#Like are they dating or friends or what???

[biblicallyaccuratemoth]

@degenerate-mystery-inc-whore and I met on Tinder. And she is by far my best friend on the face of the Earth. I tell people that I’m in a QPR with a girl I met on Tinder, and often CisHet people are quick to ask things like, “Have you kissed,” or, “So you’re basically dating then?”

Sure, once I dressed as Lady Dimitrescu and shoved her against a wall, but that was just one time. Really? What’s amazing about our friendship is her calling me at midnight to tell me about a new Lego-train workaround she found. Or me talking for an hour about my favorite Godzilla films over the phone when I’m lonely. It’s making soup for her when she’s sick, and her making damn certain I eat when finances are tight.

I love her very dearly and I will never regret swiping right on Tinder.

[onelastkiss4you]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Just Went From A Good RPG To One Of BioWare’s Most Important Games

In light of BioWare scattering some of its most foundational veteran talent to the winds, Dragon Age: The Veilguard sure reads like something made by people who saw the writing on the wall. The RPG leaves off on a small cliffhanger that could launch players into a fifth game, but I’m skeptical that we’ll ever get it. The quickness with which publisher Electronic Arts gutted BioWare and masked it with talk of being more “agile” and “focused” shortly after it was revealed The Veilguard underperformed in the eyes of the power that be makes me wonder if BioWare was also unsure it would get to return to Thedas a fifth time. Looking back, I’m pretty convinced the team was working as if Rook’s adventure through the northern regions of this beloved fantasy world might be the last time anyone, BioWare or fan, stepped foot in it. But that may have only made me appreciate the game even more.

Yeah, I might be doomsaying, but there’s a lot of reasons to do so right now. The loss of talented people like lead writer Trick Weekes, who has been a staple in modern BioWare since the beginning of Mass Effect, or Mary Kirby who wrote characters like Varric, the biggest throughline through the Dragon Age series, doesn’t inspire confidence that EA understands the lifeblood of the studio it acquired in 2007. The Veilguard has been a divisive game for entirely legitimate reasons and the most bad-faith ones you can imagine on the internet in 2025, but my hope is that history will be kinder to it as time goes on. 

A Kotaku reader reached out to me after the news broke to ask if they should still play The Veilguard after everything that happened. My answer was that now we are probably in a better position to appreciate it for what it was: a (potentially) final word.

The Veilguard is just as much a send-off for a long-running story as it does a stepping stone for what (might) come. Its secret ending implies a new threat is lurking somewhere off in the distance but by and large, The Veilguard is about the end of an era. BioWare created an entire questline essentially writing Thedas’ history in stone, removing any ambiguity that gave life to over a decade of theory-crafting. As a long-time player, I’m glad The Veilguard solidifies the connective tissue between what sometimes felt like world of isolated cultures that lacked throughlines that made the world feel whole. But sitting your cast of weirdos down for a series of group therapy sessions unpacking the ramifications of some of the biggest lore dumps the studio has ever put to a Bluray disc isn’t the kind of narrative choice you make if you’re confident there’s still a future for the franchise. 

Unanswered questions are the foundation of sequels, and The Veilguard has an almost anxious need to stamp those out. Perhaps BioWare learned a hard lesson by leaving Dragon Age: Inquisition on a cliffhanger and didn’t want to repeat the same restriction. But The Veilguard doesn’t just wrap up its own story, it concludes several major threads dating back to Origins and feels calculated and deliberate. If BioWare’s goal with The Veilguard was to bring almost everything to a definitive end, the thematic note it leaves this world on acts as a closing graf summing up a thesis the series hopes to convey.

Pushing away the bigotry that has followed The Veilguard like a starving rat digging through trash, one of the most common criticisms I heard directed against the game was that it lacked a certain thorny disposition that was prevalent in the first three games. Everyone in the titular party generally seems to like each other, there aren’t real ethical and philosophical conflicts between the group, and the spats that do arise are more akin to the arguments you probably get into with your best friends. It’s a new dynamic for the series. The Veilguard doesn’t feel like coworkers as The Inquisition did or the disparate group who barely tolerated each other we followed in Dragon Age II. They are a friend group who, despite coming from different backgrounds, factions, and places, are pretty much on the same page about what the world should be. They’re united by a common goal, sure, but at the core of each of their lived experiences is a desire for the world to be better.

This rose-colored view of leftism doesn’t work for everyone. At its worst, The Veilguard can be saccharine to the point of giving you a cavity, which is far from what people have come to expect from a series in which Fenris and Anders didn’t care if the other lived or died. It also bleeds into a perceived softening of the universe. Factions like the Antivan Crows have essentially become the Bat Family with no mention of the whole child slavery thing that was our first introduction to them back in Origins. The Lords of Fortune, a new pirate faction, goes to great lengths to make sure you know that they’re not like the other pirates who steal from other cultures, among other things. I joked to a friend once that The Veilguard is a game terrified of getting canceled, and as such a lot of the grit and grime has been washed off for something shiny and polished. 

That is the more critical lens to view the way The Veilguard’s sanitation of Thedas. To an extent, I agree. We learned so much about how the enigmatic country of the Tevinter Imperium was a place built upon slavery and blood sacrifice, only for us to conveniently hang out in the common poverty-stricken areas that are affected by the corrupt politics we only hear about in sidequests and codex entries. But decisions like setting The Veilguard’s Tevinter stories in the slums of Dogtown gives the game and its writers a place to make a more definitive statement, rather than existing in the often frustrating centrism Dragon Age loved to tout for three games.

I have a lot of pain points I can shout out in the Dragon Age series, but I don’t think one has stuck in my craw the way the end of Anders rivalry relationship goes down in Dragon Age II. This is a tortured radical mage who is willing to give his life to fight for the freedom of those who have been born into a corrupt system led by the policing Templars. And yet, if you’ve followed his rivalry path, Anders will turn against the mages he, not five minutes ago, did some light terrorism trying to free. In Inquisition, this conflict of ideals and traditions comes to a head, but you’re able to essentially wipe it all under the rug as you absorb one faction or the other into your forces. So often Dragon Age treats its conflicts and worldviews as toys for the player to slam against one another, shaping the world as they see fit, and bending even the most fiercely devoted radical to your whims. And yes, there are some notable exceptions to this rule, but when it came to world-shifting moments of change, Dragon Age always seemed scared to assert that the player might be wrong. Mages and Templars, oppressed and oppressors, were the same in the eyes of the game, each worthy of the same level of scrutiny.

Before The Veilguard, I often felt Dragon Age didn’t actually believe in anything. Its characters did, but as a text, Dragon Age often felt so preoccupied with empowering the player’s decisions that it felt like Thedas would never actually get better, no matter how much you fought for it. While it may lack the same prickly dynamics and the grey morality that became synonymous with the series, The Veilguard’s doesn’t just believe that the world is full of greys and let you pick which shade you’re more comfortable with. It’s the most wholeheartedly the Dragon Age universe has declared that the world of Thedas can be better than it was before.

Essentially retconning the Antivan Crows to a family of superheroes is taking a hammer to the problem, whereas characters like Neve Gallus, a mage private eye with a duty-bound love for her city and its people, are the scalpel with which BioWare shifts its vision of how the world of Thedas can change. Taash explores their identity through the lens of Dragon Age’s longstanding Qunari culture, known for its rigidness in the face of an ever-changing world, and comes out the other end a new person, defined entirely by their own views and defying others. Harding finds out the truth behind how the dwarves were severed from magic and still remembers that she believes in the good in people. The heroes of The Veilguard have seen the corruption win out, and yet never stop believing that something greater is possible. It's not even an option in The Veilguard's eyes. The downtrodden will be protected, the oppressed will live proudly, and those who have been wronged will find new life.

That belief is what makes The Veilguard a frustrating RPG, to some. It’s so unyielding in its belief that Thedas and everyone who inhabits it can be better that it doesn’t really entertain you complicating the narrative. Rook can come from plenty of different backgrounds, make decisions that will affect thousands of people, but they can never really be an evil bastard. If they did, it would fundamentally undermine one of the game’s most pivotal moments. In the eleventh hour, Dragon Age mainstay Varric Tethras is revealed to have died in the opening hour, and essentially leaves all his hopes and dreams on the shoulders of Rook. After our hero is banished to the Fade and forced to confront their regrets in a mission gone south, Varric’s spirit sends Rook on their way to save the day one last time. He does so with a hearty chuckle, saying he doesn’t need to wish you good luck because “you already have everything you need.” He is, of course, referring to the friends you have calling to you from beyond the Fade. 

Varric, the narrator of Dragon Age, uses his final word to declare a belief that things will be okay. This isn’t because Rook is the chosen one destined to save the world, but because they have found people who are unified by one thing: a need to fight for a better world. But that’s what makes it compelling as a possibly final Dragon Age game. Reaching the end of a universe’s arc and being wholly uninterested in leaving it desecrated by hubris or prejudice is a bold claim on BioWare’s part. It takes some authorship away from the player, but in return, it leaves the world of Thedas in a better place than we found it.

The Veilguard is an idealistic game, but it’s one that BioWare has earned the right to make. Dragon Age’s legacy has been one of constantly shifting identity, at least two counts of development hell, and a desire to gives players a sandbox to roleplay in. Perhaps, as Dragon Age likely comes to a close, it’s better to leave Dragon Age with a game as optimistic as the people who made it. I can’t think of a more appropriate finale than one that represents the world its creators hope to see, even as the world we live in now gives us every reason to fall to despair.

In my review for The Veilguard I signed off expressing hope for BioWare’s future that feels a bit naive in retrospect. Would a divisive but undeniably polished RPG that felt true to the studio’s history be enough when, after 10 years of development, rich suits were probably looking for a decisive cultural moment? That optimism was just about a video game. Having lived through the past 32 years, most of the optimism I’ve ever held feels naive to look back on. I think I’m losing hope that the world will get any better. But even if we haven’t reached The Veilguard’s idealized vision, I’ll take some comfort in knowing someone previously at BioWare still believes it’s possible. - ken shepard, shepardcdr.bsky.social

[fairqves]

୨୧ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

───── IN WHICH your ex boyfriend attempts to win you back with multiple case scenarios!

(🐰) ⟡ 𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘 — ex! 𝓈unghoon & 𝑓! reader .. fluff exes 2 lovers ♡ ◞ wc 1.4K 𓂅 warnings : profanities, kissing.

𝖱𝖤𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖲 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖨𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖣 ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

BREAKING UP WITH PARK SUNGHOON WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A POWER MOVE.

you were the girl everyone wanted to be—class president, head cheerleader, the girl who never seemed to have a bad hair day.

dating sunghoon, the captain of the school’s ice hockey team, had been the ultimate match.

you were quite literally the golden couple, with his icy, cold demeanor balanced by your warm, bubbly personality. on the outside, you two were perfect.

but on the inside? that was another story.

the breakup took place two weeks ago, and the sheer memory of it still made you grit your teeth. ── 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖡𝖤𝖫𝖮𝖶!

“why do you even want to be with me, hoon?” you’d finally snapped after one of his annoyed, cold and distant replies during an argument. you were frustrated to say the least, tired of feeling like your relationship was more about image than anything real.

“do you actually care about me? or do you just care about being the ‘perfect couple’? or the way we look together?”

sunghoon had stood there, frozen as if he were one of the ice sculptures at his hockey matches, completely silent. that had been the last and final straw for you.

“you know what?” you said grabbing your bag aggressively, holding back tears. “forget it. i don’t want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t care enough to fight for me.”

and that was that—you left.

you expected sunghoon to move on quickly, thinking the longest he’d mourn your relationship for would be a few weeks maximum.

he didn’t seem like the type to get hung up on anything, let alone an ex girlfriend. but much to your surprise, that’s not what happened.

ACT 01:

the first time you realized park sunghoon wasn’t going to let you go so easily was during a typical school week hockey game.

it was a friday night, and the rink was packed with everyone on campus—and the rival teams supporters.

you had gone to support your best friend yujins’ boyfriend, one of the players on the same team as sunghoon, and you were trying your best to ignore the way your heart clenched every time you caught a glimpse of sunghoon skating oh-so ethereally across the ice.

he looked as composed as ever—as if the breakup didn’t phase him in any way whatsoever.

his jaw was clenched in determination, his movements were calculated and precise—but when the puck slid toward him in the third period of the game, he completely missed it.

“whoa, that’s not normal..is sunghoon okay?” yujin whispered, leaning closer to you.

you frowned. “i don’t know. that’s not like him.”

what happened next made your jaw drop. instead of chasing after the puck, sunghoon skated straight to where you were sitting in the stands.

“what is he—”

before you could finish, he stopped in front of you, his helmet tucked under his arm, and called out:

“y/n!”

the crowd fell silent, all eyes darting onto you. your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“what?” you hissed.

“can we talk?” he said, his voice echoing through the rink.

you stood up, shocked to the core and glaring at him with bewilderment. “are you serious right now? you’re literally in the middle of a game!”

“of course i’m serious—i’m serious about you,” he shot back, his face completely straight and blank as if his words held no weight whatsoever.

someone in the crowd whistled, and in this very moment you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

“you’re fucking insane,” you muttered before storming off with embarrassment.

ACT 02:

sunghoon’s next attempt came the following monday during lunch break—you were sitting at your usual table with yujin and a few of the other cheerleaders when he walked in, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder.

“uh oh…” yujin whispered, elbowing you. “ice boy at six o’clock.”

you turned just as sunghoon approached your table.

“y/n,” he said, his tone as pleading as ever, “can we talk please?”

“i’m eating,” you replied, not looking up from your tray—although most of it was gone already. “no problem. then i’ll talk,” he said, pulling a chair over to sit next to you.

“can’t he take a hint…” yujin mumbled beside you in amusement.

your friends were staring, barely concealing their grins and squeals as sunghoon reached into his bag and pulled out a carefully folded piece of lined paper. he cleared his throat, unfolding it.

you raised an eyebrow. “what’s that?”

“a list,” he said, holding it up with a proud and confident grin. “of reasons why we’re the perfect match.”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands with a whine. “sunghoon, no.”

“reason one,” he began, shushing you. “you love iced americanos. i hate iced americanos. opposites attract.”

your friends started giggling, and you shot them a warning look.

“reason two,” he continued, “you’re loud, and i’m quiet. we balance.”

“sunghoon—”

“reason three,” he said, his voice softening as he shyly rubbed the nape of his neck, “you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like… i don’t know—like i’m more than just the hockey guy.”

well—that caught you off guard. for a moment, you couldn’t think of a reply.

but of course, he then he ruined it by adding: “reason four, we look really good in pictures together.”

you glared at him, standing up and grabbing your tray. “yeah, no. i can’t do this right now.”

ACT 03: THE FINAL ATTEMPT

you had gone up to the schools rooftop during your free period, expecting to have a quiet break to yourself.

instead to your dismay, you found sunghoon sitting on the edge of the railing, holding a thermos and looking out at the freshly coated snowy campus.

“what are you doing here, sunghoon?” you asked, crossing your arms in exhaustion at the similar game of cat and mouse.

he turned, his expression unreadable to you. “i’m sorry..i just— i wanted to see you.”

you sighed, sitting down a few feet away from him. “you’ve seen me plenty. what do you want this time?”

“i want you to know that i’m truly sorry,” he said, his voice quiet as he played with his fingers nervously.

you looked at him, shocked and pleasantly surprised by the vulnerability in his tone.

“i’m know i’m not good at… talking about my feelings,” he admitted, fidgeting with the thermos. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t feel them.”

your chest tightened. “sunghoon—”

“i know i made you feel like you didn’t matter, and didn’t show you love,” he said, cutting you off.

“like i cared more about how we looked than how we felt. but that’s not true. you’ve always been more to me than..than the ‘perfect couple’ thing.”

you stared at him, the frustration and hurt you’d been grasping onto so tightly beginning to melt away.

“i don’t care if we’re a perfect couple,” you said softly. “i just need to know you care—i need to know if you truly care for me.”

he hesitated for a moment, then held out the thermos.

“i made hot chocolate,” he said. “because you always said you wanted someone to bring you hot chocolate on a cold day.”

you blinked, startled by the gesture. to a strangers eye—it was small. but to you, it was sunghoon telling you that he did in fact care.

“okay,” you said, taking the thermos.

“okay?” he repeated, hope flickering in his eyes.

you nodded, smiling and feeling a heavy weight off your shoulders for the first time in weeks. “okay.”

NO MORE ACTS.

by the next hockey game, the joy around school was back.

everyone was talking about how the ‘it’ couple was “official” again, and while you normally hated the childish gossip, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest every time someone mentioned it.

after the game, sunghoon skated over to your section, his helmet under his arm.

“hot chocolate after this?” he asked, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.

“sure,” you said, grinning.

as he turned to leave, he stopped and glanced back at you, his expression softer as his cheeks flushed pink. “can i get a kiss?”

you snorted. “no.”

“pleaseee?” he said, dragging out the word dramatically.

“no.”

“babe,” he whined, stepping closer to the railing. “please, please, please?”

you rolled your eyes, fighting off the grin making its way onto your face as you leaned over slightly. “fine, just one.”

the kiss was short and quick, barely more than a brush of your lips against his—but when you pulled back, the sight of his smile was so bright that you couldn’t help but laugh in adoration.

“you’re so stupid,” you said, shaking your head.

“and you love it,” he replied, skating away with a hand blown kiss.

you couldn’t deny that.

© FAIRQVES 2025 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

NOTE. new layout WOOHOO !! semester two has been violently kicking my ass and it’s only been 2 days… idk anymore guys i’m severely unhappy and have 818282 mental breakdowns a day but oh well 😞✊

୨୧ TAGLIST ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @iluvnikism @rikibwn @wonsprincess @niawonn @pockyyasii @kiss4noo @nineooooo @loves0ft @ancnymcnzjy @dazzlingjaeyun : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.

[ch0llies]

FOREVER NOW | CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO

You and Chris have been tied together by an invisible string ever since you met at 10. As you grew older, Chris became your safe place. He was always there, unknowingly shaping himself into the person you’d eventually fall in love with. By the time you were 18, you had become each other’s first everything- first kiss, first love, first promise that neither of you could ever belong to anyone else the way you belonged to each other. And now, standing in the bathroom with ten pregnancy tests lined up on the counter, that promise felt heavier than ever.

story warnings: fluff, smut, creampie, heavy breeding kink, pregnancy, established relationship, etc… if any of these topics upset you… don’t read!

word count: 6k

a/n: thank you so much for 1k followers!! i love you all so much!!

The rain taps gently against the window. Your shared apartment is dimly lit, warm, filled with the faint trace of Chris’s cologne- the kind of smell that feels like home, like safety.

Chris is beside you on the couch, one arm draped lazily over your legs, his other hand scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. The TV plays some old movie in the background, half-forgotten.

Your fingers trace small circles on his forearm, the soft fabric of his hoodie warmed by his skin. He hums in contentment, shifting just enough to glance at you.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asks, voice soft, familiar.

You smile, but your mind is elsewhere, caught in the years before this moment. Because this love didn’t start here.

It started long before.

FIFTH GRADE.

You met Chris at ten years old, standing awkwardly in the doorway of your parents’ friend’s house.

“This is Chris,” your mom said, nudging you forward.

He had messy brown hair, an oversized hoodie, and a smile that made you think he probably got in trouble at school a lot.

He gave you a shy nod. “Hi.”

You stared for a moment, then mumbled, “Hi.”

The adults left you alone, and somehow, within an hour, you were arguing over who could beat who in Bedwars. By the time your parents came back, you were already thick as thieves, plotting some grand scheme to get extra dessert at dinner.

From that day on you couldn’t remember a memory that he wasn’t in.

EIGHTH GRADE

You learned that heartbreak could come before high school.

There was a boy- your first real crush. He was charming, sweet, made you feel special. Until, suddenly, he didn’t.

You found out from a friend that he had been texting someone else the entire time. That everything he said to you, he said to her too.

Chris found you at the park that night, sitting on the swings, kicking at the dirt, trying not to cry.

He sat next to you without a word. Just there. Present. Until you were ready.

“I really liked him,” you admitted eventually, voice small.

Chris scoffed. “Yeah, well, he’s an idiot.”

You sniffled, glancing at him. “You think?”

Chris nodded firmly. “Obviously. He had you and still wanted someone else? That’s just stupid.”

Something about the way he said it, so certain, made your heart feel just a little lighter.

You didn’t know it then, but that was the first time Chris made you feel like you were worth more than the people who hurt you.

It wouldn’t be the last.

JUNIOR YEAR.

Prom was supposed to be perfect.

Instead, your date cheated. Chris’s date bailed.

And somehow, you ended up at prom together- dressed up, but ditching the actual dance for a late-night drive, fast food in hand, sitting on the hood of his car in the school parking lot.

“You think we’re cursed?” you joked, pulling a fry from the bag.

Chris smirked, leaning back on his palms. “Or maybe we just keep picking the wrong people.”

You glanced at him then- at the way the Boston lights reflected in his eyes, at the way he always showed up when no one else did.

For a moment, you almost said something. Almost realized something.

But instead, you just smiled. “Guess we’re each other’s backup plan now, huh?”

Chris had looked down at his feet and let out an almost sad sounding chuckle, “Guess so.”

But he didn’t feel like a backup plan.

Not even then.

SENIOR YEAR.

It wasn’t sudden.

It wasn’t a grand, dramatic moment where everything clicked into place.

It was gradual. Like the slow rising of the sun, creeping into your life until one day, you realized- he had always been the light.

Chris had always been there. Through every heartbreak, through every bad decision, through every night spent crying over people who didn’t deserve you.

And then one day, you just knew.

It was late, past midnight, the two of you lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, laughing about something dumb, something unimportant. And then the laughter faded, and suddenly, the air felt different.

Chris was looking at you. Really looking at you.

And for the first time, you didn’t look away.

Your heartbeat quickened. You swallowed.

“Chris.”

He shifted, his fingers barely brushing against yours between the sheets. “Yeah?”

You took a breath.

“I- I think it’s always been you.”

Silence.

His breath hitched, but his fingers curled around yours, holding tight.

“I-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “God, I was scared to say it first.”

Your chest ached, but for the first time, it wasn’t painful. It was full.

You smiled, biting your lip. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes soft, full of something you had been searching for in everyone else but only ever found in him.

And then he kissed you.

And everything made sense.

Back in the apartment, Chris shifts beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re thinking too much again,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “Just remembering.”

He hums. “Good memories?”

“The best.”

Chris tilts his head, studying you. “Wanna share?”

You turn to face him, meeting the gaze of the boy who had always been there, who had never let you go.

The rain outside is still steady and you let your head rest against his chest again, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Safe. Home.

“You ever think about soulmates?” you ask, voice quiet but certain.

Chris smirks, locking his phone and setting it aside. “Yeah.”

You lift a brow, tilting your head to look up at him. “Oh really? Always been me?”

He chuckles, low and warm, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaning back against the couch. “Yes, my love. Always been you.”

Your heart swells. Even after all these years, hearing it still makes something in your chest ache in the best way.

Chris shifts, pulling you even closer, wrapping his arms around you completely, tucking your head under his chin. You sigh against his hoodie, breathing him in, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his thigh.

For a while, you just exist like that- wrapped up in each other, listening to the rain, the outside world feeling so far away.

Then Chris hums. “What do you wanna do for dinner?”

You tilt your head, thinking. “What about some PF Chang’s?”

His face lights up. “That sounds incredible.”

You grin, watching as he grabs his phone and pulls up DoorDash, immediately placing the order without hesitation. Because it’s the city, and neither of you want to go out in the rain when food can be delivered straight to your door.

When the food arrives, you both sit on the couch, containers spread out on the coffee table. You grab a pair of chopsticks, but Chris, like always, opts for a fork, shooting you a smug look like he’s superior for it.

“You’re so uncultured,” you tease, grabbing a dumpling.

Chris snorts. “I just don’t like fighting for my food.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it- just warmth, just love.

As you eat, the conversation shifts to your future, like it always does.

“What about baby names?” Chris muses, stealing a bite of your lo mein like it’s his. “What do you like?”

You smirk. “You planning on knocking me up tonight or something?”

Chris smirks. “Definitely planning on fuckin’ you but, getting you pregnant? We’ll see.”

You shrug nonchalantly, picking up a garlic noodle with your chopstick. “I still want you to cum inside me tonight regardless.”

He chokes on his food, coughing as he glares at you. “Jesus, give me a warning before you say stuff like that. I’m gonna get hard.”

You laugh, nudging his shoulder. “I’m serious, though. You ever think about it? Baby names, becoming parents, getting me pregnant…?

Chris swallows, setting his container down before shifting to look at you fully. His expression softens, thoughtful. “Yeah,” he admits. “I have.”

You raise a brow. “And?”

He smirks. “You first.”

You sigh dramatically, leaning back into the couch, pretending to think. “I like the name Owen for a boy,” you say eventually. “And maybe Elliot for a girl. Her nickname would be Ellie”

Chris nods. “Owen? That’s my middle name. But Ellie is really cute. I like that.”

“Yeah, goof. It would be named after you, handsome. But what about you?”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand as he blushes softly. “I’ve always liked the name Weston for a boy,” he says, glancing at you. “And for a girl… maybe Aria.”

You smile. “Aria is cute.”

Chris nudges you. “So, our kid’s name is either Owen, Ellie, Weston, or Aria. Got it.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart swells anyway. “I can’t imagine having a kid anytime soon.”

Chris grins, pulling you onto his lap effortlessly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “No rush,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your shoulder. “We’ve got time.”

You melt into him, fingers threading through his hair.

“Okay, more future talk,” he says after a moment. “Houses. Where do we end up?”

You hum. “Do you wanna stay in Boston?”

Chris tilts his head. “I like Boston, but I wouldn’t mind somewhere quieter. Maybe something coastal? A place where we can sit on the porch and watch the sunrise. What about my family's cape house?”

You smile. “That sounds perfect.”

Chris grins, tapping his fingers lightly against your back. “Can you imagine being as a full time suburban dad?”

You snicker. “Hard to imagine you giving up city life and inheriting Matt’s minivan to truck our kids around.”

Chris groans. “Please never let me get that goddamn minivan.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Deal.”

The remnants of dinner are still scattered across the coffee table- half-empty takeout containers, crumpled napkins, chopsticks resting haphazardly in cartons, four empty pepsi cans. Chris groans, stretching his arms before nudging you with his knee.

“You ready to clean this up?” he asks, though he doesn’t look like he wants to move any more than you do.

You sigh dramatically, leaning back against the couch. “Or… we could just leave it here and deal with it in the morning.”

Chris snorts. “No way. You hate waking up to a mess.”

You grumble, knowing he’s right. “Fine. But you’re taking out the trash.”

“Deal.”

The two of you move in sync, cleaning up without much thought- him stacking the containers, you wiping down the table. Domesticity has always been easy with Chris, effortless in a way that feels like breathing. It’s not something you ever have to think about; it just is.

Once the apartment is back in order, you stretch, letting out a soft yawn.

Chris grins, wrapping his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin against your shoulder. “Bed?”

“Yes.”

You slip into the bathroom while Chris grabs water for both of you. The space is warm, the soft yellow glow of the vanity lights reflecting off the marble. You change into one of your favorite comfy outfits- an oversized, faded navy sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the thin strap of your lace bralette underneath, paired with soft gray Calvin Klein boyshorts that hug your hips just right.

The fabric of the sweatshirt nearly swallows you, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs, the sleeves hanging just past your wrists. It smells like detergent, a little like Chris, a little like the home you’ve built together.

By the time you start brushing your teeth, Chris enters, setting the water bottles on the counter before glancing at you in the mirror.

His eyes darken immediately, lips parting slightly as he takes you in- the way the sweatshirt slips off your shoulder, the way your shorts sit snug on your curves.

“You trying to kill me, baby?” he mutters, voice thick.

You smirk around your toothbrush. “I just put on something comfortable.”

Chris shakes his head, stepping closer behind you, his hands skimming the edge of the sweatshirt before resting low on your hips. “Yeah? This is comfortable?”

You nod, watching his gaze flick between your reflection and the way his hands trace slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

You fumble your phone, and it slips from the counter, landing with a soft thud on the floor.

You sigh through your toothbrush, bending over to grab it.

And that’s when you hear it.

A sharp inhale. The softest curse under Chris’s breath.

“Fuck, baby.”

Before you can straighten, his hands slide over your hips, firm but reverent. One palm presses against the small of your back, the other smoothing over your ass, fingers flexing as if he can’t help himself.

You swallow hard, heat creeping up your spine as you grip the sink for balance.

Chris leans in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You still up for that promise, baby?” His voice is low, gravelly, dripping with want.

Your breath hitches. “What promise?” you ask, playing coy.

Chris chuckles, dark and knowing, his fingers pressing a little more insistently into your skin. “The one where you let me cum inside you.”

Your heart pounds, the weight of his words sending a shiver down your spine. You meet his gaze in the mirror, and the heat in his eyes makes your knees weak.

Chris smirks, running his hands up your sides before spinning you to face him fully. His fingers slide under the hem of your sweatshirt, gripping your waist as he pulls you closer.

“You still want that?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours.

Your answer is immediate.

“Yes.”

Chris’s smirk deepens, satisfaction flickering in his darkened gaze. His grip tightens just enough to make you shiver, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he wants to leave his mark there.

“Yeah?” His voice is low, teasing, as he drags his hands over your hips, his thumbs tracing lazy circles. “You want me to fill you up, make sure you feel me long after, huh?”

You swallow, pulse hammering against your ribs. There’s no hesitation when you nod, your breath hitching as his lips graze yours- featherlight, just enough to tease.

Chris hums, his hands sliding lower, squeezing your ass before lifting you onto the counter with ease. His body slots between your legs, firm and unyielding. He keeps you there, locked in place, his forehead resting against yours.

“Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough with want.

Your fingers tangle in his hoodie, pulling him impossibly closer, your legs tightening around his waist.

“I want it, Chris,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his. “I want you to cum inside me.”

A sharp inhale from him, and then his mouth crashes onto yours, all heat and hunger. His fingers slide under your sweatshirt again, this time with purpose, exploring, claiming.

“Shit, baby,” he groans against your lips, his hands pushing higher, tugging at your clothes.

He doesn’t waste another second. His hands slip beneath your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifts you off the counter with effortless strength. Your arms loop around his neck instinctively, your breath coming in short, heated bursts as he carries you through the dimly lit apartment.

The air between you is thick, charged, every step he takes toward the bedroom making your anticipation coil tighter. His lips find your jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat as he nudges the bedroom door open with his foot.

By the time he lays you down on the bed, your body is already burning for him. Chris hovers over you, his hands planted on either side of your head, his darkened blue eyes devouring every inch of you.

“Been wanting to do this all night,” he murmurs, fingers dipping under the hem of your sweatshirt again, this time pushing it up with agonizing slowness. “Take my time with you.”

Your stomach tightens as he peels the fabric over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His gaze drinks you in, lingering on your bare skin, the way your chest rises and falls beneath him.

“Ma,” he breathes, his hands already roaming again, thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You reach for his hoodie, fingers curling around the hem as you tug. “Then take this off,” you whisper, your voice breathless, needy.

Chris smirks but obliges, pulling it over his head and letting it drop to the floor. His toned chest and arms are bare now, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting shadows over the ridges of his muscles.

Your hands roam over his skin, tracing along his collarbones and his happy trail. He watches you with dark, hooded eyes, his breathing heavy as he slides his hands down your body, toying with the waistband of your shorts.

“These too,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire, as he hooks his fingers into them, dragging them down your legs inch by inch. The sensation sends a shiver through you, every inch of your exposed skin burning under his touch.

Once your shorts are gone, Chris kneels at the edge of the bed, his hands smoothing over your thighs as he leans down, pressing slow, lingering kisses to your soft and wet cunt. His lips trail higher towards your clit, teasing, making your breath hitch.

Then, just when you think you might combust, he pulls back, standing to his full height.

Your eyes lock onto his as he unbuttons his jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly. He doesn’t look away- not as he pushes them past his hips, not as they fall to the floor, leaving him in just his boxers, the evidence of his desire straining against the fabric.

“Your turn,” you whisper, eyes flicking to the last piece of clothing between you.

Chris smirks, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and pushing them down.

Chris lets his boxers drop to the floor, kicking them aside before crawling back over you, his body warm and solid against yours. His hands find your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them, his weight pressing into you in a way that makes your breath hitch.

“Yeahhhh,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, down the column of your throat. “You’re so fucking perfect. Every single inch of you.” His hands roam your body like he’s memorizing you all over again, tracing over your curves, his thumbs brushing against your hip bones.

You shudder under his touch, gripping onto his shoulders, needing something to anchor you. Chris smirks against your skin, his lips pressing sloppy kisses over your collarbone, then lower, taking his time.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” he whispers, his breath hot against your peaked nipples. “Never get tired of touching you, tasting you… fucking filling you up.”

Your breath stutters, heat pooling low in your stomach at his words. His hands slide down, gripping your hips firmly, fingers pressing possessively into your skin.

“You love that, don’t you?” he murmurs, tilting his head to watch your reaction. “Love knowing I wanna fill you up every time. Keep you like this-” he grinds his hips against you, slow and deliberate, making you gasp. “So full of me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and Chris groans, rolling his hips again, teasing you, making your body arch into his.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough, edged with need. “Tell me you want it, baby.”

Your head tilts back against the pillows, a whimper slipping from your lips. “I want it, Chris,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Want you to fill me up.”

Chris growls low in his throat, his hands gripping your thighs, his lips ghosting over yours. “Fuck, you drive me crazy,” he murmurs. “You know that? The way you say it… the way you look at me like that. I swear, I could spend every fucking day buried inside you and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, your body tightening in anticipation. His fingers trail down, teasing, testing your patience.

“You ready for me, baby?” he asks, voice thick, teasing as his eyes flick up to meet yours. “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets. “I need you, Chris.”

Chris groans, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to line himself up, swiping his cock a few times through your built up arousal. His gaze locks onto yours, intense, unwavering.

“Then take it,” he murmurs. “Take all of me.”

Chris doesn’t hold back. He pushes in slowly at first, savoring the way your body reacts to him, how you gasp and clutch at his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist. His jaw clenches as he watches you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with need.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead against yours. “You feel so good, baby. Always so fucking perfect for me.”

Your breath stutters, your nails dragging down his back as he sinks deeper, filling you inch by inch. The stretch is delicious, a slow burn that makes your head spin, and Chris eats up every little sound you make, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. He leans back just enough to watch your expression, his hands roaming over your tits and cupping them, mapping every inch of you. “You take me so fucking well. Every time.”

Your head tilts back, a moan slipping from your lips as he rolls his hips, setting a slow, deep rhythm. Chris groans at the feeling, his fingers pressing into your skin like he never wants to let go.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, kissing along your jaw, down to your throat. “Let me in- let me fill you up just the way you need.”

His pace quickens just a little, his control hanging by a thread as he watches you come undone beneath him. Every thrust pushes him deeper, making you gasp, your body arching into his.

“God, you’re perfect,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer. “So fucking tight, so warm- like you were made for me.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, your lips parting in a desperate gasp as he hits the perfect spot inside you. Chris feels it, sees the way your body responds, and it makes something primal snap inside him.

“That’s the spot, huh?” he murmurs, a smirk playing at his lips even as his own breath is ragged. “Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna let me fill you up like you need?”

“Chris,” you whimper, your body tightening around him, heat coiling low in your stomach.

“Say it,” he growls, his thrusts getting rougher, more desperate. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you need me to cum inside you.”

Your back arches, pleasure crashing over you in waves as your orgasm hits and you squeeze him impossibly tight. “I need it- I need you to fill me up, Chris. So bad.”

He groans, his grip on you tightening as he thrusts harder, deeper, chasing his release. “F- fuck, baby, I’m gonna- ” His breath shudders, his movements getting sloppier as he buries himself as deep as he can, his body tensing.

A guttural moan tears from his lips as he spills inside you, holding you tight, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. His breathing is heavy, his body trembling slightly from the intensity of it, and he presses lazy kisses against your skin as he comes down.

“Shit,” he breathes, his arms wrapping around you, keeping you flush against him. “I swear, I’ll never get tired of this. Never get tired of you.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, running your fingers through his hair, still coming down from your own high.

Chris doesn’t move for a moment, still catching his breath, his body heavy and warm against yours. But then, as if something clicks in his mind, he shifts, gripping your hips with both hands.

Without warning, he pushes your hips up, angling them just enough to keep every drop of his cum inside you. You whimper at the sudden movement, your body still sensitive, your legs trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure.

“Chris- fuck.” you murmur, a dazed little laugh slipping from your lips, “what are you doing?”

His fingers press into your skin, his grip firm, possessive. His darkened blue eyes flick down to where you’re still connected, then back up to your face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Making sure it stays,” he murmurs, voice rough, teasing but laced with something deeper, something almost primal.

Your breath catches. “I thought you didn’t want me to get pregnant.”

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans down, pressing kisses along your jaw, down the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips lingering, his hands still keeping your hips in place.

“I never said that,” he finally murmurs, his voice husky, “maybe I like the idea more than I let on.”

Your heart stutters. Heat blooms in your chest, pooling low in your stomach again despite how spent you already are. Chris tilts his head, watching your reaction closely, his smirk deepening as he sees the way his words affect you.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” he teases, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “You’re the one who begged me to cum inside you.”

Your breath hitches. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you actually wanted-”

Chris cuts you off with a slow roll of his hips, just enough to remind you he’s still inside you, still keeping everything right where he wants it. You gasp, your fingers gripping his arms.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he murmurs. “You know how fucking good it feels. How right it feels.” His lips graze your ear. “Tell me you don’t love it.”

You swallow hard, your pulse hammering. “I do,” you whisper.

Chris smirks against your skin, his hands tightening on your hips. “That’s my girl,” he breathes. “And who knows… maybe one day, I won’t just be filling you up for fun. Maybe one of these days I’ll fuck a baby into you.”

Your stomach flips, your whole body flushing at his words. Chris just chuckles, his expression dark and full of satisfaction as he kisses you again- slow, deep, claiming.

“But for now,” he murmurs, letting his weight settle over you again, his hands still holding you in place, “we’ll just make sure it sticks.”

Chris finally releases his hold on your hips, letting you relax into the mattress, though he doesn’t pull away just yet. He presses a few lingering kisses against your shoulder, his hands smoothing over your sides as he breathes you in.

“You good?” he murmurs, his voice warm and tender now, the teasing edge from before softened.

You nod, still catching your breath, your body pleasantly sore in the best way. “Yeah… just feel like I can’t move.”

Chris chuckles, rolling off of you but staying close. “Guess I did my job right, then.” He smirks, but before you can throw a pillow at him, he leans in, brushing his lips over your forehead. “C’mon, let’s get cleaned up.”

He helps you up, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist as you both make your way to the bathroom. He’s gentle as he runs a warm washcloth over your skin, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your shoulders, wherever he can reach. It’s such a contrast from the heat of earlier, but it makes your heart swell all the same.

Once you’re both cleaned up, you slip on one of Chris’s hoodies- something oversized and soft- and climb into bed. Chris follows, pulling you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as he buries his face in your hair.

“Love you,” he mumbles sleepily, his lips brushing against your temple.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Love you too, Chris.”

TWO MONTHS LATER

You groan, dropping your forehead against the kitchen counter as another wave of nausea rolls through you. “Ugh, I feel awful.”

Chris looks up from where he’s leaning against the fridge, brows furrowing with concern. “Still feeling sick, baby?”

You nod, rubbing your stomach with a frown. “Yeah… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep feeling nauseous at the most random times. And I swear, I smelled coffee earlier, and it made me want to throw up.”

Chris winces, stepping closer and rubbing a hand up and down your back soothingly. “I’m so sorry, baby. Can I do anything?”

You shake your head, sighing. “I don’t even know what would help. It’s just been happening out of nowhere.”

Chris presses a kiss to the side of your head, his touch warm and comforting. “Maybe you just ate something bad? Or you’re stressed?”

“Maybe,” you mumble, but you’re not entirely convinced. “Are you sure the chicken last night was fully cooked?”

“I check it twice. It was.” Chris gives you a sympathetic look. “Tell you what- I’ll make you some tea, and then we can just chill on the couch, yeah? I’ll rub your back, we can watch whatever dumb reality show you wanna put on.”

That makes you smile a little, and you nod. “Okay. That sounds nice. Thank you baby.”

Chris grins, pressing another kiss to your forehead before heading to the kettle. “Anything for my girl.”

ONE WEEK LATER

You groan as you lean over the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on your face in a desperate attempt to shake off the lingering nausea. It’s been happening every morning now- like clockwork. And as much as you’d been hoping it was just a stomach bug or something that would pass, it wasn’t going anywhere.

“Baby?” Chris’s voice is groggy, laced with sleep as he steps into the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. “You okay?”

You let out a slow breath, gripping the edge of the counter. “Same as yesterday. And the day before that.”

Chris frowns, stepping closer, his hands settling on your waist as he looks you over. His touch is warm and grounding, but when his thumbs brush against your sides, you wince subconsciously.

Chris notices immediately, his brows drawing together. “Hey… why’d you flinch?”

You shake your head, still trying to wake up fully. “I didn’t-” But then his hands slide up a little higher, skimming under your hoodie, and the moment his thumbs brush against the curve of your breasts, you jolt.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Whoa. Okay. That was a reaction.”

You frown, stepping back slightly, your arms crossing over your chest. “They’ve just been… weirdly sensitive lately.”

Chris tilts his head, his gaze flicking down before his lips curl into the smallest smirk. “Not to mention…” His hands return to your sides, his touch slow, almost hesitant. “Baby, I swear to God, they look bigger. Like huge. It makes me so horny.”

You scoff. “Chris!”

“I’m serious!” He gives you a pointed look, stepping back just enough to take you in. “They’re… I don’t know, plumper? And you’ve been nauseous for over a week. You’re throwing up every morning. You don’t think…?”

You blink at him, brows furrowing. “Think what?”

Chris’s expression shifts- something between excitement and pure realization flickering across his face. He licks his lips, searching your eyes, almost as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“Baby,” he says slowly, carefully, “you don’t think you could be… pregnant?”

The words hang between you, heavy and thick in the quiet morning air. Your stomach twists- but not from nausea this time.

Your lips part slightly, a small laugh slipping out- almost disbelieving. “Chris, there’s no way…” But then, as you say it, the last few weeks flash through your mind. The exhaustion. The cravings. The nausea. The sensitivity. The way you haven’t used a condom with him in months and he hasn’t been pulling out.

Chris watches you closely, his smirk fading into something softer, more serious. His hands settle on your hips again, thumbs rubbing slow circles. “Baby,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, “when’s the last time you had your period?”

Your stomach drops. Your mind races as you try to remember, but the more you think about it, the more your chest tightens. You should’ve had it by now. You always keep track. But with everything going on, you hadn’t even noticed.

Chris sees the realization hit you. His hands tighten just slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. “Shit,” you whisper.

Chris lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah. Shit.”

You look up at him, heart pounding, eyes wide. “Chris… what if I am?”

He’s silent for a moment. Just looking at you. And then, slowly, his lips curl into a grin.

“Guess we should find out.”

Chris doesn’t waste a second. The moment the realization fully settles between you, he’s already moving. He grabs his phone and wallet off the nightstand, shoving his feet into the closest pair of sneakers.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before darting toward the front door.

You blink, still in shock. “Wait- Chris, where are you-”

But he’s already gone.

You stand there for a moment, your heartbeat thudding in your ears. This has to be a joke, right? There’s no way this is actually happening. But as you place a hand over your stomach, the reality starts creeping in.

A few minutes later, you hear the front door swing open again, followed by the unmistakable crinkle of plastic bags.

“Alright, baby, let’s do this!” Chris’s voice is practically beaming as he jogs back into the bedroom, his arms full of pregnancy tests. You stare in disbelief as he drops multiple boxes onto the bed, some falling onto the floor in the process.

“Chris,” you say slowly, eyes widening. “What the fuck is this?”

“Options,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I got every brand they had. Digital ones, line ones, ones that apparently have smiley faces-” He pauses, flipping a box over before tossing it onto the pile. “I didn’t know there were this many kinds, honestly, but we’re covering all bases.”

You shake your head, staring at the sheer amount of tests in front of you. “Ten tests, Chris?”

“At least ten,” he corrects, grinning.

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “Why are you so happy about this?”

Chris hesitates for half a second before letting out a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Honestly? I don’t know. I just… am.”

You search his face, expecting to see panic or nerves, but all you find is pure excitement- like he wants this. Like the idea of you possibly carrying his baby is something he’s already embracing.

Your stomach twists, but not in a bad way. It’s terrifying and overwhelming, but with the way he’s looking at you, it also feels… oddly okay.

Chris claps his hands together, bringing you back to reality. “Alright, let’s go. Go pee on some sticks.”

You snort despite yourself. “Some?”

“All of them,” he corrects, already scooping up the tests into his arms. “We need solid confirmation, baby. I need a goddamn unanimous decision from these things.”

Shaking your head, you exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair before turning toward the bathroom. “This is insane.”

Chris follows right behind you, grinning. “This is science.”

You roll your eyes, but as you close the bathroom door behind you, Chris leans against the sink, watching you with nothing but warmth in his gaze.

“Whatever happens,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, “we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Your chest tightens, and you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

“Wait! Let me see what they say first. Don’t pee on anything!” Chris rips open one of the boxes with the same energy he probably had during his high school finals. He pulls out the instructions, unfolds them with an exaggerated flourish, and clears his throat.

“Alright,” he announces, squinting at the paper. “Step one: Remove the test from the wrapper.”

You snatch a test from one of the open boxes and rip it open with ease. “Done.”

Chris nods approvingly, scanning the next step. “Step two: Hold the absorbent tip in your urine stream for five seconds. Or dip it in a cup of urine for twenty seconds.”

You give him a flat look. “Absorbent tip?”

“Hey, I’m just reading what it says,” Chris says, holding up his hands in defense. He glances down again, then smirks. “Oh- this part’s important: Make sure you don’t pee on the result window. We need a clear reading, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks for the groundbreaking information, Chris.”

“Just looking out for accuracy.”

You shake your head, but your heart is thudding in your chest. This is actually happening.

Chris notices your hesitation and softens slightly, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

Chris nods, setting the instructions down on the counter before placing his hands on your hips. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “No matter what happens, we’re in this together. Got it?”

You nod, exhaling against his chest. “Got it.”

He smiles, giving you a small squeeze before stepping back. “Alright, go do your thing. I’ll be right here, being incredibly supportive and not at all annoying.”

You snort. “Mhm.”

Chris gasps dramatically. “Wow. So much doubt for the man who just spent a ridiculous amount of money on pregnancy tests for you.”

Shaking your head, you grab the cup from the counter- because there’s no way you’re risking peeing on your own hand in the middle of a life-altering moment- and step toward the toilet. “Okay, turnaround now.”

Chris throws his hands up. “I literally fucked this baby into you?!”

“We don’t know if there’s a baby yet!” You roll your eyes but do what needs to be done, filling the cup and carefully dipping the first test. Then another. And another. You cycle through each one, following the ridiculous variety of instructions. Five seconds for one. Twenty seconds for another. One where you had to cap it immediately and lay it on a flat surface.

Chris stands by the counter, eyes wide as he watches you line up ten tests in a perfect row.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “That’s a lot of science happening at once.”

You let out a breath, setting the last test down. “Now what?”

Chris grabs one of the boxes, scanning the fine print. “Now we wait.”

You swallow hard, wiping your hands on a towel before gripping the edge of the sink. “How long?”

Chris squints at the instructions. “Three minutes.”

Three minutes.

Three minutes to find out if your whole world is about to change.

Chris must sense your nerves because he steps up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing your jaw. “I can set a timer. Or we can just stare at them aggressively until something happens.”

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning back against him. “Okay… let’s do it.”

Chris’s phone is already in his hand before you even say anything. He holds it up, pressing record with a grin.

“For our future kid,” he says, his voice full of barely contained excitement.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You don’t even know if it’s positive yet.”

Chris smirks, shaking his head. “I have a feeling, baby.”

Your stomach twists as you reach for the first test. Your fingers tremble slightly, and you can feel Chris’s anticipation radiating off of him. With a deep breath, you flip it over.

Two lines.

Positive.

Your heart stops.

Chris lets out a sharp inhale, but before either of you can fully process it, you reach for the second test.

Positive.

The third.

Positive.

Every. Single. One.

Chris stares at them for half a second before a wide grin spreads across his face. “Holy shit.” His phone lowers slightly as he turns to look at you, his eyes shining. “Baby- holy shit!”

Before you can react, he grabs you, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. You gasp, gripping his shoulders as a laugh bubbles out of you, your nerves momentarily forgotten.

“Chris!” You giggle, clinging to him as he twirls you.

“I knew it,” he exclaims, setting you down just enough to crash his lips against yours. The kiss is heated, desperate, but full of so much love that your chest tightens.

Then, before you even realize it, tears start slipping down your cheeks. You pull back slightly, your hand flying to your stomach as a sob escapes you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Our baby is in my stomach.”

Chris freezes, his hands still gripping your waist. He stares at you like he’s just now fully comprehending it, like the reality of it all is truly sinking in. His lips part slightly, his breath hitching.

“Our baby,” he murmurs, and the way he says it- so full of awe, of love- makes your heart ache.

But then, almost instantly, his entire demeanor shifts. His grip tightens, his eyes darting around the room like his brain is moving a mile a minute.

“Shit. I need to tell my mom. And my dad. And my brothers.” He steps back, running a hand through his hair, pacing slightly. “What about your family? Should we call them first? And the apartment- fuck, we need to start looking at places with an extra room. Or at least be ready for when she grows up- ”

You blink. “She?”

Chris stops, looking at you dead serious. “I don’t know, baby, I just know. I have this gut feeling that my new babygirl is growing inside you right now.”

Your heart clenches at the sheer certainty in his voice.

But then he’s spiraling again. “Oh God, we don’t have anything for a baby. I need to research cribs- what’s the safest crib? And strollers- shit, what’s a good stroller brand? I don’t know anything about strollers! And- fuck, baby, we’re twenty-one. I haven’t even married you yet!”

He turns to you, panic written all over his face now, and for the first time ever, you’re the calm one.

You step forward, reaching for his hands, squeezing them tightly. “Chris, baby, breathe.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly, but he listens, taking a deep inhale as his eyes lock onto yours.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, pressing his hands against your stomach. “The way you reacted tells me all I need to know. You’re gonna be an amazing father.”

Chris swallows hard, his panic giving way to something softer, more vulnerable. His fingers flex against your stomach, like he’s already trying to connect with the tiny life growing inside you.

“You think so?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You smile, cupping his face. “I know so.”

Chris exhales shakily, closing his eyes for a moment before leaning forward, resting his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too.”

And in that moment, standing there in the tiny bathroom with ten positive pregnancy tests lined up on the counter, everything feels exactly as it should be.

MASTERLIST

tags: @bernardsbendystraws @mattsobvimyfav @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

[suiana]

boyfriend! xavier who sleeps like a fucking log. wtf do you mean you slept for 24 hours!!! boy wake tf up!!! 😂😂😂 an ideal date with this man is probably just sleeping together in BED. no walking, no eating, just sleep. yeah. preferably together in his bed, with him cuddling you.

boyfriend! zayne who gets stunned when you bring up an apple whenever you have a fight with him. ok, so he's a doctor??? is an apple going to stop him from trying to comfort you??? what do you mean yes??? an apple a day keeps the doctor away???

boyfriend! rafayel who acts like the world is crashing down on him whenever you take more than a minute to reply. you have OTHER things to worry about? what are you talking about? HE should be the only thing you're worrying about 😒 work? filing reports? sure but what about HIM!!!

boyfriend! sylus who lowkey looks like a red flag because of his... job that he calls his fruit business??? boy you are NOT selling fruits sit DOWN. he's a green flag wearing red clothes but that's all that's red to him because he really is the most loving man you'll ever meet ☹️❤️

boyfriend! caleb who actually IS a red flag. yeah sure he might be your childhood friend but can't he be possessive AND your childhood friend? why have one when you can have both🤑😍 bet bro was also the one who gave you the apple to wave at zayne. what? he's just keeping you... safe! yeah, safe from your other childhood friend. totally ☺️

[inbabylontheywept]

Babylon and the Duck of Butter

I have a gift for falling in love with random objects. One time, my aunt got me a little rubber chicken, and whenever I squoze it, a little egg thing popped out. Very silly. Except that chicken became something like my best friend. I carried it with me to school, and I kept it with me in my pocket, and whatever social hazards there were about Being The Guy Who Got Stressed Whenever His Rubber Chicken Was Missing were far outweighed by being The Guy Who ALWAYS Had a Rubber Chicken On Him. There's a lot of comedic opportunity that comes with always having a good prop on your person.

Of course, the chicken did eventually. Explode. And such was my grief that I did not eat for 36 hours. This was very stressful for many people. Mostly my mom. I was a very strange child to work with. She took parenting so incredibly seriously, and then I'd pitch her these curve balls like refusing to eat for a day and a half because my rubber chicken died. No parenting book tells you what to do when that happens. You just have to feel it in your heart.

A less tragic story of an object that I fell in love with was a large, foam toad that I found in a trinket shop. The toad was the size of a very large grapefruit. Much too large to carry with me to school (thank god) but enough that I could move it around the house, to keep me company during my solitary pursuits. If I was reading, the toad was there, and if I was tinkering with legos, the toad was there, and even when I slept, I would wrap the toad up in layers and layers of blankets, and then spoon it. I did this until the rubber coating on the foam started to wear out, and the foam started to get brittle and break down and leak this repulsive yellow powder. Then I simply put the toad in the playroom and would consult it on matters of great importance. Eventually I stopped doing that, and someone took the opportunity to dispose of it. Not sure who. By the time I noticed its absence, too much time had passed for me to actually be sad. As an adult, part of me thinks I would have maybe liked burying the toad, but part of me also thinks I might have refused to part with the toad, which would have resulted in it leaking more repulsive yellow powder into the house. So I understand why that decision was made. 

I want to state that this does not happen often, and it does not happen on purpose. I don't choose to fall in love with random objects. And it's always a little bit embarrassing when it happens. 

Which brings me to my wife. 

Before meeting my wife, I did not often go to places with crowds. I didn't really think of it as avoiding them - those places just didn't seem fun to me. But she liked those places, and I really liked her, and being with someone who really likes something can kind of sell you on liking it too, so I'd take her to places and watch her Visibly Enjoy the Fair and go: Alright. The fair is pretty sweet.  

Which is a thing that happened. After fourish months of dating, I took her to the fair. And she fell very visibly in love with a large series of quilts, and she stayed near them for a while, which she thought was very embarrassing, and I got to pretend to be understanding as an outsider, because I thought it would be much more impressive than also being the type of person that would fall in love with a quilt. 

Do not do this. The gods punishment for my hubris was that the room next to the quilts was full of butter sculptures, which was an entirely new thing to me, and I immediately fell embarrassingly in love with all of them. It was like the biggest, sappiest non-sexual crush you've ever had, but not only did the other person not recipropcate, they could not, because they were made of butter. I actually got yelled at for pressing my face against the glass, which is fair, but also, I hadn't realized I was pressing my face on the glass, I just started leaning forward because after approximately 30 minutes of staring wistfully at a cow made of butter my legs got tired. And I think I should be given some grace for that.

Anyway. My wife was very patient with me taking more time to look at the butter sculptures than the average person might spent at the Louvre, and she also felt much less embarrassed over falling in love with a quilt, and we had a good laugh about it on the ferris wheel. 

A few weeks after that was my birthday. And I don't know what I expected, exactly - but I did not expect what she did. 

Dear reader, she made me a butter sculpture. Of a duck.

She picked a duck, because our first kiss was at a Japanese friendship garden. It was our second date, and she'd made up her mind not to do any kissing until the third date, but as we sat on the grass, a duck walked past me, and I'd just seen the hold-duck-gentle-like-hamgurber meme,

so I sort of impulsively reached out and snatched it. I honestly didn't think it would work. I don't know who was more flabbergasted, me or the duck. But we looked at each other, and then I looked at her, and then she looked at the duck, and she looked so incredibly envious that I assumed that must have wanted the duck so I just handed it to her.

It turned out she was actually envious of the ability to just grab a duck as it walked by, but she accepted the duck and stroked it a few times before releasing it. (She also made up her mind to kiss me in that moment, which was very nice.)  

Anyway.

She made me a butter duck of my own. Obviously, I fell in love with it immediately. I cleared out all of the freezer-portion of my mini fridge, and I put the duck in there, and for the next several months, when I felt sad, or lonely, I would open the door up and spent some quality time. Just me and my duck.

But this is, of course, not the end of the story. 

Because.

After several months. 

The mini fridge died. 

I really didn't use it that often. It was mostly my duck storage container. But one day, I walked by it, and it struck me that it wasn't humming. So I opened the door, and it was just. Far, far too late. The duck was dead. Dead dead. Turned into a foul-smelling slime dead. 

I cried. I did. After the rubber chicken thing, I thought I had changed, but I had not changed, and the unexpected death of my butter buddy left me pretty shook. I texted my then-girlfriend now-wife about how sad I was, and she actually came over to help me say goodbye. We didn't even bother scraping the duck out of the mini-fridge, we just said our goodbyes to both and threw them together in the nice dumpster behind the chapel, because it seemed appropriate to put it in God's dumpster. And it did actually help quite a bit. I certainly did not go 36 hours without eating again. 

And that was, for some time, the end of the butter duck. 

However. Three (or four?) years ago, for my birthday, my wife was looking around thrift stores. And she found something interesting. 

The original butter duck had an odd pose. She'd sculpted it laying flat, intending to raise it up later. But the butter was less flexible than she thought, and she was afraid of cracking it so she left it down which left the duck with a very elongated, very in-motion appearance. And she found a brass statue of a duck in the same, running posture.

It wasn't the original. But it was oddly on the nose. It was a yellow brass, it had the same strange posture, the same crude little face feathers. 

I think it was $3, but it remains perhaps the most thoughtful gift I have ever received. I got very choked up when I unwrapped Butter Duck, The UnDying. 

Pic provided.

[venmondiese]

MELT AN IGLOO

-ˋˏ| summary: Summer in the south makes the temperature go high, so when your friends say that their cousin's house has a pool, you'll take the chance to refresh yourself... and maybe do more.

✧ | Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader

✧ | word count: 5.8k

✧ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, age gap (reader is 20, aemond is 27), P in V sex, Oral sex (F receiving), creampie, reader is a menance... aemond is a perv.

✧ | notes: based on Igloo by Kiss of Life

Summer was the time of the year where you shined. 

College in Old town was a good option, and you made tons of new friends, including Baela and Rhaena, both twins with different majors. Rhaena studied arts while Baela studied Literature. Though you studied the same thing as Baela, you and Rhaena had more in common. 

You two liked flirting, and giggled when you got a new crush. You were young, and a bit stupid. Whatever, you just turned twenty and life was barely starting with an intense feeling of juvenile freedom. 

While Rhaena settled more for relationships, you were more into casual things. You never paid in clubs as most guys would invite rounds of drinks for you and your friends, and you surely rewarded that behaviour. You got rides from men when you went to parties, and some times, you’d go out on dates. Your friends always joked that you never lacked Vitamin D.

You were from the North, and so the south provided you with more freedom, thanks to you being completely on your own and not on the judging eyes of your surroundings, no one knew you in Old Town. The restrictions previously provided felt something far away now, as your life was different. 

With that, something annoyed that came along with living in the South was the weather. You almost forgot that Old town was so near to Dorne, and the heat was unbelievable.  The hot weather every fucking day, and you couldn’t escape it. No matter what you did, it was impossible to stay away from it. 

Since Rhaena and Baela lived in the same complex of apartments (provided by the university) that you, you three got together to discuss what to do:

Go to the beach. Natural decision, since Old town has beautiful beaches and clear water, and the docks were beautiful. That’s the main issue, if you didn’t get in the right time, all of them where full. 

Install Air Conditioning in your rooms. No, too expensive. 

Go to one of the water parks. It was madly expensive for them to be full of people. }

Go to one of your friend’s apartments that had a pool for the residents. At first it was cool; you went and had a great time. But after a while, it was starting to look as if you three were taking advantage of it. 

After those infallible four ideas, and a week full of high temperatures Rhaena and Baela got an idea. Even if they were raised and bred from one of the most prestigious and rich families, their parents wouldn’t just gift them an apartment, so they rely on the one provided by the scholarship in college. And their family was miles away…

Except their cousin. 

You weren’t exactly sure of their relationship with this cousin of theirs, since they were open about other family members, always with a fond tone. The only thing you had heard is “He is our cousin who lives here in Old Town” and that’s all. 

The background information they give you is that he is twenty seven, finishing his doctorate and giving classes about Valyrian culture or Philosophy in the faculty. When you asked them why they didn’t live with him, they just shrugged and said that he was kind of a lonely dude and they weren’t that close. 

“And he is okay with us… going to his house to use the pool” you say as you three are on the uber to get to the house of this mysterious cousin of theirs.

“I meaaaan…” Rhaena says “We have the key to his place; he gave it to us in case of emergencies.”

“Valid reason. Dying of heat seems like an emergency to me” you shrugged. 

“And besides, we bring ice cream, beer and we bought him a red velvet cake to bribe him” Baela adds with a confident nod. “Just straight out to the pool, and no getting into his stuff and we’ll be okay”

“And he doesn’t have like a… girlfriend” You ask amused. “If you aren’t close, she might think we are robbing the house”

“Yeah, right” Baela chuckles, her eyebrows rising playfully “As if we would steal in our swimsuits”

“Besides he isn’t dating. He isn’t married either”

“I thought you said this dude is old” 

“Twenty six is old but not old old” Rhaena objects, almost meekly.

“We are not going over the Corwyn thing again. He is sixteen years older than you!” Baela reminds her twin

“I am with Garmund now, duh”

The conversation dies when the uber informs you that you have arrived at the sector of Houses where their cousin lives. Even if Rhaena and Baela take some time trying to figure out which key is it to open the house, after a while you were in. 

The house was as if come out of stock. It had some sober colours and one fine painting, but if your friends hadn’t told you otherwise, you would think no one lived here.

As Baela sets the food in the fridge, Rhaena moves the sliding door to the pool. “Nice… I never thought his yard would look this modern.”

“Why?” You ask, setting your thing in one of the chairs nearby as you take off your dress. 

“He is such a nerd for ancient Valyrian stuff. I figured his house had the same style.” 

At least the first hour was calm and at peace. Baela had music at a fair low volume, as you three swam and hanged around, using the floats that the twins brought along, since they were 99% sure that his cousin didn’t have anything fun, like a Bluetooth speaker, floats for the pool or ice cream. 

You weren’t a big fan of beer, not like Baela was, at least. Rhaena and you liked more sweet flavours, but you weren’t going to be picky in this situation. You chat all the time, as you take sun in the reclining chair that was in the yard. Rhaena speaks about her new relationship with Garmund, about meeting his family and her dad’s reaction. Baela instead tells you about her friends of her career, who were clinically insane. 

When it was your turn to speak, the twins’ cousin comes home. 

“I believe I told you the key was for emergencies” He says in an annoyed tone as he turns off the speaker. He was wearing a suit (in this heat…) and you noticed the scar on his left eye. “And it was to keep your mother not freaking out about you two being alone in this part of the continent.”

“Aemond, we are sorry, but it is so hot! We needed somewhere to hang out” Rhaena says, standing up. She was wearing a pink swimsuit, and her hair was beautifully braided. “You wouldn’t have let us come here without an excuse”

“You are right, I wouldn’t” he says crossing his arms. He would obviously refuse. “And why is your little friend here?” He asks raising one eyebrow upon seeing you. 

“Oh, come on, she is our closest friend” Rhaena says. “We won’t trash anything. We won’t put loud music, we won’t enter the house while wet… please, cousin!”

“You are our only family here” Baela adds, not quite begging as Rhaena, but still. “We bought you beers…, and ice cream…. and red velvet… we know you like it”

You see as Aemond roll his eyes. You sit up, pulling your glasses to your head to look at him better. He was hot. Hot with bold, capital letters. He was HOT. He had the same Valyrian features than the twins, but his were sharper and much more distinctive. He wore black and white even in a day this hot and that was commitment, to which you thanked because he looked hotter in a suit and tie. 

He also looked older than you three, obviously, he was six years older than the twins, and seem more mature and serious, if anything a bit stoic and cold, but God damn you if it didn’t make him more attractive. You wanted this man. You wanted this man bad. 

“Fine. You can stay” He agrees reluctantly, a hand on his forehead as a disappointed dad would. Fuck, he is so hot “Don’t do anything stupid. No destroying my house, no destroying my pool, no getting drunk. Am I clear?”

“Yes” both twins say under their breath. 

“And control that little friend of yours” He orders before stepping back inside, leaving you three to it. 

Baela and Rhaena sit by your side, on the other chairs as they sigh. 

“You didn’t mention your cousin was hot” it’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth. 

“Ewww” Baela says scrunching her face. “It’s our cousin!” She says, low so he can’t eavesdrop. “And he is old”

“You say he wasn’t old old” 

“He isn’t that old, Baela”

“Come on, he is Aemond. The guy who used to bring his lizard pet in all family functions, I have never seen him with a girl except with that weird aunt that Jace has… still, never brought her to family functions”

“Yeah, like he is… okay, I guess, but I don’t think a pretty girl like you can take Aemond’s… personality so lightly”

“Yeah, and he looks like he has the weirdest kinks possible”

“He is still hot to me” You say playfully. “Come on. Look. Let’s say… I manage to fuck him” You start your chat, and Baela makes a disgusted sound, but you ignore it “Then he’ll let us use the pool more often. Problem solved, everyone happy”

“You think Aemond would be up for that? Not to be on Baela’s side but Aemond is a bit…” Rhaena leans to whisper the last part. “Cold. Like an igloo… or an Iceberg”

“A man that has sex with you won’t miss a chance to see you with little clothes.” You say it as if reciting wise words. “I lose nothing trying.”

“We might lose the access to this house, mind you” Rhaena says amused. 

“Come on, we’ll even invite Garmund. Isn’t he like Aemond’s cousin?” you ask her.

“Yeah”

“Well, then. I am fucking that man” 

With that, you stand, wrapping a sarong around your hip, and put on your sandals in quite a confident mood as you her Rhaena say to her sister.

“I sure hope the house have thick walls”

You give them a wink before you walk inside. You were pretty dry thanks to the sun, and you usually didn’t swim a lot. Your hair was in a messy bun, slightly wet with some messy strands. 

You want this Aemond guy. You like him. He has that aura of mystery that you like in a man. You liked cold men; they usually were the most sexually frustrated, and therefore, a great fuck, in your opinion.

“Oh, hey...” You say softly, looking at him, sitting on the couch as he held the computer on his lap, a hand resting on his mouth as he was focused on reading some work related stuff or something. “Do you mind if I have a beer…?” you ask nonchalantly. 

“Help yourself” he says dryly, not moving his gaze from the lecture on his computer. “Beer’s on the fridge”

You went to the fridge, and took two cold beers. You silently prayed to get that dick. 

“I brought you one, if you wanted…” You say softly, extending one to him pretending to be clueless.

“I don’t like beer”

“Oh…”

“I’ll have it anyways, darling’.” He says, finally moving his gaze away from the computer. 

He takes a sip, and before he can throw you out to the yard, you say. “I am sorry to… invade your home” 

“It’s fine” He murmurs, turning his eyes to observe you. You do not know what is it that his mind thinks, but you can see his eyes moving along your body, even if they are subtle. “How long have you been their friend?”

“Quite a while, now. Maybe… like two years?”

He nods softly. He isn’t chatty or open. But he doesn’t make you leave either. 

“Are you anything like them?” You look at him with a confused expression, to which he chuckles lowly. “As immature, I mean”

“I am mature for my age, I have been told”

“Oh, so you have, Hun…” He says amused, watching something on the screen of his computer. 

“But, I am like them, I guess. Me and Rhaena are twins” you say smirking proudly. You loved matching with her, clothes, music, sometimes you would make out with a dude and her with his twin. It was great.

“Let me guess, you are into pink, and men just thinks you are so pretty” He says in a mocking tone as he types some things on his computer. It seems effortless to focus at two things in the same time when you are Aemond Targaryen. 

“Well, they do. And I think I am” you say sitting slightly on the armrest of the chair, holding the still closed beer bottle in your hands.

Aemond raises an eyebrow as he types a bit more, and once he finishes, his gaze turns up to see you. He seems…intrigued. Looking at you as if you were a foreign creature on his territory, which, to be fair, you are. 

Yet there is something else on his gaze, which you can with certainty say that it’s lust. When he sees you, as if judging for himself, you think what your next step should be. You look at him with the same intensity, and also sharing the same feelings. He was hot, and totally your type. You liked serious guys, who wore suits and seem over your shit. It was hot, and it made you horny. Sometimes guys were following you around like puppies, but this… Coldness was much more exciting. 

“Well, yes. You are pretty”

“Thank you.” You say simply, seeing how he accomodates the laptop on his lap, his jaw tense. “You are handsome yourself”

“You should get back to your friends before they come inside, all soaking from the pool”

“Oh, they know I am here” you say shrugging, looking intently at him.

“Well, aren’t you a clever girl” 

There was an implication about his tone, the way his hungry gaze looks at you as he closes his laptop. Could you really have made it? You don’t believe it. 

He stands up, his beer almost empty, and he walks past you as he holds it out for you. “Finish it, if you want.”

Perhaps it was a test, as you were still holding your own cold beer bottle. Damn, you don’t even like beer that much. It is a bit bitter, and it leaves the taste on your tongue far too long for your taste. Still, you do not care for that. Whatever, fuck the taste. You grab the beer with a faint, almost too taken aback to come up with something witty or even remotely seductive. 

He goes to his kitchen, and you can see him check the window, to see Baela and Rhaena, probably, before opening his fridge. The open kitchen allowed you to see his every movements as you drink the beer, letting it past without a second  thought, the faster, the better; so the taste isn’t impregnated on your tongue. 

“You have a girlfriend?” you ask, trying to sound disinterested and innocent enough.

“Ha, now you are being cheeky” he mutters closing his fridge leaving the food on the countertop.

“I am just curious…” You say standing up, and walking towards the kitchen. He is half amused, as he scoffs. 

“I don’t.”

“Oh. Good...”

He doesn’t answer. 

You aren’t a silly girl, as most men think you are. You just like to play around, and ‘use them for evil’ as you colourfully put it. And besides, most men that were interested in you were older. You are in pubs, bars and parties. Beaches, and in the houses of your friends, enjoying the parties. You simply don’t go unnoticed, and you don’t mind that, even if men older than you, by more than ten years, approach you with a different pick up line and practically an imminent erection. 

You can’t deny the attention, of course. With Aemond is no different, but this time is you the one approaching him, trying by any way to manage to melt his icy facade, the one who lets out all of his carnal, primitive desires. It seems as his stoicism is stopping him from doing things he’d enjoy. And with that, anything could be what tips him off the edge. 

“Are you that busy?” You ask as he makes himself a cup of coffee. 

“Nothing I can’t handle, but I haven’t had a moment to myself in days”

You watch him make himself a cup of coffee, as you bit your lip softly. You are getting squirmy, not knowing how to go forward. There is something, he is interested but not quite to take a step. And you don’t know how to push it, should you simply pull the strings of your bikini top and wait for the best? Should you just get in your knees and undo his belt? 

“Look, darling’, no offense, but the last thing I need is a pretty girl hanging around me” He says as he sips his coffee, as he moves from his spot, coffee in hand, probably to go back to his laptop. 

Before he can walk past you, you say. “I think you do need a pretty girl around you”

He stops upon hearing your words, dangerously close to you. You look at him, as if the answer was obvious; and for you, it was. You were practically naked on his kitchen, throwing yourself at him and more than willing to be fucked mercilessly by him, however he wants. You wouldn’t reject it, and you think that he knows that too.

“You think so?” He asks, his gaze turning shamelessly down at your lips, and then at your face as his tone is one of pure smugness.

“Yes. And you have one right here now”

Perhaps he knows he shouldn’t. A friend of his cousins, younger than him… yet even if he thinks that, it does not stop him, not after you have been persistent, trying and following him like a puppy. 

One of his hands finds it was to her hip, pressing her closer to him as he lets himself feel you before capturing your lips in a hungry, sloppy kiss. It wasn’t delicate or gentle, but rather raw and full of need – by both parties. You longed this, and this feel like a sweet reward, your body against his as you two share quite the messy kiss, for god knows how long.

Aemond held you in his arms, a bit possessive, if anything. You liked a possessive man, and in Aemond seem like the perfect trait.  As the kiss stop, you lean to press a little kiss on his jaw, and it only serves for him to wrap one of his arms around your waist. 

You let a little moan of satisfaction as you feel his big hand move down to your ass. Your body is pressed against his, and he wastes no time when his hand starts groping your ass, his breath hits your cold shoulder as you bite your lip. 

Gods, he was so hot. You were so into older dudes, and Aemond was a perfect combination of everything you fancied on a man. 

“You really are a cheeky slut, uh?” Aemond asks his voice sultry as he gropes your ass.

“Yes, sir” you say in a sigh, and his hand moves away to spank you hard on the ass. It made you let out a whimper; it was a delicious sting that you loved. 

“Good” he mutters.

You were too horny, and followed him blindly to his room. You know this will be worth it. A good time, a free pass for his pool for you and the twins… and having a good fuck. 

He closes the door of his bedroom, and he sees you sitting on the feet of his bed. 

“You’ll be the death of me” he says, tsking as he undoes his belt, you take off your sandals quickly as well “You little brat”

You bite your lip as you see him. He is infuriated with you, and part of you wonders how it would be if you were his girlfriend. He’d fuck you in the morning, surely, and at the evening when he gets back from work too. Maybe he’d fuck you at night too. 

He’d probably plan dates just to get to fuck you long and hard afterwards, you hated when men did that. But with him? You didn’t mind.  

“Lay back, doll”

You don’t need to be told twice. When you try to take off your bikini, he stops you. 

“I said, lay back” he says again, sternly. He had that inherent scolding tone, the same he used for Baela and Rhaena when he got home. It made you so wet, it was wicked.

He takes off the sarong, and you look at him, biting your lip. “I’m really horny” you whine.

“Hmm…” he hums, moving his hand from your stomach and higher, pulling the top of your bikini up. You could easily take it off, but with clothes on and open… it was hotter. 

He gropes your tits, as he settles between your legs. He seems to enjoy the view of it as well, as he bites his lip and his breath becomes heavy with uncontrollable lust. 

“You body is perfect, princess. But you know that, hm?” He asks, meeting your gaze as you bite your lip. You nod softly, as if coy of that. “Is your pussy as perfect? Hm?” To your silence, he keeps the lustful tone “Shall we see?”

He holds your calves with one hand, and he doesn’t care about removing the panties of your bikini. He pulls it to the side with his other hand, crouching down to be at the same height of your already wet cunt. Gods, you were so wet for him, it was driving you insane. 

He murmurs something you can’t hear completely, before he leans his head closer to your puffy cunt. You feel his breath, and his tongue is what makes you sigh in delight. His tongue delves into your folds, savouring the taste of you. A little sweet, a little bitter. 

The position makes it all more cramped, yet Aemond moves both of his hands to keep your legs just like that, not so tight together, but still. A groan rumbles on his chest, as he laps consistently at your folds. It’s as if he wanted to take his time, yet he was eager for more of your taste. 

“So wet already” He murmurs, his face separating a bit as he leans back to see your pussy. 

Without missing a beat, his mouth is against your dripping sex, as he delights himself. He is making you let out moans, and some pretty embarrassing sounds. You move one of your hands to your mouth, biting your index finger as if to shush your sounds. 

As Aemond focuses his attention on your clit, it had you rolling your eyes, his mouth around it suckling the nub and his hands spreading your legs further to allow him more access. The twins lied when they pictured him like some kind of hermit, because he knew how to eat a pussy.

His tongue swirls around your clit with too much expertise for him only to have had ‘one casual girlfriend’. His thumb moves to your hole, as if stroking it gently, rubbing circles around it but not pushing it inside yet. 

“Wait...” you moan breathlessly, trying to move your legs away from his from grip. “I don’t wanna cum yet”

You definitely can’t wipe the smirk on his face, as he pulls back. His hands pull your thighs together, then to move his right hand to wipe some remnants of your wetness out of his face. 

“You were the one insinuating yourself to me, princess.”

“Just fuck me, please…” You find yourself asking for it, as you look at him. Aemond simply does not let you move your legs, but you are at his mercy in this.

“Oh, I will” He says, standing up as he runs a hand through his hair, messy from the amount of times he's been running it over it and movements of his head when eating her out. 

He pulls your body closer to his, your hips were resting above a pillow, close to the edge of the bed, and you have to re-accommodate the other pillow under your head. 

Totally a pillow princess, but you do not care. 

Aemond undoes his belt, and pulls out his cock. It’s a nice cock, and you can say that confidently, after seeing tons of different ones. His is nice, a nice girth and big as you like. He is groomed enough, he isn’t hairless, but you notice that he does take care of himself, seeing the pale bush at the base of his cock and to his pelvis. You wanted for him to take out his clothes, but since there were still the twins around, it was a better idea to do it with the clothes on. 

You can see how red the tip already is, leaking and almost asking for relief. How you’d suck that cock, starting by suckling the tip and then deep throat the rest of it, probably gagging and choking in the process. Aemond seems like type who likes a girl gagging on his cock. 

And his balls? You would not neglect them either, you’d have them in your mouth, and making sure they don’t go unattended by either your mouth or your hands. Hell, no part of him would go unattended by you at this point, no after the way he eats pussy.

“Ready, princess?” He asks, his stiff cock pressed on your hole, and you nod softly. “No witty words?”

“You are making fun of me” You say, as he moves your legs to be more pressed against your chest. You feel the head of his cock probing into your folds, teasing you.

“I am not, doll”

“Just fuck me” you say, almost impatient. You were on the edge of your orgasm when he ate you out, and you pushed it away to be able to cum in his cock like you wanted to do when you first saw him. “No need of a condom, I am on the pill since forever”

You don’t really need to pursue him any longer, as he positions himself on your entrance and pushes inside little by little.  He tries to be a gentleman, you can notice, but he is holding back still. By how his grip is more than just to keep your legs firm, is more to keep his control, which little by little he is letting it, slip away.

You know a perv man when you see one. Maybe not your most admissible type, but whatever, everyone has a dirty secret. And maybe this was Aemond’s; you know he is a pervert. You don’t know how, which category… you can’t even think when his cock is pushing inside you in such a delicious way.  You just know it.

By the way once he manages to be deep inside you, and he starts to push back to thrust inside you, and the way he mutters curses under his breath. 

“Feel how deep inside it is, darling?” He asks, his tone strained as he bites his lip. 

You can feel it, alright. And you look at him with half lidded eyes, yet you see how he keeps his groans for himself by biting his lip.

“Fuck me hard” you whisper softly. “Don’t think about it. Just do it.” You say, trying to get him just to lose himself up. 

“You have no idea what you are askin–”

“I know exactly what I am talking” you cut him, your voice strained as you feel his cock.  “You don’t think I am a fragile girl still, do you?” 

His chuckle is low, as if he was annoyed. “There it is. Atta girl”

“And” you say as he moves his hips softly, in and out. Your feet curl at the feeling of his girth sliding through your walls, feeling each movement of his cock. “I want you to cum inside me, and feel your cum dripping out of me. Make me feel you for days.”

That seems to have pushed him over the edge. At least, you hope that it did, because you are eager for it. And in your opinion, it did. 

“You are going to be the death of me” With that, his hips pounds into you like a feral animal. 

That’s what he was, feral. He leans slightly more, his face above yours but still not as intimate as missionary should be. Your legs, still held together by his hand, would be all crampy by tomorrow, and he moves them both over his shoulder. Your left calf is resting against the curve of his neck, while your right one was a bit more stubborn, moving to the pointy bone at the edge of his shoulder. His other hand was at the side of head, as his hips just fuck into you as you requested.

His pounding is brutal, and he barely lets you breathe before he pounds again.  The sound of his balls hitting your flesh is obscene, and it is consistent, yet it made you grip his other shoulder, as you let a series of high moans.

“Ah, ah. Fuck…” you moans are loud, hopefully not so much, and your brow furrows in pleasure as his cock reaches all the right spots for you. This man could turn you into his sexual doll and you aren’t quite sure if he knows it yet. “So big inside me…”

“You asked for it, princess” he reminds you, as if reminding himself as well of it. His tone is rough, and he is focused on the tad at hand, fucking you merciless. 

You feel his hips crash on your to each brutal thrust, and the way his balls also does. It was dirty, and so hot that had you whimpering and letting out little squeals. He was definitely leaving you sore, yet it was a delicious stretch from everywhere. 

Your mind is all foggy and practically numb from pleasure, yet it leaves the wicked idea of sucking his cock. The sight had left you wanting more, to choke on that dick. 

You imagine how heavy it would feel on your mouth, how it would leak on your tongue. You’d love to suck him dry with your mouth right now, as he fucks you. Having both would be paradise, yet his cock can only do one at the time.

Instead, you take the hand holding your legs, and you decide to take his thumb in your mouth. His hand cups your face instinctively, and you moan at the feeling of satiating your craving.

“Dirty minx” he mutters seeing your lewd display, yet it has him grunting more. “All of your holes need attention, hm? All of them are equally needy” 

The wet sounds from his thrusting make it all more erotic, as you nod to his words, sucking his thumb for a bit. Your moans and feeling close to your orgasm make you stop sucking it, but enjoy. 

Aemond is enjoying it too, you can see how his face is pure pleasure as he grunts, his hand moving to move you legs lower his shoulders, but he grips on them as if to gain impulse to thrust you.

“Aren’t you close, doll?” He asks, his face leaning closer to yours.

“Yes” you moan, breathlessly, you tone is pathetic, almost like a sob and a whine. “Yes sir” you say, wickedly adding the nickname. 

“That’s it, doll, just like that” he says, close as well. His balls tighten up, and he leans down to capture your lips in another sloppy, messy kiss. 

You moan into his mouth, as the kiss becomes desperate and wetter than it needed to be. Whatever, you think. He fucks you just right. 

His hand falls to spank your ass, as if urging you cum. It does it three times in total, as he doesn’t separate your mouth from his. He was consuming you, and you didn’t care.

Your orgasm is strong, it has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head and twitching your legs from how good it feels. You tried to calm down your moans, but it felt too good to be good. To be fair, when you cummed you weren’t as vocal, but you tended to lose your voice in the middle of it, as if you were lacking the proper air distribution. 

Aemond, on the contrary, when he cums, he says multiple praises “Your cunt is perfect, princess” followed by “Squeezing my cock just right” and “Filling you up, baby, all full”

And he does. You feel his cum settle inside you, and you had to bite your lip as he does so. It was a great feeling, having him cumming inside you so naturally… and raw. 

It was pure, raw feral sex. And you loved it. He was made for this intensity, and you were made to take it as he pleases. 

Even if your legs do hurt a bit, when you lay on his bed, with a blanket atop of you. 

Aemond instead, goes to wash himself a bit. After all, he still has visits, in his pool. He assured you that the house was pretty much soundproof, and your friends would have leave at the first moan they heard. 

“You seem pretty comfortable” his monotone tone says, as he walks out of the bathroom tidier. 

You felt without energy. You could do multiple rounds at a time, sure, but delaying your orgasm plus the roughness of it, plus the previous swimming exercise and the water… makes you lazy. 

“I am” 

“Your friends are waiting downstairs” he says, and now you can see how he is amused at that idea. You had said it, a wicked perv. 

“I know, but I am leaking cum” 

“Hm. Does it stop you?”

“Not much. But I am tired and sleepy”

“I have work to do” he reminds you again, as he makes sure he is all buttoned up and he applies his cologne on himself. It is strong and masculine. 

“Well, I’ll lay here” you say shrugging. To his questioning eyebrow raise, you can only add “I haven’t sucked on your dick yet. I am not leaving anytime soon, you know?” 

To your childness, he rolls his eyes, but ultimately agrees. “I am not telling my cousins a thing about this.”

“I will” you say, waving a hand dismissively. 

“And you can stay, but don’t let this think you have some kind of…”

“I won’t” you say smirking playfully, and he rolls his eyes. 

“You are prettier when you are getting fucked”

“I knoooow” 

When he leaves, you take your phone from the ground and open the text chat.

Guaranteed free pool pass ;) you are welcome bitches.

[velvetbeeez]

۶ৎ᭙𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝒾𝓇𝓉𝒽𝒹𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ? ๋࣭ ⭑✮⋆˙

⊹₊⟡⋆ Allow me to dissect every fiber of your being solely based on the day you entered the world. Before that, let me introduce you to the art of Numerology, a concept as old as time…quite literally, for it depends on dates and time for its functioning. I never understood why it works, since it uses time and the calendar- human-made things…but I suppose somewhere, between the layers of inventions of mortals and god’s will, lies a crack, this sacred concept rests there…

Everyone has a numerology number which they calculate with their birthdates.

It is abysmally easy, hence my expertise in it ୨ৎ

ִ ࣪𖤐 ℋ 𝑜𝓌 𝒹𝑜 𝓘 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓃𝓊𝓂𝑒𝓇𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝓎 𝓃𝓊𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇?

╰┈➤You add the digits of the day you were born and ta-da, you have your numerology number ♡

For instance, my best friend, Rini, was born on 24 (yes the month and the year does not matter)

So, to know her numerology number, I will add 2 and 4, 2+4= 6

Her number is 6.

My other friend was born on 9, we will add 0 to 9 and get 9, his number is 9

Now, I was born on 28, so, we add 2+8 and get 10, but we must get a one-digit number so we add 1 to 0 and get 1, my numerology number is 1.

Easy peasy ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Now comes, the shimmering, brilliant question:

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅᭙𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱 𝓷𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷?

The numbers tell you the planet you’re ruled by, thereby showing light to your behaviour, your life, your soul and the likes...

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𝓝𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 1

★ Ruled by the Sun. I love this one because I am a number one AAAAAAAASJSJSSKSK....Anyways, if you are number 1, you are a leader, born with a crown on your head and anger in your eyes. You are determined and ambitious, you get whatever you want with minimal effort. You shine the brightest in the crowd, attention is on you whenever you try to have it. Success and opportunity is on your doorstep at all times. You also keep your emotions and feelings within you, locking them securely and throwing the key into an abyss, frightened to show any vulnerability to anyone. You usually get stabbed in the back by people who you loved with all you had…You are glimmery, you glisten and give light and life to everyone around you but, beware, do not let your brilliance get to your head, or you might burst, taking with you, everyone else, down. You are a star, shine on...

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅𝓝𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 2

✮ Ruled by the moon…. Well, you are the epitome of beauty itself, you are someone people stare at for hours without getting bored. Moon is also connected to emotions, you are a very emotional and sensitive being, like the softest plushy when poked a little hard with a sharp nail, tears, and bleeds cotton…You probably cry if one of your teddies falls off your bed. You are also very intuitive, you know when danger is lurking around, and you know when opportunity is near. You are also spiritual and see what no one else does, you are calm and cold, like water…Anyways, beautiful, gorgeous, calm sweetling, you are the best thing to land on earth. My friend is a number 2 and I swear on all I hold dear, she is the kindest, sweetest, though quietest, the most cherishable person ever.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　

❁ ๋࣭⭑𝓝𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 3

★ Omg, yes, Jupiter, my brother, and my dad are number 3. Guess what? Both of them are cunning and yet, wise. If you have someone in your life with the number 3, you must listen to their advice at all times. And if you are a number 3, hi there, the shining light and source of wisdom and cleverness. Jupiter is, in Hindi, called ‘The Guru’, meaning, the teacher. You literally represent the glorious higher knowledge, expansion, growth, and advisor. You are also humorous and fun-seeking, you are social, loving and jolly…But you might get unfocused sometimes because you like to do everything at once. Apart from that, you grow and you learn, you teach and you move on. You know what to do and when to do it, you are who people look up to before making a decision. Your footsteps are traced by many, they know whatever step you will take is in the right direction…

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　

꩜ .ᐟ๋࣭⭑𝓝𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 4

★ Number 4, You are ruled by Rahu, which is a shadow planet, not visible to the eyes but can be associated with Uranus. In the Hindu mythology, there is a story about a demon called Rahuketu whose head was cut from its body, by a god. Rahu, being the head and Ketu being the tail. Rahu is the head, the brains, the dependable. You might not be physically very apt but the cogs in your brain turn faster than the speed of light. You are an academic weapon, a force to be reckoned with. You are loyal, disciplined, and hard-working, however, you might overwork yourself sometimes and get stubborn with your ways. Anyways, you are cunning, you know what you want, you are pragmatic and you are well, someone to fear.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　

𖣂 ⋆˙⟡𝓝𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 5

★ Ruled by Mercury, the planet of intelligence and intellect. You are very social and good luck follows you like a puppy wherever you go, you are sharp-minded and intuitive, and you see through people as easily as you breathe. You embrace change and adventure. You are a social butterfly and make friends with a snap of your finger, you too, like number 4 are an academic weapon. Mercury governs versatility and quick thinking, which are key traits of the number 5. But you can find it difficult to commit to someone. You are also impulsive and can lack focus at times. But you are always quick to find your footing back. You see clearly and you act with a plan forged into the back of your brain.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　

˚⊱🪷⊰˚𝓝𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 6

★ The planet Venus rules number 6, which is the planet of love, beauty, and harmony. This influences you to be compassionate, affectionate, and drawn to beauty and art. You have an innate sense of aesthetics and a deep appreciation for the pleasures of life, whether through relationships or artistic pursuits. You are draped in laces, silks, and the likes, you make even the ugliest piece of clothing into a piece of art. You are the aesthetics of a Sofia Coppola movie in the flesh. You are also very homely, you want to have a family and you love and adore kids.  You are a born caregiver, you wrap the people you love in a warm blanket and hand them hot tea. It is not a burden and you love it, you love the feeling, the proud fuzzing feeling in your heart after you had just helped someone. You are usually the friendliest but once you have been angered, it becomes next to impossible to win you back. You are a great friend to have. Anyone who you love is blessed. I can tell you so because my bestie is a number 6 hehe <3

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　

♱ ༘⋆𝓝𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 7

★  Oh goodness…yes well number 7, ruled by Ketu, the lower part of Rahuketu. Another shadow planet but is sometimes, though wrongly associated with Neptune You are physically very apt, you have a good body and you’re great at sports. You see what no one else does but sometimes you do get lost in your little own abyss of thoughts. You also have a very romantic notion of love, something only seen in movies and books. You tend to do stuff without thinking twice. You are though, very spiritual and people feel a sense of calm washing over them after talking to you. You can be VERY mean when you want to (experienced it first hand, hence the omg in the beginning) though most of the time you’re a lil cutie, clueless and enjoying life like a party with the best booze and songs.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　

∞ 🪐.࿔*:･ 𝓝𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 8

★ Number 8, ruled by Saturn, covered in rings of eternal karma and longing…Being number 8, you are infinite, in every sense, your love is infinite but so is your yearning and pain. You have to work thrice as hard as everyone else to climb the same mountain. You are bound by the clutches of karma, to elaborate, if you wrong someone, it will come back instantly and with a 100 x force, hitting you square in the jaw, so beware about that. The perks though, of karma being your forever roommate is that no one can be a bitch to you and get away with it. Also, you will reach success and a load amount of it but later in comparison to others around you. You are calming and fun to talk to, you are spiritual with a penchant for exploring the unknown. My advice? enjoy life and lessen the mulling over every little aspect of it.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　

⚚ ⋆˙⟡𝓝𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 9

★ Number 9, ruled by Mars, problems, sorrow, yearning, beauty, and sweetness all mixed in a bittersweet pie…You have had a tough childhood, haven’t you? Yet you come out of all of it, the sweetest, the kindest, and with a gold-polished heart. You exude a tough exterior because you do not want to be hurt again but in the depths of your hearts you would NEVER wish bad on anyone. You’re just amazing like that. You make everyone feel at home but somehow always feel away from home. You are emotional and sensitive, even a tiny jab creeps into your heart, building a home for a train of thoughts that goes nowhere. But, despite it all, your soul is pure, your hardships do not define you, you are a being of love and greatness, you are spiritual and made for bigger things in the world. You are meant to touch the clouds and fly high above everyone else because you know it all…you have seen it all…

[daeniradraconis]

Age Is Just a Number…Right? - Luke Hughes

Summary: Luke. Age gap. Jack being a menace as usual, making sure you're not getting away that easy. Warning: Implied sexual situations, mature language, flirtation, age gap (6 years)

Note: Hey, lovelies! So, originally, this fic was all about Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith, but then I realized—Will is 19, and honestly, he’s just a baby to me. Even if he said he loves older woman. Boy go back to kinder garden. (Sorry Will, love you, I promise!) So, I decided to swap in the Hughes boys instead. I’ve gotta be honest, it gave me a bit of a headache. Now, this started as a quick, short fic. I swear, I had every intention of keeping it short. But, well… 7048 words later, here we are. I got hit with a ton of ideas and feelings, and the story just kind of... grew on me. You’ll probably notice the tone/style shifts halfway through, and I’m definitely sorry for that!

But hey, I hope you all enjoy it despite the wild ride! ❤️ For more fun: masterlist

The first thing you notice is warmth.

A heavy arm draped over your waist. The steady rise and fall of breath against the back of your neck. The scent of clean laundry, cologne, and something distinctly him clinging to the pillow beside you.

The second thing you notice—you are not in your own bed.

Your stomach flips as your brain reboots, sluggishly piecing together fragments of last night.

The blind date.

Luke.

His charming smile. The way his chestnut curls fell into his eyes when he laughed. The way he leaned in when you spoke, like you were the only person in the room. The teasing brush of his fingers against yours when he reached for his drink. The electricity that crackled between you when you finally caved—when he kissed you outside the bar, his hands firm at your waist, his body pressing into yours like he couldn’t help himself.

And then… more.

Your face burns as memory after memory floods in. His hands, his mouth, the way he whispered your name like it meant something.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

Carefully, you shift beneath the covers, untangling yourself from his hold. Luke stirs but doesn’t wake, his arm slipping away as you ease yourself upright.

That’s when it really hits you.

He looks so young.

His chestnut curls are a mess, his lips slightly parted, his entire face softened in sleep. He looks… peaceful. Innocent, almost.

A strange unease settles in your stomach.

Your gaze flickers around the unfamiliar room. It’s nice but lived-in—hockey gear shoved into the corner, a few discarded clothes on a chair. Your eyes land on the nightstand, where his wallet sits slightly open.

You don’t mean to snoop. You really don’t.

But something about last night nags at you.

Just a quick peek. Just to make sure.

Fingers trembling, you reach for it, flip it open.

And your heart stops.

Luke Hughes. Age: 21.

Twenty fucking one.

As in, young enough to still pull all-nighters for fun. As in, could still be in college.

And you? You are twenty-seven.

Oh. My. God.

Your hands fly to your phone as you furiously type out a message to your friend.

"WHAT THE HELL?! YOU SET ME UP WITH A 21-YEAR-OLD. I AM A GROWN WOMAN. I PAY FOR MY OWN HEALTH INSURANCE."

No response.

Coward.

Panic thrums in your veins as you stare at Luke—still peacefully asleep, completely unaware that you are having a full-blown identity crisis in his bed.

You need to leave. Now.

Right?

But for some reason, you hesitate.

Because Luke… Luke is the first guy in a long time who actually made you interested. Who made you laugh so hard you snorted into your drink. Who listened—really listened—when you talked, instead of just waiting for his turn to speak. And, well. The man or more like a boy, had managed to get you to orgasm. Twice!

Which, considering your track record, felt almost miraculous.

Your past partners had barely managed to get you there once—if at all.

And now you’re just supposed to sneak out of here like it never happened? Like he was just another bad decision?

Your stomach twists.

But then you glance at the wallet again. Twenty-one.

Yeah. You need to go.

Sliding out of bed as silently as possible, you scan the room for your clothes. Your shirt is on the floor, your jeans halfway under the bed. You grab them quickly, yanking them on with the precision of someone defusing a bomb. Bra? Found. Socks? One is missing, but you’ll live.

Once fully dressed, you tiptoe to the door. Your shoes. They’re outside the room. You remember kicking them off in the hallway.

One deep breath.

You ease the door open, peeking into the dimly lit living room.

Empty.

Good.

You take two careful steps out, eyes locked on your shoes near the front door. Almost there. Just a few more—

“Busted.”

You scream.

Not a blood-curdling horror movie scream, but a very real, very startled yelp that absolutely does not help you maintain any dignity in this situation.

Your body jolts like you’ve just been electrocuted, arms flailing wildly as you spin toward the voice.

There, sprawled across the couch, is a guy watching you like this is the best morning of his life.

Tall. Ridiculously handsome. Light brown hair, messy in a way that suggests he just woke up. Sharp cheekbones. Blue eyes filled with pure mischief.

And a smirk so unbearably smug that you immediately want to punch it off his face.

You clutch your chest, heart racing. “Jesus Christ, who the hell are you?!”

The guy grins wider. “Damn. Didn’t even recognize me? That hurts.”

“Am I supposed to?”You blink, still catching your breath.

His smirk falters for half a second before returning full force. “Oh, that’s good. That’s really good.” He tilts his head, studying you like you’re some kind of rare specimen. “You actually have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Why the hell would I?” Your frown deepens.

He lets out a dramatic sigh, like this is somehow the greatest tragedy to ever befall him.

“You’re telling me,” he starts, sitting up slightly, resting his arms on his knees, fully entertained, “that you came home with my brother, slept with him, and have no idea who we are?”

Your stomach drops.

Brother?

You knew Luke had brothers—he mentioned it—but you had no idea they were famous.

Your eyes flick toward the bedroom, then back to him. “You’re—wait, you’re one of Luke’s brothers?”

He snorts. “Wow. No recognition at all. That is humbling.”

“Should I recognize you?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugs, mock-offended, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I guess I’m only one of the most famous people in this city.”

You blink, a little thrown off. “…You’re a local weatherman?”

He chokes, eyes widening. “A what?!”

“You’re acting like I should know you,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t keep up with the news, but you definitely have the vibe of a guy who points at maps for a living.”

He definitely doesn’t. If anything, he looks more like a kooky stripper with an annoyingly fit body. But there’s no way you’re feeding his ego—this idiot would probably take it as a compliment.

For a split second, he just stares at you, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Then, as if the tension snaps, he howls—full-body laughter, throwing his head back and wiping a fake tear from his eye.

“Oh my God,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

You cross your arms, trying to mask the irritation bubbling up. “Glad I could contribute to your morning entertainment.”

“No, you don’t get it,” he says between gasps for air, leaning forward with an infectious grin. “This is amazing. Incredible. I live for moments like this.”

You raise an eyebrow, your patience wearing thin. “Moments like what?” you snap, unable to hide the rising edge in your voice. Honestly, you’re just relieved Luke didn’t inherit Jack’s over-the-top, obnoxious personality. If he had, you probably would’ve bailed on this blind date five minutes in.

“Moments where I get to witness something so spectacularly awkward, so painfully embarrassing, that it will sustain me for weeks.”

You glare at him with pure annoyance. “I hate you already.”

He clutches his chest dramatically. “Ouch. That wounds me.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Oh, no doubt.” He smirks, and for a moment, it almost reminds you of Luke—though the two brothers couldn’t look more different. But that same confidante smile? It’s unmistakable. “Especially since I now have the upper hand in every conversation we ever have from here on out.”

“We’re never having another conversation after this!” You try to sound firm, but your voice cracks, betraying you.

He just grins wider, shaking his head like he’s heard that before. “That’s what you think.”

You exhale sharply, fed up with the entire exchange. “Look, I’m leaving. Forget you ever saw me.”

“Not a chance.” He leans back against the couch, thoroughly amused. “You’re trying to sneak out of my baby brother’s room like a damn criminal. This is gold.”

You scowl again. “I’m not sneaking out.” You fumble with your shoes, trying to get them on while defending yourself. Luckily, the hallway and living room are one open space, making your escape a bit less awkward.

“You literally just tiptoed past me like you’re starring in Mission Impossible.”

You groan. "I was trying not to wake him up." Rolling your eyes, you keep wrestling with your damn laces—of all times to betray you, it had to be now. Frustration bubbles up as you huff, "I need to go."

Jack cocks an eyebrow. "Why?"

You freeze mid-motion, exhaling hard through your nose. "...Just because."

"That's not an answer." His arms fold across his chest, his gaze pressing into you like he’s daring you to crack.

Your stomach twists. Heat rises to your face. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to give him the satisfaction—but the words rip out anyway.

“Because I just found out I slept with a 21-year-old, okay?! I’m 27. That’s a six-year difference! That’s a whole presidential term and a little extra! That’s a—”

You stop, realizing how ridiculous it sounds now that you're saying it.

Jack stares at you, blinking. There’s a long silence before you speak again, but his expression shows no understanding of the mental chaos you’re in.

You sigh and tug at your hair in frustration. “I wasn’t expecting this. I thought maybe he was older, and now… I just don’t know how to feel.”

Jack, for the first time, softens his teasing expression. But it’s clear he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying.

“Well,” he shrugs casually, “you’re still not leaving. You’re stuck here until Luke wakes up.”

“No, I’m not.” You shake your head, stubborn.

“Yes, you are!”

Before you can argue, you hear movement from the bedroom.

“Jack, why are you yelling?”

Shit.

You freeze.

Jack just grins wider.

You turn, and there he is—Luke, standing in the hallway, shirtless, hair an absolute mess, looking at you with adorable confusion.

Jack smirks. “Oh, you know. Just chatting with your date about how she was totally about to dip.”

“Wait. You’re leaving?” Luke’s voice is a mix of confusion and hurt, and suddenly, you feel a wave of guilt wash over you.

You shift awkwardly, caught in the middle of it all. “I just… didn’t want to wake you.”

Jack snickers. “Translation: she found out you’re barely legal and panicked.”

Luke’s eyes flick to his nightstand, where his wallet still sits open.

“…Wait. Is this about my age?" He sounds confused—adorably so. Too adorably.

You open your mouth, but Jack is already cackling.

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Jack says, shaking his head. “She took one look at that ID and nearly had a full-blown existential crisis.”

Your face flushes deep red. Jesus, you really can’t stand that blue-eyed bastard.

Luke blinks, then sighs, clearly frustrated a little bit. “So, last night was… amazing, but now it’s a problem because I’m 21?”

You shift uneasily. “It’s not a problem, exactly. It’s just…”

Jack grins mischievously. “Hilarious?”

You glare at him, a mix of embarrassment and irritation burning through you. “Not the word I was going for.”

Luke tilts his head, watching you closely. “Did it feel weird last night?”

Your face instantly flames. “LUKE.”

Jack cackles. “Ohhh my God, this is so good.”

Luke shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m just saying. You didn’t seem to mind my age when you were begging for—”

You lunge at him, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Jack, leaning in with barely contained joy, grins wider. “Oh, no, let’s hear it! This is the best! I live for this shit.”

You whip around, shooting daggers. “Do you really have to be here?”

Jack places a hand over his chest, feigning innocence. "Of course I do. I’m just the clueless bystander, watching your meltdown. It’s my duty as a brother. How else am I supposed to tease Lukey later?"

Luke licks his lips, glancing between you and Jack. “Wait… so you’re really freaking out over this?”

You sigh, your frustration starting to boil over. "I just… didn’t realize you were so young."

Jack snickers from the side, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, no, I think she’s just overthinking it. But hey, it’s cute.”

Luke shoots him a glare. “Jack.”

Jack raises his hands, completely unbothered. “I’m just here to state the obvious.”

You groan, feeling a headache start to form at the base of your skull. "Can I just… go? Please?" The words come out sharper than you mean, but you’re too tired to care.

Luke looks at you, his gaze softening with that same sleepy affection from last night. You almost hate how it makes your chest ache. "You really want to leave?"

You pause for a long moment, considering.

And truthfully?

No.

You don’t.

Last night wasn’t just a fling—it was Luke.

Luke, who had you laughing through dinner, making you feel like you were the only person in the world. He treated you like you were someone worth admiring, someone worth cherishing. And when he kissed you, it felt like the first rainstorm after a drought, washing away everything but the two of you.

And now he’s standing there, messy-haired and sleepy-eyed, looking at you like he’s trying to figure out what’s going through your mind.

Jack, sensing the shift, leans back dramatically. “Ohhh, she’s thinking about it.”

You glare. “Shut up, Jack.”

Jack smirks like a little kid in the candy shop. “Nope.”

Luke lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face with both hands, his puppy like eyes softening as he looks at you. "Alright," he mutters, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Let me make you breakfast before you decide I’m too young to function."

Jack perks up from the couch. “Oh, hell yeah. Stay. Luke makes a mean omelet.”

Luke shoots Jack a teasing glare, his eyes rolling in exasperation as he half-smirks. "Why are you even involved in this?" he says, clearly annoyed but with a playful edge, like he can’t decide if he should laugh or strangle his brother.

Jack shrugs dramatically. “Because I live for chaos.”

You hesitate for a moment, staring at Luke as you battle the urge to stay or run.

“…Fine. One omelet.”

Jack fist-pumps the air. “YES.”

Luke grins like he’s already won. “Good. Because I was going to make you stay anyway.”

—

You don’t know how you ended up here.

One second, you were committed to sneaking out like a thief in the night. The next?

You’re standing in Luke Hughes’ kitchen, watching him move around with annoying ease, pulling eggs and cheese out of the fridge like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jack, of course, is sitting at the kitchen island, grinning like the mischievous idiot he is.

“You look tense,” he observes, propping his chin in his hand and resting his elbows on his knees. “Regretting staying already?”

You shoot him a withering look. “I regret a lot of things. Letting you talk this morning is at the top of the list.”

Jack gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Ouch. And here I was, being such a warm and welcoming host.”

You roll your eyes. “You ambushed me.”

Jack shrugs casually, sipping his coffee. “Semantics.”

Luke, bless him, doesn’t engage. He simply smirks to himself as he cracks an egg into a pan, clearly used to Jack’s shenanigans. “Jack, are you actually gonna eat, or are you just here to be annoying?”

“Oh, I ate already. I’m just here for the show.”

You narrow your eyes at him, a smirk playing at the corner of your mouth. “Seriously, what’s your deal? You get some kind of thrill out of torturing me?”

He’s an asshole, but damn, he’s the kind of asshole that almost makes you laugh.

Jack flashes a devilish grin, clearly enjoying the chaos he's creating. "You're sharp. I like that. Smart women are way more fun to mess with." He leans back, arms crossed, his eyes twinkling with mischief as if he's already plotting his next move.

Luke huffs a laugh, the sound full of fond exasperation. He rolls his eyes, his messy hair falling into his face as he nudges Jack with his shoulder. “Just ignore him. He thrives on being a menace,” he says, shaking his head, but you can tell he's not actually mad.

Jack grins even wider, clearly proud of himself. “Yep. It’s what I do best,” he says, puffing out his chest like he’s just announced some kind of grand achievement.

You rest your elbows on the table, watching as Luke flips an omelet with impressive skill. “Okay, I’ll bite—how did you get so good at this?”

“Gotta learn some life skills when you live with Jack. Otherwise, you starve." He shoots his brother a pointed look, one that’s half annoyance, half fondness.

Jack scoffs, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest like he’s been wronged. "That’s unfair. I provide entertainment." His voice is teasing, but there’s a clear twinkle in his eye.

Luke snorts, barely stifling a laugh. "Entertainment doesn’t make up for the fact that you once tried to microwave a frozen pizza."

Your head snaps up at that, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "I’m sorry, what?"

Jack groans, cheeks flushing with a rare hint of embarrassment. "It was one time, and the oven took too long!" he mutters defensively, but you can see the red creeping up his neck.

Luke smirks, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he gestures vaguely toward the stove. "You almost burned the apartment down," he points out, no trace of sympathy in his voice.

Jack waves a dismissive hand. "That’s an exaggeration," he says, clearly attempting to downplay the incident, but his voice betrays the tiniest hint of guilt.

Luke shoots you a sly look, his eyes dancing with amusement as he leans in, like he’s about to let you in on a secret. “The microwave was smoking,” he adds, his voice dropping low, the tone almost playful—like he’s about to drop some juicy gossip.

Your jaw drops in disbelief. "Oh my God."

Luke, clearly pleased with the chaos he’s caused, gestures at Jack with the spatula like he’s just won some kind of victory. "See? This is why I learned how to cook."

Jack grins wide, unbothered. "And I get to reap the benefits, so really, we both win," he says with a cheeky shrug, as if his utter lack of skill somehow balances out Luke’s culinary expertise.

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "I don’t know how you put up with him."

Luke smirks,"It’s a daily struggle," he says, voice deadpan, but the small curve of his lips gives away the amusement he’s trying to hide.

Jack grins, shaking his head slightly. “Oh, the betrayal. I’m crushed,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, though the smirk gives him away.

Luke just rolls his eyes and slides the finished omelet onto a plate before setting it down in front of you.

You look down at it, genuinely impressed by how perfect it looks. Then, you glance back at Luke, a little taken aback. "Not gonna lie… this looks really good."

Luke’s grin widens, his eyes briefly locking with yours, the kind of connection that makes the moment feel charged. "Told you."

You pick up your fork, still a little skeptical, and take a bite. Holy hell.

Your eyes go wide in surprise. "Oh my God. This is actually amazing."

Jack leans in, looking smug...again. "See? I wasn’t lying." He gives you a little wink, clearly basking in the moment like he’s somehow been proven right.

Luke smirks, pleased by the compliment. “I take my breakfast very seriously.”

“Clearly. This might be the best decision I’ve made today.” You shake your head, chewing.

Jack gasps dramatically. “Wow. So staying was a better decision than leaving?”

You pause, realizing what you just admitted.

Jack grins like he’s just scored a win, and for a second, you seriously consider wiping that smug look off his face.

Luke’s smile, however, is filled with pure happiness, as if this moment is exactly what he’s been waiting for.

You sigh, stabbing your omelet. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

Jack beams. “Absolutely not.”

Luke leans closer, his voice suddenly lower, more intimate. “I mean, I’m glad you stayed. It’s not every day I get a pretty girl in my kitchen, making my morning way more interesting.”

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. His words hang in the air, electric.

“Oh, so now I’m ‘pretty,’ huh?” you tease, trying to maintain your composure, though your heart skips a beat.

Luke raises an eyebrow, a slow, confident smile curling on his lips. “Oh, I thought that was obvious.” His gaze flickers down to your lips, his voice dropping even lower. “You’ve been keeping me on my toes since I woke up.”

Your cheeks warm, but you force yourself to look away, focusing on your omelet. “Flattery won’t make me forget about you being 21.”

Luke’s grin widens, and he leans in a little closer, lowering his voice just enough that only you can hear. “Maybe not. But I think it’s a pretty good start.”

Jack, completely oblivious to the flirtation unfolding right under his nose, leans back on the kitchen island with a self-satisfied grin. “God, I can’t believe I’m witnessing this. I thought I was supposed to be the one who charmed the ladies.”

Luke snorts, rolling his eyes at his brother but keeping his focus on you. “Jack’s the type to talk about it. I’m the type to show it.”

Your breath catches in your throat. That was smooth. Really smooth.

You take another bite of your omelet, trying to hide the smile spreading across your face. “You sure you don’t just want me to stay for the food?”

Luke leans back, his gaze softening as he gently takes your left hand in his, his thumb slowly tracing circles over your knuckles. “I mean… if that’s your only reason for sticking around, I won’t complain,” he murmurs, a playful yet tender smile curving his lips. “But I like to think I’ve got more to offer than just my cooking skills.”

His words, along with the warmth in his eyes, wash over you like a wave, pulling you in deeper. You lock eyes with him, your breath catching as your pulse quickens. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you, something that makes it impossible to think straight.

Then Jack clears his throat loudly, and you break the spell, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Alright, alright,” Jack says, clearly enjoying the discomfort he’s just caused. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone so you can finish your breakfast in peace. No need to make me a third wheel.”

You roll your eyes, but Luke doesn’t seem to mind. He just shrugs, unfazed.

“Good idea. Go entertain yourself, Jack.”

Jack winks. “Don’t mind if I do.” He stands up and heads for the door, adding, “You two just make sure to keep it PG—some of us don’t need to see that much chemistry before our coffee kicks in.”

You watch as Jack exits, still grinning like the mischievous brat he is.

As the door clicks behind Jack, the quiet of the kitchen settles in, leaving just you and Luke alone, the lingering tension between you two impossible to ignore. Luke shifts, his hands still resting on your hands as he pulls you gently into his lap. Your heart beats a little faster at the sudden closeness, but you refuse to let the thrill of it distract you from the conversation you know needs to happen.

You take a deep breath, looking up into his eyes—eyes that are soft but hold that familiar spark of mischief, the kind that makes it hard to think straight. He tilts his head slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he runs his thumb over your hand, tracing slow circles. The warmth of his touch makes your breath hitch, but you bite your lip, determined to have this talk.

“Luke,” you start, your voice softer than you intended, “We need to talk about last night. About... us.”

Luke's expression changes, the playful gleam fading into something more intense. He doesn’t pull away, though. Instead, he tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and his voice drops an octave. “I thought we were past talking. I thought we were just... enjoying each other.”

His words make your pulse quicken, but you hold firm. You need to address this.

“I’m serious,” you say, your voice steady, though your chest betrays you with its nervous flutter. “I need to know where this is going, Luke. You’re 21, I’m 27. That’s a six-year difference. I’ve been through more in my life. I want a family soon. I want stability. Not... something fleeting.”

Luke’s gaze darkens, and his thumb continues its slow, soothing motion over your skin, but there’s a new intensity in his eyes. He’s quiet for a moment, absorbing your words. The air feels thick with unspoken thoughts, the weight of what you’ve just said hanging between you.

“You think I don’t want the same things?” he asks, his voice steady but with a sharp edge, not defensive—more... thoughtful. “I’m not some kid just looking for a fling. I’ve thought this through. I’m looking for something real. I’ve spent too much time in meaningless situations to want that anymore. I went to our date because I was looking for something serious. And my friend told me you’d be looking for the same thing.”

He lets your words settle, his eyes never leaving yours. “After spending the night talking with you, I felt like I wasn’t just talking to someone who’s interesting—I felt like I was talking to someone who gets it. Someone who’s looking for the same kind of connection. I’m not here for something that’ll fizzle out in a few weeks. I’m here because... I think you might be the person I’ve been waiting for.”

His words hit you in a way you weren’t prepared for. You’re caught off guard, unsure how to respond, but something stirs inside you. Something warm, something you didn’t expect. You can feel the truth of what he’s saying in your chest, and for the first time, you start to question the assumptions you’d made.

“Yeah, but you’re still figuring things out,” you say, your voice shaky now, a trace of worry creeping in. “You’re just starting out in life. Maybe you don’t want the same kind of commitment I do. I need someone who’s already ready to settle down.”

Luke doesn’t hesitate. His fingers slide up to your jaw, his touch firm but tender, like he’s grounding you to the moment. His gaze holds yours, no longer playful, but filled with something deeper. Something real.

“I’m ready for that,” he murmurs, his voice soft but full of conviction. “I know what I want. And I want you. If you’re worried about my age, let me show you I’m more than just a number.”

His words are almost a whisper, but there’s a quiet confidence in them that sends a thrill through you. His lips are so close now, you can feel his breath on your skin as he leans in, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m not asking for a lifetime yet, but I’m asking for the chance to prove myself. To prove that I’m capable of giving you the kind of future you want.”

You close your eyes, your breath catching in your throat. He’s not backing down, and the sincerity in his words leaves you no room to doubt him. But still, you can’t help but voice the doubts that swirl in your mind.

“I don’t want to get hurt, Luke,” you whisper, finally letting yourself admit the fear you’ve been pushing down. “I’ve been through enough heartache. And if you don’t want the same things I do, if you’re not ready for it... I don’t know if I can take that risk.”

Luke leans in just a little more, his lips brushing against your cheek before he pulls back slightly, his hands cradling your face. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of his skin, the steadiness of his gaze. “I’m ready for you. Ready for everything that comes with it,” he says, his voice resolute. “I wouldn’t be here, sitting with you like this, if I wasn’t.”

You search his eyes for any sign of hesitation, but there’s none. What you see instead is determination—an unspoken promise that, for all his age, he knows what he wants and is willing to fight for it.

The air between you two shifts, the quiet between you no longer heavy with doubt, but filled with something new. Something that makes your pulse race.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Then show me.”

At that, his lips crash against yours, the kiss deep and slow, filled with all the unspoken things you’ve both been dancing around. His hands slide to your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. Your hands find their way to his curls, tugging him in as if you can’t get close enough. The world around you fades away—there’s only the feeling of his mouth against yours, the pressure of his body against yours, the shared certainty that whatever this is, it’s more than just physical.

When you finally pull away, both breathless, Luke grins, his forehead resting against yours. 

Luke leans back a little bit, his eyes gleaming with that mischievous glint as he watches you, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You know," he says casually, his voice thick with satisfaction, "I have to admit... I’ve never had a night quite like that. You really know how to use that beautiful mouth of yours."

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? What do you mean?"

Luke shifts a little closer, his grin widening. "Well, I’ve had my fair share of nights, but... last night? You...You were next level. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to be that blown away."

You feel your cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and flattery. "Really? Well, I kinda feel the same. I’ve never... finished two times in one night."

Luke’s eyes narrow in surprise. "What?! Baby, that wasn’t even that much. I think we can go for four or five next time." He winks, his tone playful, but there's a hint of challenge in his voice.

You laugh, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck. "Is that so? You really think you can keep up?"

Luke smirks, leaning in just a little closer, his voice low and confident. "Oh, I’m definitely up for the challenge. You just wait."

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming on your lips. "Maybe this whole 'young boyfriend' thing isn’t such a bad idea after all... Good stamina and all that."

Luke grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Told ya!" He leans in, planting a series of quick, soft kisses across your face and neck, each one sending a delightful shiver through your skin. You can't help but laugh at his actions, brushing your nose against his cheek as your giggles mix with his gentle kisses.

Just as you're starting to recover from his playful assault, a voice slices through the moment like an ice-cold splash of water.

"Can you drop the sex talk, guys?" Jack's voice rings out from the kitchen doorway, dripping with disgust but clearly amused by the whole situation. "I didn’t need to know this much about my little brother."

You freeze, eyes wide, before you turn to Luke, who looks utterly unfazed, that smug, victorious grin plastered across his face. It’s as if he’s just won some kind of prize, and he's wearing it like a badge of honor.

Embarrassment creeps up your neck, but before you can even process the awkwardness, you find yourself laughing. The tension dissolves in the shared amusement of the moment. Luke just shrugs casually, looking way too pleased with himself.

"Relax, Jack. It’s called maturity," you reply with a wink, and Luke chuckles, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

Jack groans dramatically, rolling his eyes. "You two are gross. And seriously, for the future, we need some rules. These walls are way too thin. I do not need to hear you two in action. Thank God I wasn’t home yesterday."

You let out a horrified gasp, hiding your face in Luke’s neck. "Jesus, Jack," you mumble, half laughing, half mortified.

Luke just keeps laughing, clearly entertained by the situation. "You heard nothing. Just a couple of adults figuring things out," he teases.

Jack mutters something under his breath before calling out with a playful, exaggerated gag. "God, I need to vomit. You two are so disgusting."

"Guess this means you're sticking around, huh?" Luke whispers against your mouth, his voice low and warm, sending another wave of heat through you.

You nod, content, leaning into him with a soft smile. "Guess so," you murmur, brushing your lips against his in return.

Jack, clearly fed up with the display, huffs dramatically and walks away with an exaggerated sigh. "You two are the worst."

As he exits, you look up at Luke, feeling that warmth in your chest—the comfort, the excitement, all mixed together. You can get used to mornings like this, even if it means dealing with Jack’s teasing. Or, you think with a smirk, maybe you’ll just strangle him in his sleep. Problem solved.

Luke catches the glint in your eye and chuckles, clearly knowing exactly what you’re thinking.

“Careful,” he says with a playful smirk, “I’d hate to lose my new favourite person just because you can’t handle my brother.”

You laugh, pulling him in for one last kiss.

[uswe]

No but see that’s the important bit. Post apocalypse? I would probably be very busy in ways no one wants to think about, and I’m very femme anyway. I will be packing eyeliner to the apocalypse.

But the ladies who own the coffee shop? They’d still be feeding people. Probably they’d still have their kombucha hookup, even. The stock of stickers would dwindle and depending on the apocalypse they might stop doing online ordering, but they’d still be making the best bagel breakfast sandwich.

The ladies with the alpaca farm? What changes for them really depends on their stock of artificial dyes.

My parents friends would probably be out of their traditional jobs, but that would give them more time for their hobbies of homesteading, motorcycles, and supporting the community food coop.

So I feel like lesbians are probably the entire infrastructure of most post apocalyptic worlds. Where are people getting their frankly questionable outfits? How did they get enough food and clean water to survive to protagonist age? Who’s keeping enough of a power grid running for atmospheric lighting? Lesbians. It’s all lesbians. And they can’t be shown on camera because they’re having a ball, they’re thriving, they’re so busy with the heritage seed swap, antique tool maintenance, date night, and mutual aid networks that they don’t even really notice which tyrannical oligarch is currently the villain.

the lack of dykes n more specifically butch dykes in post apocalyptic media is bizarre bc every single lesbian i know is the most prepared person in any room n not even for survivalist reasons we do that shit for fun

[artificial-transmutations]

Grunt Force Gamer

Friday evening, finally. After a rather stressful week at the office, Finn was looking forward to his favorite past-time activity, which was blasting through the missions of *Duty Force Alpha* with his buddies. He was a bit surprised though when he logged into the voice server to find only one of his teammates there, even though he was the one who was late.

"Hey Beck! Sorry I'm late. Where is everyone?" he asked.

Beck was the newest addition to the team and had only joined a few weeks ago, bringing them up to five guys, or a whole squad.

"Let's see..." the other guy answered.

"Joey has to help a friend to move, so he is out for tonight. Alex has to prepare a presentation for his work on Monday. And I haven't heard from Dave at all."

Finn groaned.

"So, probably girl trouble again." Dave had a history of disappearing without any trace for a couple of days, only to emerge again a few days later and explaining that he was on a date. It never seemed to work out in the long term, though.

"Anyway. What about you?"

"I'm game. Looks it's just the two of us tonight." said Beck, and Finn could vividly imagine the cocky grin of the other guy, even though their cams were off right now. Finn agreed and started up the game but couldn't stop his heart from beating faster. The thing about Beck was that he wasn't just the newest member of their team or a cool guy to hang out with. Beck was *also* rather hot, especially for a gamer, and every time he spoke, his voice alone was enough to send a chill down Finn's spine. In short, Finn had a hard crush on the other man, and the prospect of spending the evening alone with him - even though it was just digital proximity - was both exciting and frightening to him.

The trouble was: Finn knew borderline nothing about Beck at all. He knew they lived in the same city and his first name, but that was about it. He had no idea if Beck was into guys or if he was single - which Finn could hardly imagine either way - or what his type was. And, of course, he was way too shy to actually ask him.

Just as Finn logged onto the game server, Beck spoke up again.

"Ah fuck, I've got to go AFK for a few minutes again, sorry."

"Sure, no problem. I'll go get a snack as well."

Finn muted his microphone, but instead of going to the kitchen, he was quickly distracted by a message from the game, announcing a change in skill trees. As he was reading the patch notes, however, after some moments, he heard a strange noise from his headset. It sounded a bit like a quiet slapping sound, and while he was still trying to identify what it was, a faint moan reached his ears.

Oh. *Oh*! Finn froze as his brain connected the dots. Beck hadn't gone AFK in a broader sense. Well, his hands probably were off the keyboard, but...

His mind was racing, and his own cock was twitching. Beck was *jerking off* right now, and he had forgotten to mute his microphone. What now? He couldn't just sit here and listen to his teammate beat his meat, right? Perhaps he should give him some privacy and go get that snack.

On the other hand,... imagining the lean Beck stroking himself, probably watching some porn in his gaming chair was pretty hot, and Finn felt his own cock strain against his pants. He double checked his own microphone. Muted. Good. Finn felt his heart beating in his throat as he slowly fondled himself, not quite masturbating but listening to the increasingly labored breaths of his crush on the voice channel. He wondered what he was watching...

Suddenly, a coarse whisper joined the jerking noises and the moans.

"Oh yeah. Show me those big guns, Sarge. I bet your sexy biceps are so much bigger than your brain... Well, I wouldn't mind..."

No way! Beck wasn't just rubbing one out to a random porn video, but instead he was drooling over one of the game characters, Sarge, the meathead heavy type of the game.

But that meant...

Disappointment set in shortly after euphoria. Yes, that meant Beck was gay. But it also meant he preferred the more or less exact opposite of what Finn had to offer. He was a smart guy with a rather unimpressive physique - quite the contrast to Sarge, who was basically a meat mountain. In fact, Finn's character in *Duty Force Alpha* was the exact opposite of Sarge. It was a character class called 'Engineer', whose main feature was to build turrets to shoot down enemies.

But these were just game characters, right? A fantasy. Perhaps Beck didn't have those expectations in real life? Well, there was no way he would be able to ask him, not without giving away that he listened in on his masturbation session.

As if on cue, Beck was moaning loudly now, and with an almost grunting noise, the slapping stopped. He had finished, and Finn was hard. It took only a few seconds until the sound of his breath was gone, replaced by his normal voice.

"Hey, Finn. Did you get that snack?"

Finn decided to wait for two more minutes before unmuting his own microphone to keep up the charade.

"I'm back. Are you there, Beck?"

"Yeah, sorry man, I had to take care of something first. Anyway, let's get going!"

Taking care of something. You could say that. Beck chose his usual sniper character as if nothing had happened and Finn's mouse hovered over the engineer, but he hesitated. He knew Beck's fantasies rather well now. Perhaps if he tried to act a bit simpler... He clicked.

"No way! You're playing Sarge? What happened to your engi?" Beck's voice was surprised.

"Well, I..."

Finn cleared his throat, remembering that Beck apparently had the hots for the simple men.

"Heh, yeah, figured I'd mix things up a bit. These guys seem pretty... capable. And we need a bit of meat shield if it's just the two of us."

Adjusting his pattern of speech to what he thought was simple and cool was harder than expected. He found himself tripping over words more often than not, but if that had any effect on the other guy, he didn't show it immediately. He didn't ask further questions about his choice of character and the two of them went on their way, starting the first mission.

At first, Finn tried to play tactically, as he was used to by his engineer, but after half a mission, he reconsidered. Not only was Sarge simply not built for this playstyle, but he figured Beck would be more into another approach. So, he changed strategies completely and just charged into the enemies head-first and with blazing guns. This worked out remarkably well, and soon, Finn was having actual fun behaving like the meathead he was pretending to be. He even threw in a few grunts and battle cries for good measure that seemed to amuse Beck a lot.

"Sounds like someone is having fun with his new class!" he laughed after a particularly successful attack.

"Yeah. I'm just here to shoot and look pretty. No need to think of anything. Leave that to the smart guys. Like you. All I need is my guns."

The bit of boldness probably came from all the adrenalin, but it was getting easier to get into character now. In any case, Beck didn't seem to mind.

"Awesome man! So, what do you do when you're not gaming? Hit the gym much?"

Finn froze and almost got hit by an enemy assault as a consequence. Fuck! This was the first time Beck showed any interest in his personal life. But the honest answer to that would be 'no, never', clearly not what Beck wanted to hear. Against better judgment he had to lie.

"Uh... yeah, sometimes. Gotta stay in shape, y'know?", hoping that Beck would buy it.

"Nice! Hey, why don't you turn on your cam, show me those gains."

Crap. They sometimes played with their webcams on, that's how Finn knew how Beck looked like. However, since he had been sick and didn't want to turn on his own camera last time, Beck had not seen him before. And that was the only reason his bluff earlier could have worked.

"I don't know, I didn't clean my place..." he tried to evade, but it was no use.

"Aww, come on, man."

Beck had already turned on his camera and smiled into the lens, and Finn could see the handsome face he often dreamed of at night. That was, of course, too much for Finn to resist, and he turned on his camera, too, with a beating heart, expecting Beck to call him out on his lie.

But instead, Beck nodded approvingly.

"Yeah, nice. I can see your progress. You're looking pretty fit, man."

Finn just stared at the monitor for a moment. Given, the lighting wasn't all that good, but how on earth would Beck think he was looking *fit*? He inspected his own miniature image on the screen. Okay, yes, the shadows of the badly lit battle station worked in his favor here. With some fantasy, you could probably make out definition that Finn knew very well wasn't there in reality. Perhaps, Beck was just being polite.

"Uh, thanks." he said, before quickly adding "... bro." for the effect.

He felt a rush of excitement. Perhaps he would be really able to pull this off!

With the cams still on, he charged into the next pack of enemies, and watched Beck lean back into his gaming chair, giving Finn a good view of his own somewhat toned chest under his t-shirt.

"So, you got a girlfriend, Finn? Or are you more of a player?"

Fuck, more questions. His first impulse was to lie again, but no! If he wanted to have a shot with the other guy, he *had* to be honest here. He swallowed hard and answered with his eyes still lingering on Beck, trying to read his body language.

"N-no girlfriend. I'm... uh... not really into chicks."

That came out a lot less confident than he hoped. There was no sign of animosity in Beck, and even though thinking was somehow getting harder, rationally, Finn knew it was a good opportunity to ask him the same, exposing Becks own orientation. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it, so he chickened out and tried to change the subject.

"Anyway, did I tell you about this thing that happened at work the other day? I totally saved our asses by-"

He stopped again, suddenly remembering that he's supposed to play dumb.

"Uh, I mean, I dunno, it was pretty boring office stuff. Who cares about that shit, right?"

At least the lingo came a lot more naturally by now, and sometimes, Finn had to remind himself that it was a role he was playing. It was, right?

Beck raised an eyebrow, looking curious.

"Office stuff? Didn't know you worked in an office, Finn. Thought you were more of a hands-on kind of guy."

Shit! what a slip-up.

"Uh... yeah, uh... I actually am. I'm..."

Fuck, thinking was *hard*. He had to come up with something here, but his mind drew a blank until he looked back at the screen.

"... a soldier. Yeah, I'm in the army."

"Wait, you're a soldier? For real?"

Beck sounded impressed but Finn's heart was racing as he realized what he just said. But he couldn't back down now.

"Uh, yeah, that's right," he replied, trying to sound casual. "Been in the army for a couple years now."

Beck looked impressed. "No shit? That's awesome, man! But what were you doing in an office then?"

Shit, lying was *hard*. Now he had to come up with another one, and fast.

"I... uhm... Oh, right. I was actually applying for a new job, at a private security firm. Y'know, with all the political bullshit goin' on, a lot of us are lookin' to get out and find somethin' else."

That was believable. A lot of people didn't want to stay in the army with a president like that. Heck, that's why *he* was looking for another job, right?

Wait, but wasn't that part of the lie? Finn's confusion grew and he barely registered Beck's answer:

"Yeah, I hear ya."

Finn scratched his head, trying to clear his mind. Thinking had never been his strong point - or has it? However, he was quickly distracted again by a weird feeling. As he had raised his arm, his shirt felt... tight. Constricting even. Hardly believing what he felt, he looked down at his own body and felt his solid pecs through his t-shirt. No, they weren't just solid. They were *large*. Large enough to stretch the fabric of his clothing and to limit his movements. Suddenly, he was aware of his other muscles, too. His arms were far bigger than they should be. Or was that right? Wasn't that why he went to the gym every day?

"Damn Finn, I never realized how built you are." Beck’s voice interrupted his slow train of thoughts and Finn could see Beck subconsciously licking his lips at the sight.

Something was wrong here, somehow.

"I... uh... I need to piss." he declared, the crude language coming all natural now.

He almost forgot to take off his headset and stumbled to the bathroom, splashing his face with water. The man who was staring back at him from the mirror was... not him. There was a certain similarity, of course, but *this* Finn was looking all different. He stripped down to his underwear to see better and was greeted by a much more massive body than before: a six-pack, bulging biceps, pecs, and all. His hair was also shorter than it used to be, and his features overall looked more rugged and less nerdy. He was a whole new, hot and handsome version of his former self. Even his face had squared up, and his jawline was much stronger. And his underwear... It looked positively *stuffed*, like he had pushed a sock in there. But he knew that wasn't the case. No, this was *his* package, the outline of his own cock pressing against the fabric, and it was a lot more than he remembered.

Finn stared at his reflection, and the reflection stared back. Something was wrong, but the fog around his brain was only getting denser.

Right, that was it. His big fingers brushed against his stubbly beard. He didn't shave, that's what was wrong here. Without a second thought, he grabbed the razor and started working on his upper lip, his chin and even his chest, until he was presentable again. It was only a few swipes, and once he was finished, he was satisfied with his work. Better.

He grabbed his clothes from the ground and didn't realize they, too, had changed into a pair of large olive cargo shorts and a white tank top.

"Yo, I'm back. Did I miss any action?"

He grinned for the camera and Beck shook his head.

"Cool!"

He readjusted his crotch and got back to playing, occasionally exchanging a joke with Beck. The game was getting really fun. Finn was blasting through enemy ranks without any consideration for strategy anymore. He was a simple guy now, and simple guys didn't need that kind of thing.

After an especially hard boss fight, he yanked his fist up in the air in triumph.

"Hell yeah! Did you see that?"

Beck laughed. "Yeah, I did, Finn. You were a beast out there."

Beck's praise gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.

"Thanks man. One sec."

Without a second thought he pulled off his headset, followed by his tank top, leaving him bare-chested in front of his PC.

"Better. It's getting hot in here."

"Wow, you can say that... Holy shit!"

Beck’s eyes looked like they are about to pop out of his head. "You been hidin' that bod all this time? Damn, you look amazing!" The lust in his voice is clearly audible by now.

"Thanks, man. Just thought I'd get comfortable, y'know?" Finn grinned and ran a hand over his chiseled chest, feeling powerful and sexy. Suddenly, he remembered something.

"Right, wanted to ask ya, since we're bein' honest and all... you got a girl? Or maybe you're into dudes like me?" He didn't get why he couldn't have asked that earlier, it really wasn't that hard, was it? Heh, hard.

Beck's cheeks flush slightly but he grins. "Yeah, I swing for the other team too, Finn. Never found a chick who could handle all this."

He gestured to his own, rather toned body, which wasn't quite as impressive as the one Finn was sporting now, bringing Finn to smirk in acknowledgement.

"Well, if you wanna get more comfortable too, feel free to lose the shirt, man. Unless you're scared to show me up."

Beck chuckled, reaching for the hem of his shirt. "Scared? Please, I'll put your buff ass to shame!"

The two of them continue to play, now with their shirts off, and their banter becomes increasingly flirty. Finn was enjoying the attention, and it was obvious that Beck was enjoying the view as well. However, after two more missions, Beck noticed a sudden drop in his teammate’s performance.

"Dude, what's up? You're playin' like shit all of a sudden." he teased, while his eyes remained glued to the difficult situation.

However, after hearing the grunted answer from Finn, he immediately looked up to the video stream again.

"It's... hard to play with one hand, y'know?"

Beck's mouth fell open as he saw Finn, grinning, with one hand still on the controller and the other tightly wrapped around the massive hard cock he had fished out of his underwear and was stroking slowly, all while maintaining eye contact with Beck.

"Woah, dude. You're... You're jackin' off right now? While we're gaming?"

Finn just grinned broader before his hazy mind produced an idea. Instead of the controller, he took his phone in his hand and typed a bit, all while slowly continuing to work his cock. Beck didn't have to wait long for the mystery to resolve itself, though, as his own phone buzzed.

"That's my address," Finn growled, his voice deep and commanding. "Get your fine ass over here and I'll show you what this soldier can really do."

"I... I'll be there in 10 minutes." Beck promises, his own voice coarse with arousal.

The last thing he saw before his webcam switched off was a lewd grin on Finn's new face.

Hey, sorry for the long silence! I've had some stressful time at work, but now I'm back writing!

[my-castles-crumbling]

cherish - @rosekillermicrofic - word count: 228

“So? What’d you get them, then?” Regulus asked, adding his gifts to the small pile the group had made and sitting next to Barty. Evan and Pandora were about to come back from classes and their friend had planned a small surprise birthday celebration.

“I got Pandora some stuff that you can burn and it smells nice,” Barty answered, shrugging. “The salesperson said it had different effects, or something. Dunno, sounded like something she’d like. Burning shit and nice smells.”

Stifling a laugh, Regulus nodded. Barty wasn’t wrong. “And Evan?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He was deeply curious about what Barty would get Evan, since they’d recently started dating.

“A necklace,” Barty replied offhandedly, summoning himself a drink and popping open the top. 

“A necklace?” Regulus repeated, suspicious. It sounded….tame.

“Yeah, it has a little vial attached to it. I filled it with my spit,” the other boy explained calmly. “And the rope is made of my hair.”

Ah. That made more sense. Regulus took several moments to digest that information and maintain a straight face.

“What, you don’t think he’ll like it?” Barty asked, looking over Regulus’s frozen face.

He sighed. “No…I think he’ll cherish it forever, if I’m honest. Which is part of the problem.”

Barty broke into a grin. “You’re just jealous, Reg.”

“I am…most definitely not,” Regulus muttered, beginning to chug his drink.

[laufeysvalentine]

i want you. pt 2, remus lupin

intertwined, sewn together

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist, pt 1

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- the aftermath of you accidentally confessing your love for remus and running away, hurt/comfort, fluff

word count ༄ 4.1k

nora’s notes ༄ so sorry for the delay on this, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part and for 200 followers??? that's gen insane i love all of you 💘 i haven't proofread so pls excuse grammar

you’ve barely gotten a wink of sleep next morning, and it shows. you finally crash in the morning to sleep through breakfast and lunch. 

at two, you’re up, but barely. you feel like absolute shit. the feeling only worsens when lily comes in, pity in her face. she knows what happened, and the pity only means one thing–there’s a reason he hasn’t come by, and it’s not because he’s in love with you. 

burying your head in your pillow, you let out a loud groan. 

“y/n?” she pulls back your covers and offers a plate up to you. “remus brought this for you, cause you weren’t at breakfast or lunch.” 

“don’t say his name in my presence,” you beg her, only half-joking. the plate she brought has all your favorite foods from the great hall, and you hate that remus knows you so well, well enough to pick them out. 

“he wants to talk to you,” she says once she’s sat on her own bed a few feet from you. “he just didn’t want to cross your boundaries. i’ll tell him off if you’d like, just let me know.” 

“i love you, lily, but it’s not necessary. it’s not his fault half of hogwarts loves him and the prettiest girl out there fell to his feet,” you huff, a sadness leaking out of you. you want to blame him. but really, you can’t. “he didn’t do anything wrong. i guess.” 

lily’s eyebrow raises as she waits for you to elaborate. “he did make you fall to his feet, didn’t he.” 

“you know who i’m talking about.” as if you could compare to celeste… although you’re pleased with the compliment. “and i’m still mad.” 

“you have every right to be,” she concedes, mouth open to say something when the door bursts open, carrying in a flustered marlene. 

“please, y/n, i’m begging you. do something about him. he’s run off and sirius can’t find him, so he’s bugged james about it who’s bugging me, and i can’t take it anymore.” her cheeks are flushed, begging, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to her. “i’d never do this to you, but i’ll truly rip my ears off for another moment of this.” 

“marlene.” lily’s glaring at the blonde, grabbing her by the elbow. “don’t listen to her, y/n. do whatever you want.” 

as much as you feel bad, you’re not ready. you don’t want to face him, like, ever. 

and that’s what you resolve to do for the whole next week. knowing remus, he would never make you uncomfortable, not on purpose, at least, but he knows you too well to make you uncomfortable by accident. so, three days later, when you stumble into breakfast with approximately thirty minutes of sleep and bags suitcases under your eyes to match it and choose the seat farthest away from him, he doesn’t move closer to you. 

still, you feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you just stare down at your plate, making pictures with the eggs and ketchup. while half-listening to marlene’s blabbering, you craft a smiley face, then a frowny face to match your mood, a mickey mouse, and then this girl that you hate for no reason because she’s really not hateable at all you just hate her because she kissed this guy who’s your best friend but technically you’re not even dating you’re just in love with him. fuck. you push away the eggs and glance around the table. the first thing you notice is him noticing you–it’s the first day you’ve not felt too lovesick and heartbroken to ditch class and meals, for risk of seeing him, so your presence speaks for itself. even then, every morning you wake up to an artfully arranged plate outside your door, laden with your favorite foods. the same comes for lunch and dinner, and you’re not stupid. you know he sends them. 

but you can’t talk to him. not now that you know he’s not in love with you like you are with him, at least not as much. he might even like celeste by now. not “might,” he probably does. you wouldn’t hold it against him. they would be beautiful together. a fresh round of nausea sloshes into the walls of your gut. 

when you deem it socially appropriate to leave, you take the chance, getting up with the masses heading to class, trying to slip through the crowd to avoid him. 

“y/n,” sirius croons from your right, so close you can feel his hot breath on your ears, and your heart sinks. where sirius is, the marauders are soon to follow. “oh, how i missed you this past eternity.” 

you grimace at him, pushing his cheek away from your face. “hi, padfoot. it’s been three days.” 

“and what days they’ve been!” he proclaims dramatically, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pretending to faint. 

“siri. i’m not in the mood.” you mutter, slipping out from under his arm, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the blond you would recognize anywhere is not here. you’re in the clear for now, you’ve no clue where he, peter, and james have gone or why they’re so far from sirius. 

he senses your mood shift and transforms into serious sirius. “you need to get back with moony.” 

when you blow out a heavy breath, your hair flies forwards and hangs limply on your face. “a, as i said, it’s been like three days. b, we were never together so i can’t ‘get back’ with him. c, and listen carefully when i say this, i don’t want to.” he doesn’t want me are the words you leave sour and dormant on your tongue. 

“but, y/n,” he pouts. “he really misses you, even if it’s only been a little while. he’s a wreck, knowing he made you cry.” 

you’ve heard enough. of course. this is why the marauders aren’t near him. it’s a ploy, an intervention if you may. 

“no, don’t even.” you pull away from him and push through the throngs of students to get away from him. you toss out a parting over your shoulder before slipping away, “i’ll see you in class.” 

just kidding. you sneak back into your dorm and let the blankets swallow you, watching the ceiling to pass the time. remus is not in love with you. he never will be. 

as you count the amount of nicks in the ceiling paint for the forty-hundredth time, you think about him again. as you have for the past eight years. 

even if he’s not in love with you–you can’t imagine a life without him. you can’t sacrifice your friendship, all those friendly touches, the feeling of his warm hand splayed against your back, the sight of him curled in his bed with his newest book. how could you never discuss your favorite books with him again? how could you sacrifice that golden look that makes you melt over as you speak? those perfectly brewed cups of tea, vanilla-scented sweaters, knitted thickly with love? 

he’s your best friend. the answer is, you could never live without him. even if you’re in love with him and he’s not, in fact, in love with you back. you’ll just have to get over it. 

whoever painted this ceiling left fourteen cracks. 

–

you’re going to get over him, you swear it. this is what you repeat as you walk into the great hall, your eyes trained on the ground, slipping into the seat next to lily. you refuse to look at him or any of his friends. you won’t. you can’t. 

it’s the first time you’re here. sure, you came by the table this morning, but drawing pictures with ketchup until the whole plate looks like you murdered the bottle isn’t exactly engaging. now, you and marlene are conversing about stupid things: the shoes you need in your wardrobe, your favorite song to listen to while crying in the shower vs. in your bed. and important questions, like what’s better, milk or dark chocolate (dark chocolate, obviously, and don’t even think about saying white chocolate. that is not real chocolate)? 

you can feel his eyes on you, drilling almond brown holes into your skull. the urge to look up chokes you. you want to see the curve of his smile, how lopsided it leans on him, the scars that dance around his lips. but you steel yourself. you can’t. you won’t. 

–

you’re ignoring him. the problem is, it’s not really working. 

no matter where you are, you can feel his eyes on you; even if you’re across the classroom, you swear you can smell the earthiness of his cologne, his sweaters. 

fuck. 

you are not getting over him anytime soon. 

the two of you manage to avoid any contact for what feels like months–days, maybe. in the hallways, you brush past each other, sometimes mumbling an apology or two as you pass. nothing sincere. nothing short of incredibly, incredibly awkward. 

you tuck yourself into hidden corners of the library, the astronomy tower, the room of requirement, anywhere where you can get away. from him, from the scary softness of sirius’ eyes when he looks at you, the even more terrifying relative quiet from marlene, who was seemingly instructed to give you space by lily. everything is awkward. and it’s all your fault. 

when the glances stares fade, you know why, and you hate yourself for knowing. the full moon’s nearing. remus’ shoulders are sagging, his looks come from lower down. his body is aching more and more, he twists around nearly every class you have together, something you know he’s always done to try and alleviate some pain. his undereyes are bruised and swollen, and you see the brass of his cane around the common room, and you hate that you aren’t there for him. he hates that thing, he always tries to avoid using it. 

it must be especially bad this time around. 

and when lily comes into your dorm the day before the full moon, skin sunken with exhaustion, you figure something’s up. 

“lily?” you ask, jolting up from your book. the mug of tea that he drank the night you stopped talking is still by your bedside. you can’t bring yourself to move it. what if that’s your last memory with him? 

“hm?” she murmurs, flopping onto her bed. 

“what’s wrong?” you ask as you turn your body towards hers. 

she waves her head, face in the pillow. 

“you can talk to me about him,” you frown. “it’s related to him, isn’t it? the full moon?” 

the redhead sits up, looks at you. she’s not one to lie, never has been. “...yeah. james is just stressed, because he thinks this transformation has already been really painful for him, and it’s only going to get worse tomorrow.” 

your head is bobbing. you swallow your feelings–what is that, guilt? shame? you don’t know what. maybe celeste broke up with him. not everything is related to you. 

“mhm,” you say in response. absorbing. 

she hesitates, mouth opening, before shutting it again. “it’s–well, i don’t…” 

you shrug. “you don’t have to say anything, lily.” 

so she doesn’t. 

—

lily’s right. in the eight years you’ve known him, he has never looked so rough pre-transition. you steal peeks at him all day, like he’s a tv show you weren’t supposed to watch as a kid. it looks like the life is steaming out of him. his hair–artfully messy, as always—is mussed and unwashed. when he walks out of the classroom, it’s a limp, with a slow clunk to it that makes your chest hurt. you want nothing more than to rush over and help him, but no. if he wanted you, well, if he didn’t want celeste, he would have come after you. 

he doesn’t want you. you repeat that to yourself when you see him almost pass out onto his plate during lunch, making a worried sirius (yes, sirius of all people, who usually tries to stay calm in situations like these) rush him to his dorm. 

but he reappears only an hour later for potions, when his back is tensed, tight, and his shoulders are hunched over. slughorn tries to call on him twice, but he pretends he isn’t there. 

your chest aches when he doesn’t show up to dinner, and halfway through, the rest of the marauders disappear, muttering to themselves as they go. you rub your collarbone and watch, your anxiety heightened. 

once the great halls door slam, the first place your eyes dart to is the hufflepuff table. you don’t even need to look around to see her. everyone within a ten-person vicinity is ever so slightly turned towards her, like her charisma is impossible to ignore. they want to be her, be with her, know her. 

she’s speaking animatedly, tossing out an airy laugh now and then. maybe remus hasn’t told her yet. 

some evil, petty part of you relishes in that fact. 

the girls are watching you, eyes wide and lips pursed. they’re trying to read you, determine how you’re feeling. dorcas, of all people, has been checking in on you everyday since you and remus fell out, and marlene too, in her own sarcastic way. but seeing them together made you ache for a cavity that could never be filled. a gryffindor love, a spectacular love. one that existed in your if onlys. 

you head straight to your room after dinner to try and throw yourself into your homework, but the distraction doesn’t work. you can’t stop thinking about remus. is he okay? you wish you could be with him. why did you start ignoring him in the first place? 

as the stars fade into the sky, lily bursts through the door, mary an hour later. marlene sneaks in, then out, then in again, with dorcas by her hand. but as time ticks, ticks, ticks, you can’t stop from looking at it. you’re the only one awake now, but the marauders probably aren’t back yet. 

you try your hardest to battle the reluctance that accompanies you to your bed, but you can’t. you just lie there, body tensed as images of remus run through your mind. the two of you visiting his hometown, or him on your lap, your favorite place for him to be. you’ll never forget the feeling of his coarse hair against the lilting touch of your fingers, or how he would turn onto his side, nose bumping against your stomach as he nuzzled into you. 

after waiting what feels like hours, you check the clock. yes. he’s back now. you rise as quietly as you can, slipping out of the dorms and darting towards the hospital room. is he okay? 

madam pomfrey is nowhere to be seen, and as you pass blue curtain to blue curtain, all you can hear is your shuffling. no one’s here–save for one figure on the end, flat on their back, moonlight filtering through the window above them. 

it hugs him in a most flattering light, his eyes closed and relaxed. fuck, he’s already sleeping. you don’t know if you should be happy he won’t see you or not. on your tiptoes, you creep towards his bed, where there’s a chair on his right. when you touch it, it’s still warm. the marauders must have just left. 

here he is. remus lupin. 

your eyes scan his face and arms, any body part that’s left out from the blankets. he has a fresh cut running from his elbow upwards, through where his t-shirt curls around his bicep. for someone with such fresh scars, he looks so, so beautiful. 

the second you sit down on the chair, his eyes fly open. 

oh. 

he wasn’t sleeping after all. 

perhaps the most awkward minute of your life passes, the two of you just staring at each other. your lips are parted, limbs frozen, anticipating. 

“rem?” you squeak out, reaching out to touch him as you usually would. you want to trace the scar that runs down his cheek, but he pulls away, muttering. 

without even acknowledging you, he turns on his side, burying his head into the pillow. 

“oh,” you breathe. he doesn’t want you there. you’re so stupid. why the hell would you come here? you know he likes celeste. you saw them kissing for merlin’s sake. 

you’re trying your best to stifle a gasp as your eyes become sticky with tears. what the fuck were you thinking? 

“stop it. just stop it,” he groans. “why are you bothering me again?” 

your limbs are stuck in place. for some reason, you can’t think, move. your thoughts are spinning in circles, racing around your mind. nothing’s coherent right now. 

you look at him again, his muscles shifting against the cotton of his t-shirt, and swallow. this is goodbye, isn’t it? your lips twist. 

“i-i’m sorry. i know you probably want to get your rest, i’ll just–” you have to force yourself to stand up, but when you do, your hand accidentally brushes his back on the small bed, and he jerks back, electrocuted. “oh, i–sorry.” 

he jolts upright, hands on the bed to support him. “dove?” 

you pause your movements, unsure what to do. he knew who you were before, didn’t he? what happened? 

maybe he’s just delirious from lack of sleep. you begin to walk away when a warm hand wraps around your wrist, drawing you backwards. 

“y/n. i–” he stops when you face him, and you can see the exact moment he sees the tears in your eyes, as he pulls you onto the bed, thumb sweeping the wetness under your eye like it’s second nature. his palm, rough with calluses and scars, supports the softness of your cheek, and you melt. “you’re here. you’re really here?” 

his eyes, that soft amber, spilling over with uncertainty and… regret? the same way he would look after one of the marauders’ particularly nasty pranks, or snapping at one of his friends close to the full moon. 

you nod, shoulders tense. “i just wanted to come stop by. i didn’t mean to–”

“no, no,” he interrupts, his other hand coming up to rub your arm. “i’m sorry. i didn’t… i’ve just been having, er, i’ve been having dreams of you all week. i thought you weren’t real.” 

his face is sparkling with earnestness, a kind of hope you hadn’t seen on him in a while. when you don’t say anything, he takes it as a cue to continue. “i’m also sorry for everything. i thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. or… i don’t know.” 

“it’s okay, rem,” you promise, trying to build up the cracks threatening to crumble your voice and your resolve. you try to pull away from his touch, but his fingers just find your knee instead, massaging the flesh there. “i didn’t want to get between you and celeste or anything. it seemed like the right thing to do.” the last part of your voice comes out in a throaty whisper. 

“no.” he says firmly. 

“no?” you ask, shoulders crawling towards your shoulders. 

“no. i want you in my life, dove, always. i–celeste and i aren’t anything. i don’t like her. i never did.” his voice peters out, but his gaze on you stays strong. “there’s another girl.” 

does he hate you? want to kill you? because that’s sure what he’s doing right now, and he knows you too well to not know the effect he’s having on you. like he took the sword of gryffindor and peeked it into your chest–not enough to kill you by brunt force, but enough to maim, to let you bleed out onto the bed as you stare at him, betrayal tearing open your veins. 

“that’s nice, remus.” you don’t even know how words are coming out of your mouth at this point. maybe someone’s taken over your body? 

“i’m sorry for not coming up to you, too. i thought it was the right thing to do,” he says quietly, one of his hands dropping from your face. goosebumps follow where his skin met yours. you think the next sound you hear is the crack crack cracking of your heart. “i thought you wanted space from me. and you deserve that. i only let her kiss me cause… well, cause i thought i had to get over you.” 

what?

he’s gauging your expression, you can feel it, but again, everything’s spinning. you might pass out. what’s happening? who is this other girl he loves? 

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i thought there was never a chance that you could love me back. and then, there was that day. but, you’re you, the most gorgeous girl in all of gryffindor, and then there was me. you deserve so much better than me and how fucked up i am. so i left you alone. i thought it was right.” he glances to the side, bringing his hands to his lap. this is not real. you’re not real. he was right. this was a dream, and any minute this floaty feeling will stop and you won’t feel like you can’t feel your body and you’ll wake up hear your alarm and class will start it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real. 

but your hand reaches out to his, shaking. and the next words that tumble out of your lips are: “y-you love me?” 

“how could i not?” a laugh slips from his mouth and those eyes–those beautiful, beautiful eyes–are back on you and you can’t swallow breathe think nothing but those eyes, those sweet eyes. 

your mouth hangs open. “but…” 

“i’m sorry, y/n. and i don’t know if it’s too late, if you’ve found someone better, but i couldn’t ever leave you thinking that i don’t love you back. anyone who didn’t is a fool. an utter fool.” remus scratches at his jaw, lips pursed. “sorry. i just had to say it.” 

“you love me,” you repeat, looking at him. “you love me?” 

“i always have and i always will. loving you is a part of me, dove, the best part of me there’s ever been.” he sucks in a breath, brings your hand to his lips. when he speaks, you can feel the vibrations of his voice on your skin. “i love you so much.” 

you don’t even realize you’re crying until a tear splashes onto his cheek. you move to touch it, leaning closer to his face as your finger smooths the tear out onto his pretty skin. and then–then, oh, god, you’re so close to him. his breath is so warm. he smells so, so good. 

“can i kiss you, dove?” he asks so softly that you almost don’t hear him–you’re not even sure you do, it might just be instinct that pushes your lips together. something written into your body from birth. you were meant to be his, he yours. 

and merlin, he tastes better than you ever could have imagined. 

remus. your remus. 

a smile spreads across your lips after your next kiss, slow and so, overwhelmingly perfect. he pecks your teeth, your nose. 

“remus,” you say, but a small giggle escapes you before you can finish your sentence. this is surreal. what’s happening right now? are we sure this isn’t a dream? “what are we doing?” 

“kissing, dovey,” he answers with another kiss. “and, maybe, if you wanted, i could be yours?” 

“you’ve always been mine, rem,” you respond solemnly, and he tugs you down next to him, pulling your body under the covers so you’re flush next to him. “only now i can kiss you.” 

his palms come up to your cheeks, one to your hair, and again, the two of you connect–by your lips, sure, but also by you. you’ve connected, there’s no breaking it now. 

“and all of that you were saying?” you pull back every so slightly to look at him, to know him. “you are the most perfect soul i could ever ask for. i want you to tell me every time you feel like you don’t deserve me, because that’s just untrue. you deserve everything and more, and you are so perfect for me, i can’t even fathom how you exist.” 

at that, he pulls you back into him, plants and plants and plants his lips on your face. “there’s no part of me that doesn’t love you, dove. my heart, my mouth, my soul. all of me.” 

and when you’re too tired to kiss any longer, if that concept even exists, you fall asleep leg between his, nose pressed into crease between his neck and jaw, arms around each other, intertwined with him for the night–though, in a way, you always have been. and you always will be. 

masterlist

taglist: @lydiasfalling @moonysloveee @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353 > i'm in love with all of u fr

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lmk if you'd like to be on my main taglist xx!

italics means i couldn't tag you for some reason 💔 also sorry i've been so mia in the comments, i love and appreciate all of you who are commenting, tysm and have a good day lovelies

[vinocean22]

20 Things Spanking Fetishists Have in Common

Sweet Tea

Spankos are soulmates. The fetish hardwires our hearts and minds in remarkably consistent ways that aren’t usually apparent to others, so it’s always a bit magical when we chat. “Holy shit, you get me.” I still find it shocking how much we have in common. Can you relate to this list?

1. We’ve been like this for a very long time.

“I’m a lifelong spanko.” This is common in our community and not all that surprising, as most fetishes are formed during childhood. The vast majority of spankos I’ve met have either been this way for as long as they can remember, or can pinpoint a specific age in childhood when they became preoccupied with thoughts of the act. I can’t personally remember any point in my life when spanking didn’t fascinate me and captivate my attention.

2. It’s not a choice.

For many people, spanking is a kink. They enjoy it and find it sexy, but don’t necessarily consider it a requirement for a good time. For those with the fetish, however, spanking is a need rather than an option. Some of us can appreciate and enjoy other BDSM-related activities like bondage or wax play or needles, but spanking is central to our sexuality. This thing lies at the core of our soul and we couldn’t get rid of it if we tried.

We looked up the word ‘spanking’ in the dictionary as kids, not once but multiple times. This also applied to related words like ‘paddle’, ‘switch’, ‘flog’, ‘discipline’, or ‘punish’. We knew their meanings, of course, but the act of reading the definitions was exciting—arousing, even—though we may have been too young to conceptualize the feeling as sexual. If we studied a foreign language, we sat in class and wondered in the back of our minds, “But what’s the word for ‘spanking’?”

(Is this common with other fetishes? Did foot fetishists look up the words ‘foot’, ‘high heel’, ‘stocking’, etc. at the library, bashfully looking around to make sure no one else would notice? I wonder…)

4. We have, uhhh, ‘issues’ with being around it.

Non-spankos can talk about spanking like it’s nothing, but that’s not the case for people with a fetish for it. We may turn bright red when the topic comes up in conversation or feel the need to leave the room when spankings happen in movies or TV shows. For some, this is because the idea triggers intense arousal, even more so than if straight-up intercourse were playing onscreen. For others, it’s simply too intimate and embarrassing to think about unless we’re by ourselves or discussing it in the context of a sexual encounter. When I was a kid and friends publicly proclaimed, “My mom spanked me yesterday!” I felt absolutely mortified. “How can anyone talk about THAT so casually?”

5. We think about it a looooooot.

Some researcher folks have claimed we all think about sex an average of 18-35 times a day. The fetishists I know think about spanking at least this often if not more, frequently daydreaming about the smacking of butts. A fetish is, by definition, a meticulous obsession. We live and breathe it, and never run out of things to say when chatting with other spankos. We want to meet people like us and TALK about it in detail, even if we never end up playing together. It’s our favorite means of connection.

6. Our fetish has caused us hardship.

“Do you feel like your fetish is a curse?” I’ve seen this asked quite a bit on spanko forums. Most of us had to navigate a number of challenges while growing up with this thing. We felt shame, embarrassment, and isolation after realizing how different we were, and may have worried we were crazy. Our relationships with non-spankos have likely been riddled with intimacy problems because we can’t relate to each other sexually. No matter how kinky or open-minded our partners are, they’re unlikely to understand us unless they have the fetish too. As a result, many spankos become pickier over time, ultimately refusing to date those outside of their orientation. “I’d rather be single than with someone I can’t share this with.” Until we find our people, it’s a lonely world.

7. Spanking takes priority over sex.

Every spanko I’ve ever met has put spanking at the forefront of the itinerary. It’s satisfying in its own right for a lot of folks, whether or not other sexy stuff occurs before or afterward. Some spankos identify as asexual, eschewing intercourse entirely because it doesn’t interest them in the same way discipline does. Others are extremely sexual people who focus on spanking as the main course or frequently indulge as an extended form of foreplay. This is an example of why we might experience difficulty finding balance with non-spanko partners. By the time they’re ready to move onto something else, we’re just getting in the zone.

8. It’s on our mind when we orgasm.

One of the first times I had sex with another spanko, I was blown away by the level of telepathy between us. I closed my eyes and fantasized as he licked my clit. He suddenly paused and smiled. “You’re thinking about having your pants pulled down, aren’t you?” I mean fuck, of course I was, but how did he know?! With a bit more experience in the community, I realized many if not all spankos think about it while they’re getting off. The moment thoughts of discipline enter my mind I’m aroused, but I cool off just as quickly if my focus is drawn elsewhere. If I didn’t think about spanking, I’m not sure I’d ever climax.

9. Most of us have tried switching at least once.

Some spankos like to give and receive in equal share, but many have a preference toward being spanker or spankee. I’ve noticed, though, that even the most stubborn of us who proclaim, “I don’t switch!” have tried a taste of the other side out of curiosity at some point. It makes sense to want to learn all angles of the equation. I’m in favor of the idea that everyone benefits from switching. Understanding what our partners experience makes us all better lovers.

10. We want spankings to feel as ‘real’ as possible.

Often, spankees want to cry. We want to be held down and ‘made’ to take it until our spanker is done, no matter what we say or do. This makes the experience feel more real, as if we’re truly being punished by an authority figure and have no choice in the matter. Once trust has been established, some spankees will afford their partners blanket consent and opt not to use safewords. (I don’t recommend this route with anyone you wouldn’t trust with your life. There are oodles of legitimately fucked up people out there masking their abusive tendencies as BDSM. Vet your spankers well, ladies and gents.) This all exists to enhance the pleasure of the fantasy, but isn’t an invitation to violate limits. We want our spankers to be perceptive, taking us just far enough to inspire tears and provide release, but not so far as to genuinely break or traumatize us. Finding this balance is an art form that requires empathy, intelligence, communication, and skill.

11. We all have our preferences.

What implements do you like? What are your favorite positions? What kinds of spankings are your favorite to give? Bruises or no bruises? How long do you like to go for? What kinds of behavior would earn a spanking from you? These are the sexy deets we discuss when we chat, and our answers say a lot about our personalities. It’s rare for a spanko not to have feelings about such things. More often than not, we have specific reasons for liking what we like.

12. We enjoy associated activities.

To state the obvious: spankos love butts. LOOOOOOOOVE them. Naturally, we tend to enjoy other ass-focused activities in conjunction with spanking, like anal play, doggy-style sex, enemas, thermometers, and between-the-cheeks ‘inspections’. Many of us also dig other punishment-related activities traditionally associated with spanking, like corner time or writing lines. “I will not behave like such a sassy little brat. I will not behave like such a sassy little brat…”

13. For us, spanking is its own category.

I’ve noticed a desire in the spanko community to distinguish what we like from the greater umbrella of BDSM. Clearly, spanking incorporates elements of discipline, D/s, and sadomasochism. However, what most of us mean when we mention our fetish is far more specific. We’re not talking whips, dungeons, or shibari. We’re talking traditional, domestic bare-bottom OTK punishment with hands, paddles, belts, wooden spoons, bath brushes, and other goodies found in the home. It’s a comforting, parental, for-your-own-good type of vibe wherein we call our partners Mommy, Daddy, or other titles that convey nurturing familiarity. Very different than, say, having a cold ‘master-slave’ dynamic in a relationship, which tends to be a bit too much for our taste.

14. We love every stage of the process.

A non-spanko might solely imagine the physical slapping of cheeks when we refer to our love of spanking, but that's not the long and short of the matter. Spankos adore the entire arc of the narrative. The misbehavior that led to the spanking. The threats and anticipation. Getting into position. The warm-up and removal of each layer of clothing, all the way until the spankee’s bottom is bared. The swats, first with hands, then a variety of implements. The communication surrounding lecturing and admonishment. The catharsis of tears. The slow tenderness and beauty of aftercare. The closeness the ritual inspires. The intimate drama of this entire process is deeply satisfying.

15. We distinguish between different kinds of spankings.

What is the purpose of the spanking being given? Punishment? Maintenance? Stress relief? Eroticism? This detail is important to us, for it influences the style in which the spanker spanks. Sexual spankings often involve caressing of nether-regions and start off somewhat softly, building in strength at a comfortable pace throughout a drawn-out warm-up period. Punishment spankings embody an entirely different space. They are meant to be intense, painful, and challenging to endure.

16. We watch a lot of the same porn.

My closest spanko friends and I send each other links to videos every so often. “Have you seen this one?” A lot of the time the answer is yes, for we’re drawn to the same spankers, spankees, and couples who create our favorite content. Spanking vids with a glitzier, more porny atmosphere tend to be lower on the ladder than amateur, traditionally domestic ones. Again, we want it all to feel as real as possible. The “we shot this at home while punishing actual misbehavior” setup provides more satisfaction.

17. We don’t usually watch our porn with non-spankos.

Back when I used to date vanilla and guys would ask, “What kind of porn do you watch?” I would lie and pretend porn wasn’t my thing. This is because I knew that what I watch would likely bore them. A clip with fifteen straight minutes of nothing but spanking, sans sex, would likely make a lot of people’s eyes roll back into their sockets. “So monotonous!” Once I started dating spankos, however, I found much joy in sharing, knowing we could relish each and every moment together.

18. We all want a house out in the boonies.

Ask a spanko about their goals for the future and many will answer, “I want to buy land.” This is because our activity of choice is LOUD and has the potential to disturb nearby neighbors. Nothing ruins a good time like a visit from the fuzz. The begging, screaming, and crying… they are cleansing to our souls and we wish to do them freely. It’s countryside living for us, boy howdy.

19. We’re very romantic people.

It comes as no surprise that many spankos are traditionalists. We often relish old-timey acts of devotion like marriage, opening doors, buying flowers, and cooking for our partners. Many are monogamous and like to wait to have sex until deep bonds of commitment are set in stone. Spanking is an extension of this attitude toward intimacy. We’re so deeply devoted to our partners that we refuse to turn our backs on their misbehavior, laziness, procrastination, or feelings of guilt. Instead we stay, face them, and do what must be done to help them deal with their problems, following up with plenty of aftercare involving sweetness and reassurance. Squeeee.

20. We speak the same love language.

For partners with a consensual domestic discipline dynamic, spanking is an act of love. It’s an intimate ritual centering on a potent giving and receiving of attention. A means of setting aside time to converse and communicate about the challenges of relationships and everyday affairs. A tool for strengthening the bond and balancing the energy between spanker and spankee. A way of helping one another feel “right” and “natural” in a world that so often feels like it’s tumbling off its axis. In nonconsensual or manipulative contexts, spanking is abuse. Between those of us who crave it from one other, it’s the highest form of affection.

Granted, these are solely my thoughts based on my own observations and experiences.

Anything to add, spankos?

Reach out, I'd love to hear you : https://www.the-rose-moon.com/post/20-things-spanking-fetishists-have-in-common

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Self-On Kode with Haechan ⋆⭒˚.⋆

idol!Haechan x f!idol!reader

summary: what better way to promote your new music than to do an interview with your boyfriend?! Does he know that? No!

(cw: f!reader, idol!reader)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You were grinning widely as you sat in the pink chair. You bowed to the camera introducing yourself with an excited smile, "Hi everybody! I'm so excited to be here today. The staff and I have planned a bit of a prank today."

Your friendship with Haechan had started when you debuted. Haechan was one of the first idols around your age that you felt comfortable with. He was funny, nice, and was a good friend. He gave you a lot of advice on how to handle the long days, how to speak up with your company, and how to take care of yourself when it all got to be too much. And perhaps... taking care of yourself meant indulging in your friendship with Haechan, in private and in public.

The fans had surprisingly been pretty cool about both of you being close. It wasn't very often that fans got to see two idols from different companies have a genuine friendship. They liked seeing the two of you play around backstage, the random mention of each other in YouTube vlogs or lives, and the very few and far between posts you shared of each other.

When the edits evolved from 8 whole minutes of the two of you being the best of friends to the both of you being secretly in love for 11 minutes, maybe, just maybe, you both began to see each other in a new way. Maybe you guys went on a date to test the waters and maybe that date meant that the two of you became something more and maybe this video would be one of the first times you both directly acknowledged your romantic relationship. Well, beyond standard wordy posts that your companies put out to disclose your relationship.

You smile at the camera, "today I will be pranking my boyfriend Haechan. He thinks he's doing this interview with someone else and has no clue its me!"

Finally, on the other side of the wall, enters the set and sits himself in the blue chair, "Hello, I am Haechan from NCT. Today I will be using the screen name Sunshine and I am excited to figure out my partner is. I think I'll figure it out very easily."

On your side of the wall you, cup a hand over your mouth to suppress a giggle, "I'm going to be so annoying!"

"Hey," you type, biting your bottom lip to keep yourself from laughing.

"Oh, it's starting!" you hear Haechan exclaim. You phone vibrates with a message that reads, 'hey.'

"Geez, he's really boring isn't he? Let's make this more exciting!" You laugh, typing back something you don't think you'd ever tell your boyfriend to his face, "wow, I know this is a handsome man I'm talking to. Tell me, are you handsome?"

Haechan flushes in front of the pink wall with his jaw dropped in shock, "w-what?!"

You calm down a bit, not being as bold with your flirtation so that the both of you could progress the conversation. You both make small talk, talking about base level interests. Then comes the home screen exchange. You'd been preparing for this!

Since no one ever really saw your homescreens, you and Haechan had decided to have cute matching backgrounds, a cute couples selfie you'd taken together. What he didn't know, and you didn't tell him because he was so whiny, was that you had changed it. So he sent you an blurred version of his usual background, a picture of the two of you with you biting his cheek and his eyes screwed shut laughing. You knew the picture well, not only because you lived it but also because you had the picture that followed as your own background before you changed it for this interview.

Haechan's phone dropped from his hands, eyes blown wide in shock again. The staff were busy laughing behind the camera while you sat with a smug smile, listening for his reaction. "Is this real? Is this actually your background?" You read the message that had been sent to you.

"Why wouldn't it be?" You message him back.

Haechan doesn't even look at his phone again, he locks his screen and sets it on his thigh. He groans, rubbing his hands through his hair and over his face, "how do you turn someone down nicely?"

You bite your lip when you hear that. Your plan had worked, your precious Haechan was flushed and embarrassed. You type back, "do you know NCT Haechan? He's so talented and funny. I'm a big fan, are you?"

"Yeah, it couldn't be more obvious," Haechan grumbles, staring at the homescreen. He can't look at any of the apps or notifications because he's staring at his own face! A collage of pictures of him-- only him. Pictures of him from his debut to pictures of him from his last performance.

Maybe he was speaking to some kind of comedian, it was some kind of joke that happened to revolve around him. He'd watched some of these interviews before and it never worked out that one person knew who they were texting and the other didn't. This had to be some kind of strange coincidence.

He somehow expertly turned the conversation around, evading your question and changed the conversation into something more lighthearted. Then comes the first Would You Rather. The question: would you rather make a burping sound while farting or farting sound while burping?

You take a second to think, considering the question then finally send your answer, "I think I'd rather make a farting sound while burping."

"Really?" Haechan replies, "why is that? I mean I agree, but I'm curious to hear your reasoning?"

"Tell me yours first," you reply.

"Well mostly I don't want to feel the rumbling feeling of a burp in my butt," Haechan types out.

"He's so gross," you mutter as you read the screen, "he's such a guy." And yet you type out a message, "wow, that's so manly of you.."

Haechan runs his hand through his hair, "how would someone read that and find it attractive?"

Again, he doesn't address your flirting. He maneuvers around it, he doesn't want to be the guy that hurts yours or anyone's feelings, even a stranger's.

By the time the both of you get to the end of the interview having just sent the most recent pictures in your camera roll to each other, Haechan feels a horrible ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. You had sent him a picture of a flower from some bush outside and he had sent you a picture of the products that had been used on his face before the interview. (He'd sent the picture to you.) How is he going to handle this?!

He looks up from yet another flirty message with a look of unease, "you guys don't do these things with crazy fans right?"

The staff reassure him that no, they absolutely would not ever do anything to put him or anyone else in harm's way. His partner is just a silly person, a jokester.

You, on the other hand, are a ball of excitement to reveal yourself. The time comes to meet your partner, though you already know yours. You prop yourself on the wall, one hand outstretched against the wall and the other on your hip.

Haechan rounds the corner and sees you. You flip your hair, winking at him with a, "hey, handsome."

He falls to his knees, hand clutched over his heart while he lets out a sigh of relief and a loud exaggerated whine, "how could my own lover do this to me?!"

It takes both you and the staff to calm Haechan down, but you eventually get him to sit in the chair of the high top table and get the frown off his face. He's still pouty of course, and he lets you know so, "how could you do this to me?"

"With the help of my managers, your managers, the production here at Kode... duh," you answer, squeezing his knee beneath the table reassuringly.

"You're so funny," he deadpans, "but seriously, I was so stressed that I was going to have to see a real life crazy person and turn them down while maintaining my safety. Thank goodness it was a real life crazy person I already knew."

You shove his shoulder with a laugh, "so you had no clue who it was?"

"Absolutely no clue," Haechan confirms, "I did think that this was going to be easy at first, but you came on so strong that I had to mostly focus on getting us to have a normal, not flirty conversation. Did you have fun stressing me out, my menace?"

"The best time ever," you nod with a proud smile.

Haechan lets out a breathy laugh, more of a soft exhale of air as he pulls your hand up and pressed a kiss against the back of your hand, "I'm never doing an interview with you ever again."

"You say that now, but you're my biggest fan. Don't you want me to be successful? How can I be successful if even my handsome, sunbaenim boyfriend won't help me?" You tease, looking at him with a look all too innocent to be real.

"Oh right. Please make sure to check out my girlfriend's first solo debut. The music is amazing, her voice sounds like angels singing, the music videos are award winning, the outfits are out of this world and there is nothing like it in all the world. Please support her... or I will have to," Haechan states with a fake smile while looking right into the lens of the camera, letting his smile drop into a pleading face for the ending.

"Yes, please make sure to check out my solo! I appreciate it," you smile at the camera, bowing to show your gratitude. While you fulfill your promoting duties you miss the adoring look on Haechan's face. The way his eyes soften and he looks at you with a calm, serene look of love.

You look at him with a soft smile, "can you forgive me for my prank?"

He tugs you into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, "I can make an exception if you promise this will be the last time you prank me."

"Well, of course," you answer too quickly. A lie, of course.

The conversation between you dwindles down and the two of you take your selfie. You smile brightly at the camera with your head tucked beneath Haechan's chin, Haechan smiles sweetly at the camera with his usual close-lipped smile. It's the first selfie as a romantic couple that anyone will see of the two of you and it makes you slightly nervous, but more than anything you're excited for people to see just a sliver of the dynamic you and Haechan share, the love that's there.

"Thank you to the team at Kode for having us and thank you to the fans in advance for all the love and support. I hope you love it," you smile at the cameras.

The video ends with the screen fading to black, but if fans listen closely, they can hear Haechan reassuring you, "everyone is going to love it, honey. How could they not love anything you do?"

[itoshiabi]

Four Goals For You

Summary: Childhood friends turned first love—Sae Itoshi challenges you in the boldest way possible: "If I score a hat trick, you're going on a date with me."

💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

The VIP lounge buzzes with quiet energy, a mix of calm and anticipation hanging in the air. Below, the stadium lights cast a brilliant glow over the field as fans fill the seats, their excited chatter building into a steady hum. Inside, the team is focused on their final pre-match preparations—some stretching, others engaged in casual conversation. The atmosphere is tense but controlled, the kind of silence that comes before something big.

And in the middle of it all, you sit, watching from the sidelines.

You're not just any guest. You're here at the personal invitation of Sae Itoshi himself!

You and Sae have known each other since childhood—family friends, to be exact. He never cared much for friendships, his ego keeping most people at arm's length, but somehow, you did manage to stay by his side. Maybe it was out of obligation, or maybe there was something more that neither of you dare to acknowledge.

But what you don't know is that Sae has been falling for you all this time. His first love—silent, unspoken, yet undeniably real.

Leaving for Spain was difficult for him. He had to leave his parents, Rin and YOU! The thought of someone else taking his place in your life haunted him, even if he never admitted it. And when he found out you're visiting Spain for the summer, he wasted no time inviting you to his game.

Now, as the final moments before kickoff tick away, Sae suddenly stands up.

The room quiets instantly. His teammates turn, curious. But Sae ignores them all, his teal eyes locked onto you. He strides forward, stopping just inches away.

Then, in front of everyone, he speaks.

"If I score a hat trick today, you're going on a date with me."

Silence.

You blink. Around you, the room suddenly erupts.

"What the hell?!" someone shouts.

"Did Sae just confess in the most Sae way possible?" another mutters.

"Wait, wait, hold on—Sae, are you serious?!"

Sae ignores them, his expression unwavering. He isn't joking. Not even a little.

Your heart pounds. "H-Huh?"

His voice is steady. "You heard me. Three goals, and you’re mine for the evening."

Heat creeps up your neck. The way he looks at you—calm, composed, yet utterly serious—is almost too much to handle. The entire team is waiting for your response.

You cross your arms, trying to steady yourself. "…And if you don't?"

"Not happening."

The room explodes again.

"THIS GUY—"

"Who knew Sae could be such a show-off?!"

"Damn, now I actually want to see him miss just to see what happens—"

Sae's sharp glare cuts them off instantly. Then, without another word, he turns and walks toward the exit. "I'll see you after the match."

And just like that, he's gone.

.............................

The match was insane.

Sae played like a man possessed. Every touch, every movement is calculated perfection. His first goal? A clinical strike. The second? A breathtaking free kick. The third? A last-minute tap-in after effortlessly weaving through the defense.

Hat trick. Game over.

And just in case you think about backing out—he scores a fourth.

The stadium erupts, but Sae barely reacts. Instead, the moment the final whistle blows, he jogs toward the VIP section as he always does but this time his eyes are scanning the crowd for someone..... Searching for you!

You're still frozen in shock when he walks up at you. Without any drama he asks in his usual straightforward time "Four goals. No excuses. When's our date?"

Your face burns as his teammates roar with laughter behind him. You fake-huff with annoyance as you look away and mumble "…I was going to say yes after the third goal. Maybe even if you scored none... I still would have agreed." You pout.

A rare chuckle escapes him after seeing your rare pout, something softer in his gaze now. "Good. Because I wasn't stopping at three, anyway."

And in that moment, Sae Itoshi realised—his biggest victory isn't the match.

It's you.