cried out,

“y/n, I’m going to cum!”

Without hesitation, you growled,

“No, you don’t. hold it in, slut.”

To your amazement, Rosie’s body immediately obeyed your command, despite the desperation written across her face. Her walls clenched around you, fighting against the impending orgasm, yet her mind was at war with her traitorous flesh.

“No, please! I need to cum so badly!”

She begged, her voice laced with frustration. But her pussy remained stubbornly clamped down on your thrusting cock, denying her own release.

You let out a triumphant laugh, marveling at how completely you had conquered Rosie’s body.

“Look at you, my little cum-hungry whore, trying so hard to disobey me. But your body knows who its true master is now, doesn’t it?”

Rosie whimpered in defeat, her eyes glistening with tears of unfulfilled ecstasy. She was utterly at your mercy, her very orgasm now subject to your command. This was the true extent of your dominance over her insatiable desires.

For the next one or two hours, you relentlessly pounded into Rosie’s quivering pussy, your command over her body absolute and unwavering. Despite her desperate pleas and shamelessly begging to be allowed release, you denied her every time, edging her mercilessly.

Rosie’s eyes glistened with tears of unfulfilled ecstasy, her body trembling with the strain of holding back her orgasm. Yet she remained powerless to disobey your orders, her very climax now subject to your whims.

“Please, y/n! I need to cum so badly,”

She whimpered, her voice laced with frustration.

“I’m your dirty slut, your personal cum-hungry whore. Let me have my release!”

You merely laughed, reveling in your total dominance over her.

“Not a chance, you filthy bitch. Your orgasm belongs to me now. You’ll take your pleasure only when I say so.”

Rosie’s cries of anguish only fueled your triumphant ardor, driving you to claim every inch of her defeated form. She was utterly at your mercy, her body betraying the very desires of her mind.

“Look at you, my little slut, so desperate to cum. But your traitorous flesh knows who its true master is. You’re nothing but a receptacle for my cock now.”

Rosie whimpered in submission, her pride shattered by your cruel words and unyielding control. She was yours to use and abuse as you saw fit, her very being consumed by your primal lust.

As you continued your relentless assault, Rosie’s entire being seemed to well with pride at being your plaything, your personal receptacle for pleasure. She cried out shamelessly.

“Yes, yes, yes, y/n! I’m your slut, your whore, your toy to use however you want!”

Begging you to go harder, she moaned wantonly.

“Please, y/n. I need more! Fuck me like the desperate cum-hungry bitch I am!”

Your cruel laughter only spurred her on further.

“Look at you, so desperate to cum, yet you beg for more,”

You taunted, even as you obeyed her pleas, fastening your pace. Rosie’s screams of ecstasy grew louder, more primal, as you ruthlessly claimed her body.

Heedless of who might hear, Rosie’s wanton cries echoed out of the vanity room, a testament to your total domination over her.

As you felt your own climax approaching, you gripped Rosie’s hips tighter, your voice low and commanding.

“Listen up, slut. On the count of three, you’re going to cum for me. And when I do, I’m going to fill you to the brim with my load. Understand?”

Rosie’s eyes widened, a fresh wave of arousal washing over her.

“Yes, y/n! Please, use me, make me your broken toy!”

She cried out.

“One…”

You growled, your thrusts growing more erratic.

“Two…”

Rosie’s walls clenched around you, her body trembling with unbridled need.

“Three!”

You roared, your cock pulsing as you emptied yourself deep inside her quivering pussy.

Rosie’s orgasm crashed over her, her body convulsing as she squirted uncontrollably, drenching the both of you in her sweet release. She had become your well and truly broken plaything, reduced to a quivering, overflowing mess by your unyielding dominance.

As you continued to release wave after wave of hot, thick cum deep inside Rosie’s quivering pussy, she let out a breathless, ecstatic exclamation.

“y/n! you’re breeding me so good, filling me up with your potent seed. I can feel it coating my insides, claiming me as your personal fuck toy.”

Rosie’s body trembled with unbridled bliss, her walls clenching rhythmically around your pulsing length. She reveled in the sensation of being utterly dominated and claimed, her womb eagerly accepting your virile offering.

“Yes, use me, own me! I’m your insatiable whore, you cum-hungry bitch. Flood my womb with your fertile load until I’m dripping with it.”

Your relentless thrusts continued, determined to maximize the amount of your seed deposited within her fertile depths. Rosie’s cries ecstasy echoed through the vanity van, her body shuddering with each new surge of your potent release.

As you withdrew your throbbing cock from Rosie's well-used pussy, a torrent of your potent seed burst forth, gushing out in thick, uncontrollable streams. Her own orgasmic release coincided with yours, her body convulsing and shaking as she collapsed onto the vanity van floor, squirting like a broken fountain toy.

Rosie’s cries of ecstasy filled the air as she reveled in her utter defeat, her mind and body consumed by the primal aftermath of your relentless coupling. She moaned your name over and over, her voice laced with a mixture of bliss and exhaustion. This was a moment Rosie would remember for a lifetime – the shattering of her pride, the complete subjugation of her being to your unyielding dominance. Her very essence had been claimed, her role as your personal fuck toy cemented in the most carnal of ways.

As she lay there, trembling and spent, Rosie knew that this photoshoot would be forever seared into her memory - a testament to the power you wielded over her insatiable desires.

[batboysanonymous]

More Than This

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Y/N had always been Cassian’s best friend, but when stolen glances linger too long and casual touches leave fire in their wake, the unspoken tension between them becomes impossible to ignore. Neither of them dares to believe it could be more—until fate proves otherwise.

The first time Cassian realized something had shifted, he was draping his jacket over Y/N’s shoulders.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done it—she had an uncanny ability to leave her cloak behind whenever they went out together, and Cassian had long since fallen into the habit of keeping an extra layer just for her.

But this time… this time felt different.

The thick, worn leather settled over her frame, far too big for her, practically swallowing her whole. Cassian had barely pulled his hands away when she let out a soft, content sigh, her fingers curling into the lapels.

And then she looked up at him.

Not just looked.

Glanced at him through her lashes, her lips curving into the kind of smile that made his stomach flip, the kind that felt too easy, too familiar.

Something tightened in his chest.

A feeling he couldn’t name, didn’t want to name.

His hands lingered a second too long—just barely brushing her shoulders—before he forced himself to step back, clearing his throat.

“You need to start remembering your own jacket, sweetheart.”

Y/N grinned, tugging the collar up around her face. The tip of her nose was still pink from the cold, and fuck, she was cute.

“Why would I, when I can steal yours?”

Cassian exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but there was no real bite to it.

“Because one day, you’ll push your luck, and I won’t give it up.”

She snorted. “You would literally freeze before letting me get cold.”

Cassian sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “I’m too nice.”

Y/N beamed, looking far too pleased with herself, and then—

She curled into his jacket, her arms wrapping around herself like she belonged there. Like it was hers.

Like she’d been wearing it her whole life.

And something inside him—something vital—gave out.

Cassian swallowed hard, a slow, creeping realization settling over him.

He didn’t mind.

Not even a little.

Actually, he liked it.

Liked seeing her wrapped up in his things.

Liked knowing that when she smelled the leather, she was smelling him.

Liked that it was his jacket she reached for—not anyone else’s.

His pulse thundered in his ears.

Shit.

His friends had teased him for years—for the way he always lingered a little too close, for the way he gravitated toward her in a room, for the way he’d drop anything the second she called his name.

He’d denied it, every single time.

Because it was just Y/N.

His best friend.

Right?

But standing there, watching her disappear into the warmth of his jacket, looking so effortlessly his—

Cassian realized, with sudden, irrevocable clarity—

They had never just been friends.

And maybe, just maybe—

He didn’t want to be.

───────────────────────────────

Somewhere along the way, their hangouts had started to feel more like dates.

Cassian didn’t know when it happened. Maybe it was the nights spent lingering just a little too long outside her door, the way their conversations stretched until dawn, the way he always wanted to be near her.

Like now—sitting across from each other in a quiet little café, the candlelight flickering between them, bathing her in soft golden hues.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, his eyes tracing the delicate way Y/N stirred honey into her tea, slow and unhurried.

She always did this—added the perfect amount, stirred just so, then took a sip like it was a ritual. He’d seen her do it a hundred times before, but tonight… tonight, it felt different.

Maybe because he was watching too closely.

Maybe because he couldn’t stop.

“You’re staring.”

Cassian blinked.

“Am I?”

Y/N arched a brow, the candlelight making her eyes shine.

“Yes.”

She was so fucking pretty.

Cassian grinned, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. He wanted to be closer, needed to be.

“Maybe I just like looking at you.”

It wasn’t supposed to sound that genuine. That raw. But the truth slipped out before he could catch it.

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. But—

She didn’t look away.

Didn’t brush it off like she normally would.

Didn���t deny it.

“Please.” She stirred her tea again, but her fingers weren’t as steady. “You like looking at everyone.”

Cassian smirked, because yeah—he was a flirt. A shameless one. But—

“Not like I look at you.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Before he could think.

And just like that—

Her fingers stilled against her cup.

Silence stretched between them, thick and weighted.

Something unsaid—but not unnoticed.

Cassian felt it in his chest, in the air between them, in the way Y/N’s throat bobbed as she slowly, carefully, took a sip of her tea.

Something had changed.

He shouldn’t have said that.

He should’ve laughed it off, made a joke, turned it into something light and meaningless.

But it wasn’t meaningless.

And that was the problem.

Because sitting here, across from her in the dim light of their definitely-not-a-date dinner, watching the way she tried so hard to pretend his words didn’t affect her…

Cassian knew.

He felt it in his bones.

That maybe—just maybe—his friends were right.

That maybe, he wasn’t just her friend.

That maybe, he didn’t want to be.

His pulse thundered in his ears, his mind revolting against the thought.

He couldn’t be in love with her.

He would have noticed.

Right?

But then Y/N cleared her throat and muttered, “You’re impossible.”

Cassian tried to smirk.

Tried to pretend like his heart wasn’t threatening to crack his ribs.

But he knew.

Something had changed.

───────────────────────────────

Sharing a bed wasn’t new.

After long nights spent drinking or training, it was easier to crash together than be alone. They never questioned it—never overthought it. Just two friends who happened to end up in the same bed more often than not.

That was all.

But waking up tangled in each other?

That was new.

Cassian’s first thought upon waking was that he’d never been this warm in his life. The heat was all-consuming, wrapping around him like a second skin, and he almost groaned at how good it felt.

His second thought—the one that sent a sharp jolt through his system—was that the warmth came from her.

From Y/N.

From the woman curled against his chest, her face tucked into the crook of his neck, her breath fanning across his skin in soft, even exhales.

His arms were locked around her waist. Their legs were tangled. Their bodies were pressed together in a way that was decidedly not friendly.

Cassian barely dared to breathe.

His mind rebelled.

This isn’t anything. It’s just how you woke up. You’ve always been tactile with her. This doesn’t mean—

Y/N shifted, pressing closer, her fingers flexing slightly against his bare chest.

Cassian’s heart nearly stopped.

A slow, sleepy sigh left her lips. Then—soft as a whisper—she nuzzled into him.

His entire body went rigid.

Fuck. Fuck.

This wasn’t just friendly.

Friendly was sleeping side by side. Friendly was a casual arm slung over a shoulder, a teasing shove, an occasional hug.

This?

This was something else.

Cassian squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to be rational.

Except rational didn’t exist when Y/N was tucked into his arms, when her scent was filling every inhale, when the first thing he had felt upon waking was her warmth, her touch, her fucking everything.

Shit.

Then—

“Cass?”

Her voice was soft, thick with sleep, and it sent an unholy shiver down his spine.

Cassian swallowed hard. “…Yeah?”

Y/N blinked up at him, her lashes still heavy.

A pause.

“…Are we cuddling?”

Cassian’s throat locked.

Lie. Say something sarcastic. Make a joke. Don’t let her realize—

“…I think so.”

The words came out unbidden, his voice hoarse.

A beat of silence.

Y/N groaned and buried her face in his chest.

Cassian stopped breathing.

Because she didn’t pull away.

Didn’t shove him off.

Didn’t recoil.

She stayed.

Cassian’s mind raced, his heart hammering so hard it was a miracle she couldn’t hear it.

This means nothing. It’s fine. You’re fine.

Except his body was betraying him—his arms refusing to let go, his fingers twitching with the urge to trace over the delicate curve of her spine, his head tilting slightly as if it belonged there, right against hers.

This is normal. This is—

He was in so much fucking trouble.

Because if he moved—if he so much as breathed wrong—he might do something reckless.

Like tell her he loved her.

Like admit that maybe he had been lying to himself this entire time.

Like pull her even closer and never let go.

But he didn’t move.

Because neither did she.

───────────────────────────────

Their friends had had enough.

It started with a sigh. Not just any sigh—Mor’s sigh.

It was long, dramatic, and laced with the kind of exasperation that came from watching two people be so willfully blind that it physically hurt her. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and swirling the wine in her glass before pointing an accusatory finger at Cassian and Y/N, who were seated—as always—side by side.

“You two are so in love it’s disgusting.”

Y/N, mid-sip of her own drink, choked, coughing into her sleeve. Cassian reached out instinctively, rubbing her back, his touch warm and soothing.

“We are not,” Y/N finally gasped, thumping her chest.

Azriel, who had been watching the interaction with the kind of quiet amusement only he could pull off, arched a brow. “You’re wearing his jacket right now.”

Y/N blinked. Then, as if just realizing, looked down at herself. Cassian’s well-worn leathers were draped over her shoulders, the scent of pine, cedar, and him embedded in the fabric. The sleeves practically swallowed her hands.

“…So?” she muttered, shrugging deeper into it like that would somehow make her point more convincing.

Nesta rolled her eyes, sipping her own wine. “So, everyone knows you’re together except you two.”

Cassian let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back against his chair. “For the love of the Mother, we’re not together.”

Rhys leaned forward, a slow, amused smirk curling his lips. His violet eyes gleamed with trouble. “Funny, because if I asked Y/N on a date right now, you’d rip my throat out.”

Cassian’s body went still.

The flicker of irritation was there—subtle, but there. His jaw tensed, his easy-going demeanor slipping just enough for anyone paying attention to see the territorial glint in his hazel eyes.

“Try it,” Cassian said, voice low. “See what happens.”

Y/N glared at Rhysand, unimpressed. “You’re mated, you ass.”

Rhys grinned, unfazed. “That’s beside the point.”

Mor groaned loudly, slamming her glass onto the table. “It’s actually exactly the point! Cass, you’re literally ready to fight Rhys over a hypothetical date! If that’s not proof that you’re in love with her, I don’t know what is.”

Cassian scoffed. “That doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being an ass for sport.”

Rhys spread his hands innocently. “I do enjoy a bit of chaos.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “And just because Cassian doesn’t want me dating you doesn’t mean he’s in love with me.”

A collective groan swept across the table.

Nesta pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mother above, I cannot handle this level of stupidity.”

“It’s truly painful,” Amren murmured, still reading but clearly listening.

Mor pointed at Y/N this time. “Okay, fine. Then explain this. Why do you always wear his clothes? Why does he always bring you an extra meal when we go out? Why does he always find a way to be touching you? And why, for the love of all things holy, do you both look at each other like you personally strung the stars in the sky?”

Y/N sputtered. “I—That’s just how we are! We’ve always been like this!”

Cassian nodded in agreement, throwing an arm over Y/N’s chair in an instinctive, familiar motion. “Exactly! This is just us. We’re comfortable around each other.”

Rhys snorted. “Yeah, too comfortable. So comfortable it’s actually uncomfortable for the rest of us.”

Azriel smirked. “You do realize, don’t you, that half the people in Velaris already think you’re together?”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open. “What?!”

Cassian frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”

Mor laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, please. Do you know how many people have asked me how long you two have been dating? You should hear the rumors.”

Y/N turned to Cassian, utterly baffled. “Did you know about this?”

Cassian shrugged. “I mean... yeah? But I just correct them.”

Y/N blinked. “And how exactly do you ‘correct’ them?”

Cassian smirked. “By telling them you’re still single.”

Mor gasped, scandalized. “You ass! You say it like you’re keeping your options open! No wonder no one else has ever tried asking Y/N out!”

Cassian had the audacity to look pleased with himself. “Well, it���s true. She’s single.”

Rhys’ brows lifted. “And you don’t like that, do you?”

Cassian went completely still.

Y/N, who had been flustered beyond belief, also hesitated, turning to look at Cassian more closely.

A muscle feathered in his jaw.

Nesta was smirking. Amren smirked. Rhys, Mor, and Az were grinning wildly.

Y/N’s heart started to hammer.

“…Cass?” she asked quietly.

His hazel eyes darted to hers. They were unreadable—guarded.

Then he gave an easy, lazy grin. “What? I just think anyone who wants to date you should be able to beat me in a fight first.”

Y/N gaped at him. “That’s the most ridiculous—”

“That’s the most Cassian thing I’ve ever heard,” Azriel muttered under his breath.

Nesta groaned, slamming her palm on the table. “That’s it. I’m done. I’m done.”

Rhys just grinned, stretching out comfortably in his chair. “You two are exhausting. Just thought you should know.”

Silence settled between them.

Y/N turned to Cassian. Cassian turned to Y/N.

Neither of them spoke.

For the first time, they didn’t have an argument.

For the first time, doubt—or something suspiciously close to realization—crept into their eyes.

Their friends had had enough.

And, maybe, it was time they finally figured out why.

───────────────────────────────

Cassian hated seeing Y/N with other males.

It was irrational. Utterly fucking irrational.

He had no claim on her. Had no right to feel this way. But that didn’t stop the ugly, clawing jealousy from curling in his chest whenever some charming bastard thought they had a chance with her.

Like now.

The air inside Rita’s was thick with the scent of sweat and perfume, the bass thrumming through the floorboards. Laughter rang across the room, glasses clinked, and—

Cassian’s grip on his drink tightened.

Some Illyrian asshole was standing too close to Y/N.

He didn’t even know his name. Didn’t care to. All he knew was that the male had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after her like a lost, love-struck puppy, smiling a little too wide, talking a little too much, and now—

Now, the fucker was leaning in.

Cassian could hear the conversation even over the music.

The male’s voice was smooth, laced with something smug, like he truly believed she’d be honored to entertain him.

Cassian’s jaw locked.

Y/N, to her credit, didn’t encourage him. She was polite—offering that diplomatic smile of hers—but she wasn’t leaning back in. Wasn’t laughing. If anything, she looked vaguely bored.

Didn’t matter. Cassian still wanted to punch him in the fucking throat.

It’s not your business.

That’s what he told himself. He had no right to feel this possessive, no reason to care so much. They were just friends.

Even if he thought about her at night. Even if he felt better when she was around. Even if she was the first person he sought in any room, the first one he wanted to tell things to. Even if—

No. No, it wasn’t like that.

You’re not in love with her. You’re just—

The male reached for her hand.

Something inside Cassian snapped.

His drink was abandoned before he even registered moving. His wings flared slightly as he crossed the room in a single breath, shoving his way between them.

His voice was low, lethal. “She’s taken.”

The male blinked, startled. His gaze flickered between Cassian and Y/N, confusion evident.

“By who?”

Cassian bared his teeth in something almost resembling a grin. “By me.”

Silence.

The words had come so easily. Like they were truth.

The male stiffened, eyes narrowing slightly. “I didn’t realize—”

“You do now.”

Cassian’s tone left no room for argument.

The Illyrian took a step back, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “No offense meant, Commander.”

Cassian didn’t blink, didn’t move until the male was gone—until he had slunk off to some other corner of the club, wisely deciding that Y/N was off limits.

Then, and only then, did Cassian turn to face her.

Y/N was watching him with something unreadable in her gaze.

Not annoyance. Not frustration.

Something… else.

And then—

A slow, knowing smile curled her lips.

Cassian’s heart stumbled.

Y/N stepped closer, deliberately closing the distance between them. Her fingers trailed over the edge of his armor, slow and teasing. Testing.

“Guess that’s true.”

Cassian swallowed hard. His pulse was thunderous.

It wasn’t the first time she had touched him—not by a long shot. But this? This was different.

His world shifted on its axis, the air between them turning thick and charged.

And then—

The pull.

An invisible thread wove through the air, wrapping around his ribs, his heart, her heart—

Cassian sucked in a sharp breath.

It was like the entire club had vanished. Like the music, the laughter, the people didn’t exist.

Just her. Just them.

Y/N’s fingers curled into his tunic. Her breath hitched.

“…Do you feel that?”

His hands found her waist, gripping tight. He couldn’t let go. Didn’t want to.

His voice was hoarse. “The bond.”

Y/N exhaled shakily. “We’re mates.”

Cassian’s world tilted.

His mind reeled, a thousand thoughts colliding all at once—

No. No fucking way. This isn’t—

Except it was.

It had always been.

He thought of Mor’s exasperated sighs, of Nesta’s unimpressed glares. Of Rhys’s teasing smirk, the way Azriel only ever raised a brow when he protested that they were just friends.

“You two are so in love it’s disgusting.”

“So everyone knows you’re together except you.”

Cassian had scoffed. Had brushed them off, had rolled his eyes.

But they had been right.

Every second of his existence had been leading to this moment. To her.

To the realization that he was irrevocably, obsessively, helplessly in love.

And he had been blind to it.

His throat was tight, his chest burning with something too big, too much—

“Y/N—”

But she was already moving, already rising on her toes, already pressing her lips against his.

Cassian broke.

A growl rumbled low in his chest as he crashed into the kiss, gripping her as if she might disappear if he let go. His hand tangled in her hair, the other fisting the fabric of her dress at her lower back, yanking her closer.

Y/N melted into him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her lips parted on a soft gasp, and Cassian swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss until he felt dizzy.

It was raw. Desperate.

It tasted like every moment they had spent in denial. Every time he had swallowed down his feelings. Every second he had convinced himself that she wasn’t his to have.

But she was.

She always had been.

The bond thrummed, golden and right.

Y/N pulled back just slightly, breathless, dazed. Her forehead rested against his, her fingers still gripping his tunic like she needed something to hold onto.

Cassian cupped her face, his thumb stroking along her cheek.

And for the first time, he let himself admit it.

“I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Y/N’s eyes softened. Her lips parted.

“…Good.”

Cassian blinked.

Then, she grinned.

“Because I’ve loved you for just as long.”

And Cassian—Cassian—

He kissed her again.

Because, maybe, just maybe, he had been waiting his whole life.

And he wasn’t waiting another damn second.

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[chleem]

Not a big deal pt4

miniseries; basketball player drew x high scl student reader

Summary: You lose your virginity to a random guy at a frat party miles away from your home. A few days later, you find out that he’s your brother’s competitor, for the regional colleges’ basketball tournament. 

Genre: strangers to lovers, smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: cursing, age gap (18 & 24), protected sex (read at own caution

⋆.˚ please dont copy or translate my work!

���⸝⸝ p3 | index | p5

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The ringing of your phone jolts you awake, no longer dreaming. 

Your head throbs, the bright sunlight seeping through the curtains only adding to the ache. The loud ring of your phone makes it hard to focus, and for a moment, you can’t quite piece together where you are.

But the arm wrapped around you reminds you of just where you are, and who you’re with. 

Slowly turning your face, you find yourself looking into Drew’s. He’s asleep, completely unaware to the loud ringing. His features are relaxed, eyelids closed, his breathing slow, and a small smile sits on his face. 

What is he dreaming about?

You focus on memorizing every inch of Drew’s face, studying the soft lines, the way his lashes rest against his skin, the gentle curve of his lips. 

A strange mix of disbelief and nostalgia swells inside you. He looks so much like the Drew from four years ago—the one you lost your virginity to. 

Part of you wonders if he’s still that same person, or if he’s changed just as much as you have.

Your phone quiets down eventually, your caller giving up. 

Well, at least you thought so. The ringing comes back, and this time, it causes Drew to flutter his eyes open. He rubs his eyes, yawning as he focuses his gaze to you. The small curve of his lips from earlier is replaced with a grin that stretches ear-to-ear, and his eyes hold a lazy look.

“Morning, baby,” his voice is deeper in the morning, a raspy coat layered on.

You mirror his smile, the nickname causing your heart to skip a beat, “morning.”

“How long have you been staring?”

“The whole night,” you teasingly say, which earns a low chuckle from him.

“No wonder I had a nightmare,” he jokes back, his arm going around you once again and pulling you close. He nudges his face into your neck, a groan escaping probably from the loud ringing phone, “who’s calling?”

You frown, your hand reaching behind you for your phone on the nightstand. 

You glance at the screen, Luke. Your brother? Why on earth is he calling now?

“I just woke up,” you say, forcing out a groan, trying to sound as casual as possible. You can hear Luke moving around on the other end of the line—his footsteps shuffling. 

“Shit, were you in a fucking coma? Open the fucking door.”

What. 

Your heart sinks at the sudden shift in his tone, a sharp tension filling your chest. That last part… Open the door?

You push Drew away, immediately sitting up. “Um, what do you mean-“

“I’m outside your room. Did you not hear, I rang the-“

The rest of Luke’s words fly by your ear. You were wide awake now, the weight of the situation sinking in. 

Luke’s outside of your door. Drew’s naked in your bed. 

You know Luke. You know how he reacts to things like this. And it’s not going to be pretty. His temper is explosive, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

You cover your microphone, and whisper to Drew, “get. out.”

“What?” Drew chuckles, his voice dropping to a softer tone, confused by your sudden urgency. “Why are we whispering?”

Right after, Luke stops himself mid-sentence, his voice cutting through the line, sharp and loaded with suspicion. “…wait, are you with someone?”

“Get out,” you slap Drew’s arm to get him moving, mouthing the words, “Luke’s outside!”

Drew’s eyes widen the same way yours did before. He stumbles off the bed, catching himself just before he crashes to the floor. It would be funny if you weren’t on the risk of getting caught by your brother. “No, just, just give me a minute, yeah? I’m getting ready-“

You get out of bed too, the phone propped on your shoulder. Drew and your clothes are scattered around the floor, mixed together.

You put the phone on speaker, setting it on the nightstand as Luke's complaining echoes through the room. Quickly, you put on your nightgown, searching for a clean pair of underwear.

You glance at Drew. He’s in his boxers, scrambling to find his pants. Is he trying to get caught? “Hurry,” you whisper-yell, looking around for his clothes.

Drew shoots you a blank stare, moving to the other side of the bed.

“Are you done yet? My legs are dying-“

“Almost! Just wait, okay?” You yell back at the phone.

“Y/n, seriously, been out here for forever-“

You find his button-up from last night tucked under the couch, and you toss into his arms. A chuckle escapes his lips as he barely catches it. 

Drew walks past you with his shirt unbuttoned, tie and jacket in his hands. He grabs his shoes, and gets ready to open the door. 

You quickly pull him back, “are you stupid?” You mean that with all your heart; Luke is literally on the other side of the door, and he wants to open it? 

Instead, you swing open the bathroom door and shove Drew inside. "Stay here for a while, alright?”

"What, no—“

You slam the bathroom door shut without another word, then quickly turn to the front door, your hand already on the handle. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves before facing Luke. 

Forcing a smile, the door opens, impatience written all over Luke’s face. “Finally,” he mutters, brushing past you. His rudeness isn’t a surprise—it’s just how he is.

You mumble something under your breath, closing the door behind you. Luke’s already sprawled out on your couch, legs propped up casually like he owns the place.

At the same time, both of you spot the wine glasses on the coffee table, their presence suddenly hanging in the air, adding a layer of tension you can’t ignore.

“Alright, where is he?” Luke asks, his voice low but demanding as he sits up, scanning the room to find the owner of the other glass. 

Your first instinct is to stop him from getting anywhere near the bathroom. You quickly sit down beside Luke, your hand pushing him back onto the couch. “It’s... yours,” you say, the words coming out quicker than it should. 

Luke looks at you, confusion flickering in his eyes, then down at the wine glass, before he narrows his gaze. “What are you talking about?” he asks, his tone sharp now, sensing- no, knowing something's off. 

“Y’know, it’s a nice hotel, let’s have some coffee,” you say, a lame attempt at sounding casual. You grab the glasses, and with the coffee maker in the small kitchen, you press the open button. 

Sneaking a glance at your brother, his gaze never leaves you, his tongue poking against his tongue. 

“Latte? Oh, they have espresso,” you continue, keeping your voice steady, scrolling through the options. 

“No,” his voice stops you, and you turn around, watching as he gets up. “I gotta leave anyways.”

This time, the smile on your face isn’t fake. “So soon?”

“Yeah, just came to check on you,” Luke gives you a tight smile, his hand reaching for the door handle. “I’ll send an Uber, ‘kay?”

You nod, a bit too eagerly that shows your interest in him leaving. 

Although still suspicious, Luke gives you one last glance before opening the door and stepping out. “Take care of yourself,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost like he's unsure of what to make of the situation.

The door clicks shut behind him, and for a moment, all you can do is breathe, your shoulders relaxing for the first time since he walked in. 

Finally. 

Opening the bathroom door, you look around for Drew. 

Only to find him laying in the bathtub, fully clothed, his tall figure awkwardly trying to fit in the small space. His arms are thrown out to either side, and his fingers fidget with his ring. 

You lean against the doorframe, and when his blue eyes peek at you, a smile appears on his lips. “Hey,” he says, “made myself a home here, I guess.”

You chuckle at his words, and you sit down at the edge of the tub. “Real comfortable there.”

Drew lets out a breathy laugh, shifting lightly. He glances at his watch, the smile fading just a bit, “I’ve got to go too.”

Right, team practice. 

A brief, almost impulsive thought crosses your mind—to ask him for his number, to stay in touch. Is that a ridiculous thought? You’re not sure. You’re not even sure why the idea is lingering, but it feels... right, somehow. Maybe because, despite everything, you don’t want this moment to end so soon.

At least, not with this Drew. 

Your chain of thoughts breaks, with a tough tug on your wrist. 

When you’ve come to your senses, you’re in the tub with him, seated in his lap. 

The warmth radiating off of him is ridiculously comfortable, the blue eyes almost smitten as they look into yours. 

You lean into him, closing your eyes, instinctively tilting your face toward his. You can feel the breath between you both, the tension building, and just as you’re about to close the distance—nothing.

No contact.

You peek at him through one eye, a little confused.

A throaty laugh escapes him, full of amusement. 

Shyly, you move away, only to be pulled back towards him, his hand finding the back of your neck. 

And then, he finally kisses you, gentle yet affectionate. 

It feels different than last night; The kiss feels deeper, more meaningful, and the thought that it might end soon makes your chest tighten with an ache. 

To last longer, you rest your arms around his neck, thrusting your tongue deeper into his mouth. 

Another chuckle escapes Drew, and he pulls away this time. 

With hooded eyes, you catch the soft smile on his lips. “Tryna get me in trouble?” The teasing tone in his voice makes your stomach flutter, along with the way he stares at you. 

“Maybe,” you giggle, and with a roll of your hips against him, he groans, his hands squeezing your waist. He rests his head at the rim of the tub, and you take the chance to kiss his neck. 

“Could be late-“ his words come out hushed, as your tongue grazes over the soft skin of his neck, “a minute or two.”

“Mmhm,” you bring your lips back up to his, and you kiss him again, this time, hungry and demanding. Your hips roll against his, and you could feel his boner poking your inner thigh. 

Your heart speeds up at the thought of doing it right here with Drew, in the bathtub. 

One of his hand slips under your nightgown; kneading your ass. 

It’s the way his blue eyes lustfully stare up at yours, that you continue rubbing your pussy against his lower abdomen. 

Drew readjusts his position, to allow the dent in his pants to rub closer to your wet pussy, your hips riding off the closeness. His low grunts sounds like music to your ears, the occasional rise of his hips offering more satisfaction to your core. 

“You like that?” Drew's voice, low and raspy, breaks the noise of soft moans and grunts, as his hand gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Grinding on my cock?”

Fuck. Your brain races with the thoughts of last night, his cock buried deeply in you. The hard length fucking the senses out of you. 

“Drew…” you moan out, sounding more desperate than expected. Your hands clutch on his suit jacket in tight fists, bouncing yourself on his clothed length. 

A breathless chuckle leaves his mouth, his other hand resting at the back of your neck. You feel the rough and cold material of his ring against your jaw, his thumb grazing the skin of your bottom lip. 

“Don’t stop, baby,” he coos, and you feel his dick twitch beneath you. The subtle movement sends your mind into further frenzy, encouraging the orgasm building inside of you. 

Ring! Ring! Ring! 

This time, the sound comes from inside the bathroom, in the tub, the phone that lays beside Drew’s thigh. 

You don’t even glance at it, consumed with building your orgasm. 

He’s not gonna answer anyways-

Drew picks it up, a mischievous grin on his face. “Hey,” he breathes into the phone. 

A moan escapes your lips, and he sticks two fingers into your mouth, deep until it hits the back of your throat. Gagging, you cough out, which makes Drew chuckle softly, a mumbled “sorry” escaping his lips, followed by a quiet, ‘shhh.’

You feel a knot grow in your lower stomach, as he raises his hips and thrusts into yours. You suck at the fingers in your mouth, the ring rubbing against your cheek. 

“Nothing- I’m working out,” he forces out, speaking into the phone. There’s a certain thrill in his voice, a hint of excitement that lingers as he speaks. 

He couldn’t be honest and say currently having your sister ride against my cock.

Although, the thought turns him on more, and he feels another twitch down at his dick.

“Mhm,” he hums mindlessly into the phone, leaning his head back. His mouth parts in awe, forcing his eyes to stay open. 

The hand on your ass grips tighter, averting all the desire to moan there. 

Whimpering against his fingers, you feel the knot inside of you come undone, the warm juice flowing out and definitely staining your underwear. 

You stop sucking his fingers, and you send him a lazy smile, your hips moving slower to ride your orgasm out. When you glance down at his pants, you can see the light stain, yours or his unsure. 

“What, no-“ his brows furrow together, listening in on whoever’s on the other line. 

You move back further until you’re no longer on his lap; tilting your head to study his face. 

But Drew’s hand catches yours, and guides it to the bulge in his pants. He’s still hard. 

You almost moan at the feeling of his thick length underneath your fingertips, Drew stifling back moans too. 

With that, your hands work its magic; palming and massaging his dick, as Drew tries his best to listen intently on the phone. 

“Mhm, yeah,” he agrees into the phone, his voice hitching slightly to hold back moans. You chuckle quietly at that, your hands continuing its touching of his clothed length. 

His hand reaches for you once more, and when you straddle his waist again, it slides to the back of your neck. His lips crash against yours almost desperately, as if he couldn’t get enough. 

Your hands cup his face, kissing him back with the same urgency. 

Drew groans into your lips, but not before hanging up on the phone. It drops inside the tub, the loud thud ignored by the both of you. 

His orgasm flows through him; the liquid spilling out onto his boxer briefs. 

The kiss breaks, and you both lean your foreheads together, gasping for air.

It’s silent, only the distant sound of AC running. 

Then, a breathless laugh slips from you as you process what just happened.

“Who were you calling?” You ask, genuinely curious. Your thumb rubs circles on his cheek, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips. 

There’s the same mischievous glint in his blue eyes, causing your stomach to twist slightly. “Best if you didn’t know,” he murmurs, his grip on your waist tightening as he straightens up.

You furrow your brows, ready to ask him more. 

“You wanna have lunch together?" His suddenly asks, his voice softening. 

The question catches you off guard. You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze, your mind racing. Is it... a date? Of course it is. But... is that what you really want? 

Well, four years ago you would’ve loved to go out with a dude named Drew.

But the reminder of your brother meeting with you later flashes by. 

“Can’t,” you shrug apologetically at him, as the hand on the back of your neck starts to play with your necklace. 

Having some fun of your own, you run your hands through his hair, the short strands brushing against your fingers. “Okay…dinner,” Drew suggests instead. 

His blue eyes now stare pleadingly into yours, biting on his lower lip as he silently waits for your answer. 

Okay. You’re leaving tomorrow night, it wouldn’t hurt to have a private meal with him. 

You nod, reaching up to gently pull his lip away from his teeth, a soft smile tugging at your own.

The look in his eyes softens, a hint of curiosity flickering as he leans in a little closer. His hands leave you, reaching for his phone. ”Number?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper. Just as you’re about to tell him, he adds, “not your brother’s, though.”

Your eyes furrow at his comment; what’s that supposed to mean?

But he just shakes his head, finding his own joke amusing, “no- never mind. Go ahead.”

Slowly, you tell him his number, and soon enough, you hear your own phone ringing in the background. 

“Thanks, I’ll text you,” he kisses your cheek, gently shifting you off of him, “now, I really need to go.”

You watch as he gets up, and you immediately miss his warmth. He gets out the tub first, but not before turning around to offer his hand. 

You smile at the simple yet soft gesture, and take it, letting him help you out the tub. 

“I might see you later,” you tell him, as Drew leads you along with him, to the door. 

“Really?” Drew’s hand catches the door handle, pushing it open. He turns back to face you, and with your hand still in his, he takes the opportunity to place a gentle kiss there. “I’m looking forward to that already.”

Why can’t he just skip practice? 

“Alright,” you smile, taking your hand out of his, patting down the roughed part of his suit jacket, “get out of here.”

His lips curve into a half-smile, and he gives a playful shrug as he takes a step back. "Bossy," he teases, his voice light but warm, “see you.”

The soft click of the door closing echoes in the quiet room.

 With your back against the door, you slide down to the floor, your legs pulling up as you wrap your arms around them.

Blush creeps onto your cheeks as your mind races, replaying the moments with Drew—the look in his eyes, the feel of his lips on your skin, the way he seemed so different, yet so familiar.

You close your eyes, leaning your head against the door, trying to shake off the warmth still lingering in your chest.

Why does it feel like there's more to it than just... whatever that was? You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know one thing for sure: this wasn’t how you imagined your visit here to be like.

——

You’ve never been to a real basketball stadium before. 

At first, the staff was unexpectedly rude, shutting you down before you even had a chance to introduce yourself. Just as things seemed hopeless, the manager stepped in, recognizing your name and quickly handing you a ‘visitor’ badge.

He guides you through narrow corridors, until you make it into a more promising section of the place. The air was filled with the scent of fresh gear, and before you knew it, you passed by one of the locker rooms. You catch a brief glimpse inside - a few tall, fit, shirtless dudes who walked around, chatting away. 

Even at your grown-up age, seeing half-naked guys still made you fluster, averting your gaze. 

Following the manager, the path leads to a visible court ahead, the bright lights blinding into the small tunnel. The loud sounds of dribbling and sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor echo, growing louder with each step. 

Stepping out the tunnel, the staff leads you to the front seats, finding one that isn’t occupied by towels or bags. 

Something about an empty stadium with only its players sends a weird feeling to your brain - the scene surreal somehow. 

“Thank you,” you smile at him, who just nods, walking away. 

Sitting down on the black leathered seat, you look out at the court, taking in the players currently practicing. 

Your instincts kick in, and you scan the floor— spotting Drew, even with his team members running around and dribbling. He's easy to find, his tall frame and confident stride standing out as he lines up for a three-pointer. 

The ball leaves his hands with a smooth flick, arcing toward the hoop, and you watch as it swishes through the net. 

Shit. It’s the way he nonchalantly grabs another ball from the rack, dribbles it once, twice, before casually sinking another three-pointer, his expression completely unbothered that gets you. Other than your heart, something else is throbbing inside of you. 

Like magnets, your eyes focus solely on Drew, even more when you realize the waistband of Calvin Klein peeking out from his shorts. And of course, the v-line that follows-

Thwack!

A ball hits you square in the face, snapping you out of your trance. The sharp impact leaves you blinking, momentarily stunned. 

Slowly, pain creeps into your right jaw, mostly centered there. 

Great. Sitting down for what, not even five minutes? 

As you raise your hand to your face, trying to steady yourself from the blow, the blurry figure of a man slowly comes into focus. He looks flustered as he stammers an apology, but you don’t respond. The pain in your jaw is all-consuming, your head still spinning from the unexpected hit.

“What the fuck, man!”

The loud yell of your brother cuts through the stadium, sharp and full of anger. You don’t even have time to react before he’s charging toward you, his face red. Without hesitation, he roughly shoves the man in front of you, sending him stumbling back a few steps. 

For fuck’s sake, your brother’s outrage might be more frustrating than being hit by a ball…. Does he always have to cause a scene? What a drama queen. 

Even with the pain radiating through your jaw, you manage to drag your hand up and pull the edge of Luke’s shorts. The movement is slow, but it’s enough to make him turn around immediately.

“Shit, y/n, you okay?” He tones his voice down, his features softening as he sits down beside you. 

The lights above you start to drown out; which was because of the crowd gathering around you. They pretend to take a break- but everyone knows it’s to catch a glimpse of a fight threatening to erupt between Luke and his teammate. 

The ache is unbearable, and yet you still manage to lock eyes with Luke. Through clenched teeth, you choke out, “you idiot.”

Luke's eyes widen, guilt flooding his features. Hesitating, his hand hovers near your shoulder, unsure of what to do. 

“Get me an ice pack, dummy,” you rasp, voice thick with frustration. 

Luke winces at your tone, and you catch the muffled laughter from his teammates. 

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, “I’ll get it.” He hurries off, without another word. 

The guy that hit you with the ball apologies once again, and you reassure that you’re okay. Your eyes drift over to the other players, who immediately pretend to be busy with something else. 

You sigh, closing your eyes, as you lean back into the chair. The noise and ruffling of bags fade away as you focus on the pain, trying to relieve it. You place your hands in your lap, relaxing yourself. 

But not even a minute in, a soothing, familiar voice brings you back. 

“Hey baby,”

You crack your eyes open, and there he is, standing in front of you, a concerned smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His blue eyes stare down at you, the gleam in them brighter than the stadium lights. 

Drew.

Your brain immediately replays the scenes of this morning— his lips against yours, his hands all over you, and the call during the…sex? 

He doesn’t wait for an answer; simply sits down beside you, his presence warm and steady. You can feel the tension in his body as he watches you carefully, fidgeting with his hands that lay on his lap. 

The uncontrollable ache in your chest isn’t from the pain, but rather nervous. Fuck. He probably saw the whole process of Luke getting mad! Now you’re embarrassed. Your face is definitely swollen, red, ugly-

“Um, I’ve been hit…multiple times too,” he carefully starts, and you avert your gaze to his face, locking eyes with him. “Ice packs don’t, really work.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, your lips in a small frown as you wonder where he’s going with this.

His eyes flicker to his teammates, who are clearly stealing glances at the two of you. The quiet murmurs around you seem to make him shift slightly, though, and suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the space between you two. His body scoots closer, letting his knee rests against yours.

The contact is casual, but it sends an unexpected jolt of warmth through you. You catch yourself glancing down at where your legs meet.

His voice lowers just a touch, teasing, “kissing…much better.”

You blink, caught off-guard by his words. The smirk on his lips only deepens, his gaze locked on yours. “Official recommendation?” You manage to say, reflecting the teasing tone back at him. 

He shrugs, sending you an air-kiss, his lips pursed in a playful manner. “Worked in the past.”

“And how many…have you offered?” You jokingly ask, a small smile now present on your lips, as your body relaxes itself in his presence. 

Now it’s Drew’s turn, taken aback by your reply. You giggle at that, as he licks his lips, nodding slowly. He rests an arm over the back of your seat, fingers brushing your back and burning the skin there. 

“You caught me,” Drew says, readjusting his hips to angle his body inches closer (even more close; if that’s even possible) to you. “…just wanted to kiss you…again.”

The words are barely above a whisper, but you hear it. 

You swallow, trying to keep the flutter in your chest under control, but the soft touches he starts giving on your back makes it hard. His fingers rub circles on the bare skin that your top doesn’t cover; making your heart skip a beat. 

It feels like you’re back in high school again, a silly crush. 

Or rather, the specific crush you had on the Drew from WCU. 

Drew’s gaze flicks down to your lips for a moment, a slight shift in his expression that’s almost too subtle to notice — but you catch it. His eyes meet yours again, and you can sense a change, something a little deeper in his look now, less playful and more... intent.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice now softer, changing the topic. The teasing from before has faded, replaced by something a little more earnest. “Feeling better, at least?”

“Yes,” you reply with a smile. The pain was long forgotten since he sat down. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head lightly, before muttering, “as long as you’re okay,” the sincerity in his voice palpable. You feel a strange warmth spreading in your chest, the kind that makes you forget all the chaos around you. 

“Um, do you like the place I sent?” Drew changes the topic, and you quickly understand what he’s referencing—he texted you with an address earlier, just before practice. A restaurant that looks like it belongs in a hidden corner of an old European city. 

You get ready to say yes, that it’s great, but of course, your eyes drift over his shoulder, and you see the faint image of Luke running over. 

The moment- over, just like that. 

You quickly look away from Drew, and sensing the change, he sits up, adjusting his position away from you. His hand back in his lap, his knee no longer resting against yours; he creates an invisible border between you two. 

It stings for a moment; but your brother reaching you distracts it. 

“Here,” Luke hands you the ice pack, breathing heavily. You take it, placing it against your jaw as Luke’s eyes flicker over to Drew beside you, acting nonchalant.  “Starkey.”

Drew looks up at the call of his last name, a tight smile on his lips, “yeah?”

“In my seat,” Luke replies, his voice casual but the tone carrying an underlying edge, even though the other seat beside you was empty. 

To which, Drew glances over your shoulder, at the said seat. But Luke doesn’t follow his gaze. Instead, his eyes stay locked on Drew, and you can almost feel the tension between them, thick and unspoken. Drew's posture shifts slightly, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to protest.

But he doesn’t.

With a small shrug, Drew stands up, walking past Luke to the court. He doesn’t turn around for another glance; and joins another teammate to practice. 

Luke drops to the chair that was previously occupied, and his body relaxes, his features softening. “You alright?” He asks again. 

“Took you long enough,” you complain instead, turning your body towards the court. Unknowingly you had your body shifted over to Drew when he was still sitting here. 

Luke doesn’t react; his glare enough to melt the ice pack. “I could get him benched, y’know?” 

You glance at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. "What?" You ask, raising an eyebrow, your heart sinking slightly. “Drew? He was just checking up on me-“

“Smith, the one that hit you.”

Oh. 

Well, unless it was Drew, you truly cared less. 

“No, Luke, it was an accident,” you shrug, trying to sound sincere. Your eyes follow Drew on the court, as he successfully jumps and bats the ball out of the other player’s hands. 

“Yeah…no,” Luke mutters, clear that he’s definitely telling the coach. His eyes follow your gaze, and he pokes your shoulder roughly to get your attention. Tearing your eyes away from Drew, you send him a glare. “What did, uh, Drew talk to you about?”

“Oh, um,” you stutter slightly, but ultimately shrug, playing it casually, “he asked if I was fine. That’s all.”

Luke looks at you, clearly not persuaded. 

“Nothing big,” you add on, sending him a smile. 

The ice pack starts to melt in your hands, and noticing it, Luke reaches over to a bag (probably his) and takes a towel out. He hands it to you, but you just narrow your eyes at it, unsure. 

“Relax; it’s unused,” Luke says, and reluctantly you take it. You wrap it around the ice pack, putting it on your jaw again. “I don’t think so- Starkey’s full of shit.”

“More than you?” You tease, earning another poke on your shoulder from him. 

A part of you wanted to know what your brother meant; another part of you didn’t. Even if he was an asshole, you didn’t want to know. At least, not now, when it’s your vacation, and this lovely dream is washing over you. 

“I’m hungry,” you cut whatever Luke wants to say, standing up. “Is the, I don’t know, food court open?” 

Luke watches you stand, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watches you, clearly weighing whether or not he should push further. But you can tell he’s deciding against it.

“Nah, that shit’s ass,” he says, a smile tugging on his lips as he stands up. He throws an arm over you, adding extra weight to your shoulders. “I’know a place.”

The strong smell of his sweat hits you; the aftermath of practicing all morning. Your face scrunches up in disgust, as he leads you to the tunnels again, “shower first, you smell like shit.”

He laughs, unfazed, and squeezes your shoulder. 

And as the two of you walk towards the locker rooms, Drew watches, his eyes lingering just a second too long. 

——

The lack of effort your brother brings truly is, amazing. Blows your mind every. time. 

The restaurant he brings you to is the same one as last night, expect well, it’s noon, menu’s different, and oh, you’re sitting outside. 

“Anything else?” The waitress says, as she bats her eyelashes over at your brother. 

With a cocky grin on his face, he gestures the waitress to lean forward. And when she does, he whispers in her ear, causing her to nod enthusiastically. Great, now he’s even flirting with the staff. 

“Food will arrive shortly,” she shyly says, walking away. 

Once she’s gone, the discontent is evident on your face, the frown deepening as you cross your arms. “Seriously?” You almost bark at him, causing him to flinch. 

“What?” He shrugs, oblivious to your frustration. 

“It’s the same place as last night,” you tell him, gesturing around. 

“…that’s why we’re here,” Luke says, with that stupid grin on his face, “Hawk players eat here free.”

Your eyebrows furrow deeper at his words, your gaze shifting to the stunning garden view. Now that you’re really looking at it, the place is beautiful—a secret little oasis that could’ve come straight out of a fairytale.

It’s Luke’s rough kick under the table that snaps you back to reality, your attention shifting to him as he gives you a…rather serious look. 

“So who were you fucking last night?”

“Luke!” You whisper-yell at him, glancing around. Okay, not a lot of people sitting outside. “You can’t just ask that-“

“C’mon, I’m not a fucking idiot,” he interrupts, leaning back in his chair. It’s clear he didn’t buy whatever you said this morning, his eyes scanning you with the annoying know-it-all look. “You forgot how well I know you, y/n.”

With a roll of your eyes, you press your lips together. No way were you telling him. 

Luke scratches his eyebrow, a frown taking over his face. He falls quiet, clearly lost in thought, before his eyes light up with some idea. “How about this…a secret for a secret?”

How ridiculous. This isn’t some middle school game.

“Luke, forget it, I’m not telling you who it was.”

“Ha! So you were with someone,” he exclaims, gently tapping the table. 

Your shoulders drop in exasperation, and you give him a seriously? look. 

Maybe because it’s the first time (other than Zack) that your brother has actually caught you with someone. The thought makes you cringe, the idea of him knowing about that part of your personal life. It’s always been a no-go zone, same for him. 

You open your mouth to tell him off, but he starts his own conversation. 

“I fucking hate Drew Starkey.”

The sudden mention of his name catches you off guard, and you freeze, the words hanging in the air. The change in your brother’s demeanor is immediate—his usual cocky attitude replaced with something colder, sharper. It’s unsettling.

However, can’t help but think, Okay…so he is sharing a secret. 

“What?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, unsure whether you actually want to know more. You’d already cut him off earlier, back at the court.

“I tried…I tried liking him, and shit, it’s impossible,” Luke laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m still petty after all these years, but-“

His eyes meet yours, and seeing how confused you are, his tensed features relax slightly. He looks at you like you're missing something obvious, like he’s just about to reveal a truth you've been blind to.

“Do you not fucking recognize him?”

You swallow hard, feeling your stomach tighten. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen your brother truly hate someone, different from his usual short-tempered self. 

“Fuck- he’s the guy I lost the championship to? WCU? Setting my career back-“

His words fade into the background, replaced by a loud sting in your mind. 

You blink, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on you as you slowly sink back into your seat. The cool surface of the chair feels oddly grounding against the storm of thoughts swirling in your head.

Drew—that Drew, the one who had been your brother's rival, the one he'd spent years trying to beat—the one you lost your virginity to. 

The one…you slept with last night. Fuck- that’s why he looks so familiar! The face, his attitude, his jokes- shit. 

The memories come rushing in, vivid and jagged, each one like a slap in the face. 

You can almost hear the loud music from that frat party, the sound of Drew's voice as he took away your first time - when he rejected you. 

“I really like you,” he suddenly admits. 

“But you don’t want me,” you say, finding his sudden confession really stupid, not at all flattering to hear. 

“Don’t say that.”

“But that’s what you said.”

“Do you like me too?”

You blink again, trying to steady your breath, but the air feels thick. 

Your chest tightens, the pressure of everything unsaid between you and Drew settling heavily on your shoulders.

You’ve always thought you were over it—over Drew, over that night, over everything. But the realization hits you now, sharp and unexpected: you weren’t.

You force yourself to focus on Luke’s voice again, but it’s like you’re hearing it underwater. Everything feels muffled, distorted. 

“I mean, every time I see that fucking face, I just wanna-“

Shit. Tonight. Your date with Drew. 

“-Worse, coach thinks we’re ‘prefect’ together, so I always have to look out for him-“

You no longer have the courage to meet him, the confidence you’ve gathered all destroyed, shattered by your own thoughts. It’s as if every word Luke says is a reminder of how messy everything with Drew really is.

“Fuck- I deserved that win more than anything,” he mumbles on, pettiness written all over his face. 

Luke’s words echo in your mind, but you don’t respond. 

Your thoughts are loud enough to drown out everything else.

——

Drew sits on the edge of the fountain, just outside the restaurant. The stone surface feels cool beneath him as he stares at the water, the soft ripples catching the dim light.

It’s been nearly thirty minutes, and ever so often, his eyes flicker upward, searching for any sign of you. He’s trying to steady his nerves, but the longer he waits, the more the uncertainty gnaws at him.

Did you stand him up?

He checks his phone screen again- hundreds of texts but none from you. 

A bitter smile tugs at his lips as he stares down at his lap, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He’s just here, waiting, when the answer is so painfully obvious.

“Not a big deal,” Drew mutters to himself, trying to convince his racing thoughts otherwise. He repeats the words again, more firm this time, “not, a big deal.”

He sighs, his eyes darting around as he avoids the curious stares of passersby. The minutes drag on, each one heavier than the last. He waits. waits. and waits.

But you never show up.

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

word count: 6.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: FINALLY. i sat down, stared at my laptop, and the words just exploded out of me. sorry i took so long T_T be a bae and ignore any typos xo

do you guys like smaller or bigger fonts? just found out how it change it, and must say, damnnnn. the difference it makes is crazy.

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[pearlcatcher-problems]

spire ᛜ false amphithere ᛜ beast wyrm ᛜ king of the roost

finally had the time to tackle this lad's reference; next up is a custom skin for him to match his headcanon! Lore rambles and general discussion of him / his spot in the lair beneath the cut to keep length down q wq

Spire is a false amphithere, technically a beast wyrm, that has settled and taken over one of the lair outposts. Most of his body is furred with thick boar bristle, but his chestplate is heavier armoured scale. Like most outpost heads, he bears the emblem of the joined clans on his wings and garb, although the over-ornamentation is mostly his magpie-like mate's preference.

The 'koi' on his wings is only ever visible under direct sunlight, where the fish-like scaling on his wings is most iridescent. Otherwise, it's just yet another glossy protective layer over his already armoured hide.

Beast wyrms are usually territorial and brutish, usually lone-wanderers due to conflict with others of their species. They rarely breed, which means their numbers are low, and quite a few of them will integrate themselves in mixed-species lairs that better suits the beast side of their bloodlines. Boars, bears, ox, and bison tend to be the most plentiful beast lines, with other species spotted scarcely. There's very little understanding on how they can continue their bloodlines or how new species are still popping up, and there are theories that they're instead created through corrupted interference. It very well could be both.

Spire's nature is a benefit to him where he is now, having quickly charmed most of the chattering amphitheres over within days of his first landing within their borders and ended up being the prize gem of their matriarch within a season. The amphitheres are chaotic and fickle creatures, and as such, they had strained relations with neighbouring clans until Spire was able to better translate between the groups. While the neighbouring dragon clans simply wanted access to the amphithere grounds for study and ( hopefully ) trade, the amphithere's distrusting nature made it near impossible to conduct anything of the sort safely. With the amphitheres now well-fed due to an influx of ley magics and their society a little more organised, they've been able to progress their roost to the point of joining a proper network. Most who venture into the roost know that they only have one chance, if they overstep they will be tossed either by an amphithere denizen, or Spire himself.

He's unable to fly for long distances, both due to his shorter wingspan compared to most flying-beasts, and the added weight of the boar bristling. He is able to glide, climb, crawl, and charge at quite a good speed though, which means most of his fighting is done on-ground after intentionally disabling his opponents' wings somehow or hindering their ability to fly at all. Like most dragon-folk, he has the ability to breathe 'fire' but it requires quite a lot of fuel to do so and is used sparingly. It takes his body at least twenty seconds to get a devastating flame charged and it's visibly obvious when he's preparing for it as the scaling on his chestplate will flare up, which means it's not something used without thought or desperation. He is powerful, but there are always limits and calls to that power. It's why he agreed to engage in the political alliances for the good of the roost, at least then if they do encounter a threat where he's limited in his abilities, the allied clans have promised to step in.

He has five functioning digits on his forelimbs, but they're limited in dexterity and mostly used as anchoring grapples or simple motion. Given the shape of his wings, it's difficult for him to turn his wrists without moving his entire wing, which means a lot of fine-tune work is often left to a different dragon. His hindlimbs only have two functioning digits, with a pair of curved claws and a pair of dewclaws for gripping behind them.

Although he can technically eat anything, his favourite foods are tubers and fresh melons, but he also enjoys just gnawing on bones. The amphitheres are unable to eat anything outside of raw ley energy and flesh, so any growing produce within their territory tends to be just for him, a few of the locals specifically hiding away small melon farms in corners of the cliffs away from where younglings may try to play with them.

Most of the allied clans call all citizens of the roost 'amphitheres,' which has lead to some confusion as not all dragons in the roost are technically amphitheres. Despite the differences in species though, socially and culturally, all species are amphitheres and equal as long as the same goals are kept. It's an odd place, but it somehow works.

l m a o none of this is organised but mmmm I just love this lad qwq

[sa1ntn3k0]

Snow Leopard Gojo (∩˃o˂∩) ♡ nsfw!

The sun perched high in the sky, its golden rays filtering through pillowy clouds that drifted lazily like overstuffed cotton balls. They played a tiny game of peek-a-boo with the light, casting dappled shadows over Tokyo University’s sprawling campus before leaving, bathing the world again in a warm, buttery glow. You tilted your face upward, savoring the breeze that tousled your hair, a gentle, vanilla-scented kiss from spring. This was your favorite kind of day: bright enough to lift your spirits but soft enough to keep the world from feeling too loud. Perfect for the oversized cardigan you’d thrown over your pastel-yellow mini dress, its airy fabric fluttering around your thighs like sunlight given form.  

Your morning lecture, unfortunately, had been anything but luminous. Your Professor’s monotone voice had dragged through the hours like a knife through cold, stiff butter, dissecting a research paper on quantum physics that might as well have been written in ancient Aramaic. You’d doodled bunnies and cartoon cats in the margins of your notebook, your mind wandering to the cafe you loved, the one with the heart-shaped mugs and the barista who always added a sprinkle of cinnamon to your chai. But getting there meant braving Shibuya’s chaos: the screech of trains, the tsunami of suits and school uniforms flooding the crossing, the neon signs that buzzed like angry wasps. Just thinking about it made your shoulders tense.  

No, today calls for compromise. You’d settle for the sleepy little shop near FamilyMart, even if their tea tasted like water with a dash of sugar. Slinging your tote bag higher onto your shoulder, its pastel patches of Miffy and Hello Kitty clinking gently against your thermos, you stepped onto the sidewalk, your strappy sandals tapping a quiet rhythm against the pavement. The dress you wore hugged your curves sweetly, its buttercup hue mirroring the sun, while your lips glimmered with a gloss that smelled like strawberries. You’d dressed up for no one in particular, really, but there was joy in feeling pretty, even if only the breeze noticed, and unfortunately that perv two seats behind you in class.  

The cafe’s bell jingled as you entered, its air thick with the aroma of stale croissants and bitter espresso. You beelined for the refrigerated case, grabbing a bottled milk tea and a pastry swirled with pink strawberry cream, its flaky layers far too enticing to leave without. Back outside, you claimed a bench beneath a cherry blossom tree, its petals drifting around you like confetti. The first sip of tea was cloying and underwhelming, but the pastry? Too good. The cream burst on your tongue, tart and sugary, and you closed your eyes for a blissful second-  

Rustle.  

Your thick lashes fluttered open. The bush beside the bench shivered, leaves trembling gently. No wind stirred the air. You leaned closer, squinting, as the rustling came again, more insistent now. A tiny, pearlescent paw poked out, followed by a puff of fur so impossibly white it seemed spun from moonlight. Your heart squeezed... A kitten!  

“Hi, baby,” you cooed, crouching low, your dress pooling around you like melted sunshine. The creature crept forward, and- oh.  

This was no ordinary kitten.  

Snow-leopard cubs weren’t exactly part of Tokyo’s urban wildlife, but there he was: a miniature king of the mountains, his fur a tapestry of charcoal rosettes and ivory silk. His paws were comically oversized, velvety pads as pink as bubblegum, and his tail, thick and banded with shadow, swished with mischief. But it was his eyes that stole your breath: twin pools of Arctic cerulean, glowing with an almost otherworldly intelligence. They locked onto yours, unblinking, as he toddled closer, his little nose twitching at your pastry.  

“Hungry, huh?” you giggled, breaking off a crumb. He lunged, a blur of fur and enthusiasm, snatching the treat from your fingers with a tiny mrowp! “Hey!” you gasped, but the scolding died in your throat as he flopped onto his back, the stolen prize clutched between his paws. His belly was fluffier than a ball of sugary mochi, and when he purred, it sounded like a tiny motorboat.  

“You’re a little thief,” you murmured, scritching the soft fur beneath his chin. His purrs vibrated, and he nuzzled your hand, his pink tongue rasping against your thumb. That’s when you felt it, a slim ribbon of leather around his throat. A collar? You coaxed him onto your lap, heart hammering as you traced the tiny tag.  

Satoru, it read, in curlicue letters.  

A human name for this definitely not-human creature. Your thumb brushed the tag again, half-expecting it to vanish like a dream. But Satoru merely chirruped, batting a paw at your hair, his claws sheathed. He reeked of wet grass and mischief, but also… loneliness? You glanced around. No frantic owners in sight, no posters pleading for a lost cub. Just you, this mysterious little being, and the sudden, unshakable sense that fate had dropped him into your path.  

Finders keepers, right?

“Alright, Satoru,” you sighed, bundling him against your chest. He curled instinctively into the warmth, his nose tucked into the dip in your collarbone. “You’re coming home with me.”  

The train ride was a blur of whispered coos and stealthy cuddles. Satoru slept the entire way, a living, breathing heat pad, his paws kneading your cardigan into a doughy mess. By the time you reached your apartment, he’d claimed you as his personal pillow, his purrs vibrating through your ribs. You deposited him gently on your bed, a nest of floral quilts and plushies, and watched, smitten, as he stretched, his tiny claws catching the sunlight.  

“Mama’s gonna kill me if she finds you,” you whispered, smoothing a thumb between his ears. He blinked up at you, those galaxy-blue eyes crinkling with what could only be… smugness?  

No, that was silly. 

The Great Bath Incident™ began, as most disasters do, with way too much optimism.  

Two days. Two days of Satoru’s reign of terror had left your apartment smelling like grass and dirt. His fur, once as pristine as freshly fallen snow, now resembled a dust mop dragged through a dusty corner of your living room. He’d rolled in something unspeakable during his 3 a.m. zoomies, something that clung to him like a vengeful ghost and made your nose crinkle every time he trotted past.  

“Okay, baby,” you announced, scooping him off the windowsill where he’d been sunbathing like a tiny, furry emperor. “Spa day.”  

Satoru’s ears flattened. His light azure eyes widened into saucers, pupils dilating with betrayal.  

“Mrrrp?”  

“Yes, mrrow,” you said firmly, marching him to the bathroom. “You reek of dirt and tuna.”  

The bath itself was… a spectacle.  

You’d prepared meticulously: hypoallergenic honey-scented shampoo (the fancy kind for “sensitive babies,” according to the label), a stack of baby pink Hello kitty towels warmed in the dryer, and a rubber ducky you’d impulsively bought because look at his face, how could you not? Satoru took one glance at the filled tub, hissed like a deflating balloon, and attempted a gravity-defying backflip out of your arms.  

“Nuh uh! No escaping!” You wrestled him gently into the water, his paws slapping the surface in protest. Bubbles foamed around him as he yowled pitifully, his tail thrashing like a fluffy whip. “You’re fine-it’s warm, see? Warm!”  

He was not convinced.  

Satoru transformed into a soggy gremlin, all claws and drama, splashing enough water to water a small farm. His squeaky protests echoed off the tiles, a bomb of bratty chirps and growls that somehow still sounded way too adorable. You couldn’t help but giggle as he tried (and failed) to scale your Miffy shower curtain, his soapy paws slipping comically.  

“You’re such a baby,” you cooed, scrubbing between his ears. His fur lathered into a marshmallow fluff, revealing the striking black rosettes beneath the grime. “Look how pretty you are! So handsome! Yes, you!”  

He paused mid-squirm, tilting his head at your praise. His whiskers twitched.  

“…Prrt?”  

“Very handsome,” you confirmed, booping his cute little nose. “The handsomest little snow boy in all of Tokyo- hell, the world.”  

Satoru looked way too full of himself, his tantrum momentarily forgotten. He allowed you to rinse him, though not without a few half-hearted swats at the showerhead. By the time you reached for the heated towel, he’d morphed into a docile little loaf, his fur gleaming like spun sugar.  

“All done!” you chirped, turning to grab the towel-  

Sploosh.  

A sound like a wet mop hitting the floor.  

You froze.  

Then came the drip-drip-drip of water, the creak of the tub, and-  

“Ahem.”  

A voice.  

A human voice.  

Deep. Smug. Somehow familiar.  

Your spine went rigid. Slowly, so slowly, you turned.  

There, lounging in your now half-empty tub like a pampered sultan, was a man.  

A naked man.  

A gloriously, infuriatingly beautiful naked man.  

Your brain paused.  

He was all lean muscle and snow-white skin, his physique carved so sharply, it made your cheeks burn up, heart race fast. Damp white hair clung to his forehead, framing a face that belonged on a Renaissance painting, sharp jawline, pink, plush lips quirked in a smirk, his strong neck held a baby blue leather collar, and eyes… Oh.  

Eyes like glacial lakes, bright and bottomless, flecked with starlight. Satoru’s eyes.  

Your gaze darted higher.  

Oh no.  

White ears twitched atop his head, velvety and tipped with ink-black fur. Behind him, a tail as thick as your thigh swayed lazily, its leopard-like rosettes glistening.  

“Hey,” the man purred, resting his chin on the tub’s edge. His voice dripped with mischief. “What’s up?”  

You screamed.  

Not a dignified scream. A full-throttle, horror-movie-worthy screech that rattled your strawberry mint toothpaste tube off the sink.  

“Wh-WHAT?! WHO-HOW-”  

He blinked innocently, tail swishing. “Aw, c’mon, princess. You’ve been calling me ‘handsome’ and ‘baby’ for days. Don’t act shy now.” His voice was all smooth, like honey, but so mischievous-like, you felt way too many emotions.  

Your face combusted. “THAT WAS FOR A CAT!”  

“And yet here I am.” He stretched, water sloshing as he raised his arms above his head, displaying a torso that could’ve been chiseled by Michelangelo. His underarms bore fluffy white hair, the amount of hair only a grown man could have. “Better than a cat, right?”  

You hurled the pink towel at his face.  

He caught it effortlessly, grinning with a flash of faintly pointed canines. “Feisty! I like it.” Wrapping the towel around his hips (thank God), he rose from the tub, droplets cascading down his- Nope. Don’t look. Don’t you dare look. 

You looked.

His lower half was… Wow. His abs were more defined when he stood, a fluff of white hair ran down his belly button, you could see the outline of his hung dick through Hello Kitty’s bow, and you felt blood rush, fast. You wanted to pass out, wake up to your baby, not some hot dude! 

“S-Satoru?!” you squeaked, scrambling backward until your spine hit the door.  

“The one and only!” He winked, flicking a wet ear. “Thanks for the bath, by the way. And the gourmet lamb chops. And the snuggles.” His tail curled playfully. “You’re a way better pillow than my last owner.”  

Your mind reeled. The all-night zoomies. The picky eating. The smugness. It all clicked into place like a cursed jigsaw puzzle.  

“You-you’ve been a human this whole time?!”  

“Hybrid,” he corrected, leaning against the sink with infuriating casualness. “Snow leopard genes, human charm. Cute, right?” He flashed human jazz hands, claws retracted.  

You gaped. “Cute?! You destroyed my Miffy lamp! You jumped on my boobs!”  

“Hey, you’re the one who kept cuddling me while you slept.” He smirked, stepping closer. His tail brushed your ankle, impossibly soft, annoyingly wet. “Not that I minded. You’re really warm, and man, your tits are soft as-”  

Your face flamed. “OUT. Get out of my bathroom! Put on clothes! Explain yourself!”  

Satoru chuckled, low and rumbling-a sound that vibrated straight through your bones. “Don’t got any, smarty pants.”

You lunged for the door handle. He was faster.  

A big, human hand (warm, genuinely huge) pressed the door shut above your head, caging you in. His scent enveloped you, honey shampoo, snowfall, something wild and electric.  

“Relax,” he murmured, leaning down until his nose nearly brushed yours. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Unless…” His gaze dropped to your pillowy lips. “…you want me to.”  His breath was minty, smelling of the kitty toothpaste you rubbed those fangs clean with a few minutes ago.

Your breath hitched. “Wh-”  

Ding-dong!  

The doorbell rang.  

Satoru’s ears pricked. “Expecting someone?”  

Your blood turned to ice.  

“…Mama.”  

His smirk vanished. “Shit.”

End, for now. Hehe.

Whoop! That was fun, I love snow leopard Gojo, he's so… Ugh, need him. Of course, will be continuing, want to lean this into a smutty fic, so stay with me! I'm super busy with my classes but I’ll try to upload asap! Also, I see reader as 18-21, or higher if you think of grad school or whatever. Satoru’s his 29-year-old self!

[leeny-leens]

Money talks | T.N. X Reader

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Theodore loves giving you his credit card on the first of December

Warnings: a mild innuendo but it’s nothing bad, not proof read

Content: Reader gives mild gold digger vibes but I promise she’s not, fem reader, obsessed Theodore, Theodore being a rich bitch, established relationship

WC: 1.53k

A/N: credit to @bunny-1111 for the whole scenario/idea! You can find the post here

Theodore had never quite liked the holiday season, until you that is. It wasn’t anything special to him, all that festive junk shoved down his throat left and right ever since he moved to England was mildly annoying at best. It didn’t help that Christmas at the Nott household was a rather cold affair, no affection, no family spirit, just another day in the calendar. The most fun he had during that time was spending unholy amounts of money on the most unnecessary things on earth, but even that lost its spark on the third year.

After meeting you however, his view on the holiday season changed quite a bit. While you weren’t an enthusiast about it yourself, you always mused how much you liked the aesthetic of it all. The seasonal specialities, the atmosphere and the lights never failed to make you smile, and by proxy, him too. Early on, he realised that this time of the years was the perfect opportunity to spend money on you without any protest from your side. No matter how much you muttered and cursed, he knew that deep down, you did in fact enjoy him buying you gifts, the thoughtful ones where it was evident he had put effort and time into them. And over the years, he’d successfully worn you down, enough to unveil the greedy thing that you were underneath the walls and layers of modesty and financial hyper-awareness.

And that led to what Theodore believed to be his favourite holiday tradition between you both.

The annual card giving.

Oh how he looked forward to it every goddamn year, watching the calendar with hungry eyes as November flew by and the first of December approached. And today was finally the day he’d been waiting for, the first of December had finally arrived, ushering in his favorite time of the year; the time where he got to watch his girl spend his money as she pleased.

Like every year ever since the two of you moved together, he found himself on your shared bed, a book in his hands as he sat with his back against the wall. His eyes glanced at the clock - 06:02 pm- and his entire body tensed with smug anticipation as the sound of keys at the front door echoed through the empty halls. He heard the door swing open and click shut softly, and in his mind, he could picture you discarding your jacket and bag at the entrance before padding through the apartment to the bedroom in your socks.

“Theo, love, I’m home,” you called out, voice laced with exhaustion yet an undeniable edge of eagerness. He didn’t have time to get up from the bed before you entered the room, your gaze set on his form with adoration and a hint of expectation. His book had officially been abandoned now, tented on the bed to the side as he took in your form. You’d worn one of your favourite dark knit sweaters, the one that was long enough to be passed as a dress in its own right, and the dark tights underneath confirmed that you’d gone with that look on purpose. Despite you coming home straight from work, he knew you’d chosen this rather unconventional outfit in the morning specifically for your outing after work, for you liked to look put together when you started off your spending craze.

“Welcome back, tesoro,” he drawled, his eyes scanning every dip and curve of your body with that half smirk he knew drove you crazy. He watched as you beelined for your dresser, rummaging around for something while you rambled on and on about your day. He listened to every word, occasionally adding comments or noises of agreement with whatever you’d just said. When you bent down to retrieve a pair of shoes from the bottom of the dresser, he let out a particular long hum, eliciting a chuckle from you. You straightened up and turned around to stare at him, hands on your hips with an amused expression on your face. “Did you just stare at-“ “Yes, I was staring at your ass,” he replied, cutting you off before you could even finish the sentence. His brazen and shameless admission only caused you to roll your eyes as you stepped closer to him, tossing a small leather purse and dark shoes on the bed as you stalked up to him.

“Think ya should compensate that behaviour, Mr.Nott,” you hummed when you stood right in front of him, your hands moving to cup his cheeks gently. Instinctively, his hands held your hips firmly, kneading the flesh gently. “Oh?” His eyebrow rose as he stared up at you through half-lidded eyes, giving you that look that made you weak in the knees. One of his hands dropped from your hips, and he didn’t miss the minuscule pout on your lips at the action.

Without once breaking the eye contact between you both, his hand blindly reached to the first drawer of his bedside table, fishing out a black card that he held lazily between his fingers.

“Is that compensation enough, doll?” He asked, an amused smile tugging on his lips as he watched your eyes darken with hunger when you spotted the card. You bent down, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek and lips before snatching the card from his fingers with a grin. “You’re the best Theo, like really the best thing in the whole world,” you declared, quickly stepping away to retrieve your shoes and bag. You were in a hurry, that much was certain, and Theodore had an inkling that you’d return very, very late tonight with many, many bags in tow. Not that he minded of course, he was a man of patience and he knew that he’d get to remind you exactly why he was the best thing in the world. It helped immensely that every year, you made sure to get him a little gift on your first day of spending spree, something he could unwrap later so to say.

“You’d look nice in green this year,” he said while watching you fix your clothes and adorn yourself with accessories he’d gotten you over the years. A pearl necklace with a matching bracelet and earrings, a multitude of rings raging from simple bands to more intricate designs and lastly, just a bit of lipstick before you slung your bag on your arm. You turned to face him, giving him a twirl to show off your outfit. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied amused, “What do you think?”

He didn’t answer at first, taking his sweet time to ingrain in every detail about you into his mind. His eyes lingered on your neck, where the pearl necklace sat and when they finally faced yours, his face had broken out into the smuggest expression you’d ever seen on him. “You look good in my money,” he answered, pride evident in his tone, “Like a fucking goddess, all dressed up with things I gave you.”

The comment brought a faint blush to your face, yet your confidence didn’t falter or break, it only surged at his attention. You turned to the door, swinging it open before giving him a look over your shoulder. “Well, this goddess will go spend more of your money then,” you announced with a wink “I’ll see you later, I love you.”

“I love you too, bella.” His eyes watched your form disappear down the hallway, and only when he heard the door open and close did he pick his book back up again, the small smile tugging on his face never once faltering as he thought about whatever you would get up to tonight and for the rest of the month.

Just a few days later, he got his answer while sitting on the couch in the living room. He’d just retrieved the mail that had been delivered this morning, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the heavy envelope bearing his name and his bank’s seal. After sorting through the rest of the mail, he sat down on the couch, legs spread in his usual casual yet elegant manner as he leaned back to inspect his bank statements. He skimmed everything from November, a few purchases here and there and then chuckled upon seeing the string of numbers and purchases from the first of December onwards. His low laugh was tinged with pride and satisfaction, scanning each and every item and transaction to take note of what you’d gotten, any new projects you might be into and what new, daring investments you decided to splurge on this season. A six figure transaction drew out a particularly satisfied hum from him, feeling nothing but proud of his girl for spending what was rightfully hers. Theodore Nott was not generous or kind to anyone, but when it came to you? He’d buy you Earth itself if it meant seeing that bright smile even for a second.

[whereforarthur]

A Night In

Request: I'm literally begging you for some George smut?? Like something dom and hot but still kinda cute and fluffy? He'd defo talk you through everything and give aftercare

Pairing: George Clarke x Reader

Category: Smut and Fluff

Word Count: 4.5k

*****

“You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not.” ― Jodi Picoult

George Clarke was a man of meticulous habits. Every morning, without fail, he'd rise with the sun, the faint light from the gap in the curtains tracing a path across his face. He'd blink the sleep away, his eyes focusing on the digital clock's unforgiving display, and then he'd slide out of bed, his bare feet making almost no sound on the cool hardwood floor. His apartment, nestled in the bustling heart of London, was a sanctuary of order and quietude. The only sounds that typically pierced the early morning silence were the distant rumble of a garbage truck or the occasional shout from a street cleaner.

But this morning was different. The air was charged with an electric anticipation that even George couldn't ignore. He'd felt it brewing for days, a tension that coiled tighter with each shared glance, each brush of skin against skin. He knew what he wanted, and he knew she felt it too. The question was, would she say yes? He padded into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air, and poured two cups, his hand shaking slightly as he added sugar and milk to hers. He hoped she'd appreciate the gesture, the sweetness to start their day off right.

When Y/N emerged from the bedroom, her hair a wild halo around her flushed face, she looked at him with those big, doe-like eyes that never failed to make his heart stutter. He held out the cup, his voice a low rumble. "Can we stay home tonight so I can fuck your brains out?" The words were blunt, but the tender way he said them took the edge off, leaving only raw, unfiltered desire.

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink as she took the cup, the warmth of the liquid seeping into her palms. She studied him over the rim, her thoughts swirling behind her eyes like a storm about to break. "What makes you think I'd say no?" she replied, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. It was the answer he'd been hoping for, and his grin grew in response.

They spent the day in a delicious dance of anticipation, their every interaction a silent promise of what was to come. Every brush of their hands was a spark, every shared laugh a secret shared only between them. The city outside their windows was a blur of life and color, but all George could see was the siren call of their shared solitude, the unspoken understanding that tonight would be theirs.

When evening finally fell, they settled into their usual routine, the tension thick enough to slice with a knife. He talked her through dinner, his voice a gentle command that sent shivers down her spine. He was always like this, attentive and considerate, but tonight there was an edge to his care that made her pulse race. The way he'd look at her, his eyes dark with want, was almost too much to bear.

After the dishes were done and the apartment was once again bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, George turned to her, his expression serious. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice a low purr that sent a thrill through her body. She nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. He took her hand, leading her to the bedroom, and she knew that tonight would be nothing short of explosive.

*****

Once the door was closed, the air grew heavy with desire. He stepped closer, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered dark promises into her ear, each word a caress that made her knees weak. "I'm going to peel every layer of you away," he murmured, his hands skimming over her body, tracing the curves of her hips and the line of her spine. "I want to see every inch of you, feel every tremble, taste every gasp." His words were a symphony of filth and love, a heady combination that made her melt into him.

As his hands roamed, she felt the heat of his touch like a brand, searing through the fabric of her clothes. His fingertips grazed her collarbone, her breasts, and she arched into his touch, desperate for more. He chuckled, the sound a dark, delicious rumble in her ear. "Patience, love," he said, his teeth grazing her lobe. "We've got all night."

His whispered words painted a picture of debauchery, a night of unbridled passion that she knew she'd never forget. Each syllable was a caress, a promise of the pleasure to come. He knew exactly what she liked, exactly how to make her tremble, and he used that knowledge with the precision of a master artist. "You're going to scream my name," he murmured, his hand sliding down to cup her through her jeans. "You're going to beg for me to never stop."

Her breath hitched as his thumb found her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. She could feel herself getting wet, her body betraying her excitement even as she tried to maintain some semblance of control. But control was a fleeting thing with George, and she knew it. He'd take it from her, piece by piece, until she was nothing but a puddle of want at his feet. And she'd love every second of it.

Her hands found their way to his hair, desperately clutching at the strands as he kissed her. It was messy and hungry, their teeth clacking together in their haste. He tasted like mint and something darker, something that made her want to devour him whole. She felt his cock pressing against her, hard and insistent, and she could feel herself getting wetter, her body eager to take him in.

George's hands were everywhere, unbuttoning her shirt with shaking fingers, pushing it off her shoulders to expose her lacy bra. He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through her chest as he took in the sight of her. His eyes were hooded, his pupils blown wide with desire. He traced the outline of her breasts with his fingertips before deftly unhooking her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her nipples pebbled under his gaze, aching for his touch.

"My little slut," he murmured, his voice a warm caress as he bent his head to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. He sucked hard, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core. His tongue flicked and teased, the wet heat of his mouth making her squirm. She gasped, her nails digging into his scalp as he worked her other nipple with his thumb. "You're mine to ruin," he continued, his words a dark promise that sent a shiver down her spine. "Mine to use and claim."

He pushed her back onto the bed, the mattress giving way with a soft sigh. His body hovered over hers, his muscles taut with restrained power. She could feel the weight of his gaze as he took in the sight of her, spread out before him like a feast. He took his time, savoring every inch of her, his eyes lingering on the juncture of her thighs. "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with need. "And you're all mine."

Her eyes searched his, finding the truth in his words. "I'm yours," she breathed, the confession slipping from her lips like a sacred vow. "Only yours." She watched as his pupils dilated, the blue of his eyes darkening with desire. It was a heady feeling, knowing she had that much power over him, that she could make him crave her so desperately.

He kissed her again, his hands moving to the button of her jeans. He tugged them down, his palms skimming her skin as he revealed the matching lacy underwear beneath. His eyes raked over her, a silent declaration of his appreciation. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice a soft caress.

He slid her panties aside, exposing her to his gaze. He took a moment to just look at her, to drink in the sight of her. Then, with a wicked grin, he dipped his head and kissed her there, his tongue delving into her folds, tasting her sweetness. She bucked against him, her hips rising to meet his mouth. He licked and sucked, exploring every inch of her, teasing her clit until she was begging for more.

"I want to taste you so badly," he murmured against her, his voice muffled by her flesh. His words were a declaration of war, a promise of pleasure that had her body tightening with anticipation. His tongue swirled around her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, and she could feel herself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

Her hands tangled in his hair, urging him on as he devoured her. The sensation was exquisite, a symphony of pleasure that had her body thrumming with need. She was close, so close, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she shattered. "Oh, George," she whimpered, her voice high and desperate.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with lust, and she could see the smug satisfaction in his gaze. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and he loved it. "You want it, don't you?" he murmured, his breath hot against her wet flesh. "You want me to fuck you so badly you can't think straight."

"Yes," she moaned, the word a desperate plea that seemed to echo around the room. "Please, George. I need you."

He chuckled against her, the vibration sending a fresh wave of sensation through her. He kissed his way back up her body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. "Good girl," he whispered, his teeth grazing her skin. "But first, I want to watch you come for me."

With a final, lingering lick, he pulled away and stood, shedding his own clothes with a speed that belied his earlier patience. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, and she licked her lips, eager to taste him. But he had other plans. He grabbed a condom from the bedside drawer and rolled it on, his eyes never leaving hers. Then he climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs.

"Do whatever you want with me," she whispered, her eyes glazed with need. "I'm yours."

The words were barely out of her mouth before George took action, claiming her with a ferocity that made her toes curl. He slid into her with a groan, filling her completely, stretching her until she thought she'd break. But she didn't. Instead, she welcomed him, her body opening up to him like a flower to the sun. He began to move, his hips a steady, relentless rhythm that had her arching off the bed, her nails digging into his back.

He leaned down, capturing her mouth with his, his tongue mimicking the thrust of his cock. She moaned into the kiss, her hips rising to meet his, the friction delicious and intense. He felt so good, so right, and she never wanted it to end. His hands roamed her body, touching and teasing, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

"Your body was made for mine," he murmured against her lips, his words a declaration that seemed to resonate in every cell of her being. She nodded, her breath coming in gasps as he found her G-spot, his strokes long and deep. She felt herself tightening around him, the pressure building until she couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm going to come," she panted, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to hold on to the last shreds of her sanity. "Oh, fuck, George, I'm so close."

"Good," he growled, his hips pumping into her with a force that was almost brutal. "Come for me, baby. Show me how good I make you feel."

His words were a catalyst, sending her hurtling over the edge. Her body convulsed around him, her orgasm a white-hot burst of pleasure that stole her breath. She screamed his name, the sound echoing through the room as she clung to him, her nails digging into his back. He didn't stop, though, didn't even slow, his movements only becoming more intense as he drove her through wave after wave of pleasure.

"You're so good for me," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watched her come apart. "So fucking good around me." His words were a gentle command, a declaration of his ownership, and she reveled in it. She felt like she was made for this, made for him, and the thought sent another ripple of pleasure through her.

Her body was still trembling when he pulled out, his cock slick with her arousal. He rolled her over, pressing her face down into the pillows, his hand coming down to rest on the small of her back. "Mine," he said, the word a dark promise that had her pussy clenching with need. She knew what was coming, knew she'd never be the same after tonight.

He positioned himself behind her, his cock nudging at her entrance. "Are you ready for me to claim you?" he asked, his voice a seductive purr that sent a shiver down her spine. She nodded, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "Say it," he demanded, his hand sliding down to squeeze her ass.

"I'm ready," she whimpered, the words barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "Claim me, George. Make me yours."

He didn't need any more encouragement. With a growl of pure lust, he slammed into her, filling her completely. She gasped, the sound muffled by the pillow, as he began to move, his hands gripping her hips tightly. He didn't hold back, his strokes deep and powerful, each one driving her closer to the edge again.

"You look better with my hands around your neck," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. He reached up, his fingers wrapping gently around her throat. The sensation was surprising, a mix of fear and excitement that sent her arousal skyrocketing. He didn't squeeze, just applied enough pressure to make her aware of his control, his dominance.

"And your mouth around my cock," he added, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that made her shiver. She felt him pull out, the emptiness a stark contrast to the fullness she'd grown accustomed to. "On your knees," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. She complied, her legs trembling with the effort to support herself as she felt him line up behind her.

With a firm grip on her hair, George guided her face down to his cock, still glistening with her juices. She took him in eagerly, her mouth stretching around his girth, the musky scent of their combined arousal filling her nostrils. He groaned, his hips bucking slightly as she swirled her tongue around the tip. She took him deeper, her throat relaxing to accommodate him, and she could feel his restraint slipping.

"Ah, fuck," he breathed, his voice strained. His hand tightened on her neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her aware of his need. "Don't close your eyes, baby. Look at me." She obeyed, her gaze locking onto his, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much to handle. The way he watched her, like she was the only thing that mattered in the world, made her feel powerful and vulnerable all at once.

He began to thrust into her mouth, his movements growing more demanding with each passing second. "That's it," he praised, his voice a low growl. "Take it all." And she did, eager to please him, eager to feel him lose control. She could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and she gagged slightly, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she took him deeper, her tongue working him with a fervor that matched his own.

"You're so good at this," he murmured, his grip on her hair tightening. "So fucking good." He picked up the pace, his hips snapping against her face, and she could feel the beginnings of his climax building. Her eyes watered, her throat ached, but she didn't care. All she cared about was making him feel good, making him come apart the way he made her feel.

Her hands gripped the bed, her knuckles white with the effort to stay still as he fucked her mouth. She could feel his thighs tremble against her cheeks, the muscles in his stomach tightening as he approached his peak. "Don't be gentle with me," she whispered, the words barely audible around his cock. "I like it when you're rough."

It was all the encouragement he needed. His grip on her hair tightened, his hips moving faster, more forcefully. She could feel his cock thicken, the veins pulsing beneath her tongue. He was close, so close, and she reveled in the power she had over him. He groaned, his body tensing, and then he was coming, his warmth filling her mouth as he held her in place, his eyes never leaving hers.

The command was simple but loaded with meaning. "Swallow it," he said, his voice hoarse with passion. "All of it." It was a declaration of his ownership, a demand for her submission, and she complied without hesitation. She swallowed, her eyes never leaving his, the salty taste of him coating her tongue. He watched her, his gaze intense, as she took every drop, savoring the evidence of his pleasure.

*****

"I didn't hurt you too much, did I?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. His hand, still wrapped around her neck, gently massaged the skin there, his thumb brushing over the pulse point. She could feel the throb of his heart against her back, the steady beat a reminder of the connection they shared.

"No," she assured him, her voice a little raspy from his use. "I liked it." She felt his body relax, his grip on her loosening slightly. "Relax," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "Let me take care of you."

George pulled her back onto the bed, rolling her onto her back and settling between her legs. His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of discomfort or distress. Finding none, he leaned down and kissed her softly, tasting himself on her lips. He was gentle now, his earlier ferocity replaced by a tenderness that made her heart ache.

He slid back inside her, his movements slow and deliberate. This time, there was no urgency, no need to claim or conquer. It was just them, lost in the intimacy of their shared passion. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, his teeth nipping at her sensitive skin as he moved. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his back as she met his every thrust.

Their breaths mingled, the sound of their bodies coming together the only noise in the quiet apartment. The world outside had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the feel of him inside her, the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his voice as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. "You're mine," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. "And I'm yours."

His words were a gentle caress, a reminder of their connection, and she felt herself opening up to him even more. He was right there with her, their hearts beating in sync, their bodies moving together as if they'd been doing this dance for a lifetime. She felt cherished, worshipped, and it was a feeling she never wanted to lose.

As he moved inside her, she could feel her orgasm building again, a slow crescendo that started in her toes and worked its way up. It was a different kind of pleasure, one that washed over her in waves, gentle and all-consuming. "I've never heard such a truly beautiful sound," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of sensations. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with wonder, and he leaned down to kiss her, his tongue delving into her mouth with the same slow, sweet strokes that his cock was making inside her.

He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his breath a warm caress that sent shivers down her spine. "You're so perfect," he said, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate deep within her. "So perfect for me." His words were a drug, a heady cocktail of praise and possession that had her clinging to him even tighter.

Her body responded to his gentle touch, her hips rising to meet his, her legs wrapping around his waist. She felt herself getting closer, the pressure building, the tension coiling in her belly like a tightly wound spring. "I'm going to come," she whispered, the words a breathless confession that seemed to hang in the air.

George's eyes lit up, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Come for me, baby," he urged, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine. "Let me feel you come around me." He kissed her again, his tongue mimicking the movement of his cock. She could feel herself tightening around him, her body straining for release.

And then it hit her, the orgasm rolling over her like a tidal wave. She screamed, her nails digging into his back, her body arching off the bed. He followed her over, his own climax crashing into her like a meteor, the force of it making her see stars. They came together, their bodies shuddering with the intensity of their shared pleasure. It was a moment of pure connection, a moment where nothing else mattered except the feel of him inside her, their hearts beating as one.

Their breaths mingled, ragged and desperate, as they rode out the aftershocks of their shared climax. His cock pulsed inside her, the sensation making her shiver. "You're mine," he murmured again, his voice a gentle reminder of the power he held over her. "And I'm yours."

He didn't pull out, instead choosing to stay buried deep within her, his body a warm, heavy weight that she never wanted to escape. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs still wrapped around his waist, holding him close as if she could keep him there forever. "Always," she whispered, her voice a soft promise that seemed to echo through the quiet room.

George kissed her forehead, his movements gentle and soothing. He pulled out slowly, the feeling of emptiness making her whimper. He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him so that she was nestled against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he took.

"You're mine," he murmured again, his voice a gentle reminder of the possessive need that had driven him all night. She nodded, her eyes drifting shut as she felt the warmth of his embrace envelop her. His hand trailed down her back, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin that had her melting into him even more.

*****

"Bloody hell, George, that was..." Y/n's voice trailed off, the final word stuck in her throat as she stared at the ceiling, her chest heaving.

George, grinning from ear to ear, leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I'm guessing you enjoyed it?"

Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, but she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Well, it wasn't exactly your typical Tuesday night."

They lay there for a moment, basking in the afterglow, the room still and quiet. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock on the bedside table. Y/n's hand reached out and found George's, their fingers interlocking in a silent promise of comfort and care.

George pulled the duvet up to cover their naked forms, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room.

"Mmhmm," she hummed, her eyes fluttering closed. "Just a bit... tender."

He chuckled softly, the warmth of his breath fanning her cheek. "I'll be more gentle next time," he promised, planting another kiss on her forehead.

With a sigh, Y/n turned to face him, her eyes searching his. "Thank you," she whispered.

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, his eyes filled with concern. "For what?"

"For always looking after me, even when things get... intense."

He nodded, understanding in his gaze. "It's what we do, isn't it?"

They lay there for a while longer, their bodies entwined, until the room grew cold and the early morning light began to creep in through the curtains. Y/n shivered and George tightened his hold, sharing his warmth.

"Would you like some tea?" he offered, his voice still a gentle rumble.

"That would be lovely," she murmured, her eyes still closed.

With a soft squeeze of her hand, George slipped out of bed, his footsteps padding quietly across the floorboards as he disappeared into the kitchen. The faint sound of the kettle being filled and turned on echoed through the flat.

Y/n took a deep breath, letting the scent of him linger on her skin. She could feel the tenderness between her legs, a reminder of their passionate night. As she waited for him to return, she couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her. Despite the occasional roughness, their relationship had always been one of care and consideration.

When George came back with two steaming mugs, she sat up and took one from him, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. The scent of Earl Grey wafted up, soothing and familiar. They sat in companionable silence, sipping their tea and watching the shadows on the wall dance as the sun rose over London.

The moment was peaceful, a stark contrast to the passionate tumult of just an hour ago. Yet, in its own way, it was just as intimate. It was the quiet aftercare that followed the storm, the gentle touches and soft words that stitched their hearts back together, ready to face whatever the day had in store.

And as the night stretched out before them, she knew that she'd never want to leave this moment, never want to break the spell that held them in its thrall. Because in George's arms, she'd found a home, a place where she could be both the soft, vulnerable creature she truly was, and the fiery siren he brought out in her. It was a balance she never knew she needed, but now that she had it, she couldn't imagine life without it.

The city outside their window was a distant memory, the only world that mattered was the one they'd created in this room, in this bed. And as she closed her eyes, letting sleep claim her, she knew that she'd wake up to the same sweet, gentle care that had become their signature. This was their little slice of heaven, and she had no intention of ever letting go.

*****

@gvf23

@xxkatxgracexx

[cynicalrosebud]

Kinktober Day 28

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Monsters, Sex Pollen, Dubious Consent, Non-explicit

Prompt: Monsterfucking + Sex Pollen

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Alone! Ghost

The rest of Kinktober

The air was thick with an intoxicating scent, earthy and wild, flooding your senses and igniting something raw within you. Leaning against the wall, you struggled to steady your breath, but the musky aroma only intensified, stirring a primal instinct deep inside you. It was overpowering, calling to a part of you that demanded release.

A low, guttural groan echoed from the shadows, sending a shiver down your spine. Ghost’s hulking, mutated, form emerged into the dim light, his dark, towering figure an imposing sight. With three heads, each expression fierce and focused, and multiple arms flexing in anticipation, he looked every bit the monster you couldn’t help but crave. His presence alone made your pulse race.

The three heads tracked you with unblinking intensity, and each of his groans seemed to vibrate through the room, deep and resonant. The sound called to something visceral inside you, something that felt raw and elemental.

A breath escaped you, thick with desire. “Ghost,” you whispered, but he didn’t respond with words, only a rumbling growl that resonated through his chest, primal and magnetic. The hunger in his eyes spoke volumes, each head zeroed in on you, drawing you in with their unwavering gaze.

The monster before you didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. His groans grew louder, carrying a promise of release and restraint. The scent in the air sharpened, and as he stepped closer, it filled your lungs, adding to the haze clouding your mind. Each of his heads angled towards you with differing expressions—one with an almost playful tilt, another hungry and focused, and the last fierce with unspoken intent.

When his hands reached for you, the roughness of his skin sent electricity through you. He pulled you against him, his warmth radiating through layers of tension and strength. You could feel the heat in every brush of his fingers, his breath heavy and ragged against your neck as one head leaned closer, taking in your scent as he groaned low and guttural.

His hands found your wrists, binding you with his grip as he lowered his face to yours, the scent of the pollen overwhelming you both. His mouths found your skin, pressing against you with heated insistence, teeth grazing over your collarbone and jaw, each kiss or touch igniting a fire within you. Another groan rumbled out, his three heads pressing against different parts of your body, covering you with his warmth, his desire evident in every movement.

Your breath hitched, the world around you fading to a blur of sensation as his hands roamed your body, rough yet careful, exploring every inch of you with an intensity that made you weak. The primal haze of the pollen mingled with his touch, each groan vibrating against your skin, adding to the heat building inside.

One head dipped to the curve of your neck, teeth grazing in a way that was both possessive and careful, and the sensation made you gasp. His other heads focused on you, their eyes gleaming with an almost feral desire, groans deepening with each new touch, each new kiss. He pinned you against the ground, his weight comforting yet commanding, a reminder of the raw strength that surrounded you.

You melted into him, feeling his groans reverberate through you, a language of their own that spoke of need and want, of promises and restraint. His hands never ceased their exploration, every touch calculated to tease, to heighten the anticipation coiling inside you like a spring. The unspoken connection between you felt powerful, a silent understanding that made you feel both claimed and cherished.

With each shiver, each tremor of your body, he responded in kind, his hold tightening as he buried his faces into your skin, his groans blending into one deep, resonant sound that echoed in the dark room. The world narrowed to just him and you, bound by the pull of the pollen and the primal instincts that had taken over, each groan, each touch fanning the flames higher.

As he pressed you further, deeper into the heat of your shared desire, your heart pounded, your skin alive with anticipation. Every groan, every shift of his weight against you made you crave more, and as he held you close, you surrendered fully to the intensity of the moment, allowing him to pull you completely into his world.

[xoxorealitygalore]

HERE COMES THE LOVE

PART THREE

ROMAN REIGNS X OC

Summary: Joe and Angel are longtime best friends now in their late-30s that live in the same building in Miami. Not romantically involved, they decide to have children together. But of course, complications arise.

Tag list: @tian-monique @diamondlifeee @duhitzkay380 @itskii01 @christinabae @prettypink-princesss

Previous - Part Two

With three weeks left before her due date, Angel stood in front of the mirror and smoothed the stretch of fabric over her belly, feeling the gentle nudge of the life within her. Her fingers lingered for a moment, tracing the curve of her abdomen.

There was something sacred in this moment, a quiet reverence that surrounded the final days of pregnancy. It was more than just carrying a child; it was carrying a future, a hope, a love that was already vast.

She turned as she heard Joe’s voice from the hallway. “They’re here with the camera,” he called out, peeking his head around the doorframe with a lopsided grin. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his shirt creased from the chaos of wrangling six children into coordinated outfits. Still, his eyes found hers with ease, like they always had, as though no matter the noise or distraction, Angel was his North Star.

She smiled, but there was a flutter in her chest that hadn’t been there before, not the baby, but something else. Something more complicated.

The photographer set up the shoot in the garden, under the soft golden light of late morning. Angel had chosen a long, flowing pale blue gown that clung to her curves and glowed against her skin. Joe matched in a denim shirt and crisp white pants, his hand never straying too far from her back or her belly. Around them were Joe’s five children from his previous marriage, all dressed in various shades of blue. They surrounded Angel like a tide—JoJo, the oldest, stood protectively close; Jace and Jenver linked arms and giggled when the baby kicked; Solofo and Samuel, made faces at the camera before being gently scolded by their dad.

And then there was Sai, the little girl that bound them all together. At almost two years old, she was the glue in the chaos, her chubby hands clasped around Angel’s fingers and her curls bouncing with every step.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get into position,” the photographer instructed. Angel moved slowly, easing herself down onto the soft blanket laid out for the sitting poses. Joe helped her lower herself with a tenderness that didn’t go unnoticed.

As the shutter clicked, Joe’s hand crept around to Angel’s belly, resting over it like a seal. The baby kicked. Hard.

Angel gasped and laughed.

“I think he’s upset he’s not in the pictures,” Joe teased, eyes twinkling.

“He’ll get to do one soon enough,” Angel giggled, leaning slightly into him.

Each pose seemed to draw them closer, his arm around her shoulder, her head leaning against his chest, both hands joined over the swell of her stomach. The children took turns posing around them, and for a few fleeting seconds, Angel forgot the complexities. They were just a family. A peculiar one, yes, but undeniably bonded.

The shoot lasted longer than expected, but not once did Joe leave her side. His eyes rarely left her, filled with a softness that made Angel’s heart squeeze. Ever since the argument with his cousin Mige, Joe had been different. Quieter. More protective. More present. Clingy, even.

It wasn’t just the fight, it was her. She knew it.

Joe had always been there. From their early days as friends to long nights helping with Sai when she was teething, to ultrasounds and birthing classes. He had been her anchor. Her co-parent. Her confidant.

But now… he wanted more.

And Angel didn’t know if she could give it.

The dynamic between them had always been fragile, made of layers of history, laughter, and shared responsibilities. Adding romance felt like setting fire to a carefully constructed house and hoping it came out better on the other side.

After the photoshoot, they all piled into the SUVs and headed to lunch. They chose a quiet café with an outdoor patio, where the kids could stretch out and laugh in the sun. Plates of sandwiches, fries, and fruit were passed around. Juice boxes were opened. Sai dropped a grape, and Solofo dutifully retrieved it. Angel watched it all with a bittersweet smile.

Then JoJo turned to Joe with a serious look.

“Hey, Dad,” she said. “My friends asked if Angel was my stepmom. I didn’t know what to say because… you guys aren’t a couple.”

Silence fell like a soft blanket over the table. Even the twins paused their squabble.

Joe looked at Angel. Not just a glance, but a long, deep gaze that said everything he hadn’t been able to put into words.

Angel’s throat went dry. Her stomach fluttered again, this time not from the baby.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Because what could she say?

They were… something. More than friends, less than lovers. Co-parents. Teammates. She wasn’t just his ex’s replacement. She wasn’t just a friend that he shared a child with. She was part of this family. And she realized in that moment, it wasn’t just her own feelings she was holding back. It was everyone’s.

After lunch, Angel walked slowly to the car, Sai bouncing on Joe’s hip beside her. She hadn’t answered JoJo’s question. Neither had Joe. But the silence spoke volumes.

Joe cleared his throat. “Come with me,” he said gently.

“What? Where?”

“You’ll see.”

They dropped the kids at home with JoJo in charge, then Joe drove. The route was unfamiliar, winding through the edge of town where new construction and polished storefronts gleamed under the afternoon sun. Angel watched him, quiet and thoughtful. His hands gripped the steering wheel in a way that betrayed his nerves.

Finally, they pulled into a dealership.

She blinked. “What are we doing here?”

He parked and turned to her, his voice soft. “I wanted to give you your push present.”

Angel frowned. “A push present?”

“Yeah. You know, for carrying our son, putting up with me, and raising six kids like it’s nothing.” His mouth twisted into a half-smile. “You deserve a whole planet for that. But I got you something else instead.”

They stepped out of the car. A sleek, shimmering blue Range Rover sat in the front lot, glinting under the sun like a sapphire. Angel gasped.

“No.”

Joe chuckled. “Yes.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

She stared at it. It was beautiful. Practical, yes, but elegant and roomy enough for all the kids, sturdy enough for road trips, and luxurious in a way that said you deserve to be treated like royalty.

Angel’s eyes filled with tears before she could stop them.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say thank you,” he said gently. “And maybe… just think about what we could be. You don’t have to give me an answer now. But I want you to know that I’m in this. All the way.”

Angel looked at him, really looked at him.

This was the man who had shown up to every doctor’s appointment. Who had held her hair back when she threw up from morning sickness. This was the man who had every reason to be bitter from his past but still chose softness, loyalty, and family.

He wasn’t just her friend. He was her future.

Later that evening, as the sun set and the kids gathered around the kitchen, fighting over slices of peach cobbler and streaming cartoons on low volume, Angel stood beside Joe at the sink. He was washing dishes, sleeves rolled up, humming something under his breath.

She placed a hand on his arm.

He turned.

“I think I’m ready,” she said.

His eyes searched hers. “For what?”

“To figure it out. With you. Not just for the kids. For us.”

Joe didn’t say anything. He just reached for her hand, laced his fingers through hers, and kissed her knuckles.

That night, with Sai tucked between them on the couch, JoJo reading aloud to the twins, and the faint glow of the photo shoot pictures already uploading to the cloud, Angel leaned against him and let herself imagine a life she had spent too long resisting.

And in her heart, she knew it had already begun.

alwaysangel 2h

The morning light filtered through soft gauze curtains, painting a delicate golden glow across the bedroom walls. Angel lay curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other resting protectively over the swell of her belly. She looked peaceful, but her mind was a storm of names and meanings, memories and hopes. A name meant something. A name was a beginning.

Joe sat at the edge of the bed, quietly tying the laces of his worn boots. The morning ritual had become familiar, waking before the city stirred, drinking coffee from chipped mugs, and sharing quiet silences that said more than words. As he stood, he looked down at her.

"Angel?" he said softly.

She stirred, her dark eyes blinking up at him.

“Yeah?” Her voice was groggy, but she smiled.

“I’ve been thinking about the name,” Joe said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Angel sat up, pulling the sheets around her, the light catching the curve of her face. “Me too,” she admitted.

“I—” he hesitated. “I kept coming back to Azrael.”

She blinked, thoughtful. “Azrael?”

Joe nodded, almost embarrassed. “It’s... it’s the angel of death, right? But not in a bad way. More like... a guide. A protector. Someone who helps souls move on.”

Angel’s brow furrowed slightly, not in distaste but in reflection. “Azrael,” she repeated, tasting the syllables. “There’s something strong about it. Mysterious. Kind, even.”

Joe exhaled. “Exactly. I know it’s not... usual. But it feels right.”

There was a pause, then Angel smiled, a full, glowing smile that transformed her whole face.

“It’s perfect.”

They sat in silence then, hands clasped over her belly, the baby gently kicking beneath.

A few days later, Angel found herself in the tidy kitchen of a house that smelled of lavender and warm bread, with soft jazz playing in the background. Lisa, Joe’s mother, moved with an elegance was calm, deliberate, and graceful.

Lisa had invited her for lunch, her voice warm but unmistakably curious. “We should talk, just us girls,” she’d said.

Now, as Angel sat at the table sipping chamomile tea, she wondered how much Lisa already knew or suspected.

Lisa placed a plate in front of her that included fresh spinach quiche, sliced tomatoes, a small pile of olives and then took her own seat across the table. Her smile was kind, but her eyes were sharp.

“You’re glowing,” Lisa said.

Angel laughed nervously. “Everyone keeps saying that.”

“Well, it’s true.” Lisa folded her hands. “You and Joe have always been close. But things seem... different now.”

Angel paused, placing her fork down gently. “They are.”

Lisa tilted her head, waiting.

“We’re together,” Angel said finally. “Romantically, I mean. We started out as friends, trying to do this”—she gestured to her belly—“the nontraditional way. We thought we could raise children without being a couple. But... somewhere along the way, it changed.”

Lisa nodded slowly. “I always wondered if it might. You’ve always looked at him with something deeper than friendship.”

Angel’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t realize it myself until recently. He’s—he’s just always been there. Solid. Kind. I don’t know when it happened, but I’m in love with him.”

Lisa’s expression softened, and she reached across the table to squeeze Angel’s hand. “I’m glad. Joe’s not the easiest man, but he’s got a good heart. And you... you bring out the best in him.”

Angel smiled, tears threatening the corners of her eyes. “Thank you.”

They ate slowly, talking about baby names, books, Lisa’s garden. Angel found herself relaxing, the tension unwinding from her shoulders. This, she thought, is what it feels like to be accepted.

That evening, Joe returned home to find Angel curled up on the couch, a throw blanket wrapped around her, a mug of cocoa in hand.

“How was it?” he asked, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door.

“She’s wonderful,” Angel said, smiling. “She made quiche and interrogated me like a CIA agent.”

Joe winced. “Sorry.”

Angel laughed. “Don’t be. I told her about us.”

Joe paused. “You did?”

“She already knew,” Angel said. “Or guessed. She was... happy for us.”

Joe sank onto the couch beside her. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Us.”

Angel looked at him.

“I keep thinking about how we got here,” he said. “That first conversation, the decision. It felt crazy at the time.”

“It was crazy,” Angel said gently. “But it was right.”

“I didn’t know I was falling for you,” Joe admitted. “I just... started needing to be near you. Listening to you. Protecting you. I think I loved you before I even realized it.”

Angel placed a hand on his cheek. “I know. Me too.”

They sat like that for a long moment, foreheads touching, hearts thudding in sync.

Weeks passed, filled with doctor’s appointments, baby clothes, and quiet nights. Joe painted the nursery with soft gray walls, a mobile of stars and moons. Joe set up the crib, and Angel filled the closet with clothes. Their love deepened not with fireworks, but with small, steadfast acts.

Sometimes they still argued about things, or schedules, but they always came back to each other. Stronger. Wiser. More certain.

One rainy Sunday morning, Joe knelt beside Angel, who sat perched on the edge of the bed, folding impossibly small onesies into drawers.

“I never asked you something,” he said.

Angel glanced at him, one eyebrow raised.

“If you want to be with me, like, really with me. Officially.”

She laughed. “I thought we already were.”

“I mean like... forever.”

She paused, her eyes shimmering. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

Joe pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. “I didn’t plan this. I wanted to wait. Make it special. But it’s raining, and you look beautiful, and I couldn’t hold it in.”

Angel opened the box, and there it was: a delicate gold ring, simple, perfect.

“Yes,” she said, before he could even ask. “Yes, Joe.”

He kissed her then, slow and sure, his hand cradling her belly between them. And for the first time, their little family felt whole.

The name Azrael remained. Not everyone understood it, but it didn’t matter. To them, it meant strength and tenderness. A guardian. A beginning.

When their son was born, a quiet, wide-eyed baby with Joe’s lashes and Angel’s mouth, they whispered the name to him like a promise.

“Azrael,” Angel murmured, cradling him to her chest. “Welcome home.”

Joe stood behind her, arms wrapped around them both. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

The hospital room was dim and quiet, the storm outside finally breaking into soft, steady light. And in that stillness, Azrael blinked once, yawned, and nestled into his mother’s warmth.

Life after that was anything but quiet. There were sleepless nights, messy feedings, and more diapers than either of them had expected. But there was also laughter. There was family.

Lisa visited often, bringing soups and stories. She called Azrael “my little star” and insisted he had her eyes.

Joe returned to work, while Angel stayed home, writing her book in stolen minutes between naps. She wrote about love, about motherhood, about unexpected journeys.

Sometimes, late at night, when the children were asleep and the world was hushed, they would sit on the couch together, wrapped in a blanket, and remember how it all began.

A decision. A friendship that became everything.

And in those moments, they knew they had chosen well.

The End.

[reformhim]

Becoming Aaron

Aaron used to be that guy. The one up at 6 a.m. for a lift at the gym before hitting the office. Who spent weekends rock climbing upstate or running the river trail, then hitting a rooftop bar by nightfall with a whiskey neat in hand and a date on his arm. His beard was always trimmed just right, his chest poking through snug tees that hugged his athletic frame. He moved through the city like he owned it — confident, grounded, admired. Women flirted with him at cafés and men gave that silent nod at the squat rack, the kind that said, “Yeah, you put in the work.”

But then came Hudson.

It was at an out of town Fourth of July barbecue that Aaron saw him — tall, broad, and dressed like a vintage dream: slicked-back hair, white T-shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans, leather boots scuffed just right. Hudson looked like he’d stepped out of a Marlboro ad, eyes like steel, voice deep and smooth. He called Aaron “handsome” that first night. Aaron laughed it off — confused, flattered, weirdly turned on.

By midnight, they were tangled in the back of Hudson’s truck, under the stars, surrounded by the leftover scent of charred burgers and fireworks.

Aaron didn’t know who he was after that night.

At first, he thought it was just the novelty. But then came the shifts. Subtle. Insistent.

He stopped going to the gym to bulk and started running, enjoying the leaner feel of his body. His chest, once proudly covered in dark curls, was now shaved clean — smooth, silky. His legs followed. Then his arms, pits, and groin. He caught himself admiring his reflection in pastel briefs one day — soft mint green, hugging his hips, clinging to his perky ass. He hadn’t even meant to buy or try them on, but they called to him and felt like home. The color, the fit, the vulnerability of them. It was him, now.

Aaron had started wearing an anklet — a slim silver chain at first, barely noticeable. But he quickly fell for the way it caught the light as it rested against his smooth ankle, the soft jingle it made when he padded barefoot through his apartment. He loved how it shimmered in the sun just above a pair of flip flops, or peeked out playfully above crisp white sneakers. To let it shine, he began cuffing his jeans, rolling up his chinos just-so, even favoring tapered joggers that hugged his legs and let the anklet become a quiet, sparkling rebellion — a little secret he wanted the world to notice.

The world felt different. Brighter. Slower. Every man he passed on the street was a study in desire. He began to notice the curve of a jawline. The veins on a forearm. The way course hair layered itself over a sculpted calf or poked out of a t-shirts front neckline. The way a dominant voice could make his knees slightly weak.

He shaved off his beard, maintaining a more clean and youthful look. His brows now shaped. His shirts tighter, his shorts shorter. And under it all, he wore his little pastel briefs like a secret treasure, like a love letter to himself. Like a gift waiting to be unwrapped by masculine hands.

Aaron was becoming someone new. Or maybe… someone he’d always been. Just waiting to be touched — awakened — by someone like Hudson.

[sevasey51]

I imagine Conor’s wife being in her late 20s. Considering her condition do you think he would be ok with her going to concerts with her friends? If he is maybe she shows up at work before heading out with her friends. 🥺

A Night Out with Peace of Mind

Summary: Connor feels reassured when Y/N visits him before heading to a concert with friends, knowing she’s taking precautions for her POTS.

Connor glanced at the clock in his office. He knew tonight was the concert Y/N had been talking about for weeks. She was excited to see her favorite band, but her POTS always added a layer of concern to activities like this. He trusted her to take care of herself, but that didn’t stop his mind from running through worst-case scenarios.

A light knock on his office door pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see Y/N, dressed in a casual yet concert-ready outfit, smiling softly as she stepped in. Her golden retriever, Charlie, stayed by her side as always.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted, leaning against the doorframe. “I thought I’d stop by before heading out. I know how you worry.”

Connor’s lips curved into a small smile as he stood and walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “I do worry, but I trust you. Still, I’m glad you came by.”

“I thought it’d help both of us,” she admitted, leaning into his chest. “I’ve been hydrating all day, and I’ve got compression socks on under these jeans. Plus, Sarah and Emma know the drill if anything happens. I feel good tonight.”

Connor pulled back slightly, studying her face for any signs of fatigue or dizziness. “And if you start to feel even a little off?”

“I promise I’ll sit down or leave if I need to,” she assured him. “I’ve got my meds, water, snacks… everything.”

Connor nodded, though the protective side of him still wrestled with the idea. “Alright,” he relented. “But text me when you get there and when you leave. And if you feel anything—”

“I’ll call you immediately,” she finished for him, smiling. “I’ve got it, Connor.”

He kissed her forehead. “You better. Have fun, okay?”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As she left, Connor returned to his desk, feeling slightly more at ease. Y/N knew her limits and had taken every precaution, and seeing her beforehand had given them both the comfort they needed. Still, he kept his phone close for the rest of his shift—just in case.

I feel like he’d be the sweetest about this all he knows how much her independence means to her, so she take the lead but he just want to keep her safe 🫶🏻🥹

[monsterfloofs]

Mallory (Male Vampire) x Anonymous Reader (Sfw)

(I am not sure when I will go back to this story as I am working on comicking stuff. . . <:) But I will share a piece of it here, the most solid bit of writing I have for it! A new house with a surprise resident, a shy vampire who just wants a peaceful life.)

It was an old Victorian style house. Tall and proud with long curving windows. The building had two layers with an asymmetrical design. The right side of the home bowed outward in a semi hexagonal shape. While the right side held a modest porch and wooden railings that ran around the space and flanked either side of the steps. Wooden gingerbread styling encrusted the bottom of the roof. It was a lonesome house, one surrounded by trees and that sat atop a hill with a twisting road. Through the forest of leaves, when they parted just right. It gave a wide scope of the ground below. There was a small town that sat nestled at the edge of the forest. From this vantage point, you could barely see the bumpy dirt road nestled between the brilliant fire red and yellow leaves.

It was a sunny day, some of the last warmth in October had come in a wave. Like the last expelling of warm breathe before cold nestled into the bones of the earth.

You had gotten out of your car, feet swinging from the vehicle to stand and look out over the treeline. The view alone was entrancing. Watching leaves tumble and twist through the air. Following an unknown path to an unknown destination. You heard a voice call your name, and with some reluctance you turned away from the picturesque view. Closing the door to your car with a satisfying snap before you turn and set your sights on the house. Your eyes travel along its details. It had been painted in black trim and the base a pale mint green that had faded with time. The paint was peeling in places, but it offered promise. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you walked up the driveway, A nicely dressed woman in a navy suit was standing in front of the aging porch steps.

“Welcome to Wishwillow! I am so glad we had the chance to meet. I'm Loiuse, we spoke on the phone last week.” She gave a smile of perfect white teeth as she gave your hand an exuberant shake. She had walked towards you, closing the last of the distance.

“Hi Loiuse.” You reply, “I am really happy to take a look at the house." You pause to glance up at it's high windows. "it’s beautiful.”

“It really is, and we are so happy to finally have someone show interest in this old place. It’s almost one hundred years old, did you know? There is a lot of history here.”

You nod, bringing your attention from the house as she claps her hands.

“Well! Let’s take a tour shall we?” She turns on her heels, a confident stride has her dark curls bouncing as you follow her dutifully up the steps.

“Is there. . . a lot of need for renovations? Adding fixtures, things like that?” You ask tentatively as she produces a small key from her pocket and begins to jiggle the lock.

“Oh goodness no! The last person who lived here modernized it the best she could while staying true to the house's heritage.”

The door opened with a creaky wail, and you scrunch your nose at the sound.

“How long. . . ago was that?”

“Twenty years or so,” She chirped, stepping inside and flicking on the lights.

You grimace at that, “That sounds like a long time for a house to be empty.”

She flashes you a knowing smile, “We worked very hard to keep it maintained, Ms. Hemlock, that last owner of Wishwillow, had no heirs in her will. She put whatever money she had left into keeping this house in working condition.”

Past the entrance was a thin hallway that branched off into different rooms. A big parlor to the left with polished wood floors. A few coils of wire came down like tendrils from the ceiling. You gathered that at some point a chandelier had hung down from the ceiling.

"The kitchen is down the hall," Loiuse explains, patiently letting your gaze wander the interior.

"And the left is where the parlor was. There is a small sitting room by the kitchen, and upstairs are the bedrooms."

—

There was something that felt right, about this house. Something that lingered in the air.

You catch the woman's cheer as you head back to the car. Giving the sales rep. your thanks and one last handshake.

“Yes, Ms. Louise, we will definitely keep in touch.”

It was the most nerve wracking decision you had ever made. Taking the leap and buying this house. With the economy being how it was now, and homes becoming more and more impossible to buy. You had stumbled upon a chance you weren’t sure if you were going to be able to come across again.

You had moved as much of your personal life as you could. Only finally getting the help from movers once it was clear you were not going to be able to cart a few large choice pieces of furniture on your own.

“I’m doing great,” You leaned back on the couch, that sat in the middle of the sea of cardboard boxes, phone pressed to your ear. “Totally exhausted though, I tried to hurry up and move everything so I didn’t have to take too much time off of work. It’s a bit of a drive now, but the view is worth it. It’s so beautiful here.”

You laugh, a tired weary sound. “I keep wondering if I made the right choice, it’s a big house for one person— No, no! I’m not complaining, just fretting. I think I am going to start on dinner now though, talk with you later?”

You nodded, even though the loved one on the other side of the line couldn’t see you. Listening intently to the voice on the end of the phone.

“I will take care of myself, I promise. Okay. Love you. Bye.”

You threw your head back onto the cushioned armrest of the couch, tapping the red button on your cell phone and turning off it’s screen. You heaved a heavy sigh and glanced out at the sea of cardboard.

First step of moving in, done and done. Now all that is left is unpacking. The thought of unpacking so late at night was quickly rejected. The cushioned armrest was stationed to the couch via rounded metal pins, and you reached over to rub your thumb against the cool metal bumps while you stared out at the room. With enough oomph you pushed yourself to stand, picking your way out of the living room to reach the kitchen.

You stood in the cramped kitchen space. Staring blankly for a moment while you realized how much of an ordeal it would be to dig out pots and pans, on top of cooking.

". . . You know what. . . I think I'll just order take out tonight."

With a quick call to the closest pizza shop, you had pushed boxes off the small coffee table and set up a laptop computer while you waited for dinner.

Now, with the pizza sitting next to your computer, you sat cross legged on the couch. Balancing a plate on their thighs while you watch a movie. You had picked something from your old favorite collection. A black and white movie that you remember fondly from your childhood. A comedy movie starring Abbott and Costello that contained a number of the classical monsters being portrayed by their original actors.

—

Something had changed. Something or someone was here, in the house. Within the walls. A steady heartbeat with silent ghostly vibrations echoed through the beams and floorboards.

Mallory’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up quickly. The dreams about noises hadn’t been imaginary phantoms. The cars, the voices, things being shuffled, moved about, it had been real. Now the house was quieter, though, there was still noise. A static noise that lingered behind the voices in an old televised movie. With accents that haven’t been used in a long time.

“I know it, and you know it. But does Dracula know it?"

Underneath the sounds, was the beat. He slowly rubs at his temples, trying to soothe the ringing in his head. Like a mosquito that hummed right beside your ear, the sound was impossible to ignore.

Th-thud

Th-thud

The attic stairs creaking faintly under his shoes as he descends, grimacing at the noise. From the attic stairs he moves to the window, peers down at the dark lawn below.

An uncomfortable feeling settling into his stomach, as the for sale sign was gone. Now there was a car parked in the driveway, and someone unknown downstairs. For twenty years no one had held even the remotest interest on the house atop the hill. But alas, it had been wishful thinking to believe that it would last forever.

He hesitates about what to do. An unsteady hand tinkering with the necklace around his collarbone before he gingerly steps out of the guest room. One glance. Just one. It has been a while since he had come face to face with a living being. Once satisfied he could formulate a plan from there. He moved on the stairs gingerly, hovering in the entryway where the kitchen split into the kitchen and living room.

And there they were, sitting and watching a movie. A blanket curling around their shoulders. A tired but amused expression played upon their lips, as they watched a short bumbling figure almost collide with the tall imposing figure of Bella Lugosi.

The back of his chilly hand presses against his lips as he backs away from the scene.

Then the person watching the movie shifts, their head turns, looking up, their eyes widening as Mallory moves out of sight.

[meow1sers]

Meowser's Orgins -By Nat L.

Chapter 1

Convenience Store

It was my first day at work. Luckily, I had prepared beforehand with Rasmus. I stood by the window, peering out nervously before finally gathering the courage to step outside. The early morning air was crisp—it was just past 6 AM.

The moment I arrived, Rasmus greeted me with a bemused expression, his lips curving into a slight grin. His eyes flickered over my outfit—a pink Lolita dress that cascaded down my body in layers of frills.

"Well, this is unexpected," he said with a smirk, crossing his arms. "I assume this is your first day?" He chuckled, though there was no real mockery in his tone. If anything, he secretly found the outfit… cute.

I leaned against the counter, gripping the handle of my parasol a little tighter. With a soft smile, I replied, "Nice to meet you! I didn’t expect to meet someone as cool as you on my first day!" Straightening up, I added with enthusiasm, "I’m Meowsers! But you can call me by my nickname—Angelic! An old friend gave it to me!"

Rasmus stared at me, his smirk fading into a slightly dumbfounded expression. "Me? Cool? …Huh." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I wouldn’t care." His tone was firm, dismissive. Then, with a nod toward the register, he added, "It’s your first day, so get to work."

Instead of reacting, I simply smiled—warm and welcoming on the surface, but masking the clueless thoughts swirling in my mind. Without another word, I nodded, turned away, and clocked in for the day.

I walked over to a few shelves and started restocking the ones that needed it. Climbing up a ladder, I balanced on my tiptoes, stretching to reach the top shelf. Once I managed, I carefully climbed down, adjusting my long skirt as I landed.

Glancing back at Rasmus, I frowned. He isn’t doing anything! I quietly whined to myself, slightly irritated by his laziness. Still, I kept my frustration hidden, not wanting to show it.

{Pt. 2 coming soon...}

[reverieshifts]

𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆: 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆

𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒂 𝒅𝒓

Ok, so I was just gonna have only one post about what a normal day would look like for me, but then I went a bit overboard, so I'm gonna have to split this into a few parts.

𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏

I always wake with the first blush of dawn, stirred not by an alarm or knock, but by the soft, natural light that spills through the tall arched windows of my chambers. The curtains are enchanted to part gently at sunrise, allowing golden light to warm the ivory and gold tones of my bedroom. The high canopy above my bed glows faintly as the sun rises, woven with silken threads that shimmer with morning light. The air is cool and fresh, perfumed faintly by the enchanted blossoms climbing the trellis just outside my balcony.

My bed is massive, layered with plush down-filled blankets, embroidered silks, and gossamer drapes. Pillows of every softness are arranged with casual elegance, and my wings, usually tucked close, stretch ever so slightly beneath the feather-light sheets as I begin to stir. There is no rush, no call to urgency—just the quiet peace of a new morning in the heart of Solaris.

𝑳𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏'��� 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒆𝒂

Not long after I begin to wake, the sound of soft footsteps signals the arrival of Lilian, my ever-faithful ladies' maid and closest companion. She doesn’t knock; she never needs to. The door opens soundlessly, and Lilian enters bearing a silver tray with an elegantly curved teapot and two small porcelain cups nestled among crystal dishes of honey, lemon slices, and dried rose petals.

The tea is always different depending on the day. Today, it’s a soothing blend of white tea with lavender and pear, lightly enchanted to ease lingering sleep from the mind without over-sharpening the senses. Lilian sets the tray on the small round table near the balcony, opening the balcony doors just a crack to let in a breeze and birdsong.

We often share a few quiet words here—nothing heavy, just sleepy remarks, teasing smiles, maybe a shared glance over the capital slowly coming to life below. Sometimes, we sit in silence. Other times, we giggle over some bit of gossip Lilian has already picked up from the kitchens.

𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒉

After tea, I move to my private bathing chamber, a space that feels more like a small temple of self-care than a simple washroom. The floors are heated marble veined with gold, and the tub itself is a large, oval basin carved from pale quartzite, enchanted to maintain the perfect temperature and lined with shimmering inlays that glow faintly underwater.

By the time I enter, the bath is already drawn—prepared by the palace attendants before dawn—with steam curling through the air and the surface of the water scattered with flower petals. The oils added to the water shift faintly in color depending on the light, leaving my skin soft and delicately perfumed.

I sink into the bath slowly, my wings relaxed and partially spread along the curved lip of the tub, where they can rest without being submerged. The warmth soothes any lingering stiffness, and the air is thick with floral scent and a faint hum of magic.

Lilian kneels beside me on a cushioned stool and begins to wash my hair with practiced care. She uses a pearlescent shampoo infused with moonflower essence—gentle and lightly floral, with a cooling touch that makes the scalp tingle. After rinsing with warm water poured from a carved crystal ladle, she follows with a thick conditioner, working it through the length of my waves with gentle fingers.

Nearby, an array of other products waits within reach—luxurious soaps, enchanted exfoliants, and sponges made from soft seafoam silk. I choose a pale pink bar that smells gently of rose—floral and slightly sweet. The lather is rich and silky, gliding over my skin like velvet.

When the bath is done, Lilian helps me out and wraps me in a plush robe—soft, cloud-like, and embroidered with golden threads along the cuffs and hem. With a wave of her fingers and a softly spoken spell, she dries my hair and skin in an instant, the moisture vanishing without even a chill. The effect leaves me feeling utterly clean, warm, and weightless.

𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆

Once I’m dry and wrapped in my robe, Lilian leads me over to my vanity—an elegant piece of furniture carved from pale driftwood and inlaid with polished mother of pearl that shimmers faintly in the light. The mirror is enchanted to adjust its brightness and angle depending on the time of day, casting a soft, flattering glow over my face as I settle onto the cushioned stool.

Without needing to ask, Lilian begins her usual ritual, moving around me with quiet, practiced grace. She starts by brushing out my hair, working slowly from the ends up with a wide-bristled brush carved from willow. My waves fall loose and shining under her careful attention, each stroke gentle and rhythmic, accompanied by the faintest scent of the moonflower shampoo still clinging to the strands. It’s one of my favorite parts of the morning—quiet, comforting, and grounding.

Next come my wings. Lilian retrieves a preening comb and begins to gently separate and smooth the feathers one by one, working with the same care one might reserve for lace or silk. She’s quiet as she works, humming softly under her breath—a gentle little tune I’ve heard a hundred times by now. When she finishes preening, she takes a small bottle of feather oil and warms a few drops between her hands. It smells faintly like sun-warmed amber and sandalwood. The oil keeps the feathers strong and glossy, protects them from dust, and leaves behind just the lightest sheen when the light hits them.

She applies a similar oil to the ends of my hair—lighter in consistency and fragrance, but with a similar function. My skin is already soft and glowing from the bath, but she still dabs a touch of balm across my cheekbones and the bridge of my nose, giving me that soft, dewy finish the court always associates with Elodian nobility.

𝒔𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆

Once my wings are fully preened and my skin softly glowing, Lilian begins the final touches—styling my hair and applying the lightest sweep of cosmetics. She moves with quiet precision, never rushing, never fumbling. She knows exactly how I like things—natural, simple, elegant.

She parts my hair with a fine-toothed comb and gathers the upper layers of it with deft fingers, twisting them back and up in a loose half-up style that keeps the hair away from my face without looking too formal. As she works, she tucks in a few tiny white flowers—delicate blooms that look like they grew there on their own—nestling them gently into the twist. Instead of using pins or ribbons, she murmurs a small enchantment under her breath—one of the subtle palace spells woven into our daily routines—and a faint shimmer passes through the strands. The twist settles perfectly in place, held as if by invisible threads of silk. It feels weightless, effortless. Just the way I like it.

Next, she turns to the lightest touch of cosmetics—never anything heavy. I don’t like the feeling of paint on my face, and thankfully, Lilian never tries to force it.

She selects a slim glass tube from the tray and uncaps it with a soft click. The scent is faintly fruity—something between blackberry and rosehips. The lip gloss is tinted just enough to bring out the natural color of my lips, giving them a soft rosy sheen. She applies it with a steady hand, then speaks another quiet charm under her breath to fix it in place, preventing smudging or fading no matter how long the day may be.

And it is. No masquerade. No fuss. Just soft shine, warm skin, and the kind of quiet confidence that doesn’t need gilding.

𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅

Once my hair and face are finished, Lilian moves to the nearby wardrobe—a tall, ivory-painted armoire trimmed with gilded vines, its doors enchanted to open at a touch. Inside, rows of gowns hang in shades of cream, lavender, mossy green, and pale blue, all arranged by fabric weight and season. Despite the luxury, the selection is modest compared to what many royals would consider appropriate. I’ve never cared for extravagance for its own sake. Today, she selects one of my favorites.

It’s made from a fine, gossamer fabric in the shade of dusty rose, light enough to catch the air as I move. It glimmers faintly when it catches the sunlight—just a soft shimmer like dew on petals, nothing gaudy or bold. The sleeves are gently puffed at the shoulders, the neckline is modest, and the waist unstructured. The skirt falls to just above my ankles—something I insisted on. Floor-length gowns always seem to catch underfoot, especially on stairs or cobbled paths, and I’d rather not spend my day tripping over hems. This way, I can walk with ease, move freely, and not feel like I’m drowning in layers of silk. Most importantly, it’s comfortable. Unrestrictive. Breathable. There’s no corseting, no heavy beading, no jewels sewn into the seams. I’ve never seen the point in wearing something that makes it hard to breathe.

Lilian helps me into it with practiced hands, lacing up the back with a silk ribbon that glides through the loops without snagging. The fabric settles gently over my wings, shaped specifically to accommodate them without restricting movement or flattening the feathered arches.

As always, I skip the jewelry tray. Necklaces feel heavy, rings get in the way, and I’ve never had the patience for bracelets. I’ve never needed ornament to feel dressed. Simplicity suits me far better.

My shoes are placed neatly nearby—soft leather slippers dyed a matching blush hue, with only a bit of embroidery along the edges and no heel to speak of. Easy to slip on, comfortable to walk in, and quiet on the polished marble floors of the palace.

Once I’m fully dressed, I pause for a moment in front of the mirror—not to fuss, just to take in the effect. The overall look is soft, effortless, and mine. Just enough elegance to satisfy the court, just enough comfort to keep me sane.

𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕

Before I leave the vanity, I reach for the small glass bottle nestled among the neatly arranged jars and brushes. It’s slender, faceted like a crystal, with a pale green hue that catches the light. Alana had it made for me—my own signature scent, custom blended and bottled by one of Solaris’s finest perfumers.

I unstopper it carefully, and the fragrance rises immediately—fresh and soft, like jasmine at twilight, wildflowers on the breeze, morning dew clinging to garden leaves. There’s a grounding note beneath it all, subtle and damp, like rain-soaked moss under bare feet.

I dab a single drop behind each ear, and another on each wrist. The scent settles gently, never overpowering, but always there. Familiar. Calming.

When I rise from the stool, Lilian gives me a small smile and a nod of approval. “Perfect,” she says. And with that, the day begins.

𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂

Ok, yeah I admit I may have overdone it just a bit with this one. But I can't help it, I love writing about all the luxuries I'll get to experience once I finally shift. Also, a lot of the visuals I have here aren't perfectly accurate, like for example, my hair is brown, not blonde, and the perfume bottle would be a sage green color, not pink. But I have to work with what I can find so whatever.

@lalalian