#The Smell of Rain and Warm Twilight

[musicmakesyousmart]

Old Snail Shell - The Smell of Rain and Warm Twilight

Self-released

2024

[seasons-of-death]

i tell my walls all about you

pairing: jj maybank x exgf!reader

genre: angst,,, some fluff? i think? with a happy(ish) ending? might write a happier part two if peeps are interested!

synopsis: missing your ex-boyfriend

word count: 1k

a/n: this is totally twilight new moon vibes (me every break-up)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩

There was nothing in the world that didn't remind you of him. From the way your fucked-up ceiling fan occasionally squeaked, bringing to mind the times he slept next to you, unaware of the small little noises he let out in his sleep. The walls of your bedroom that he helped you paint because you couldn't reach high enough. The way his smell still faintly stuck to your bedsheets, despite it having been a month since he last laid in them, his naked body sprawled on your bed as he slept, his blonde hair around his face, one of his arms strewn around your waist. Your bed, all the times he laid in it like it was his own, all the times he fucked you into your mattress, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pressed kisses down your neck.

He was the only one who knew you, every nook and cranny of your mind and your body. Even though it had been weeks since your break up, you couldn't bring yourself to delete any of the pictures of him on your phone or throw away anything he gave you, or anything belonging to him. And as you lay in bed at night, crawled up in his hoodie, tears stung your eyes when you were starting to realize that his scent was starting to fade away from it.

For the first few weeks after the break-up, you would barely leave your bed, while you thought just what your former boyfriend of three years would be getting up to at the moment. Maybe he was drowning his sorrows in booze and weed, or maybe he was doing just fine. It was his idea to break up, after all, explaining something about what a mess he was, how you deserved someone better than him. But what he didn't seem to be able to get through his beautiful, thick head was that you didn't want anyone else but him. If only that was enough.

The smell of burnt grilled cheese brought you to memories of sitting up on the counter of your cramped kitchen, the beautiful boy perched between your legs as he looked up at you teasingly while you bit into the sandwich, before letting him have a bite. Every morning when you woke up, you'd reach out for him, only to have his side of the bed cold and empty.

Each rainy day reminded you both of that day you'd spent cooped up inside until he let out a loud sigh, announcing how bored he was, ending up with you two playing with water guns you had borrowed from some of the kids in your neighborhood, a victorious grin on his face whenever he hit you, despite both of you already being soaked from the rain. That day becoming the day when you two finally became more than friends pining after one another, and you could still remember the way his warm hand felt on your cold cheek, the way your hand immediately went up to his hair as he pulled you into a dizzying kiss, afterward muttering to you about how long he'd been wanting to do that.

From that day on, you had been inseparable. Where he went, you went. Who you disliked, he disliked. He basically lived with you, and from the moment your parents saw the way he looked at you, they loved him like family. A third of the things in your bedroom belonged to him, and every part of you was so sure it'd never end, that the two of you would simply stay that way forever, curled up under your blanket, nuzzling into his chest as you watched some crappy reality tv-show on your beat-up laptop while he pretended to not be interested.

But when he was gone, you laid alone in your bed, with his hoodie on, it felt as if all warmth from your room, from your life, had been taken away. Your friends tried to cheer you up, and to get you to talk to them, but when they came by, you wouldn't even move from your spot, not even move your lips. But during the nights just like the ones you used to spend with JJ just quietly talking to each other about the future you'd want to spend together, you now spent pacing around the bedroom, talking to yourself.

When you finally started to heal, when a scab finally formed on the deep cut his absence had left on you, you started actually leaving your house. But as a few weeks had gone by, and you were genuinely laughing for the first time in weeks at something your friend said as the two of you lay on the beach of course fate would want to play tricks on you.

That's when you saw him, emerging from the ocean, his hair wet and his board in his arm, his bare chest glistening from the way the sun was sitting the drops of water on his skin, talking to Pope as they were making their way back to the rest of their friend group. You wanted to hide, desperately wishing he wouldn't be able to see you. But you were frozen to the spot, too fazed to do anything. And of course, that's when JJ's eyes flickered to where you were, his eyes widening slightly before turning back to his friend.

And that's how you ended up in one of his hoodies once again, laying in your bed in a fetal position as you listened to the patter of rain outside of your window, the entire house dark. When there was a knock on the door, you considered just ignoring it, since your parents weren't there to open it; maybe you could just pretend you weren't there.

But when the knocking got more and more incessant, you sighed, peeling your body away from the comforter you had thrown over you as you slumped over to the door, feeling as if a truck had hit you. You pulled open the door with an empty expression on your face about to tell them to leave, but your expression soon changed once you saw a familiar face standing there, his blonde hair soaked by the rain, his breathing unsteady as your eyes widened.

But before your mind could even register the fact that JJ was behind your door, he had already pulled you into a heated, mind-numbing kiss.

[daengtokki]

Kim Seungmin/gn!reader

wc: 1.3k

rating: fluff -`♡´- (contains some very light smut and teasing)

Post-first pitch Seungmin. I was going to get into heavier smut, but it just didn't seem necessary. Just wanted to write cute whiny Minnie and try to unblock my brain.

Thank you for the reblogs! 🤍🤍🤍

★────★────★

Seungmin can’t sleep. He’s buzzing with adrenaline and leftover excitement —the afterglow of his trip to throw a first pitch at a major league baseball game. It’s happened and it’s done, and he still can’t believe he threw the ball right down the middle. No dirt, no accidental curve, no slip up on the mound.

He talked about it all night, and you listened happily until both of you finally dozed off.

“Hey…hey you up?” He turns over in bed and gently pokes your side, the spot he knows is ticklish.

But you don’t stir, so he whines a little. “I can’t sleeeeep.”

You grumble and roll onto your back. “Huh…what’s wrong pup? It’s so early.”

“I can’t get back to sleep”

“Do you want some coffee? Are you hungry?” You pick up your phone and look at the time, then to the window to see some faint morning light starting to show in the sky.

“No, I wanna pitch some more,” now he flips onto his back, shaking the bed, and mimics a throw toward the ceiling.

“Mmm yeah, you did a great job. I thought you had a headache.”

“I feel better. Will you be my catcher?”

Your eyes pop open and stare at him. The grin on his face is undeniable—cute, sincere, so eager. There is no such thing as saying no to Kim Seungmin when he gives you those eyes. But…

“I would love to be your catcher…but there’s nowhere to do it. We can’t do it in the apartment unless we wanna break something. And I think it’s raining.”

“No, it stopped! Let’s go out, just for a few minutes…just a few throws.”

“Okay, give me a minute to finish waking up”

“I’ll make coffee when we come back in”

—

It’s nice outside. Not warm, but not too chilly. The smell of rain is still in the air, and it feels like more is coming. Best of all, it’s quiet and empty—it doesn’t feel like there are any prying eyes. You watch as he flexes his gloved hand open and closed, tosses the ball (not the one he threw hours ago, but an older, more loved one) into the air and back into his bare palm.

“Are you ready?” He peeks back at you from his pretend pitchers mound and smiles.

“Yes. Don’t do a splitter, I’ll miss it.”

“No splitters.” He readies himself and winds up, and it happens so fast you’re surprised you have time to react. It’s way too early for this.

“Oh, good catch! I taught you well.” He holds up his glove and waits for your return throw.

The sun is mostly up, but it’s so overcast it might as well be twilight. Still, you can see Seungmin’s big smile glowing at you from this distance. He hops on the balls of his feet a few times while he waits for you to get ready.

“How does your shoulder feel from all the practice yesterday?”

“Not bad,” he throws you another, slightly harder pitch, but you catch it. “Throw me a good one.”

Seungmin catches your attempt at a ‘good one’, but he has to jump forward a few steps to get there. “I’m still stiff from sleeping, I guess.” He rolls his shoulder and shakes his arm a few times.

“You’re what?” You giggle and stick your tongue out, "you’re stiff? That sounds nice..."

“Dirty mind,” he smiles at you and licks his lips, and now your eyes drop and watch his sweatpants as he takes a few more steps toward you. "Come on."

“Come? What do you want me to come on?”

The look he gives you is a bad attempt at being annoyed. His giggle floats all the way over to you with his pitch, and the throw this time is soft…a little high. When you look back up from your glove he’s already splitting the space between you in two, grinning stupidly, biting his lip.

“We’re done already?”

He grabs your hand without a word and pulls toward the entrance… "we could just do it out here, ya know" …into the elevator, still silent as it slowly rises up and up to your floor. Your hand is squeezed tight in his warm grip, and he swings it a few times as the doors finally slide open.

It doesn’t take much to see he’s been on an adrenaline high for hours, even as he tried to sleep, and it was no fun not being able to go with him on his little trip—you felt lonely all day. But he’s home now, and he’s all yours again. And he’s definitely wide awake. Now you are, too. No coffee needed.

Still he doesn’t say anything, but he’s humming happily to himself.

“Minnie?”

“Yes love?”

The door closes behind him, and he’s all over you. Lips kissing and teeth biting, hands pulling at your sweatshirt, trying desperately to get it off. You pull away and do it for him, and you feel his hand run up your sides, under your shirt. It’s off and on the floor. His eyes move down your body, and slowly back up to your face. You know what he’s waiting for—Seungmin likes it when you undress him. He prefers it, actually.

Now you can see what’s going on in his pants, he can’t hide that. Before you go for his shirt, your hand slides down his front for a feel. Seungmin is ready to go, now, and you’re surprised he’s being so patient. You grab the hem of his shirt and lift, revealing his heaving chest and shoulders, and as you run your eyes over his neck and collarbone, he pulls his arms back and stretches.

A moment later you’re up and clinging to him, fingers clawing into his back. Then you’re on the kitchen table, legs wrapped around his hips. His dick, still tucked away in his sweats, pokes into you as he kisses your chest and neck, squeezes playfully at your thighs. It’s more forward of him than you’re used to.

“You are not fucking me on this kitchen table, Seungmin”

“Aw, whyyy?” He pulls you against him and stares hard, “please?” The puppy eyes again. Cute and sincere and so, so eager.

“The couch is right there”

“But you’re already on the table”

The warmth of his hand is on you, down your stomach, underneath your clothes, fingers teasing.

“Yeah, yeah I am…”

“Lay down,” he whispers.

“Ooh, you’re cute pup”

“Please”

You shake your head, “gonna have to make me.”

Seungmin swallows hard, and you watch as his eyes trace along your neck, and your chest. He rarely makes you do anything; he’s usually the one being made to do things, and he likes it that way.

“Make me…pleeaase?”

“Please?” He grips your thighs and pulls until you’re snug against him, cock pushing right where you need it to. “Uh…make you…hmm,” he starts, and you think he might do something, but he hesitates.

“Look at me”

His arms wrap around your waist and squeeze, and he looks. Eyes big and dark, cheeks blushed. Seungmin is too soft for this. He whines and throws his head back.

“C’mon big boy, make me”

“But…” Seungmin laughs, kisses your throat.

“What do you think about when you’re all riled up and horny and I’m not there to fix it?”

The sound of his breaths and needy whimpers is driving you crazy. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep going like this—all you have to do is stop teasing and take over—get him to the couch, fuck him until he begs you to make him come.

“You…taking care of me.” He says it so softly, so sweetly. “Making me feel good.”

It sends a shiver up your back and down your arms. "I wanna make you feel good.” Once again, denying him is useless. Seungmin is your prince; your sweet little pup. You will take care of him and give him what he needs, whether that means waking up at dawn…or this.

“Pick me up”

He grabs your hips and holds you close to him, but his eyes linger for one more long moment.

“Pick me up…and take me to bed”

[crushribbons]

𝔟𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔥

summary: It's hard for Don Hume to talk about awkward subjects.

cw: 5k words, established relationship fluffiness, SMUT (18+ ONLY), protected penetrative sex, fingering, light choking (monkey covering eyes emoji), barely edited, definitely not researched, fem reader/OC, this is a work of fiction about the character from tbitb and not the actual historical figure (like duh). based off an anon request.

a/n: but daddy i love him!!!! xx laney

Don handed the vendor a few coins and accepted the rose the man passed him. He turned and handed it to her, and she blushed.

“Stop spending all your money on me,” she scolded gently, running her fingertips over the delicate scarlett petals. 

Don simply said, “No,” and offered her his elbow, which she took with a shake of her head and a laugh. Don Hume must have been born under the sign of the bull, warm and stubborn as he was.

“You’re going to have to sell that gold medal soon enough,” she teased. Don shrugged and the two continued walking down the street. It was twilight, and fireflies were blinking lazily around their heads as street lights turned on and the city lane bustled with nightlife. Dim green flickers illuminated his hazel eyes, usually downcast but twinkling tonight. She nestled herself against the strong arm holding hers and enjoyed the scent of rain that seemed to waft off him permanently. 

When she’d first told him, in their biology lecture, how lovely he smelled, the pure bemusement on his face had been more than enough to send her flying head over heels for the presumed-mute rower. 

“I don’t…own any cologne,” he’d replied after several minutes, choking out the words under his breath with great difficulty while the lecturer droned on, heedless to the many slumbering students that were snoring along to his lesson. 

“Well, I guess you just smell good, then,” she’d said. They had turned back to their notebooks and pens. It took Don three and a half more months and qualifying for the Olympics to ask her to dinner, but she patiently sat through every “Would you…um…ah, never mind…” until the blessed day when he finally got all the words out in the correct order. 

He’d been a combination of too embarrassed and too violently anxious to let her kiss him goodbye when he boarded the train for the team’s trip to Berlin. They had stood on the platform in front of the passenger car, a miserable Don muttering under his breath. She was fussing with his tie and blazer, struggling not to be battered around by the throng of well-wishers seeing the boys off, when his eyes suddenly widened and he said, “I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are. Stop moving, the knot still looks wrong.”

“No,” He shook his head, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance where his inevitable demise awaited him. “No, what if I screw this up for everyone?”

She finished wrestling his tie into a passable windsor knot and stepped back from him, smoothing off his blazer. “And what if you win?”

“I–”

“Donald, do not pick now to be the first time you argue with me.” She smiled and his knees, already jelly from nerves and anticipation, seemed just about ready to give way. “But, you should know: I don’t much care for silver jewelry,” she whispered, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. His face burned a bashful red where she’d touched it that spread down over his neck. 

One thing she could never accuse Don of was not listening to her. He made note of her distaste for silver and brought her gold, instead.

As they walked down the street arm in arm, her chatting about everything he’d missed in his time away and him listening placidly, she couldn’t stop herself from just staring at him. Spending time with Don made her feel like she was getting a glimpse into a private world that no one else was privy to, and she felt privileged by it. He kept everything about himself, including his countless victories, so wrapped up and tucked away that sometimes, it was hard for her to remember that he wasn’t just your average undergraduate. No one they passed by on the street would have been able to guess that the man next to her was a world-renowned athlete. No one, absolutely no–

“Hey, look who it is!” Joe Rantz and Joyce Simdars were strolling towards them, a mirror image of the puppy love their friends were wrapped up in. Joyce squealed and ran to her sorority sister, who threw her arms around Joyce’s neck and told her how pretty she looked. The two boyfriends exchanged knowing looks and shook hands with each other, immediately falling into a discussion of the crew practice they’d had that afternoon. 

Joyce stopped complimenting her friend’s dress to scowl at Joe and scold, “No strategizing on our date night, dear.”

“Yes, dearest,” Joe responded with understated exaggeration and the utmost devotion. The two ladies turned back to each other and began chattering about school and social events, but when she caught a snatch of the conversation the boys were having, she strained to tune into it. 

“Hey, no, come on,” Don was mumbling and he looked down at the ground and kicked at some invisible nuisance. 

Joe was clearly ribbing him. He poked at his solemn teammate’s shoulder and said something that she couldn’t make out over Joyce’s explanation of the party she was planning for the team now that they were stateside once more. Don shook his head adamantly in response, and Joe chuckled. 

She craned her neck as subtly as she could while still appearing engaged with Joyce, a vapid smile in place as she tried in desperation to catch what the two men were talking about that was making Don more uncomfortable than he’d been that night Bobby forced him to play piano for half their class. Only bits and pieces from Joe reached her ears: “Well, maybe…why not?...Sure, she would…” Her espionage was abruptly shut down as Joe reached over to pinch Joyce’s cheek. “Hate to break this up, but the film starts at 8:00, honey.” 

Joyce gasped and looked down at her watch. “We’ve got to go! I’ll see you,” she promised, and the two girls exchanged hugs and kisses. The couple wiggled their fingers as they passed them and bid them goodnight. 

Don was staring at Joe’s back when his girl tucked her hand back in the crook of his arm and asked, “What all were you two talking about?” He squirmed and didn’t answer. They resumed walking, so she allowed a few more paces before she asked again. 

“Nothin’, nothin’,” he said, shaking his head again to indicate the finality of his refusal to answer. She bopped him gently on his nose with the rose. 

“Tell me!” “It wasn’t proper, you know,” Don coughed and cleared his throat. “For a lady to hear.” He glanced at her nervously, like perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned that she was a lady. 

She sighed. “And what about for me to hear?” Her boyfriend’s mouth moved like a fish’s, opening and closing without sound, searching for any word at all that would end this line of questioning. “Tell meee!”

He threw his hands up, a tiny movement but so unbearably dramatic for him. “No! Ask him yourself if you wanna know!” “Fine!” She turned around and inhaled as if she was fixing to scream down the block, knowing it would scare the living daylights out of him. “Hey, J–!”

Don gave a small cry of despair and wrenched her along by her shoulders so she would continue walking with him. “Okay, okay! I’ll tell you.” She didn’t hide her giggle of triumph from him, and he looked like he wanted to remain frustrated, but just couldn’t. He looked around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard, then took a deep breath and spat out in one mortified mumble, “He just asked if we h-had, if we were going to, if we’d slept together, alright?” It seemed he was one more embarrassment away from being sick all over the sidewalk.

Her eyebrows were raised when he finally worked up the nerve to look at her. “Oh, is that all?” 

Don was horrified. “All?” he repeated in an incredulous whisper. She had to smile. 

“Come now, everyone does it, Donny!” She paused a beat while considering her next words. Her deliberation led her to the conclusion that they would make her boyfriend blush oh-so-prettily. “Joyce tells me about her and Joe all the ti–” The closest thing to a whimper she’d ever heard come out of Don Hume’s mouth came out of his mouth. “It’s nothing bad!” she reassured him quickly. “All nice things and nothing too intimate! Girlfriends just share with each other. Don’t you and the boys ever chat about things like that?” She remembered who she was talking to and sighed. “Never mind.” 

His face was contorting painfully, like it couldn’t decide what emotion to land on. He shoved both his hand into his pockets, inadvertently pinning her arm to his side, and mumbled, “Well, anyway. I didn’t share anything.” 

There’s not much to share yet, she thought, but to Don she said, “Such a gentleman,” and laid her head on his shoulder. It had been one month since he’d asked her to dinner and five days since he’d been back from Berlin, and she thought she very well might die if they didn’t, well, give Joe something to tease Don about further. 

Their first piece of affection that wasn’t a timid peck on the cheek had come as Don had pushed his way wordlessly through the gargantuan crowd at Washington State welcoming the team home from their gold medal win, locked in on the tiny sliver of forehead he could make out bouncing up and down slightly in excitement. When he had finally reached her, he stooped to cradle the back of her neck and pulled her into a kiss that almost knocked her unconscious. As he’d pulled away, he’d whispered bluntly, “I missed you.” 

Since then, she’d been able to do little else than think about the way he’d held her, the way his mouth felt on hers. But the aggressively respectful stroke had hardly touched her since. He walked her to her doorstep after every date, spent whatever sparse pocket change he had on her without thought, and carried a tiny picture of her face (that he had cut out of the school newspaper article on her sorority’s spring benefit) in his wallet. 

And she was sleeping with a photograph of him in his first Olympic race, face a knot of concentration and exertion, sweat-slicked hair hanging in his eyes, lean muscle evident in every line of his body. And it wasn’t so she had sweet dreams about him. 

She was mortified by her actions, that she couldn’t control herself the way Don could. Every time he dropped her off, she imagined him saying, “Actually, I don’t give a damn about your reputation or protecting your heart. I’d so much rather just see you without clothes on,” but, unsurprisingly, he never did. It was part of the reason she’d fallen for him, and part of the reason she now wanted to throttle a little passion into him. 

She closed her eyes and hummed a silent meditation on patience while Don stopped to look in the window of a hardware store. He was peering into the closed shop, scanning their aisles with an interest that only the son of a hardware store owner could exhibit, when they both spoke at the same time.

“We are going to sleep together, though, aren’t we?”

“This place never keeps enough varnish in stock.” 

They both blinked at each other, then spoke in unison once more.

“What?”

She colored, but held her resolve. “I mean, you do want to, right? With me?” Don’s shoulders were creeping up towards his ears, a defense mechanism learned from years of trying to remain as invisible as possible. He glanced wildly around the street, which was steadily emptying as the evening sky darkened further, as if enemy spies were going to leap out from behind a corner and arrest them for leaking government secrets. Cornered.

He stammered for a few, solid minutes. Patience, you are falling in love with this man and you will afford him the patience he deserves, she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. “You are not taking advantage of me by wanting to, darling,” she assured him, and reached up to smooth down Don’s jacket like she always did. The contact eased his breathing back to a healthy pace. “You know that, right?”

“Alright,” he said. But he still looked miserable while he searched for his next words. Her heart broke a little bit for her sweet and anxious lover.

“Do you want to just put this off ‘til later?”

The answer came back with more urgency than she’d ever seen Don use before. “No! No, I mean, no. We can…we should…” He trailed off and met her eyes for the first time since this awkwardness had begun, and decided that was enough. “Yeah, we should.” His shoulders dropped back down to their normal position.

She couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at her lips. “Oh, should we?” she asked through the grin. Don shot her a look that said please do not make me regret leaving the house today, an expression that was omni-present whenever Bobby Moch was around. God, he was adorable like this.

“So…” She swung her handbag back and forth and spoke as if they were discussing the weather. “Should we…tonight?” His eyes widened, betraying the fact that he clearly hadn’t even considered that as a possibility.

Don Hume, forever true to form, nodded.

They had to be careful. There were strict rules about boys in the girls’ student housing, but there were also generations’ worth of knowledge, passed down from resourceful and clever women, on how to evade those rules. Sneak in before the final lights out call, always use the front door instead of the side one where a disgruntled matron often sat up keeping watch, never let a guy accidentally leave his jacket behind. The network of girls that worked like a perfect underground railroad of boy smuggling came out in full force for the couple as they padded, silently and with shoes in hand, up the stairs to her dormitory bedroom. Sorority sister Betty was distracting the matron posted near the side door, bemoaning her period cramps and bursting into over-exaggerated meltdowns about how she’d never pass her history seminar or be asked out by Clark Gable. Don actually had to stifle a laugh as they both slipped into her empty bedroom and she shut the door behind them with the utmost care. 

“She’s good.”

“She owes me.” Don’s eyebrows rose, but he asked no further questions. He was standing across from her as she turned to him and pressed her back against the door, his hands once again in his pockets. The two stared at each other for a good long while. 

Finally, she figured it would be safe to remove her coat and hang it on the coat rack beside the door. The movement did not spook Don into running, so she threw her shoes to the ground, too. 

He was surveying the four beds in the room. “Which one’s yours?” he finally asked, breaking the tension that only she seemed to be feeling. She pointed towards the far bed on the left side of the room, the one made neatly with rose-printed sheets. “It’s nice.”

“Thank you,” she squeaked. They lapsed into silence again, and she wondered if Don was waiting until he was caught by a matron and cast out, avoiding this whole uncomfortable situation. Perhaps they shouldn’t have decided this so flippantly, maybe Don was the kind of man who needed–In two strides, he crossed the room to her and grabbed her neck the same way he had upon his return from the Olympics. She could only mumble “Oh,” before Don had his mouth pressed against hers. His kiss was hungry, hands suddenly eager to explore everywhere they’d never been. Her back was still pressed against the door when she pushed him away and ordered breathlessly, “Bed, go, now.”

Don hadn’t become the most famous stroke in the world by not taking orders well. He scooped her up in the bridal style, scaring a little yelp out of her that he quickly smothered by kissing her again. Her back hit the bed and she felt him awkwardly hover over her, their lips still locked together. She reached up for the length of his tie and pulled him down on top of her by it. 

He let out a short “Oof!” as he stumbled on top of her, but corrected himself in no time, swinging his legs on either side of hers. If I let Don be in charge here, she thought, while their tongues tangled together, we would be here all night. Actually, I could make peace with that. 

But she would have to make her peace another time, because they did not have all night tonight. They had maybe a comfortable twenty-minute cushion between Betty’s diversionary theatrics and the remaining time before the lights out rounds were made. And the way Don was making her feel, the inadvertent and desperate grinding against her…they certainly did not have all night. 

She pushed him up again, and this time, he actually made a noise of protest that some may have classified as a whine. His eyes searched her face frantically as she pulled herself out from under him, yanked his suit jacket off and tossed it to the ground, and told him to lay down on his back. His unquestioning obedience and the look he gave her as he settled on his back, ankles crossed, and began undoing his tie and shirt buttons made her core flood. She clutched a throw pillow for support as she watched him. 

Trying not to notice the way his cock was straining against his pants, she climbed her way up his frame, settling around his waist the way he had just done. Don’s freckles stood out on his rapidly pinking skin. She was leaning down to kiss him again when he blurted, “I love you!”

She snapped her neck back up like she’d been electrocuted and cried, “What?!”

Don flattened himself against the bed, like maybe she wouldn’t be able to see him if he was absorbed by the mattress. His chest and stomach were bare, and he looked mortified. The contrast of his sweet, abashed expression while he chewed the inside of his mouth and tried to babble an apology for declaring his love against his sinfully hot body beneath her made her head spin, and it was with no further hesitation that she blurted back, “I love you, too!”

He grinned in his own way, and his eyes pooled with affection. Of course she loved him; she was surprised it hadn’t occurred to her sooner. The second he’d stuttered his first failed attempt at flirting with her, she’d been a goner. Don sat up, gently shifting her so she was straddling him, and ran his hand through her hair. She waited for him to say something else, then remembered whose lap she was sitting in. 

“Weren’t we just in the middle of something?” she whispered into his lips, their noses now pressed together, and she felt his quirky, down-turned smile against hers.

“Were we?” 

“Donald Hume, you can be a tease sometimes.” She kissed him and he responded by snapping into action like the athlete he was, kissing her back and wrapping his arms around her. He pulled away to gaze up at her as she rose to her knees and began undoing the line of buttons that ran down the entire front of her dress. 

“Just tell me what to do, baby,” he said. A moan leaked out of her at the pure devotion and awe in his eyes. She let her dress fall down to the floor and stepped out of it, then indicated that he should sit back against the headboard. Don obliged, his breathing shallow and eyes huge as he took in the sight of her crawling back onto his lap. His rough fingers ghosted up her thighs when she sat down.

I’ve been an idiot, she mused, as she slowly worked the zipper on his pants down and pulled his already-dripping cock free. I should have pulled this mug into bed months ago. When she pulled her own undergarments off and Don’s eyes, on respectful instinct, flew shut, she laughed.

“You can look at me, Don,” she giggled. Her permission given, his eyes snapped back open and he drank in the sight of her, his hand skating up from her thighs to grasp every inch of skin that he could. Her cunt pressing against him was already dangerously wet, and she ground down hard, coaxing a strangled little “ah!” from him. 

Then reality bit into her ankle, and she groaned. “Do you have a rubber?” she asked through her hands after they had covered her face. If it was awkward for her to ask it, she couldn’t imagine what Don’s face must look like hearing it. He stammered for long enough for her to suss out the fact that he did not have one, and she was about to give up and fuck him anyway when she remembered that she lived with three other red-blooded women. “Oh!” she cried. “Wait, I know Betty has some.” 

Don, once more, asked no questions about what Betty got up to in her free time. He just looked terribly grateful for her as his lover emerged, victorious, from rummaging around the co-ed’s top dresser drawer with a box of Sheiks pinched in her fingers and a breathless glee on her face. She let him tug it on then decided they’d spent enough time dancing around their discomfort. 

“Come on,” she ordered, and climbed on top of him one last time. “I want you, Donny. Bad.”

“Oh, but aren’t you–” He held her in place while she tried desperately to line his cock up with her entrance. When his fingers pushed against her instead, swirling them inside her with his tongue trapped between his lips in concentration, she wondered if someone had broken in and switched places with her meek boyfriend. His doe eyes staring up at her, he begged in hardly above a whisper, “Please let me get you good and ready, please. I’m…” He trailed off and turned the brightest shade of red that she’d seen yet, and his gaze traveled down to the impressively large member between his legs. 

“You are big,” she agreed, and Don groaned and buried his face in her shoulder. “Baby, that’s not something to be embarrassed about,” she cried as she tried to yank him up by his hair and make him look her in the face. His fingers were still buried inside her, and even through his extreme shame at having a cock so big that it would hurt, he never stopped pumping them and drawing gasps and moans that she tried to stifle against his neck. He ground the heel of his calloused palm gently against her clit and caused her legs to tremble until she could no longer support herself on them and fell flush against his lap. 

She was a panting, crumpled mess folded up against his strong body, and she almost didn’t have it in her to roll her eyes when Don asked, “Was that alright?”

When she finally sank down onto him, he moaned, every inch of composure flying out of him. His posture, perfected from the long hours in the shell, sagged. “Oh, G–fuck,” he mumbled. It was the first time she’d ever heard him swear, and despite the pleasure that was making her eyes water, she almost laughed. Then his hands wrapped around her hips and lifted her up slightly and she felt the heavy drag of his cock inside her and a string of nonsense fell from her instead. She didn’t have to contribute in the slightest, in spite of her position straddling him. Don just bounced her up and down like she was nothing more than a vision he was having, and from the way his eyes were drifting heavenward, maybe she was. 

But he was still too much of a gentleman. “Faster,” she gasped, the fingers of her right hand wrapping unconsciously around the front of his neck to steady herself. 

“Are you coxxing me?” he huffed with a grin. The grin vanished when she squeezed a little and he felt the choke build up in his throat, his eyes rolling back for a second. The sight floored her.

“Oh, d-d’ya like…?” She tried to tease him but Don had started thrusting harder, grinding them both together like they’d never get the chance to do this again, and the words died on her tongue. Graciously, he tried to revive them by kissing her. He had to push hard against the hand on his throat, but he did it, never one to give up on anything. Pleasure was gagging the both of them, her as unable to form words as Don usually was. He pressed his forehead against hers and their breath mingled into one. 

“I l-love you, baby,” he said. She could tell his shyness and stoic composure were very nearly worn off now. She could tell it especially was when he started rambling, his nose bumping against her shoulder as he kept fucking her with relentless speed: “M’beautiful girl, beautiful, sweet girl. Ever since–first talked t’you, won every race for you, every stroke for you…wanted to make you proud…” He pulled his neck up with great effort and looked deep in her eyes. “Did I make you proud, baby?”

A cry tore its way out of her as his cock shredded against her just perfectly. She pushed Don back down on the bed and started riding him in earnest, wanting him to know exactly how he made her feel. Proud of him? It didn’t begin to cover how she’d felt when she’d heard the giddy announcer scream over the radio waves, “And it’s just come through, folks: AMERICA has taken the gold medal for rowing crew! What a spectacular display from our boys!” Don’s lips were pressed tightly together as he watched her chase down the knot of desire and pleasure that was building inside her.

“Don, I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life, and I never will be,” she panted, scraping her nails down his defined pectorals and ignoring the cry of indignation he gave. A deep red blush blossomed under her fingers, dragging down to his stomach. She hadn’t broken skin, but the light pain had still made Don’s back arch in a very telling way. He looked a complete mess, quite unlike the man who had picked her up in front of her building four hours previously with hair neatly gelled and shabby suit jacket pressed. Now, thick strands of black hair fell all over his face as he sucked air into his deprived lungs. Her poor little bed frame creaked and groaned, protesting the activities taking place on top of it. Rusted springs provided an unwelcome soundtrack to their lovemaking, but she found that she didn’t even notice it. 

When she began rolling her hips in perfect rhythm with the thrusts he was giving from beneath her, his cock brushed against something inside of her that she’d never been acquainted with before, but the bliss that erupted from her toes to her fingertips made her throw her head back and cry his name hoarsely. The orgasm was unreal, blinding and satisfying and all due to the man between her legs who was currently trying very hard not to lose his mind at the sensation of her walls tightening around him. 

He kept his lips pressed together and his thrusts small and even until she’d recovered. Her legs had turned to jelly. Something mischievous whispered in her ear as she looked down at Don’s desperate, adorable face, and she took a leaf out of his book and obeyed it. 

She leaned forward, still sensitive as he thrust shallowly inside her, and wrapped both of her hands around his throat again. His eyes shut and his head lolled against the pillow, and within seconds he was giving a hoarse whimper and cumming. He sighed through the feeling, pumping his hips upward into her. “Fuck,” she whispered. All of him was hers, she realized with a jolt, as she looked down at Don’s sweat-slicked face and kiss-swollen lips. The realization was heavy and heady and made her want even more of him.

They laid next to each other for just a few seconds. She would have asked for hours more if she hadn’t known that they could be interrupted at any moment. Don’s chest rose and fell slowly now, his eyes unblinking. 

As usual, she spoke first. “That was wonderful.” Don rolled to his side so he could look at her and nodded, a dreamy little smirk on his lips that she very much wanted to kiss.  “I think I’ll write Joe a nice note thanking him.” He rolled back away from her and covered his face, groaning while she giggled. 

“I’m still not telling him anything,” he muttered when she got out of bed and began re-dressing and tossing his clothes back at him. He sat up and pulled the condom off, and she was grateful to see he had the good sense to wrap it in a tissue from her desk before disposing of it in the communal waste basket.

“Baby, you won’t have to.” Don followed her finger with his eyes to where it was pointing: the vivid red scratch marks carved down his torso from collarbone to abdomen, and he lept up, cursing.

“We have to take photographs in our uniforms tomorrow! They’ll show over my kit!” he cried, the most frantic and upset she’d ever seen him. She covered her grin with her hand.

“Well, save a print for me, won’t you?”

masterlist

[bookished]

( a collection of starters or dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post 💛 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips

"The sun feels different today, like it’s saying goodbye."

"Every time the summer ends, I feel like the wind tries to tell me a secret, but I never quite hear it."

"Did you notice how the colors of the sunset have started to fade? It’s like the sky is getting ready for winter."

"The cicadas fell silent today. Do you think they know it’s the end?"

"The lake looks quieter now, as if it knows it’s time to sleep."

"I swear the shadows have gotten longer. It's like even they know the sun won’t be around much longer."

"I can feel the summer slipping through my fingers, like the warmth in the breeze is fading away."

"The ocean feels colder today, like it’s pulling away from the shore."

"The last of the fireflies are flickering out. I wonder if they know this is their last dance of the season."

"It smells different now, don’t you think? Like the earth is getting ready to sleep."

"The flowers are closing earlier each day. Do you think they know the season is ending?"

"I miss the sound of summer already. The air doesn’t hum like it used to."

"Do you feel it too? The way the light is softer, as if the sun is tired."

"The wind today feels like a memory, like it’s carrying the last whispers of summer."

"The days are shrinking. It’s like time itself knows summer is ending."

"The sunflowers have turned away from the light. It’s like they’ve already given up on summer."

"The sky feels higher now, like it’s pulling away from the earth."

"Every evening, the air smells a little more like autumn. Summer’s slipping through the cracks."

"The crickets sound different tonight, almost like they’re playing a slower tune."

"I saw the first fallen leaf today. It feels like summer is already a memory."

"Do you remember how we danced in the rain that night? It felt like the summer clouds were celebrating with us."

"We spent so many afternoons chasing the sun across the sky. Now it’s slipping away from us."

"Every time we went to the beach, the waves played with us, like they knew we only had a little time left."

"Remember when we stayed up all night, watching the stars? I think they burned brighter just for us."

"That bonfire on the last night of August… it felt like the flames were trying to hold onto the warmth of summer with us."

"I still hear the echo of our laughter from that day at the lake. Do you think the water remembers us?"

"We ran through those fields as if summer would never end. Now they look so still, like they’re waiting for us to return."

"The ice cream melted too fast, the sun set too late, and we never really noticed the days slipping away."

"Remember how the sand felt like it was alive beneath our feet, like it was trying to pull us deeper into the moment?"

"We spent the whole summer chasing sunsets, never catching one the same way twice."

"Do you think the fireflies miss us? They followed us through every twilight, lighting up our path."

"The nights were so warm, it felt like the stars were sitting with us, whispering secrets we’ll never remember."

"We picked so many wildflowers, I’m surprised the fields didn’t run out."

"The last picnic we had… the air was so sweet, like the wind had collected all the fun we’d had and wrapped it up in the breeze."

"We built sandcastles like they’d last forever. Now the beach looks so empty without them."

"We never needed clocks. The long days felt like they’d never end."

[wannabehockeygf]

Could you write something about Clayton where he and the reader are those friends who are really into each other but never find the moment?!! Like, when one is single, the other is not, they are always pinning for each other, have kissed a couple of times,... But then he moves to Utah, she lives there too (oops) and they are finally both single

Those Eyes - Clayton Keller

“When we’re apart, and I’m missing you,

I close my eyes, and all I see is you,

And the small things you do.”

summary: best friends for life, until you realize you love him and everything seems to keep you apart.

word count: 5.9k

pairing: clayton keller x fem! reader

warnings: alcohol

notes: - ty for the request!! i loved writing this & i hope you love reading this! - i really like flashback stuff, so this is kinda that but more like life phases. - this includes the use of Y/N... don't worry i hate it too. - this was originally called "casual" because i wanted to write a literal representation of "knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out" but it didn't feel right here. - ^ clayton keller is definitely a munch... just saying. if anybody wants to request that I will happily do it. - this is mostly proof read, although there may be a mistake here or there.

forever thinking about his dimples

***

Being best friends with Clayton Keller wasn’t for the faint of heart.

He drove you off the walls. You didn’t know why, but every time you saw him interact with somebody else, anybody else, even his best friends, he was different. More cocky, egotistical, albeit still a good guy. 

It was just when he turned his head, and those eyes that were either blue or green, you could never tell, met yours and he switched up. He didn’t dap you up and ask you ‘what’s good.’ He would, instead, pull you into his arms, tell you he missed you no matter how long it had been since you last saw each other, and run his hands through your hair gently. 

And this had been happening since you were both young, awkward and growing into your bodies. Clayton always had this soft spot and it was driving you absolutely nuts that you couldn’t figure out why. Why did he treat you so well? You were just friends, right? 

You’ll get over it.

*** 

Fifteen years old 

The tears are flowing, and you feel sobs wracking your body as you pedal, pedal as fast as you can on your rusty bike to find some escape. Rain patters down on you, trees going by in blurs, mocking you and this indescribable, screaming pain. 

Finally, you reach your destination, wiping your runny nose with your forearm as you discard your bike carelessly on the driveway and run up to the front door. The ring of the doorbell lingers in your mind, providing a small sense of semblance before the door finally swings open.

When Clayton opens the door, his familiar presence is like a lifeline in the darkness. He’s wearing an old band t-shirt and gym shorts, his hair tousled as if he’d just woken up. He takes one look at you, his eyes widening in concern, and without a word, even though you’re completely soaked, he pulls you into a hug. He smells faintly of some citrus that you couldn’t put your finger on as you shove your face into the crook of his neck, your cries still all-consuming.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just holds you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing soothing circles on your back. His embrace is warm, a stark contrast to the chilly rain. The rough fabric of his shirt, which was dampening by the second from a mixture of your tears and the rain, was comforting against your face, grounding you in the moment. 

You’re unsure how long you stay there, enveloped in Clayton’s arms. Minutes, hours—it all blurs together. But gradually, your sobs lessen, turning into hiccups and shaky breaths. He doesn't rush you or ask any questions, just continues his soothing motions, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

The sky begins to deepen into twilight, casting long shadows across the yard. The gentle chirping of crickets and the distant sound of traffic create a symphony that fills the silence between your breaths. The rain is persistent, carrying the earthy scent of the approaching night.

Finally, you pull back slightly, your cheeks stained with tears. Clayton looks down at you, ignoring that the both of you are still standing under the elements, his eyes searching your face with concern. His thumbs gently brush away the remnants of your tears, his touch feather-light.

“What happened?” he asks softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes, in this light, seem more blue than green, like the sky right before dawn.

You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself. "He broke up with me," you manage to say, your voice cracking. The words seem so inadequate, unable to capture the tumult of emotions inside you.

A scowl replaces the expression on Clayton’s face, and he immediately pulls you back into him. “That asshole,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, “I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”

Clayton’s words are a fierce growl, rumbling through his chest and into yours, but it only makes you clutch him tighter. The warmth of his body is the only thing keeping the cold at bay, the cold that has seeped into your very bones since the breakup that happened no less than forty-five minutes ago. You can't help but think how he always knew just what to say—or not say—to make you feel better. Tonight, it’s the protective anger in his voice that makes you feel seen, cared for.

He releases you slowly, keeping his hands on your shoulders as he steps back to look at you. His gaze softens, and the fire in his eyes dims slightly, replaced with a gentle concern. He runs a hand through his wet, tousled hair, a gesture that’s become so familiar to you over the years, and sighs.

“Come on,” he says, his voice firm but tender, “let’s get you inside.”

***

Eighteen years old 

“With the seventh overall selection in the 2016 NHL Draft, the Arizona Coyotes are proud to select Clayton Keller.”

Immediately, you rise to your feet, squealing at the top of your lungs. You hug the first person you see, which is your little brother to your left, and then turn the other way, hoping to get one of those hugs that you love more than anything else, but you can’t. 

Because you’re not there. You’re at home in St. Louis, watching the draft in Buffalo from your living room with your family. 

Your eyes are locked on the screen, watching the camera pan to Clayton as he stands up to hug his family, immediately shaking off his suit jacket to make his way up to the stage. You watch him shake hands with the officials and put on the Coyotes Jersey and hat, but you can’t help that your heart aches looking at it so normally when all you want to do is be there with him. 

Stand up on your tippy toes and let him pick you up, twirl you around, and hold onto you for as long as he can before it gets awkward. 

It never did. But that was just your bond. 

Best fucking friends. 

This young man with the disheveled, mousy brown hair, was once a little boy. A little boy that you always loved dearly, although you never told him that. A child who always stood up for you when you got picked on, and then a teenager who always wanted you to come to his games; stayed up with you on long nights, talking about everything and nothing. Talk. You needed to talk to him, now.

That’s why you decided to skip out on the basic ‘Congrats’ text. You wanted to stand out because recently, you didn’t feel like best friends. You felt like an outsider in his dream; the side character in the fairytale where the prince finds the fair maiden and locks her up, and they live happily ever after. 

You wanted to be the one getting swept off her feet.

So that night, you’re hunched over your laptop which is perched on top of your puffy white comforter, scrolling for cheap flights to Phoenix. He was going to be there tomorrow, and you weren’t going to miss out on your opportunity – this was your grand romantic gesture, your attempt to finally tell him what you’ve been keeping bottled up your entire childhoods.

Grabbing your phone which had been lying beside you, you tap the first person in your contacts, and let it ring out. And it rings for a while, long enough that you think you’re getting ignored, but when the call finally gets accepted, you’re so excited you don’t even provide any greeting. “Clay, I had an idea, and what if I come to Phoenix tomorrow? We can celebrate after you’re done your team stuff, just the two of us, and I think I have enough money saved for the flight. If I don’t, I can–” You start ranting, only to be cut off by a voice, a voice that’s definitely not Clayton’s.

“He’s busy right now.”

The abrupt, unfamiliar voice stops you mid-sentence, and your excitement crashes into a wall. You pull the phone away from your ear to check the screen, confirming that you did indeed call Clayton.

“Who is this?” you manage to ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the unease creeping in.

The woman on the other end of the line chuckles lightly, but there’s an edge to it that sends shivers down your spine. "His girlfriend,” She starts, her tone bitter, “Clay’s busy. You do know he just got drafted, right?" she continues, her voice dripping with even more condescension.

Your heart stops. Girlfriend. The words bounce around your mind, refusing to settle into a coherent thought. You’re sure you’ve heard him talk about her before, in passing, but you always assumed she was just another one of his fleeting flings, someone who would come and go like the others. Now, though, it feels like she’s cemented her place in his life, in the space you once thought was yours alone.

“Yeah,” is all you can manage, your voice a mere whisper. Your fingers grip the phone so tightly that your knuckles turn white. The air in your room feels suffocating, your once bright idea now crumbling into dust.

“So he’s kind of busy with the draft and all,” She continues, her tone annoyingly polite. “But I can tell him you called. What’s your name?”

“My name?” You feel a sting of anger rise in your chest. “I’m his best friend. I’m… I’m Y/N.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end, and you imagine her realization dawning, her eyes widening in recognition. “Oh, right. He talks about you sometimes. Anyway, I’ll let him know.”

The call ends before you can say another word. You sit there, staring at your phone, the screen going dark. The weight of the conversation presses down on you, a heavy, suffocating blanket. The room feels colder, the glow of your laptop screen a harsh reminder of your now-crushed plans.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. The reality of the situation sinks in, the words repeating in your mind: girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend. Clayton has a girlfriend. You’re not sure why it hurts so much, why the idea of him with someone else makes your chest ache. You’ve been friends for so long, shared so many memories, and yet… there’s always been something more, something between you that you’re sure you weren’t imagining.

***

Twenty-one years old

It’s New Year’s Eve in the biggest party city in the desert, you’re barely legal, and you’re surrounded by some of the most attractive people you’ve ever seen.

The crowd around you is electric, buzzing with excitement as the countdown to midnight approaches. You find yourself in a posh club in Scottsdale, the kind of place with velvet ropes, bouncers in crisp suits, and a DJ spinning tracks that make the floor vibrate beneath your feet. The lights are dim, save for the flashes of neon that paint the room in hues of pink and blue. Bodies move in sync with the music, a sea of laughter and joy as people celebrate the end of one year and the beginning of another.

You scan the crowd, your eyes searching for the one face you’ve been dying to see since you landed in Phoenix. Clayton had invited you to celebrate New Year’s with him, insisting that it wouldn’t be the same without you. He’s somewhere in this crowd, and the thought of him sends your heart racing, although you hadn’t seen him yet tonight. 

The anticipation of knowing he’s in the same room as you, finally laying eyes on him, of feeling his arms around you, is almost too much to bear. It’s been months since you last saw each other in person, and the distance has only made your feelings more intense.

You make your way through the throng of partygoers, your eyes scanning the room for any sign of him. The music pulses through your veins, the bass thumping in time with your heartbeat. You pass clusters of friends taking selfies, couples sharing intimate moments, and groups of guys cheering over shots. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and cologne, mingling with the faint aroma of champagne.

Finally, you spot him. He’s near the bar, leaning casually against the counter, talking to a few teammates. His presence is magnetic, drawing your eyes to him like a beacon in the chaos. Clayton looks effortlessly handsome, as always, his mousy brown hair slightly tousled while attempting a slick-back, his eyes catching the light in a way that makes them seem more green than blue tonight. He’s dressed in clean, black slacks paired with a short sleeve white button-up with the top buttons undone, and you can see enough bare skin that it makes your heart race.

As you approach, Clayton's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything else fades away. His smile widens, and he excuses himself from his friends, making his way over to you. The sight of him walking toward you, his arms opening wide, feels like coming home.

"You made it!" he exclaims, pulling you into a tight hug. His familiar scent surrounds you as he lifts you off your feet, a mix of cologne and something so distinctly Clayton. You cling to him, burying your face in his shoulder, trying to memorize the feeling of his arms around you.

"Of course, I did," you murmur, pulling back slightly as he puts you down to look up at him. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

He grins, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Come on, let's get a drink and catch up." He takes your hand, leading you to the bar. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

You settle into a corner booth, his friends and teammates surrounding you, the noise of the club muffled slightly by the high-backed seats. Clayton orders your favorite drink without even asking, a small gesture that warms your heart– something only someone who had been to copious amounts of bad highschool house parties with you would know. 

When the waitress leaves, you turn your head only to be met with the entirety of the group, mostly men but a few women, glaring at you. A tall man with dark features and a moustache speaks up first, “So, Kells, who’s your friend?” He asks, smiling while his gaze flickers between the two of you.

“This is Y/N,” Clayton says, his voice warm and steady as he introduces you. His arm moves from his side, discreetly enough that you don’t even notice until it’s wrapped around your shoulders, his hand gently toying with the strap of your dress. “My best friend.”

Your breath immediately catches in your throat, and you feel as if the room is closing in on you at his touch. You’re here, in this glamorous club, surrounded by the bright lights and pulsating music, Auston fucking Matthews just asked for your name, but all you can focus on is Clayton—his proximity, his touch, his smile, and the way he holds you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world.

The clamor of the party fades into the background as your gaze locks onto Clayton’s face. He’s laughing with his friends, his eyes crinkling at the corners, revealing that light green that never fails to mesmerize you. You catch glimpses of his confidence, his easy charm, the way he commands attention without even trying. And yet, when he turns his focus back to you, it’s as if the rest of the world evaporates. His eyes soften, becoming a private universe where only the two of you exist.

As the night progresses, you find yourself progressively more drunk, along with everyone else, and those gentle touches that Clayton had been giving you escalate into something so much more. Everyone’s sweaty and shitfaced, so what’s there to do besides dance? Dance crazy and fast, dance with whoever you want, dance against anyone you want.

Which was what was happening between you and your best friend.

The pulsating beats of the club seemed to sync with the erratic rhythm of your heart as you danced with Clayton. The music wrapped around you both like a tangible force, drawing you closer together, drowning out everything but the immediate presence of each other. His hands roamed your back, fingers grazing the fabric of your dress, and you felt each touch like a spark igniting a long-simmering ember in your chest.

The world outside the booth seemed to blur, the lights and faces turning into a vague, colorful haze. All you could focus on was the sensation of Clayton's body pressed against yours, the heat of his breath against your ear as he leaned in, whispering something you couldn't quite catch over the music. It didn't matter; his voice was a soothing murmur, a balm to the constant ache that had been building in your heart.

Every movement, every glance, is a tormenting reminder of what’s been left unsaid, a history of suppressed emotions and unspoken confessions. Clayton's touch, as it grazes the bare skin of your upper back, sends shivers down your spine. It’s not just the heat of the club or the effects of the alcohol—though both contribute—it’s the sheer weight of the feelings you've been holding back. 

The beat of the music slowly fades into the background, replaced by the rhythmic sound of your heart pounding in your ears. His breath is warm against your neck, and you can hear him this time when he speaks, his voice is low, almost lost in the cacophony of the party. “You’re amazing, you know that?” His words are a whisper, but they pierce through the haze of noise and excitement, landing straight in the pit of your stomach.

A small gasp escapes your lips, the sound barely audible over the music. You can’t trust yourself to speak without betraying the raw emotion bubbling just beneath the surface. Instead, you lean into him, feeling his warmth seep into your very core. Clayton's hands wander to your waist easily, his fingers tracing the edges of your dress, the sensation both comforting and electrifying. The way he looks at you—eyes half-lidded with a mixture of affection and something deeper—makes you feel as if you’re the only person in the room. It’s a gaze that holds secrets and promises, a look that makes your chest tighten.

The countdown to midnight begins, and the excitement in the club reaches a crescendo. The anticipation of the new year is palpable, but it’s overshadowed by the realization that this night, this moment, is slipping through your fingers. And as the countdown reaches zero, the club erupts in cheers. The room is filled with the dazzling light of confetti and the sound of fireworks outside, the euphoria of the new year is a sharp contrast to the bittersweet sadness that you feel. Clayton’s arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, his lips grazing your ear as he murmurs something along the lines of “Happy New Year.”

You know it’s a bad idea. Everything in your fucked-up mind is telling you to stop, but all you can do is pull back. Just enough to see him with a slight look of confusion, and to grab his face and bring his lips to yours, with everything about it feeling so insanely right.

***

Twenty-four years old

“I’m moving to Salt Lake City.” You hear yourself blurting out, still looking straight ahead of you at the big screen of the drive-in movie you were at. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and you can only pick out the shallow sound of his breathing before he finally speaks up, “What?” He says, simply.

"I'm moving from St. Louis," you repeat, your voice softer this time, almost drowned out by the hum of the car engines around you. You dare a glance at Clayton, his profile illuminated by the glow of the screen. His jaw is clenched, eyes fixed ahead, but you can see the flicker of emotions playing across his features—confusion, hurt, and something else you can't quite place.

"Why?" he finally asks, turning to face you. His eyes, now a deep shade of blue, search yours for answers. "Why now? Why so far away?"

You swallow hard, trying to steady your voice. "He.. got a job offer," The words feel hollow, rehearsed, even though it’s the truth. You had been dating your boyfriend for two years, and things were getting serious enough that you agreed to move with him halfway across the country.

As the words hang in the air between you, the silence becomes suffocating, pressing down on your chest. Clayton's eyes bore into yours, searching for the truth behind your explanation. The movie screen flickers with images, casting shadows and light across his face, making his expression unreadable.

"Why now?" he asks again, his voice softer but edged with a hint of desperation. "I thought you were happy here."

"I am," you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. "I mean, I was. But this job... it's a big opportunity for him. It could change everything."

"And what about us?" The question is heavy, heavier than you would like. Clayton's gaze never wavers, his eyes reflecting the turmoil inside him. "What about me? I come back here to see my family, am I just not going to be able to see you anymore?"

“This isn’t about you, Clay,” you say, your voice trembling. But even as you said the words, you knew they were a lie. Everything had always been about him, about the way he made you feel, about the unspoken connection that had tied you to him since you were kids.

Clayton's jaw tightened, his hands gripping the steering wheel as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. "Bullshit," he spat out, his voice a low growl. "You think I don't know you better than that? You think I don't see through your bullshit?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You tried to blink them away, but they spilled over, running down your cheeks. "Clay, please," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Don't make this harder than it already is. This is my future.”

"But what about our future?" Clayton urges you. The word "our" reverberates in your mind, stirring up memories of shared laughter, late-night conversations, and the countless times he had been your rock in moments of despair. You see the pain in his eyes, a pain that mirrors your own.

“There’s no ‘our.’ there’s no ‘us.” You find yourself admitting, and it hurts. It hurts really fucking badly, worse than it should for a person that’s in a so-called happy relationship. It feels as if every little bit of effort you’ve put into you and him has dissolved, leaving only a heady mix of disorientated tears.

Heartbreak. You were heartbroken, and you didn’t know why. You shouldn’t be.

You hear Clayton take a deep breath, one that goes all the way into his chest then out again, before speaking. “Do you really mean that?”

A lump forms in your throat, making it impossible to respond. Instead, you look down at your hands, clenched tightly in your lap. The car’s interior light illuminates the shadowy outlines of your fingers, trembling slightly. The sight makes you feel small, as if the weight of your decision has become too much for you to bear alone.

The film on the screen blurs into an abstract dance of colors and light, and you find yourself caught in the same whirlwind of chaos. The movie's characters smile and laugh, their lives moving forward in a way that feels painfully out of reach. The contrast between their joy and your heartache makes your chest tighten, as if the world is conspiring to remind you of what you're losing.

"I didn’t want it to come to this," you finally manage to whisper, your voice cracking as you look out the windshield at the blurry lights of the drive-in. "I never thought it would hurt like this."

Before you could even process what you just said, Clayton’s leaned over the centre console, and his mouth is on yours. His lips are urgent, desperate, as if he's trying to pour all the words he's never said into this one kiss. All the pain, confusion, and uncertainty vanish, leaving only the heat of his mouth, the press of his body, and the overwhelming intensity of this moment. 

Clayton’s hand cradles the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer as if he can’t bear to let you go. You can feel the desperation in his kiss, the way his breath hitches when you respond, parting your lips to deepen the connection.

Your hands find their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. It mirrors your own, a frantic rhythm that speaks of all the years you’ve spent dancing around this, all the unspoken words and suppressed emotions finally breaking free since the last time three years ago. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of the familiar and the unknown, and it makes your head spin, your thoughts a chaotic whirl of longing and fear.

When you finally pull back, gasping for air, Clayton’s eyes search yours, his gaze intense and searching. His lips are slightly swollen from the kiss, his breath coming in shallow pants. “Why does it have to be like this?” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. “Why can’t we just… why can’t we figure this out?”

“Because,” you say, your voice breaking. “Because I have to go. I made a commitment. I’m in a relationship. And you… you have your own life in Arizona, your own dreams. I can’t be the one to hold you back.”

He pulls back slightly, searching your face with those eyes that have always seen straight through you. “You’re not holding me back,” he says softly. “You’ve never held me back. You’re the reason I’ve gotten this far. You’re fucking it for me, on everything I am.”

Tears continue to spill down your cheeks, and you can feel your heart breaking all over again. "But we can't keep doing this," you manage to say, your voice trembling. "We can't keep pretending that we're just friends when we're so much more. It's not fair to anyone."

Clayton's eyes search yours, his expression a mixture of pain and determination. "Then let's stop pretending," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Let's be honest about what we are, about what we feel. I can't let you go without a fight."

The words hang in the air, heavy with possibility and fear. You look into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability and the hope that mirror your own feelings. It’s a terrifying and exhilarating moment, something that could either heal or break you completely.

Taking a deep breath, you make a decision. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

*** Twenty-six years old 

It’s funny how the world closes in on itself, and everything comes back around.

The Arizona Coyotes were no more, due to numerous reasons, and now your best friend is a Utah… Hockey Club. You hadn’t really kept in touch, but as soon as you heard the news, you called and said you had to meet up since you still lived in Salt Lake City, even after your relationship ended.

The day was today, and even though you didn’t want to cancel, you had to since a massive storm had hit and it was pouring rain.

You stare out the window, watching the rain pour down in sheets, drumming against the glass like a constant reminder of the storm inside your heart. The storm had hit unexpectedly, drenching the city and canceling your long-awaited reunion. You sigh, feeling a mix of disappointment and relief. Disappointment because you wanted to see him, relief because you weren't sure if you were ready to face the feelings that had never truly gone away.

You close your eyes, remembering the way he looked at you that night at the drive-in, the desperation in his voice as he begged you to stay. You can still feel the warmth of his lips against yours, the way he held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. The pain of leaving him, of saying goodbye to the one person who understood you better than anyone else, still lingers in your heart.

You open your eyes, wiping away a tear that has slipped down your cheek. You can't keep doing this to yourself. You need to move on, to let go of the past and embrace the future. But how can you, when every fiber of your being still yearns for him?

And then there’s a knock on your door.

The knock echoes through your apartment, cutting through the quiet hum of the rain. For a moment, you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. You weren't expecting anyone—certainly not today, not in this storm. A flicker of hope ignites in your chest, an irrational, wild thought that maybe, just maybe, it's him.

You push the thought aside, scolding yourself for being so foolish. But as you make your way to the door, your breath quickens, the anticipation coiling tight in your chest. You open the door, and there he stands, soaked to the bone, rainwater dripping from his tousled hair onto his pale cheeks. Clayton's eyes meet yours, and the world seems to still.

He's here. He's really here.

"Clayton," you breathe out his full name, your voice barely above a whisper. A thousand thoughts race through your mind, but they all jumble together, leaving you speechless. All you can do is stare, taking in the sight of him, his presence both a balm and a wound to your heart.

He doesn’t say anything. He’s panting heavily, the amount of emotion in his eyes hard to even begin to decipher, because before you can get another word out, ask why he’s here, his hands are on your face, pulling it towards his. 

He’s kissing you, and you hope it’s for real this time.

As Clayton's lips press against yours, everything you've been holding back crashes over you like a tidal wave. The warmth of his touch, the urgency of his kiss—it’s all too real, too overwhelming. Your hands find their way to his hair, tugging at the damp strands, and you can feel his heartbeat through the soaked fabric of his shirt. It's beating as fast as yours, a wild, erratic rhythm that speaks of all the time lost, all the words unspoken.

The rain pounds against the roof, a steady drumbeat that echoes the chaos inside your mind. You can taste the salt of tears mixed with the rain on his lips, and you wonder if they're his or yours. There's a desperation in the way he kisses you, as if he's afraid this moment might slip away if he doesn't hold on tightly enough. And maybe he is. Maybe you both are.

You pull back, gasping for air, your foreheads resting together. The world around you is a blur, the only thing in focus is him—his wet hair clinging to his forehead, the way his chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, the intense look in his eyes that makes your knees weak. You search his face, trying to find the right words, but they elude you. How do you explain the years of longing, the pain of being apart, the confusion and guilt that comes with loving someone you're not supposed to love?

Clayton's eyes soften, and he brushes a strand of wet hair away from your face, his touch achingly tender. “I couldn’t stay away,” he confesses, his voice raw and vulnerable, “God, I tried, trust me, but even if it’s just one day, I can’t take the risk of letting you slip away like I have my entire life.”

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a heavy blanket. How many times have you dreamed of hearing him say those words? How many nights have you lain awake, your heart aching for him, wishing that he would finally acknowledge what you both feel? And now that it's happening, it's almost too much to bear.

“I thought about you every day,” he continues, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Every time I step onto the ice, every time I score a goal, every time I’m alone in my hotel room, I think about you. About us. And it hurts, because I know we could have had something amazing if only I didn’t waste my time on other people who could never make me feel the way you do. If I had the courage to say something sooner. To tell you I’m in love with you.”

You stand there, drenched and trembling, your heart pounding in your chest as Clayton's words hang heavy in the air. The weight of his confession, the raw honesty in his eyes, feels like a knife twisting in your heart. You come to the conclusion that, yes, you’ve dreamed of this moment for years, imagined how it would feel to finally hear him say that he thinks of you, that he wants you. But now, as the reality of it crashes over you, all you feel is a mix of relief, fear, and an overwhelming sadness for the time you've lost.

The rain continues to fall, a relentless patter against the roof, creating a rhythmic backdrop to the storm raging inside you. You look up at Clayton, his face inches from yours, and you can see the vulnerability etched in every line, the uncertainty in the set of his jaw. It’s a look you’ve seen before, in moments of quiet intimacy, in the fleeting touches and stolen glances that spoke of a connection deeper than words. But this time, it’s different. This time, there are no barriers, no pretense. Just the two of you, standing on the precipice of something terrifying and beautiful.

You want to say something, anything, to ease the tension, to reassure him, to tell him that you’ve felt the same way, that you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. But the words won’t come. Instead, you reach up, your fingers trembling as they trace the outline of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble beneath your fingertips. The simple act of touching him sends a jolt through you, a reminder of how much you’ve missed him, of how much you’ve tried to deny the truth of your feelings.

Clayton’s breath hitches at your touch, and you see his eyes flutter closed, as if savoring the sensation. The air between you is thick with unspoken words, with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back.

You’ll never know the colour of his eyes, and that’s okay because he’s here. With you.

And in that moment, you realize just how much you’ve been lying to yourself. Your entire life, you’ve told yourself that you could move on, that you could be happy without him, but deep down, you’ve always known the truth.

There's no moving on from Clayton Keller.

[twilight-saga-headcanons]

Twilight Saga Headcanons - What They Smell Like

Requested by: no one

oOo

The Cullens:

Carlisle takes great pride in his grooming, but tends to go for scentless soaps because some of his patients have allergies. Always somehow smells a little like disinfectant when he gets home after work. He somehow smells very ancient, like incense and a scent you might discover walking through an extremely old and dusty church.

Everything about Esme smells delicate. Her favorite scents as a human were floral and light, like lavender and rosewater. Definitely has an aroma of perfume that trails after her, though she doesn't wear any.

The only way to really describe Edward's scent is clean. Icy cedar, fresh snow, and oranges. It's a pure, subtle scent.

Rosalie's scent is arguably the most powerful. It isn't strong, but it's enticing. It's like warm Tennessee Whiskey and dripping honey - a scent that's designed to seduce and draw you in.

Emmett would absolutely smell like Axe body spray if Rosalie would let him wear it - she doesn't. It stings EVERYONE's noses to an insane degree. Overall, though, Emmett smells like warm velvet, like a blanket you've just pulled out of the dryer.

Even after all this time, Jasper still carries the faint scent of gunpowder. There's something about his scent that stings, like mint and eucalyptus.

Alice smells like salt and coconut, like a sweet and windy beach day. She also carries a light scent of sparking ozone, but it's so faint that sometimes they all forget that it's there.

oOo

Wolf Pack:

Sam assumes he smells so much like food because of the many hours spent in Emily's kitchen. Sam is warm honey mixed in with steaming oatmeal; fresh bread and maple syrup.

Jared used to smell like leather because of the jacket he always wore to school, but that was destroyed years ago when he phased. It's an extremely manly scent mixed with vanilla and amber.

Paul's scent is very warm and spicy, a natural and earthy woodsy musk, like the soil after a heavy rain. It can tingle your nose, but it's still very attractive.

Surprisingly, the one who smells most like the outdoors is Embry. His whole body is tied to the scent of patchouli and pine; it's a very nature-based scent.

A lot of Jacob's scent is mixed in with how much time he spends around cars, so you'll get a whiff of rush and metal and probably motor oil, but it isn't unpleasant or off-putting.

Tobacco is the leading scent for Quil, which he assumes is because of his grandfather. He also smells very much like ginger and cinnamon.

Though she's never been a big reader, Leah smells like old books and paper. It's a bit of a dusty scent, but goes well when mixed with her favorite vetiver lotion and body wash.

Seth has a very bright and welcoming smell, like cinnamon sugar or a freshly baked pie crust. It's a smell you somehow always associate with your childhood, but you can't put your finger on exactly why.

[myusuchaa]

Ellis Twilight 2nd Birthday Event Story

The Shape of Happiness - Embraced by the Thorns of a Mad Love: Part 3 this is a fan translation. i do not own anything. Cybird has the right of ownership to all in-game content.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

Ellis: Hey, Kate... how happy are you right now?

Such were the words that left his smiling face.

Even though I've heard this question asked many times before, right now felt like the first.

Ellis: I'm happy.

Ellis: Being with you, being able to dress you up in things I bought you.

Ellis: To be able to fill you with thoughts of my desires.

I'm sure he may do the same thing to anyone if it made them happy but...this is the first time he's given me so many presents out of his own will.

Kate: I'm very happy. Maybe more than you, I think.

Ellis: Ah, no. Right now, I'm the happiest. Because right now, I'm glad you are alive.

He steps closer, the twilight gleam chasing after his profile.

Ellis: I'll kill to make the happiest moments last forever. That thought will never change.

Ellis: But I am happy whenever I realize that you are alive.

Ellis: I'm sure... it must be because my happiness would not exist* without you.

His hand that caressed my cheek felt gentle and warm, but I also sensed something strange.

Those eyes, which had been sparkling in the twilight earlier, have now turned a dark shade of night.

Ellis: ... I wish we could stay in this moment, a place where no one will find us.

As night approaches, the color of his eyes deepens.

Kate: ... even though you won't see Jude and the other Crown members?

Ellis: Mm, I'd be a bit sad about that, but I think it would be fine as long as you're with me.

Sometimes, I feel anxious for no reason at all.

Ellis: Whenever I see you talking with someone else, I want to tear you away.

Ellis: I only want you to look at me. I don't want you to be made happy by anyone else.

Ellis: To hurt you, and being hurt by you... I only want it to be me.

(The fact that he cares so deeply... something about it makes me uneasy.)

I'm so happy now that I wouldn't want it to suddenly end some day.

Perhaps that thought is what made me so anxious all along.

Ellis: ...Kate?

I smelled the scent of lavender and looked up.

I could see the purple flowers in the flowerbed along the road, their petals swaying in the wind.

Kate: Lavender...

Ellis: Ah, it really is, in a place like this.

The flowers wet with dew reflected the twilight, shining like stars.

A beautiful moment.

Kate: ..As you mentioned, I do think I would be happy going somewhere, just the two of us.

(But...)

I take my eyes off the lavender and turn their gaze to him.

The darkening sky matched the color of his hair, making it look like he was blending into the twilight.

Kate: I like watching you work..

Kate: I enjoy watching all the Crown members talk happily amongst themselves in the lounge.

Kate: Because of that, I can't say I fully like the idea of going somewhere** only with you.

Kate: And I won't be able to see my favorite parts of you.

I took his paper bag in exchange for the one I was holding. As he tilted his head in curiosity, I then told him to open it and look inside.

Ellis: ...Stormglass?

Kate: It rained today, which changed our plans. Although it was fun, I thought it might be better to know what the weather would be like before we go out.

Stormglass, transparent liquid in a bottle, is a tool that can predict the weather based on the formation of crystals inside.

Kate: I thought if you had this, it would be easier to predict the weather.

Delicate white crystals were floating down the liquid like remnant snowflakes, leftover from the rain that just ended.

Kate: I understand you want to make our happiest moment last forever, but I'm looking forward to being with you tomorrow, to being happier with you.

Kate: Even if I get hurt, I don't want things to end without me tasting the happiness that lies ahead.

As his hands wrapped around the Stormglass, he muttered:

Ellis: .....

Ellis: The reason I keep clinging to you so is because I feel like one day you may simply disappear.

Kate: ..?

Ellis: I know I should look forward to tomorrow, but...

Ellis: I'm always worried that by the next time I wake, you'd be gone.

Ellis: That's why I always feel like I need to finish this quickly.

Ellis is truly here with me.

I thought these long vines adorned with thorns*** was only proof of his possessiveness, but-

-it seems all along, I had felt the same about him.

Kate: I've been thinking the same.

I wrapped my trembling hands around his, and the crystals in the bottom swayed softly from the movement.

(I'm sure this anxiety will never go away completely.)

Kate: That's why I want to keep things as they are, to know you're still with me.

Ellis: ..You're something else.

Kate: Oh?

Ellis: You really are. You can easily express the feelings I can't put to words.

It was the first time I saw such a shy smile on his face.

Ellis: I feel like I'm falling in love with you again.

He brought his lips closer to mine.

Kate: Mm...

--

I woke up to the morning sun.

(Ah, we fell asleep without our clothes on last night.)

As I felt embarrassed being vulnerable with him like this..

Kate: Ah..

I was pulled closer until we were skin to skin.

Kate: Ellis?

Ellis: ....

It's rare for him not to wake up even when I call his name.

The early summer breeze flows gently on the sheer curtains.

In the quiet morning, I tighten my embrace on him.

(...It seems like this moment is fleeting after all.)

Listening to his heartbeat, feeling his warmth - it's confirmation that he is still with me.

Kate: I love you, Ellis.

Kate: Stay by my side, always.

Perhaps because I could smile easily after saying that, I relaxed myself and felt sleepy again.

(It's still early... I can go back to sleep.)

When I close my eyes, the Stormglass that fills my vision tells me it will be a sunny day.

I felt the embrace of a pure and warm happiness.

<- Part 2 His POV Epilogue ->

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

*when Ellis says it must be that his happiness does not exist without her, the literal translation comes from the word 成り立つ, which means to be made up of, consist of, or established by. so on top of kate making him happy, it implies she literally is his happiness, and he wouldn't feel true happiness at all without her.

**by saying "go somewhere", it really means double suicide

***long vines with thorns is used as a replacement for "thorny limbs", meaning his reach for her can be painful, trapping her, and references his curse

a/n: honestly, it's written so well.. the idea of the stormglass, and her ability to talk him through his emotions aaaah

[pinksoftlace]

Introduction post⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨ৎ My name is Dim

౨ৎ I'm a Greek teenage girl

౨ৎ I'm 16 years old

౨ৎ denying people over 18 years old, pervs, rapist and rasict defenders etc.

౨ৎ my favourite singers/bands are: The smiths, Lana del Rey, Type o negative, Radiohead, Korn, slipknot, Tokio hotel, Kittie, cas, Alex g, lil peep, TV girl, Rammstein, Evanescence, Kesha.💕

౨ৎ I love 2000's aesthetics, emos, gothic people, metalheads, old preppys, baggy style, downtown girl aesthetic, 2021 coquette, dollete, VS angel, vintage americana, rockstar girlfriend aesthetic etc.

౨ৎ I love the sound of rain and the smell after, FALL, chipped nail polish, black eyeshadow, cookies, pizza, spaghetti with tomato sauce and cheese, ketchup flavoured chips, McDonald's, low rise flare jeans, cheetah print clothes, writing shitty poems, jackets with fur, skunk hair, sea shells, cats, deers, parrots, dogs, lions, leopards, cute underwear with lace, bows, dark red, Christmas, the warm feeling you feel when you are in love, the beach, doe eyes, pouty lips, reading books, girlblogging, writing my thoughts, wattpad, tumblr, Pinterest are my soulmates, my stuffed animals, my dog, bunnys, cowboy boots, cute tank tops, spine tattoo, tattoos in general, piercings, crazy hair, heart locket necklaces, vintage grandma's house vibes, heart shaped sunglasses, strawberry flavoured lollies, vanilla, cookies & chocolate flavoured ice cream, candles, knitted sweaters, my grandma's cooking, hugs, kisses, blush, lip gloss, french language.

౨ৎ shows and movies i adore: Never have i ever, Gilmore girls, American Psycho, Mean girls, The craft, Freaky Friday, girl interrupted, fight club, Pearl, Buffalo 66, Twilight(love the books), Black swan etc.

౨ৎ i just want to make friends but please as i said not over 18 and not weird old man or horny dogs teenage boys.

౨ৎ Pinterest: Soft_laceangel

౨ৎ Insta: reallifedolly_

౨ৎ wattpad: pinklace_bunny

౨ৎ I know i was a bit late at the introduction. :'(

[tj-dragonblade]

[FLUFFBRUARY FIC] Love, Rain Down on Me

Rated: M Word Count: 2272 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, human AU, writer!Dream, professor!Hob, stargazing, care packages, acts of service, kisses in the rain, realizations, confessions, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, 5+1 fic

Notes: Final entry for Fluffbruary 2024; turns out I wasn't done with this Umbrella Boys AU just yet. Shoutout to @academicblorbo for asking about Dream's pov and suggesting the first 'I love you' as an idea; my brain said 'Oh yes' 1489-Hob-style and while this is not exactly what I first envisioned, I'm still happy with where we ended up.

Fluffbruary Prompts: Day 25: fox twilight sweat Day 26: fluff woolly care package Day 27: table blush laundry Day 28: reward shelter piano Day 29: breakfast valley sign alt prompts: wish hot solid

Summary: 5 times those Three Little Words go unspoken, and one time they do not

On AO3

1. The first time Dream realizes it, Hob has taken him to the astronomy department at the college, after hours, to look at the stars. "Gale lent me the key," Hob had laughed when Dream expressed trepidation about breaking into Hob's place of work. "I'm allowed to come moon over the stars sometimes, and I'm allowed to bring you with me if I want."

So they are taking turns looking through the telescope, peering into the perpetual twilight of the heavens and marveling at the beauty that cannot be properly seen with the naked eye nor from within the light-polluted aura of the city. Hob laughs when Dream observes as much. "Maybe come end of summer we'll take a drive out of the city, camp out for a night in the countryside and do some real stargazing. Sound good?"

And Dream looks at him, this beautiful man squinting up at the skies through his colleague's telescope, the way his hair falls around his face, the scruff of his three-week-old beard and the elegant line of his nose, this beautiful man who offers anything he thinks Dream might like as if it's nothing. Hob has shared with him the woes of past breakups, the consensus that he is too intense, moves too fast, is too much to put up with, and he has admonished Dream to please please tell him if he ever oversteps or pushes too hard, too far because he is trying to do better, but all Dream can think in this moment is how warm he feels in Hob's affections, how priveleged to receive his time and attention.

I love this man, he realizes, like camellias blossoming beneath his ribs, like the sun breaking over the horizon.

"Dream?" Hob is looking at him now instead of the stars, eyebrows raised, mouth curved in a patiently-amused smile.

"That. Would be lovely," Dream answers at last, smiling warmly back at Hob, and cradles his newfound revelation close in the hollow of his chest.

2. The second time, Hob is away at a conference and Dream has emerged from a morning of fitful writing to discover a neatly-wrapped package delivered for him, tied with a ruby red bow. His sister has brought it up and left it by his door rather than interrupting his writing time, as they've agreed. Upon opening it, he finds a letter from Hob atop an airtight plastic container.

Hey Dream, reads the letter, just wanted to say that I'll miss you while I'm gone and can't wait to lavish you with sweet kisses when I get back. Meantime, I made you some of those lavender-rosemary-lemon biscuits you love and here's my shirt you can sleep with if you want. Enjoy ~♥

Delighted by the package and the letter and the biscuits, and the intent behind them, Dream lifts the container out of the box; beneath it, there is a compact umbrella nestled in what turns out to be one of Hob's favorite t-shirts, worn just enough to smell like him. Dream presses it to his face and inhales, absurdly touched, and smiles as he picks up the umbrella.

Of course Hob has sent him an umbrella; that is their 'thing', that is how they met, and he is also terrible at remembering to bring one with him. Tied to the handle he finds a piece of card stock about the size of his palm, with a drawing penciled on one side. It's a rough cartoon figure that is recognizably Hob, smiling brightly and holding a sunny yellow cocktail umbrella that has been carefully attached through the card so that Hob's penciled hand appears to grasp the toothpick handle. Don't forget! says his speech bubble, and Dream feels tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as his smile grows too wide for his face to contain.

I love you, Hob Gadling, he thinks, both hands wrapped around the umbrella, and presses his lips gently to cartoon-Hob's precious happy little face.

3. "You did not have to do my washing, Hob," Dream protests, somewhat futilely as the deed is already done, dried, and being folded. "I am a grown man, capable of doing my own laundry." Never mind that his clothes had been accumulating in Hob's flat all week while he worked through additional revisions to The Seeds of Fate; Hob's space was conducive to this particular story, he found, and Hob was generous in allowing him to hole up here during the day while Hob was at work and on into the evenings when he returned, overnight when Dream wished it.

Hob shrugs. "They were here, I had a load of darks, they fit. Don't worry, my washing powder's the allergy-free stuff and I checked your tags for temps and such. Which reminds me." He sets the black jeans he just folded aside, takes up a pair of his own. "Your fancy lace shirt's hanging in the shower; hand washed it in cold just like it said and put it up to drip-dry."

Dream is keenly struck by the soft warmth of Hob choosing to do mundane everyday chores for him, taking care with his things, simply because he wants to and he can. It is not new, by any means; Hob has engaged in little acts of service the whole of the time Dream has been acquainted with him, from the very moment he first offered shared use of his umbrella to Dream. The domesticity of this moment settles something deep within him, something that sings of home and happiness and contentment.

"Hob Gadling, you are a chivalrous and wonderful man," he says, when what he means is I love you. "Truly, you make my life so much easier." He comes close, presses a kiss to Hob's cheek.

Hob just smiles, soft and warm and pleased, and continues folding his laundry. "You're welcome, duck. My pleasure."

4. "Here, take ours," Hob says, handing his umbrella to the woman with the toddler at the bus stop as the skies open up.

"Oh I couldn't!" Her eyes dart from the umbrella (which Hob is of course holding over her and her child) to Dream and back to Hob. "That's very kind, but then you'll get soaked!"

"We're not far," Hob assures, pressing the umbrella into her hand. "I insist. We'll be fine."

"Well…if you're quite certain?" She clutches it gratefully.

"Of course. Take care." Hob offers a friendly smile, the kind that makes his nose scrunch up adorably, and they turn to leave.

"Thank you!" the woman calls after them.

Dream finds that he doesn't mind the rain, is not inclined to run for shelter, not with Hob beside him, not when their getting soaked is because Hob does not hesitate to offer kindness to strangers. It gives him a warm glow inside, to know that he loves a man who works to put kindness out into the world, to brighten the days of those around him when he can. Damp clothes and wet hair are a small price to pay, and the summer rain is not so cold.

Halfway to Hob's flat, Dream steps around in front of him and drapes his arms behind Hob's neck. "That was a very kind thing you did," he murmurs, stepping backwards, drawing Hob with him so they do not stop moving onward. It is very much like a slow sort of dance down the street, and Hob's arms wrapping about his waist only heighten that impression.

"Yeah?" Hob shrugs, smiling. "She needed it." Like it is truly that simple.

To Hob, it is.

Dream kisses him, pressing close while the rain falls upon them. "Not many would give up their own comfort for a stranger." His lips brush Hob's with the words and then Hob is drawing him back in, warm, hungry. Dream fancies he can taste the rain, between them.

"Not a hardship, not when I've got you to keep me company," Hob finally says, nipping softly at his lips, water dripping steadily from a loose lock of hair.

"Such things you say." Dream is intoxicated with the moment, the atmosphere, the swelling of feeling he holds for this man and the tender warmth in Hob's eyes gazing back at him while the skies wash the world around them in soft hazy grey.

I love you, he thinks, kissing Hob again, pulling him close in the falling rain, I love you, I love you, I LOVE you—

5. He thinks it next when he is tangled with Hob in his bed, breathless and sweating and coming apart in Hob's practiced hands, when every time Hob moves within him he is crying out, starlight bursting behind his eyes.

He thinks it as Hob shivers to a halt, pulsing hot inside him, trembling in his arms.

He thinks it laying in Hob's embrace after, Hob's chest solid and warm beneath his ear, rising gently with each of Hob's sleeping breaths. I love you, I love you, I love you, he whispers in his head, in time with the steady beat of Hob's heart, and lets himself drift to sleep, content.

One day, one day when the moment is right, he will say it aloud; until then, he hoards it like a precious secret safe in his heart.

+1 Dream wakes on Sunday with a groan, protesting the sunbeams that have found his face; they had not closed Hob's bedroom curtains last night and he is paying the price for this oversight now.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Hob says, leaning on one elbow beside Dream with his head propped in his hand. He is supremely unbothered by the brightness, leading Dream to surmise he awoke some time ago.

"You are watching me sleep, now? You will not convince me that it is entertaining." He blinks once, twice, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Entertaining is not the word, no, but I do enjoy it. You're so pretty when you're asleep, soft and relaxed and at peace. I love that I get to see it." Hob smiles, reaches to trace a fingertip down his cheekbone. "Was trying to decide what to make you for breakfast, actually."

Dream squirms onto his back, throws an arm over his eyes, stretches his toes. "You need not make such effort—" He cuts himself off with a jaw-cracking yawn.

"You're worth it, though," Hob says easily, and Dream rolls his head to the side, meets Hob's eyes again. The sun is striking them exactly right, illuminating the depths of the brown to amber, honey.

He is so beautiful.

"Very well." Dream smiles, indulgent, lazy. "What will you be offering to please my discerning palette?"

"Fry you up an egg and a couple slices of bread? Tomato too, if you want. Blueberry jam for your toast and your sweet tooth. And if you're hungry enough, a nice hot juicy sausage?" He waggles his eyebrows.

Dream arches one of his own in return, and Hob grins. "Yeah alright, that's for later. But I will cook you actual sausage too if you like."

"I will take actual sausage with breakfast, yes, and 'sausage' when I am awake enough to enjoy it." He swings himself out of Hob's bed and makes his way to the toilet, the warm sound of Hob's laughter following him.

By the time he wanders into the kitchen, having donned his pants and a t-shirt of Hob's, bare feet and bare legs and bare arms because he's comfortable and because he knows Hob likes it, Hob has sausages and tomatoes frying in one pan with eggs and bread in another. He's tied an apron over his bare chest and joggers, captured most of his hair in an elastic band, is whistling cheerfully over the stovetop with a spatula in hand. The kettle is going, and Dream retrieves two mugs from the cupboard.

He preps Hob's tea once it's steeped, a quarter the milk and sugar that he puts in his own, and offers it to Hob to taste once he's finished plating their breakfast.

"Perfect," Hob pronounces, handing it back and picking up the plates to carry to the table. "Why's it always taste best when you make it?"

"I infuse it with my charming personality," Dream quips, deadpan, and Hob huffs a laugh.

"God, I love you," he says, his smile still broad, bright enough to rival the morning sun outside the kitchen window; and then he stills.

Dream, too, has gone still; Hob has never said those words to him before, and it sets something joyful and effervescent singing through his veins.

Hob loves him.

Hob loves him.

But Hob is shrinking in on himself, just a little, as if he could hide behind the plates in his hands and the apron he wears—every inch the man who fears (too much too fast I always come on too strong) the consequence of words he had not intended to speak aloud. Dream will be sad about this later, that he has failed somehow to make clear to Hob beyond the shadow of any doubt how welcome his affections are, how endearing his intensity, and he will vow to do better; but now, in the moment, with his heart soaring, the solution is simple, so simple, as easy as breathing.

He has never said the words aloud either, but they are as familiar to him as the beating of his own heart and they are spoken with as little effort.

"And I love you, Hob Gadling." He leans over the corner of the table, kisses Hob soft and sweet on his blossoming smile. "Now, where is my blueberry jam?"

= Started: 2/26/24 Drafted: 2/29/24 Posted: 2/29/24

The lavender-rosemary-lemon cookies were first written by @softest-punk and then brought to life by @carnelianmeluha; you can find the original fic and the recipe via this link One day I will brave my utter dearth of kitchen skill and make these myself. One day.

[neverchecking]

Hi 🦩

I love your work, it’s amazing because you’re amazing. Your stories always make my day!

I was wondering if you can do a twilight x reader where they’re in a cave trying to save them selves from heavy down pour.

They’re all soaked and cold from the rain and they only have a baby fire going, barely warming them.

They have to take off their clothes because they don’t want to get hypothermia. Having to share a small blanket to keep them warm.

Reader is still shivering so twilight comes up with an idea to warm themselves up😉

Can you make it NSFW if not that’s okey 👌

Thank you soooooooooooooooo much and I hope you are having a WONDERFUL FANTASTIC DAY!!!!!🦩

No, you're amazing darling! I'm glad I can make your day. I always love a little Twilight in my life.

You have a wonderful day as well!

Smut CW: AFAB reader, Cockwarming, Twilight has a country accent

A Rainy Day

You were wet.

Normally, Twilight wouldn't be complaining about that, because it meant he was doing something right, but not right now. No. You were wet and cold and shivering and that just...wasn't okay. In what world was you being anything other than perfectly content okay? Not his that was for damn sure.

Although, he supposes it was out of his control. You two had been blessedly separated from the chain only to be caught in the mother of all rain storms. Twilight could barely see in front of his own face, let alone see your precious one, making him thankful he was insistent on latching hands with you before walking through the portal. He still kept his hand in yours, tightening his grip if anything. If he lost you to this rain, he'd never forgive himself.

This way he could ensure your safety even if it came at the expense of his own.

His survival instincts had come on full force, along with the instinct to just protect mate, pushing him to find shelter. Any sort of shelter at all. Hell, he'd build it with his own damn hands if he had to. As long as shelter was acquired soon. You couldn't be left out in the rain like this. It couldn't be good. You could get sick which could lead to hypothermia which could lead to infection which could lead to your death and Twilight couldn't live without you.

He's lent his heart out to one person one other time. She left him behind without a second glance. He would not be letting it happen again. No. He would follow you to the ends of both his world and yours. You would not be able to just leave him, you just couldn't. He wouldn't let you. Which is why he needed to find shelter fast.

Not even death itself would be able to tear him away from you.

He'd make sure of it.

He did eventually spot a cave, scouting it out before even daring to bring you closer. He had long since given you his pelt, but he failed to see how much good it was doing while soaked. He would be a better alternative. Still, he made sure you kept it clung tightly around yourself while he collected the few dry(ish) sticks he could scrounge up, sparking a flint. It wasn't nearly big enough to do any real good, but it was better than nothing.

"You should get out of your wet clothes." He had mentioned, tugging off his tunic, chainmail and undershirt to lay them on some rocks near the fire. It wasn't out of any ill intent (Not on purpose anyway, but any glimpse of your bare skin was a blessing bestowed upon this humble cowboy). He genuinely meant it as a way to keep you safe. His cloak would dry faster than the cotton of your tunic would, he explained carefully as to preserve the carefully crafted image he had drafted for you of himself. "Better to just keep the pelt rather than risk chillin' yer'self to the bone, darling."

That seemed to please you enough as you stripped of your outer wear, Twilight turning to give you privacy (Even if he peaked just a few times). By the time you gave him the go ahead to turn back, you were seated with his pelt, only his pelt, wrapped around your shoulders, encasing you in him. He could already smell his own scent clinging to your skin, which would be enough to keep unwanted rabbits away from what was his in the very least. It made the canine in him howl in joy, prancing in place with a growl of pure possessive happiness.

Twilight swallowed harshly.

You caught his eye, the limited light reflecting off of your gorgeous irises as you scanned his facial features. Then your lips, perfectly plump and painted a color he just knew would taste divine, twisted into a devious smirk. "Wanna share?"

And that was such a bad idea. A bad, horrible, no good idea because Twilight knew he had issues controlling himself around you. He knew he wouldn't be able to behave for long, if at all, but how could he say no to your pretty face? To your pouty lip when he hesitated? To your beckoning arm as you opened the pelt just a bit?

He couldn't and wouldn't.

So he crawled next to you, pulling you into his chest as he wrapped an arm around you. You were still so cold. Too cold for his liking. He remembers reading about hypothermia prevention from Ashei when he first when up to the snowpeak ruins. She had mentioned something about skin-to-skin contact (Now that he thinks about it, she was probably hinting at something that went over his head.). Would that work here?

Goddess did he want the excuse in the very least.

Just the excuse to hold you and love you and-

He needed to calm himself. But what was the worst you could do? Say no? Push him away and call him a pervert, deserting him to venture out into the cold-

Your heavy shiver against him had him pausing.

He was overthinking this. You had reciprocated every one of his advances to date. He just needed to ease into it. "Yer' still shakin' like a soaked goat, darling." He angled his head to look you in the eyes, watching you carefully hide a chattering of teeth behind a laugh.

"Do goats shiver went you get them wet?"

That wasn't the important part? Didn't you see that?

"Is the pelt not enough?"

"Twi, in case you haven't realized, the pelt is our only option currently."

It wasn't though. Now was his chance. "Not our only option." You looked up at him with those same doe eyes of yours, asking him silently to continue on. He was sure his cheeks were a bright red, making him bite the inside of them before relenting. "They say that, ah, Skin to skin is 'pposed to help."

You blinked. Then it sunk in and your cheeks lit up in a bright red. You mouthed an 'oh' and just before Twilight could rush to fix it and say that it wasn't all that serious, he was mostly just spit balling, and to please not leave him, you were clasping your hands on his shoulders before you were sliding yourself into his lap like it was yours.

It was, every part of him belonged to you and you alone. As far as he was concerned, you belonged right there. He sucked in a harsh breath, trying to shuffle in a way that wouldn't immediately alert you to his own issues.

But you were sharp. One of the many, many, many things he loved about you.

"Is this okay?" You asked in a shaky breath. When he nodded, you gently settled your hips. His hands immediately shot to your hips, clinging to the dips there that he just ached to sink his teeth into.

"More than." He stuttered out. You hummed.

Let the record be set straight. Twilight knew you were an angel. Some sort of ethereal being that he knew he was blessed with in one way or another. Maybe as thanks. He didn't know. He didn't care. You were divine. But the roll of your hips had to be nothing short of sinful that had him shaking in his spot, fighting the urge to pin you beneath him and take you then and there.

"Can we get closer?" You whispered into his ear, moving your arms to lock around his neck. He wordlessly nodded wildly as you gently combed his hair back with your nimble fingers. You nodded back, panting softly as one of your hands gently ran along the plain of his stomach to his belt. It was undone and your hands slid into the front of his pants (He kept them on to try and remain decent in front of you), freeing him before you were moving your own hips to hover over him.

When he mentioned taking your clothes off, he didn't mean all of them, but by the Golden spirits he was not complaining. In fact, it was quite the obvious as you sunk down onto him, making him let out a purely animalistic whine. His teeth dug into your neck in an effort to minimalize the noises he was making (And to make a much more visible mark to keep everyone else away from what was his).

When you didn't move, he knew he was positively putty in your hands. Probably exactly what you wanted.

There was no place he'd rather be.

It was deliciously frustrating having you sitting on his...lap, but it was something so tantalizingly sweet he couldn't resist letting it continue. Not that he would ever dream of disappointing you in any way.

Because of that, he let you sit to your hearts content.

Even if you refused to let up until hours later, milking him dry once you deemed it acceptable. Afterall, it's not like the others could find you in this rain could they?

And after the rain had stopped, Twilight ensure you wore your reminders of the time spent with him proudly, his pelt still wrapped around your shoulders.

Maybe one day it would be wrapped around someone much smaller than either of you, but no less a part of the two of you. A man could only dream.

[fairykazu]

genshin impact men beabadoobee songs masterlist ++ taglist: @ainnofinway @lovemari @lily-lmao @aethion @jllyfsh-lvr

lovesong i didn't think i'd ever want this yet / when we had first met in fall / guess it's something you learn to accept / when i've been a mess, it's not your fault / ... / i missed the train again / i called your name / as if you'd drive it back

he was your first love and always will be. the both of you met each other when you were teens, but good things can't always last. despite wanting to stay together, the distance between you two always persisted and pushed apart the relationship that was tailored for young love.

heizou, kaveh, kazuha & thoma

10:36 i know you thought it was just us / i didn't think you'd fall in love / you're just a warm body to hold / i don't want to, yeah, yeah (i didn't mean that, that thing i said last night, it was)

you suffer from insomnia and although you viewed this relationship as platonic, he didn't. thus, creating an unhealthy codependent situationship between you and him. there was a clear power imbalance between you two, you call, and he always answered no matter the location, weather, or time. he answered. but it was an accident; you swore it was. you will never call him again until the day gets consumed by the twilight and your hand is hovering over his contact

xiao, diluc, baizhu & childe

apple cider we both like apple cider / but your hair be smelling like fruit punch / and i don't even like you that much / wait, i do, fuck... / ... / you said you liked the jumper i wore / so i always wore it

when he realized that he had feelings for you, despite the claims he had made against family and friends that he so didn't, he was screwed. you two spend every waking moment together and he'd probably die within close proximity with you. but what he didn't know is that you like him too and went out of your way to please him. "oh you like this?" then you can have it, all yours.

lyney, itto, gorou & scaramouche

1999 the way you touch me is a curse / and i'm not willing to let it all hurt / ... / 'cause i just hate the way you spoke / ... eyes make everything feel numb / you said i fucked up and ruined your life / but little did you know you ruined / mine

before the chaos had started, the relationship between the two of you could be described as warm and cozy as a cup of coffee and exciting as the turning pages of a new novel. if you told your honeymoon self this, they'd laugh at you and call you a big fat liar. it hurts to say that he no longer gives you the warmth he once provided but instead, a dark storm cloud that lingers to rain. you knew you weren't the same in his eyes either. but the both of you were too afraid of seeing this relationship actually lose the spark and turn to ashes. so, you tried, he tried. the both of you had tried and tried to keep this relationship a tight boat, up and running. it was too late, what was done was done because the flame no longer was bright as before but dimmish into nothingness, leaving you two separated on your own paths.

tighnari, kaeya & albedo

[nightbunnysong]

Why I love living in rural Italy

Autumn/winter edition

There is a certain magic that descends upon the rural areas of Italy as the seasons shift into autumn and winter, especially here in the Pre-Alps. The hills, which during the warmer months are vibrant with green, slowly turn into a rich palette of reds, golds, and deep browns, creating a landscape that is nothing short of breathtaking. It’s a time of harvest, gathering, and quiet reflection, when the air becomes crisp and the pace of life slows down, making room for a deeper connection with the land and its rhythms.

Autumn begins with the scent of wood smoke curling from chimneys and the rustle of leaves as they blanket the forest floor. One of the highlights of the season is the chestnut festivals, or sagre delle castagne, held in the mountain villages. These festivals are a celebration of the simple joys of the season—roasted chestnuts, warm wine, and laughter shared around open fires. The smell of chestnuts, roasted over hot coals, drifts through the air as you walk through cobbled streets, their warmth cradled in paper cones that warm your hands on brisk afternoons. Local producers sell honey, preserves, and handmade crafts, while the soft glow of lanterns creates a cozy atmosphere, inviting everyone to pause and savor the moment.

The mornings in autumn are something special. The first light of dawn reveals a world covered in mist, with the peaks of the Pre-Alps just visible in the distance. Everything feels quiet, as if the landscape itself is still waking up. The trees, heavy with dew, shimmer in the pale light, and the earthy scent of wet leaves fills the air. After a night of rain, the hillsides glisten, their colors deepened by the moisture. It’s the perfect time to wrap yourself in a woolen scarf, head out for a walk, and enjoy the calm before the day begins in earnest.

As the season progresses, the days grow shorter, and the soft golden light of the afternoon gives way to early twilights. At dusk, the landscape takes on a dreamlike quality. The sky turns a soft lavender, and the silhouettes of the mountains stand stark against the fading light. There’s a comforting stillness in these moments, a sense that the world is ready to rest, much like the land preparing for the sleep of winter. It’s a time to retreat indoors, to sit by the fire and let its warmth seep into your bones. A pot of broth simmers on the stove, filling the house with the soothing scent of herbs and root vegetables, promising nourishment and comfort.

And then winter arrives, transforming the landscape once again. The Pre-Alps, now blanketed in snow, seem to stretch endlessly into the distance, their peaks disappearing into the clouds. The mornings are sharp and cold, with frost clinging to the bare branches of trees, and the air is filled with the promise of snow. After a heavy snowfall, the world outside becomes silent, as if the snow has absorbed all sound. It’s in these moments that life inside feels all the cozier. The crackle of the fire becomes the soundtrack to quiet evenings spent knitting or reading, while a hearty meal, perhaps a simple broth with fresh herbs, warms the soul.

Even on the coldest winter days, there’s a comfort in the rhythm of rural life. The mountains provide a stunning backdrop, whether viewed from a kitchen window while you prepare a meal or glimpsed during a brisk walk through the woods. The snow crunches beneath your boots, and the air is sharp and clean, with the scent of pine needles lingering long after you’ve returned indoors.

The beauty of autumn and winter in rural Italy isn’t just about the changing landscape—it’s about the feeling of being deeply connected to the natural world, of living in harmony with the seasons. These months offer a sense of cocooning, of turning inward and finding peace in the simplicity of daily life. Whether it’s the warmth of a bowl of chestnut soup after a walk in the crisp air or the comforting glow of a fire on a dark winter evening, there’s a timeless, grounding quality to these seasons that makes rural life here so special.

[not my photos]

[anticidic]

When the Longing Becomes Too Much

"people cannot remain in dreams forever."

What's it like to miss someone? Good. And bad. An ache that brings you joy. 320 words of skk.

In the silence with the rain running down the window, he thinks about how their hands used to come together and their fingers filled the gaps. A hand smaller than his own, but not any less warm. The last time they met under this roof, it was skin-on-skin, and Chuuya had claimed he had forgotten his gloves for the third time that week.

Silly, Dazai thinks. But he does not mention it because he knows it is just an excuse and one not worth vying for. Their conversation is better spent on the fact that Chuuya's smile looks sunnier today even as the sky darkens and the lights in the room dim. Dazai bargains here and there about the stray hairs sticking out, all frizzy, and Chuuya, with his usual half-annoyed look, clicks his tongue and turns away to smooth down the strands with a hand through his hair. Chuuya’s trying not to smile, miserable as it is.

Endearing, Dazai thinks.

The rain continues to fall down all around him and beats against the rooftop. It is veering on night as clear blue skies turn dusky and the last light of day disappears just beyond the horizon, down, down farther into Tokyo Bay.

He sits there alone, and the candle burns down to the wax. It no longer smells as fragrant as moss and cedarwood and spice. Something like discounted cologne at the department store Chuuya likes to frequent. Now it smells like regret and a heavy loss in the heart, all gone up in flames and evaporating into clouds of smoke. Soon, it will reach him, and he will choke on it.

There, on the nightstand to his right, remains a photograph. Tiny flickering embers expose two people, hand-in-hand, one looking at the other. The softest smiles against the flames licking at the frame.

The lights go out.

Twilight is near, but you are not here to see it.

[theostrophywife]

“are you trying to turn me on or are you really that oblivious?” With Rhys please! 🤤

cold nights.

author's note: i lied. this is truly the last of the smut prompts. i've been craving some rhys so here's a dose of our wickedly delicious high lord. warning: smut under the cut.

You shifted your weight on one foot, attempting to muster up the courage to knock on Rhysand’s door. 

It was long past midnight, the twilight sky enveloping the quiet townhouse in darkness. The city beyond was asleep, but you couldn’t seem to join the rest of Velaris in their peaceful slumber. You were plagued by nightmares and rest evaded you no matter how hard you tried. 

It seemed like both a blessing and a curse that the only person who could possibly understand slept just across the hallway. A blessing because Rhys provided refuge from your racing thoughts and a curse because he was so often the subject of those thoughts. 

You raised your fist, half debating on just going back to your room and finding another way to occupy yourself, but the door swung open before you could talk yourself out of it. 

Rhysand was shirtless and the threadbare sweats he’d haphazardly thrown on rode dangerously low on his hips. Golden brown skin, perfectly sculpted muscles, and intricate tattoos snagged at your attention, but you forced yourself to meet you friend's gaze.

The High Lord didn’t say a word as he grabbed your hand and led you to the bed. Rhys peeled back the sheets and you climbed in, making yourself comfortable as he slipped in beside you. 

If you ever have a nightmare, you can come to me and I’ll keep you company. No questions asked. 

That’s what Rhys had said to you so long ago. You were so sure he’d forgotten the offer, but as he shifted over to face you, you knew that your friend had meant every word. 

“Bad dream?” Rhys asked quietly.

You nodded, resting your head against his pillows. It smelled like him—like a mixture of rain, salt, and citrus and the familiar scent put you at ease. 

He propped his head up, concern shimmering in those violet eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not really,” you replied gently. “Is it okay if we just lay here?” 

Rhys smiled and you swore to the Mother that you’d never seen a more beautiful sight. “Of course. C’mere, darling.” 

You let him pull you closer, your back pressed against his chest as he enveloped you in the safety of his arms. Despite the chill outside, you felt nothing but warmth. Being with Rhys always made you feel lighter. Less heavy, less weighed down. There was an ease to his presence that you couldn’t quite explain. 

To you, Rhysand wasn’t the High Lord. He was just Rhys. Your closest friend and most trusted confidante. The male who’d seen both the best and worst that you had to offer and still stayed even though everyone else had left. 

“Rhys?” you murmured, glad that your friend couldn’t see the tears welling in your eyes. 

He cuddled you closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Hmm?”

“Thank you.” 

“For what?” 

“For reminding me that I’m not alone.”

Rhysand leaned over and kissed your cheek. “I’ll always be here for you, darling.”

You smiled, snuggling into the heat radiating off of his body. The warmth and coziness made no logical sense given that he was currently naked from the torso up, but you didn’t question it and instead reveled in the comfort Rhys brought you. 

“Making yourself comfortable?” 

“Mhm,” you mumble sleepily, “Feels nice.” 

“Yeah?” Rhys asked, his cool breath fanning over your skin. “You like cuddling with me?” 

“You’re always so warm, Rhys. It feels good.” 

The High Lord hums appreciatively, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. You inhale sharply, shifting as he traced small patterns against your skin. Rhysand left trails of heat in his wake as his touch chased away the chill of the winter air. 

“You feel a little cold, darling.” He purred in your ear. “Want me to warm you up?” 

You swallowed thickly. “Yes, please.”

Rhys slipped his fingers underneath your shirt, rubbing tantalizing circles on your skin. Your mind went utterly blank. All you could focus on was how good it felt when Rhys touched you. His hands inched higher and higher, sweeping just below your ribs and dangerously close to your breasts. A soft moan escaped from your lips as you wriggled against him.

“Fuck,” Rhys whispered. The sound was low and guttural, skittering over your skin like wildfire. 

“What’s wrong?” you looked over your shoulder, nearly whimpering as dark eyes met yours. You shifted and felt his erection press against your ass. Rhys was hard and it was entirely your doing. Your mouth went dry at the thought. 

“Are you trying to turn me on or are you really that oblivious?” he asked in a pinched voice. 

You held his burning gaze, biting your lip to keep from smirking. It was strangely satisfying knowing that you had this effect on him and you wanted to toy with him for as long as you could. You plastered on an innocent smile and grinded your ass against his cock. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Rhys released a low groan. “Cruel, wicked female.” He tugged on the elastic waistband of your pajamas, fingers hovering right above where you wanted him most. “You should know that I don’t respond kindly to being teased.” 

“Oh?” you taunted, your voice husky and seductive. “Why don’t you show me how the High Lord punishes his disobedient subjects?” 

The Illyrian growled, his hand dipping further down and nearly making you dizzy with desire. Rhys dragged his fingers through your slick folds, groaning as your arousal covered his digits. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled. “Is this all for me, sweetheart?” 

“Yes,” you breathed. “It’s all for you, Rhys.” 

“Gods, you have no idea what you do to me.” 

You smirked, wriggling your ass against his erection once more. “I think I may have an inkling.”

“That’s more than an inkling, darling.” 

Arousal shot through your nerves, making your entire body come alive. “Perhaps I need more convincing.”

The challenge was met with a growl as Rhysand yanked your pajamas down. He cupped your ass and released his cock from the constraints of his sweatpants. You swallowed when you felt his length press against your leg. He was long and thick and deliciously hard. 

Rhys tilted your chin, pressing a hungry kiss against your lips. You could taste the need and desperation on his tongue and you returned it with equal intensity, moaning into his mouth. 

“Remember sweetheart, you asked for this.” 

You shivered with anticipation as Rhys hiked your leg up before teasing the tip of his cock into your sopping wet cunt. He coated the sensitive head with your juices, smirking against your neck as you moaned. 

“Please, Rhys.” 

The High Lord hummed. “What is it that you want, sweetheart?” 

“You,” you countered. “I want all of you. Right now.” 

Rhysand chuckled darkly. “Only because you sound so pretty when you beg for my cock.” 

You choked out a sob as he eased his way in. Even with how wet you were, it was still an adjustment to accommodate his size. Rhys yanked you closer, gripping your hips as he fully sheathed himself within your walls. 

“So tight,” he grunted. “That’s it, baby. You’re taking me so well. You like feeling me stretch your pretty little cunt, don’t you?” 

“Feels so good,” you murmured. 

Rhys nipped at your neck, leaving marks on your soft flesh. “Yeah?” he teased, gripping your hips and slowly grinding into you. 

“Stop fucking teasing, Rhys.” 

His dark, sensuous laughter rattled your bones. “Or what?” 

You grabbed his hands impatiently, pressing them against your breasts as you grinded down on his cock. Rhys released a choked sound as he squeezed on your soft flesh. The rhythm of your hips was frantic, lifting and lifting before slamming down without warning. 

“Such a greedy little brat.” Rhys growled, halting your movements. “Maybe I should make you beg for it. Fuck the sass right out of you, hm?”

“You won’t do shit—fuck” you cried out as Rhys slammed into you. He pulled out of your pussy just to slam back in and the impact made you whimper. 

You grasped at the sheets as his balls slapped against your ass, fucking you so well that any sarcastic remark that might’ve left your lips instantly died in your throat.

Rhysand flipped your position, coming up behind you and lifting your ass in the air as your face pressed against the pillows. 

“You know, you shouldn’t speak to your High Lord with such insolence,” Rhys taunted, cupping your ass. “I have half a mind to spank you.”

You moaned as he kneaded your right cheek. You felt hot all over imagining what his palm would feel like against your skin. 

“Please, Rhys.” You clawed at the headboard, bracing yourself. “Spank me. Choke me. Fuck me. I don’t care. As long as you do something.” 

The High Lord kissed the base of your spine before his hand hit your ass with a loud smack. You lurched forward, nearly hitting your head on the wooden headboard. Rhys propped a pillow to protect your head. A glimpse of the caring friend you adored. 

It wasn’t long before the dark, punishing male was back. Rhysand was absolutely insatiable, doling out spanks as you moaned into the sheets. His hand came down upon your skin with searing heat, but you lived for the mixture of pleasure and pain. 

He tilted your chin, fingers splaying over the column of your throat as his tongue claimed you. Rhys squeezed your neck, cutting off your airway as he fucked you from behind. You felt lightheaded and utterly euphoric as he unleashed this dominant side of him. 

The shadow of his wings enveloped you in darkness. Rhys grazed his teeth against your shoulder. “I could fuck you forever. Give it to you a thousand different ways. Rough and hard. Soft and sweet.” He thrust harder, faster. “Make you cum on my cock, mouth, and fingers. I’m gonna have so much fun making a mess of you, darling.”

“Oh gods.” You cried, nearly on your way to becoming nothing but a writhing, panting mess underneath him. “I’m so close, Rhys.”

Rhys flicked his fingers over your clit, smirking. “Go on then. Cum for me, sweetheart. Let everyone hear who can get you like this.” 

You cried out his name, whimpering as pleasure took you under. Rhysand’s thrusts turned sloppy and it wasn’t long before he’s coming undone above you. The entire townhouse trembled as he came, collapsing beside you. 

The room stilled until the only sound was your soft breaths mingling with the howling wind outside. You propped your head up on the pillow, admiring the rise and fall of Rhysand’s sculpted chest as he opened his eyes. His hair was tousled from where you’d ran your hands through it, his golden brown skin covered in sweat and sex, and his lips swollen from your rough kisses. Stars winked into existence in the deep violet of his eyes as he looked over at you. 

“Like what you see?” he asked cockily, flashing you a cheeky wink. 

“You’re such a cocky bastard, Rhys.” 

The High Lord pulled you flush against his chest. “You didn’t seem to be complaining about my cockiness a second ago.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like your cockiness.” You respond, running your hands through his hair. “In fact, I think I’ve grown rather fond of it.” 

“Good,” Rhys said with a smirk before pinning you underneath him. “Because I meant what I said. We’re only getting started, darling.”

With your nightmare entirely forgotten, you nipped at Rhysand’s earlobe. 

“Bring it on, Rhys.”

[eilinelsghost]

loved your arafinwë and dinrod amd pie hc and wanted to send an ask but can’t decide what numbers. so. what about. *all* the sensory asks for finrod? 👉👈

Ok, anon, it's 4 months late but I promised I would do it and I have done it: the complete list from this sensory headcanons ask game filled out for my favoritest guy of ever.

I think for the sake of the "collection," I'll paste the ones I've already answered into this too so you have the complete set all in one place.

Alright. Here we go. My Finrod sensory asks magnum opus:

1. Their most visually striking feature

Many people would say it's his hair, but those who are closest to him will tell you it's his eyes. They are grey with just the barest hint of blue, the clouds of a light rainstorm with the sun beginning to break through.

2. The colours they wear / look best in

Dark green or a rich, deep blue are his go-tos. He looks great in dark red also, but only wears that rarely.

3. Their favourite kind of view

Beside a grove of trees, looking out over a body of water. The breeze merging the sound of leaves and the sound of the waves, the sky opening out in a huge expanse over the water and filling his lungs with ease. ("View" for him is all the senses together - his "felt sight" and visual sight are inseparable.) Originally answered here.

4. Do they prefer bright lighting, dim lighting, or darkness?

The hours between one and the other, or lighting that reflects that. The perpetual twilight of Alqualondë is what he remembers from his happiest years as a child. Consequently he feels the most at peace when that sensory trigger is present. So the moments between night and dawn, the end of evening, the soft twilight of Nargothrond lit by Elven lamps.

5. Do they prefer wide open spaces or enclosed spaces?

Open spaces. One of the reasons the caves along the Narog appealed to him so much was because of how vast many of the caverns are. There was no feeling of claustrophobia when he was guided through them. Originally answered here.

6. Some of their favourite flavours or foods

Much like Aegnor, he too loves the Telerin seaweed candy and Círdan will often send it with the merchants and messengers to Nargothrond. Honey, clover petals, freshly baked Atani bread, a tart and peppery leafy green that the Sindar often use, raspberries, red wine (he prefers his more dry than Aegnor does), and while he lived among Bëor's people he discovered he likes the flavor of pickled foods. Originally answered here.

7. What they smell like

Heather blossoms and wild meadowsweet

8. Their favourite scents

Sea salt in the wind, snowdrop flowers, damp soil (especially just after the rain), freshly risen bread dough, cedar oil.

9. A scent that makes them nostalgic

Rose water. Eärwen would use it after she washed each evening when he was a child in Alqualondë. Now it reminds him of nestling against her as she sang him to sleep with the sea breeze drifting in through the windows. Originally answered here.

10. A texture they hate

Touching silk or similar fabrics when his hands are rough from working with stone. It catches and sticks against the skin and it makes his spine crawl.

11. A texture they love

Freshly risen bread dough. He would watch his mother make bread when he was young and she always let him punch down the dough after it had risen. He would linger then and run his fingers over it, soft and warm and almost dry to the touch before it was kneaded. Occasionally he will make a loaf in Beleriand, going solely by the memory of his mother's work, and sit with the scent of the working yeast, with the touch of the risen dough, the lingering memory.

12. Their feelings on physical touch

Big fan of this. He is very affectionate in both word and demeanor, though he can also hide behind this when it comes to articulating or pressing into his genuine feelings.

13. Their ideal climate and weather

This is one I struggled to answer. He is so fascinated by the variations that I think he finds it hard to know for himself what his favorite is. He quickly grows attached to new places and environments and holds each in its own unique place of love and favoritism. However he is probably most relaxed in a climate that includes clearly demarcated seasons.

14. Their favourite type of music

The songs Eärwen would sing, held over from the Great March and the from the time the Falmari lingered on the shores of Middle-earth before setting out for Valinor. Later, it shifts to Atani dance music and the haunting melodies of the song-lore that Balan would sing.

15. A sound they can't stand

Notes that are off-pitch, especially from stringed instruments, will send a sharp pain through one of his back molars.

16. A sound that makes them sad

Water lapping against the shore. It opens up the feeling of gaping emptiness in his gut and a deep, insatiable longing for home.

17. What their voice sounds like

This one is surprisingly difficult! There is so much about him that is clear as day to me, but for some reason his voice has always been a bit elusive. I think...mid-tenor for speaking, a fairly wide range for singing, though I don't think he goes lower than baritone. Often you can tell there's a laugh just under the surface.

He imitates others' voices quite well, which I think comes from being very attuned to ósanwë. He can step into the familiarity of the other person's mind, in a sense, and the voice comes easily from that. It's a great party trick.

He once did this as a youth in Valinor when he and Turgon were nearly caught stealing a pie from the palace kitchen in Tirion. His imitation of Finarfin's voice from behind the closed door was so convincing that the attendant returned with compliments to the cook and consequently brought about a rather awkward conversation between said cook and the real Finarfin later that evening. FInarfin didn't have the heart to correct the situation and "un-compliment" the chef or to deny that he had missed the pies from his childhood so much that he snagged one immediately upon his arrival from Alqualondë, so he resigned himself to receiving a pie delivered to his chambers as a gift whenever he visited Tirion. On the first time a gift-pie was delivered, Finrod found a large slice waiting in his own chambers with a note in his father's handwriting: "for the young lord Arafinwë whose appetite is as keen as his scheming." Originally answered here.

18. The sounds they make when experiencing intense emotion

It's when he is feeling emotion and doesn't make any sound that you know it's of the intense variety. If he is angry and snips at you, you're fine. If he is angry and goes into icy silence. Well. That is not good.

19. Something that viscerally disgusts them

Rotten fruit. There is something about it that he can't quite articulate, but it gives him a gnawing sense of disgust and dread.

20. Something that makes their skin tingle

Watching someone else draw or paint. His father did not do much in the way of typical Noldorin craftsmanship (forgework, stonework, etc) but was a skilled artist. As a child, Finrod would watch him draw for hours and was always soothed by watching the details come together and each little element of stroke and shading merge into the whole. He has a very clear memory of watching Finarfin draw the design for the twined serpents that would become the badge of his house, from which Fingolfin drew up a mold and cast the ring.

21. How aware are they of their surroundings?

Very. He internalized a good bit of his father's role as attempted peace-keeper in the family and consequently was always on the alert for what could go wrong in any given situation, what tiny cues were being given, how the landscape (physically and emotionally) was laid. This stays with him as he grows into adulthood and can often exacerbate his anxiety. However it's very handy when attempting to quickly learn the customs/manners/habits of, say, a new species you just ran across in the woods.

22. Are they good at sensing the thoughts and emotions of others? How do they experience them?

Very good. Ósanwë is very strong for him and he feels others' emotions as a constant presence around him. Almost like background music to every situation or conversation: quiet and not the main focus, but insistently present and setting the melody of each interaction.

23. Do they have foresight? How do they experience it?

Yep! I think he experiences it primarily through a kind of gut knowledge that he can't always explain. The three examples we have of him explicitly noting an instance of foresight all seem to have that flavor: the exchange with Galadriel re his future oath, the Athrabeth where he references Aegnor's fate, and a snippet in The War of the Jewels (actually I am going to paste that in below because it is !!!)

In each of these cases, he seems to know an outcome or general direction things will go, but not necessarily the specifics of how or why. In the Galadriel one, for instance, I think a lot of that was a rising sense of dread opening out in front of him with a gut certainty at the bottom of it that he would also be caught in an oath and all that he built would fall away. But I don't think he had any clarity on how that would happen, so the way it all unfolded was both a surprise and accompanied by a sinking feeling of recognition.

24. Do they have any sense-related fears or phobias?

Slipping. Mostly this is ice-based (a carryover from the Helcaraxë) but it shows up across the board - slipping on mud, things slipping from his grasp (literally or figuratively), his own mastery of self slipping from him so that he loses himself to anger/grief/etc.

25. Surprise NSFW sensory headcanon

ARGH I get so shy about answering nsfw questions but I said I would answer the whole list so uh he really likes the feel of Balan's beard against his inner thighs.

Thanks so much for this ask! It was truly an undertaking, but SO much fun to work on and to have somewhere to get a lot of these out of my head and into an articulated form.