#chanel rare bag

[trillionairedemeanor]

kemarilyn

[muntitled]

𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐧

Hazel Callahan x F!Reader

Summary: "Jesus, dude, do you know what it means when a gay girl says they wanna have a "slumber party?"

Warnings: Hyper Feminine!Reader, Language, Fluff, Jealousy, Humor, Reader has a crush, Confessions, Teasing, Smut (+18, Minors DNI), Dom!Hazel, Humping, Grinding, Masturbation, Pillowprincess!Reader tbh, Thigh Riding, Public sex, Risky Sex, Massive Degradation Kink, Power Play, Ownership Kink?, Praise Kink, Slight!Hate sex ♡

Part two >

Hazel Callahan was rarely included into anything vaguely external, she would venture to say that she was even rarely included in her own thoughts. Therefore, infuriatingly, painfully aloof Hazel thought nothing of the invite you had presented to the entire group at Fight Club.

Why should she feel special?

Things like this seldom warranted her definite response, so when all the girls had affirmed their attendance, Hazel was... discombobulated to find a silence of anticipation growing pregnant in the gym.

It took a sharp stab in the ribs from PJ for Hazel to swing her head back into this specific reality in the space-time continuum. A reality in which you sat adjacent to her in a circle, legs crossed dainty underneath you to better accommodate the neatly pressed pleads in your pink skirt. There was nothing remarkably profound from you carrying yourself like the pretty princess you thought you were, what strikes Hazel as odd, however, was the look of expectancy in your dark eyes- a look you directed at… her?

"What?"

"You're coming? To my slumber party tonight?" you reiterate stifling the need to pat down at your braids corralled into a pink headband. You are basking under the scrutiny of her gaze but you also happened to suffer under it too. The longer Hazel watched you with furrowed brows, and her knee propped up to her chest, the longer you keened forward as if desperate to hear her say-

"Of course she's coming," PJ once again injects herself in between the two of you. "We'll all be there," You're perhaps nodding at PJ and Josie but your eyes are unable to leave the absolute prison that Hazel has them in. She does nothing except nod as well, before leaving you to your clique who all sit prettily under clouds of Chanel number 5.

The interaction replayed within the confines of Hazel's head throughout the rest of the school day. Right up until she finds herself, nestled in a car with Josie and PJ, taking the short drive in the more affluent neighbourhood from her place to yours.

"So, Hazel," the lascivious tone in PJ's voice already has her rolling her eyes as the car slows before an egregious house. "Are you ready to lose your virginity tonight?"

"Jesus Christ-" Murmurs Josie before PJ assumes what is expected to be your tone of voice- only its a hyperbolic and a higher in pitch reenactment of the real thing.

"Oh Hazel! I'd really like for you to come to my slumber party tonight!" All three girls leave the car as PJ continues her comedic display of seduction as she brushes up against Hazel and says "I really want you at my slumber party."

Hazel laughs as PJ grabs a hold of her upper arm, exposed from her open black button up and tank top. "You're coming right?" PJ sobers up as she says, "That's hot girl speak for "You're going to be cumming inside me-"

Josie does not keep her eyes off the approaching house as she interjects with, "Girls can't cum in other girls"

"Wow!" Hollers PJ, "-And here I was thinking you actually believed that girls can do everything that guys can do-"

"Wait," Hazel's eyes are on her shoes as she readjusts her tote bag and says, "You think she actually wants to like... fuck?" She lowers her voice drastically in the wake of making it up to your front door as she bends and reiterates, "Like actually fuck me?"

There is, frankly no time for Hazel to get a firm response on such a discombobulating thought because you quickly open the front door, and your skin is glowing everywhere from being completely exposed in your pink satin shorts and matching camisole set. Your hair is still loose as it frames your face- your round and constantly smiling face. Why had Hazel never noticed you until now?

Perhaps she did.

Perhaps she negated the possibility of forming a crush on you because you appeared so painfully… straight?

But here you are, smiling at her and only her. Your eyes had been bright at the sight of Hazel and her button up and how outrageously attractive she looked in a tank top but your smile dims significantly when you peer down at PJ'S hand still wrapped around Hazel's forearm.

"H-Hey," Said Hazel, with her voice that reminded you so vividly of a midnight snowstorm,

"Hey," you replied back, quickly turning away. Your mood had already been cemented for the rest of the evening. Despite it being your slumber party, you let your best friend host while you continued to wallow in the regret of your own unshakeable feelings. You hated that PJ and Hazel were very clearly a couple, but what you hated perhaps more, was that you still wanted her. You stole longing glances at her in your space, lazing on your bed while the rest of you sat encircled on the floor in sleeping bags. Hazel completely hijacked your entire brain throughout all the games and activities.

You had lost yourself in her presence and that only kicked up a notch when you felt a pair of forearms lazily splay onto your shoulders from above. With your bum still on the floor and your back against the foot of your bed, Hazel had decided to humour her turn in Truth or Dare. While she answered, she let her legs frame your body. So that it swung over the side of the bed, perfectly framing your sides.

Breathing had been impossible. So impossible in fact, you didn't know it was your turn until it took Hazel bringing her lips down to your ear. Your nerves had been shot to hell as she whispered, "Dove, it's your turn."

You cursed this idea and you cursed this wretched slumber party.

Luckily, It passed by in a significant blur that left you still riding on the high of being in Hazel's personal space until bedtime at 1am. While the girl's drifted into their own sleep, your eyes remained on the pink chandelier hanging from your ceiling while you cradled your stuffed frog to your chest. No matter how hard you try, sleep is a difficult thing to come by. You are left to your thoughts of the girl sleeping on the floor, while gentle snores sounded in the room.

"Fuck," you almost instinctively mutter as you find your hand drifting past your navel. You spread your leg ever so slightly before pushing your hand into your underwear. The quicker you came, the quicker your body could finally be allowed to slip into actual slumber. It sounded like a solid plan, and you had already taken to grinding your wet cunt against your hand- until it all went to hell and your duvet is being pulled slightly off of you.

You're quick to remove your hand and grab a hold of your covers as your eyes snap open to stare at the silhouette above you. Hazel's hair is a spectacular mess on her head and her skin shines orange from the glow of your salt lamp.

"Let me in," she whispers, not really waiting for a response before she's forcing herself into your covers, scooching you on the right side of the bed.

"What are you-"

"Shh," it's embarrassing, how quick you are to snap your mouth shut and heed her commands. Hazel's stomach warms significantly at how docile you are and she smiles as she says, "I cant sleep and I had the vague suspicion that you couldn't either." Hazel says, propping her exposed forearm under her head as she looks up at your ceiling. Her button up is discarded somewhere in the room, leaving her in basketball shorts and a tank but you're not complaining. Not at all.

"I told myself I'd be more intentional with my actions, and my actions are telling me to kiss you right now, but my feelings are telling me you might not want that." You're corraled into stark and naked shock as you watch the girl you've always wanted, confess to you in your bed. It feels unreal. The longing stares, the hours you've spent writing amatuer poetry in your notes app about her, the amount of times you made yourself cum with her heavy on your mind.

This does not feel real.

"Jesus," your voice is uncharacteristically coarse as you rush to say, "Dude, do you know what it means when a gay girl says they wanna have a "slumber party."

Hazel appears stunned as she watches you with wide eyes, "Well yeah," Says Hazel, "but… do you know what it means?"

"I've liked you since junior year," Your confession has her mind going hazy as she tries to recall all the subtle hints which she effortlessly discarded as you just being kind.

"God, you're such an idiot!" You release a chuckle that momentarily stirs a sleeping girl laying closest to the bed in her sleeping bag.

"Shh," Hazel's finger is pressed softly to her lips, you nod slowly only able to process mimicking her own actions.

"What were you doing just a second ago?" She says, swiftly removing the attention from her and her stupidity, replacing the atmosphere instead, with something much more dangerous. There's a difference in her whispers, a tone that has you melting into the covers as you unconsciously squeeze your legs shut. In this moment, she could ask anything of you, and you would simply comply. The silence stretches like honey between the two of you, and Hazel watches with doe eyes as you sink into your shame.

"You don't have to say anything." She finally whispers back, freeing you from your internal damnation but not completely letting you off the hook as she continues: "Just move your hips for me." It was an aggressively passive instruction that exploded a bundle of charged electricity between your legs. You are trapped in a distinctly uncomfortable position between wanting to comply, but wanting to be stubborn. The discomfort of these emotions are not entirely unwanted.

"Do you want me to show you how?" There is a challenging glint in her eyes that simulates the peroration of whatever the hell this is that you are both about to do.

This non-relationship which is so innately a relationship.

"Yeah." Your voice rocks with the signs of an oncoming tempest alerting your body to the possibility of something very, very exciting on the horizon.

Time and space seems so few and far in-between as Hazel keeps you arrested in those blue, endless hues. Examining her features keeps your wanton, unwinding nerves chaotically at bay. There is an intense exchange of control as Hazel shuffles closer, until her head is resting on your pillow and your both breathing into each other's parted lips.

She almost restlessly sets her palm onto your body, her hands on a slow path down your hips. It gives you a sliver of control knowing that bubbling behind her dilated pupils is a need that haunts her just as greatly.

"I'm gonna show you, okay?" She does not need to repeat herself but you recognize her words for what they are: masked behind the excitement and the charged atmosphere, is a real, and genuine need for consent.

The very moment you hopped over this threshold, you would forever be locked in a world anew. There would be no take backs. Your actions would forever be transcribed on the sacred tablet of our shared history.

"Are you going to show me, Hazel?" Desire is seated comfortably on top of your lungs and you speak only in soft pants, "Because it really feels like you're all bark and no bite."

There is a flash of excitement that sweeps momentarily over her lidded lustful gaze.

Her hands are much more sure of themselves as they lock into your sides, her fingers digging rudely into your silk pyjama bottoms.

"Shouldn't you be taking those off?" You ask cheekily.

A scoff slips through her lips as she shifts just a tad closer, her face now centimetres from yours. "You're awfully needy." Hazel whispers, "It's incredibly embarrassing."

What would prove to be even more embarrassing is the jarring way your hips stutter the very moment those words leave Hazel's lips. Your accidentally whorish slip up might have gone unnoticed were it not for the annoying fact that her right leg was seated quite cosily between your legs.

"Shut up," is all you manage to say - a desperate attempt at scrambling for your dignity crumbling in the bed between you.

Hazel laughs airly. Slowly, her hands at your hip begin to move, subsequently allowing your hips to move. A soft and slow moan passes through your lips, drowned out by the sound of sleeping girls as your eyes flutter shut.

"Hey," Hazel's lips are fully touching yours now, "Look at me." She could've never anticipated how the fucked out look in your eyes could ever make her feel. Your eyebrows are curved, as if you're in pain as you hump slowly against her thigh. The coarseness of the silk and her thigh pressing against your aching cunt… it makes everything feel so overwhelmingly real, unmarred by great expectations. The thump of her heart underneath your palm is so incredibly real. The beads of sweat growing pregnant on her forehead are real. Her dry, parted lips pressed against yours is in fact real.

"What are you thinking about?" It strikes you then that you had been a muddled, mindless haze, humping against her thigh with an urgency.

"I'm thinking about you." You reply, truthfully.

"Good things, I hope?" It is so unimaginable, the way her voice is able to remain so incredibly steady while yours is as shaky as a walrus thumping across an icy lake.

"I don't suspect anyone has ever had a single good thought about you." You shoot back and the fingers gripping your hips lock tighter, nearly prompting you to apologise.

The only other option left for you to exhaust is clamping your mouth shut as Hazel's hand assumed a much more aggressive administration. She grips on the plush skin at your sides with an unnecessary hardness, as if she wanted to tear in into you.

"See, I was gonna fuck you," it is absolutely shameful, the whimper that escapes your lips, "But now I'm gonna make you hump my leg like the slutty little girl you are." Before you could scold her, or perhaps violently disagree, rudely, before your cries of indignation could ever be forced out, Hazel is lifting you up from your side of the bed, her head shifting until her brown curls cover your pillow fully.

She turns onto her back, never releasing eye contact as she forces you down so you're straddling her steepled knee. The new position leaves you searching for a new anchor.

"Your hands are pushing down on my hair-" she grumble-whispers.

"If you'd let me finish faster that wouldn't be as much of a problem now, would it?" Hazel's response, in lieu of her thoroughly unimpressed face, had been to grind her thigh further against your core, eliciting a wanton, broken moan into the air.

"You're gonna have to be quiet, Dove." Her voice is gravel, "Wouldn't want anyone seeing how much of my whore you are, would you?" The sound of your own moans slam back into you as you press your pussy incredibly closer to her leg.

"Imagine what they might think of you? Our little star pupil getting herself off on my leg? Is that really all it takes to please you?" Staying quiet had become an unimaginable feat, a mountain that becomes even more difficult to surmount when Hazel's eyes search frantically over your crippling form for a trigger that might send you over the edge.

You couldn't begin to imagine how powerful she must feel watching your hips move wantonly on her thigh while your hooded eyes displayed desperation.

You feel so thoroughly hers, a previous existence in which you went without her hard ministrations guiding you to orgasm felt completely in vain. You want nothing more than to be so incredibly good to her, and the thought that she might want the same way sends you to an early grave.

"You're doing so well, Baby. Keeping going." An embarrassing wave of pleasure ripped straight through your spine leaving a trail of shivers in its wake. There is no mistaking that your reaction to her praise and her validation had not gone unnoticed.

Your pussy is completely soaked against her leg, burdened with the knowledge that it wants something but it didn't exactly know what.

"I need you," you whisper. Before your own shame might wave away the pleasure, you are delighted at the moan that slips through Hazel's parted lips.

You had been so thoroughly enamoured by your own pleasure, you had not stopped to consider hers. The pillow princess stereotype brought with it a wave of shame as you looked down and found her hips stuttering slowly against yours.

"I'm right here, Dove."

And you both began to melt for each other. Your legs are tangled in one another while her thigh is pressed against your clit at the same time your thigh is pressed between her legs as well.

You are pleasantly surprised when you begin to feel the fabric of Hazel shorts moving against your own legs slotted in between her. You didn't have to picture how gloriously lecherous it might have looked, using each other so blatantly to fulfil a need that had begun simmering since forever. "Oh fuck, you're so pretty," her hand finds purchase against your breast, tweaking your nipples until they hardened against the camisole while her other hand was comfortably gripping your jaw, staring up at you with lustful eyes.

"You don't even know how perfect you look right now," you did not speak a word of a lie. Watching Hazel's long and domineering form writhing underneath you is a mental image you wish to keep stored in your chest of sacred memories forever. It is discombobulating, watching someone so used to walking so tall and unbothered, being made a complete mess underneath you.

You never wanted this moment to end.

"I want you to kiss me." She croaks, despite already bringing your face close to hers by the strength of a single grip. Her eyes search yours for something. You only hope that grinding yourself even faster against her leg is a testament to whatever it is she might've been looking for. Soon, her lips crash onto yours. When Hazel Callahan kisses, she kisses sloppily and disastrously as if she wanted to swallow you whole before you ever thought of escaping. Her lips are all encompassing, her tongue is restless, pushing itself into your mouth with avid determination.

You moan softly into her mouth. A sound she appreciates greatly given the way her hips began to move against your thigh with a matching ferocity. Her hand slithers along your back, until she cups a handful of your ass, dragging your pussy once again against her, at her desired pace.

Rough. Arresting. Frantic.

"You're being too loud," She sighs, breaking away from your lips to trail them down your neck. "You're being too fucking loud-"

"Fuck, Hazel I'm close-" Your legs are locked against hers but the hand on your ass keeps your hips moving by proxy. "I'm so close."

"You're gonna cum for me, Dove?"

"Oh God, I love it when you call me that-" There is an embarrassing pool of wetness accumulated between your legs, dripping through your shorts and onto her skin. She is equally as wet and that fact only spurs you on.

"I need you to cum for me, baby?" Her stuttering hips told you her own release is dangerously close, sitting on the horizon. Perhaps your orgasm had bled into something prideful, her need to make you cum first caused her to delay her own release.

"You're fucking unbelievable." You sigh with troubled realisation.

She uncovers herself from your chest, panting heavily without her hips ever stopping. "You're gonna cum first, okay?" She nods, persuading you to mimic her movements because despite everything, you are putty in her hands.

"Okay."

As she kisses you once more her hand travels back to your now exposed boob. Between your kiss, Hazel had somehow managed to haphazardly lift your camisole enough to expose your breasts.

A straggled sound leaves the back of your throat as your orgasm crested.

She succeeded in making a mess of you. Your hair had been set free, braids spilling like wild snakes down your torso.

"Oh God, oh fuck-" a hand slaps over your mouth. Hazel's eyes are wide as she continues to guide your hips to release.

"Such a good little Dove, aren't you?" Your eyes are blown with stars and pixie dust as you nod drunkenly. She's humping your thigh and you're humping hers and soon the orgasm sneaks up on you, stealing your breath right from inside your lungs. Your strangled moan is muffled by her palm.

Her eyes take it all in with a very certain hunger, drifting from watching her own hips grinding your thigh, to the choked expression of utter euphoria splashed against your face.

"Fuck, baby." Her Eyebrows knot as her breathing picks up. The pressure visibly building across her face is nearly enough to send you back into your pool of euphoria.

"Oh fuck- oh baby," The wave of pleasure that courses through her is violent and incredibly validating. It is you who had gotten her to this point, humping your leg so desperately as if it might be the only thing she could ever hope to achieve. For someone who had built such a notable reputation for always mainting an I-dont-give-a-fuck mentality, this feels like an immense achievement for you.

Once the smoke clears, and Hazel finds herself back on planet earth, the relics of her euphoria register as intermittent aftershocks. The dawn of what you had just done begins to settle and almost instinctively, you revert to your teasing.

"How nice of you to finally join us," you are still hovering above her, her long neck craning to look at you.

"You talk a lot of shit for someone who squeaks when she cums."

The dampness between your legs is a reminder. "You're gonna learn to take just as much as you give sooner or later," You don't miss the hint of a promise thinly veneered along that whisper. Choosing to ignore the fluttering in the pit of my stomach at the sound of it alone, you climb off of her and back to your space on the bed.

"What's its name?" Hazel asks, peering into the darkness to bring your stuffed frog back into your arms. "You strike me as someone who gives their stuffed toys names."

You're still out of breathe as you reply, "Texas,"

She cracks a smile at that. Before you can finally drift off, a hand slips across your hip, trailing over your torso before brushing over your breast and staying there. "I'm gonna buy you one...I wanna watch you hump it like you just did my leg okay?"

All you're able to do is nod.

[dayshifting]

WHATS IN MY BAG — SUPERNATURAL DR.

hi hunter’s vogue, i’m daylin rosario-hughes

& this is what’s in my bag.

THE BAG — my every day bag, as of right now, is the coach soho signature bag. she may look small but she is mighty… and stretched out with love! it has become almost like a locker for things that sam and dean need, like weapons & badges.

( FROM LEFT TO RIGHT )

angel blade — thanks to my good friend castiel, he stole gifted me an angel blade as a means of protection. just don’t tell sam or dean i have it.

lighter, holy water, & salt in a vial — you never know what you might run into, i learned that the hard way. i always carry my trusty lighter that i got from some backwater town’s thrift store, a vial i stole from bobby filled with salt, and a flask filled with holy water.

tarot cards — first used as a party trick/a way to pass time with friends, the cards are now used for insight or guidance. when dean stumbled upon them for the first time, he called me a witch.. for a week.

compact mirror — since we’re constantly on the go, i use my little mirror to fix up my makeup or to check for any facial injuries. it comes in handy when we’re dealing with ghouls.

claw clip & hair ties — just a way to pull up my hair if we’re chasing something or if it keeps annoying me.

makeup bag — filled with lip products, powders, mascara, eyelash curler, perfume, and anything else that i need.

wallet — self explanatory, i need a place to store my money. there’s also a photobooth strip of me and my friends.

digital camera — i like to take photos of everything and anything, from dean inhaling a burger to a pretty little sunset. once again, comes in handy when we’re dealing ghouls, especially shapeshifters.

fbi badge — you never know when you’ll need to pull out the ‘we’re fbi’ card, so i keep an extra in my bag.

hairbrush — found it in a thrift store and thought it was cute/ironic, seeing as i’m an archangel’s vessel.

gum — just to freshen up when we’re out for a whole day. a victim to the winchesters’ grabby hands & almost killed cas.

ipod & headphones — my holy grail for long drives or when i need to block out any annoying noise (ehm, dean).

sunglasses — the sun is public enemy no. 1 for me, so i have to always carry my sunnies that are, of course, chanel.

DAY’S LOVE LETTER — !

i love how this turned out, i’m proud of myself 😊 lowkey inspired by my creative mutual @miaojune’s post, even if it’s not similar at all 😭 i just loved the ‘hi fairytale vogue’ and my mind immediately went to make a vogue what’s in my bag so i did (hence the ‘hunter’s vogue)! if some of these things didn’t exist in or make sense for 2009/10 just pretend it does!!!!

( p.s. this is also a name reveal, which is like not a big deal 😭 but my name is rare and i hope none of my irls find me🤞 but williams is not my government last name, it’s my adopted last name in this spn reality )

[richarlotte]

Best places to shop designer?

If you love vintage, look at Japan. Especially for vintage Louis Vuitton bags & cases.

It’s affordable, it’s easy to find and fun to shop for, and it’s actually a great time sourcing pieces. I’ve never spent more than $400 on a piece, and everything I’ve bought has been high quality. I’ve bought some dream pieces of mine, and part of what makes the process so fun is taking the time to find what you want. I bought my Croissant, my Speedy 30, my Pochette, Holdall, Toiletry Bag, and Neverfull for less than $300 each, and aside from conditioning the leather, they’re in perfect condition. I’d strongly recommend looking at Japan’s vintage market if you love Louis Vuitton.

Japan is pretty much the best place to look for any designer items, and the vintage market is the best I’ve ever experienced. The yen is also weak compared to the American dollar, so you’re getting more while spending less. I’ve seen a lot of really nice Chanel and Fendi as well; the more popular bags tend to be bought quickly, but it’s easy to find them, and it’s easier to find rare items on the Japanese retail market than it is to find them on the American market. It’s also very easy to find Hermès scarves and other small items; I love buying small things, and I’m not willing to spend $700 on something I can easily find on the Japanese market for $70. It takes skill but again, the hunt is always fun.

I will say that there are brands I’d avoid and certain stores as well. All of my bags have come with receipts and certifications of authenticity that have held up to the authentication process I put them through here in America. The one thing I’d recommend against purchasing is badly made costume jewelry; it’s not worth it at all, and Chanel costume jewelry is very cheaply made and then marked up to obscene prices. I can make a post about where to shop, what’s trendy and what I’d recommend buying, customs/paying, and how I style the things that I’ve purchased so far. Just let me know, and I'll write a guide up when I have time. 

Let me know if you’d like any of my shopping recs.

[carelessflower]

alec closet analysis thread

now it's confirmed that alec THE ultimate successor of broke nepo baby - sugar baby - tradwife pipeline, I compile a list of what items and brands i think he would use

casual wear

alec's style is the fit in trsom where he layer a leather jacket over hoodie, except now the leather jacket is some authentic italian leather costing 1000$ and the hoodie is ralph lauren. very subtle, very preppy boarding school with inheritance quiet luxury boy, ysl (magnus got confirmed wearing them and magnus shop/magic clothes for alec), loro piana, ami paris (magnus think "a" can be an initial alec is tres chic)

outerwear

classic burberry trench coat, leather jacket (a must), puffer, bomber, if in in dark color and cozy, there 70% chance alec wants it. fw chanel tweed stuff but non-monogram only. oh yeah got access to magnus unlimited closet of fur coat and been dressing in mob wife style every winter (it suit him so why change)

formal wear

structured, clean line, no fussy business. rarely do a three piece suit, unless it's a fancy nightout with magnus. layered his sweater/turtleneck with a blazer all the time. in shadoworld gala or events his suit would have pop of red either from the tie, the brooch or the detail to signal his position while blending in with other party-goers (consul robe wouldn't be sensible, considering shadowhunters history with downworlders). i can see ysl, celine, bottega, alexander mcqueen and peter do (the suit with the open back is for magnus only)

bag

THE shadoworld birkin mom, his collection isn't the biggest in the world because he's very particular in his pieces, no neon, overt pattern or rhinestone. got a mini birkin to store his airphones and gummy bear and izzy can't believe this is her brother's life now. big fans of every big bag imaginable, his birkin always looks like it may burst any moment. louis vuitton duffle bag, neutral, no excessive logo

jewelry

like anything silver, white gold, platinum, diamond, sapphire, pearl. tolerable of period and colored diamonds. keep ruby (bad association), gold and those god-awful rolex away from him please. own a couple of richard mille but only for fancy occasions, his go-to is usually vintage gucci bangle or cartier tank. got matching cartier love bracelet with max. break about 4 sets van cleef albraham but magnus like how delicately they sit on his collarbone so he gonna keep being restocked on them. for ring: harry winston, tiffany, graff, his fave shape is carre, emerald, cushion

perfume

woody, slightly white floral (he doesn't play about jasmine), anything fresh and clean, skin type of perfume. he's basically smell like entering a very expensive yet worth-the-price therapist's office. mfk 724, another 13, the matcha, and do son would be perfect. magnus got a whole shelves of kilian, alec basically take a look and one bottle and that's it. unless you're magnus don't come near him with anything patchouli or overwhelmed musk he would scowl as if your existence's offensive

tag list: @magnus-the-maqnificent @literallytypogod @hoezier-than-thou @sociallyineptbibliophile @queenlilith43

@khaleesiofalicante @wandererbyheart @raziyekroos @onetimetwotimesthreetimess @alexandergideonslightwood

@noah-herondale-lightwood @elettralightwood @dustandducks @deliciousdetectivestranger @delightfullyterrible

@letsgofortacos

@kita-no @thelightofthebane @secrettryst @goldendreams3 @cityofdownwardspirals

@stupidfuckindinosaur

@i-have-not-slept @rinadragomir @potato-jem @kasper-tag

@banesapothecary @culiehua @izzysimcns

[rafeslittlepup]

ballerina farm has been mentioned a lot in regards to sexist!rare but i feel like the difference between rafe and the husband is rafe would actually take reader on that greece trip, just the two of them. she might get an egg apron too but in my mind he actually loves her and thinks unwinding is important so she doesn’t burn out

- 🗽

YES!!! the thing is that rafe spoils her with nice clothes, fancy dinners, keeps her looking like a princess!! tbh i don’t see that many similarities between ballerinafarm and bunnywife!reader??? , ballerinafarm cleans cow poop in overalls but bunnywife has a chanel bag collection and wears bows in her hair as a mom of four. rafe would NEVER let her work like ballerinafarm does, he thinks that’s a man’s job

[larosebisou]

DIOR Feminity The Trap Simone De Beauvoir print white cotton linen tshirt XS | Vintage S/S 2003 Dior Pink Mesh Monogram Thong | Rare Christian Dior 2024 Newspaper Print White Black Calfskin Saddle Bag | VALENTINO Roma c.1990's Black Silk Floral Lace Hem Classic Slip Skirt | Chanel Classic Black Calfskin/White Piped Trim Pumps | Chanel CC Faux Pearl Heart Drop Pendant Earrings

[quitealotofsodapop]

Okay, headcannon for how Shadowpeaches met:

After Wukong git back from training with Subhodi he found that his monkeys had been kidnapped by the Demon King of Havoc, so naturally he goes and rescues them. Except.... there was an extra?

Macaque, who had run away from home after feeling smothered by Chang'e (who may or may not have been chanelling her grief over her husband into how she was raising her baby monkey bro) ran away from home to show her he could take care of himself!.... and was captured by a demon king. But he was FINE, he totally could have escaped on his own and didn't NEED to get rescued, thank you very much! But... he doesn't exactly have anywhere else to go so could he stay on the mountain please? Just for a bit, he'll totally leave soon after he gets his feet back under him.

Wukong, meanwhile, thinks this new guy is really pretty in need of his help, so lets him stay and offers to train with him (which has NOTHING to do with wanting to show off his new magic powers or spend time with the new guy, obviously).

And the rest is dubiously cannon history.

ooo this is a cool idea.

Chang'e I feel was a little over-protective of MIhou when he was a baby because he was one of her few companions on the Moon. Chang'e had dreamed of having children with Hou Yi, so she did her best to spoil her little moonstone. Ultimately she could only raise him as just one Celestial castaway, not as a troupe of monkey demons as he should be. So when Mihou came to her one day saying that he heard the sounds of "people that were like him!" on winds from Flower Fruit Mountain; she knew that MIhou would be happier learning from a troupe on Earth. Plus not a lot of babysitting or teaching opportunities up there on the Moon.

I doubt Mihou would have left without hugging his big sis goodbye, but he would have left without telling her. He runs up to her, gives her a quick hug, and by jumping on a magic wind (or magic wind bag "borrowed" from a god); he propels himself towards Earth to finally meet others of his kind. Chang'e cries obviously. But she knows it's for the best.

Sadly, although the monkeys on FFM did resemble Mihou superficially, they were cautious around him. And even a little scared of him. And none had ears like his.

Then as Mihou finds himself moping alone, a flash of orange fur crashes into him. The orange thing hoots excitedly and playfully nips Mihou's fur.

Think the scene where Bambi met Flower;

Shihou, pointing to the new monkey's ears: "Flower!" Mihou: "Me???"

Thats how Shihou and Mihou meet for the first time - for the first time.

Mihou managed to get to know the Elder Storyteller before he sadly passed. But he and Shihou didn't really get a chance to know each other better before the orange monkey left to study with the humans. Mihou had been sad obviously, as he felt like even on the island that he was Other than the rest of the monkeys. With Shihou he didn't feel that way so much.

With both the Elder dead, and the closest thing to a leader being an absent monkey cub - the cruel Demon King of Havoc muscled in and declared himself the King of Flower Fruit Mountain. The monkey troupe disagreed and what amounts to a miniature civil war breaks out across the archipelago.

MIhou is caught up in the drama of the Demon King's regime. His appearance making him a rare oddity that the King of Havoc decides to keep around as an ornament. As long as MIhou kept his head down, looked pretty, and told the King stories, he and the other captured monkeys would be safe from harm.

Suddenly one day; the walls of the Havoc's throne room burst open, revealing a slightly older orange-furred monkey cub. He seemed to levitate on thin air as he wielded an iron pole, demanding the return of his people.

The Demon King of Havoc scoffed and ordered the floating monkey to do his worst. Within seconds the Demon King of Havoc was no more.

As the returned monkey counted those missing from the troupe amongst the Demon King's staff, his eyes fell upon the striking moon-white fur and lotus-petal-shaped ears of the court jester.

Sun Wukong: "Flower?" Macaque, amazed that Shihou remembered him: "Me."

The connection is instant. Wukong stumbles over his words as he reintroduces Mihou (now nicknamed "Macaque") to the troupe, and to the Demons he'd befriended in proving himself as the King of Flower Fruit Mountain.

Macaque is confused. Shihou wanted him to stay?

"Of course!" the orange monkey smiled, as if it were obvious. "You are a member of this troupe no matter what! The others told me of how you'd protect and comfort them while you were all captured by the King of Havoc. I'd be honoured to have you stay."

And thats how Macaque found himself the new Storyteller of the troupe. And how a certain romance blossomed between two stone monkeys.

I hope you enjoyed this <3

[thebetawolfgirl]

The Chanel Ribbon: The Wedding

Word count: 1,858

Pairing: Timmy x reader

Summary: Timmy finally marries the woman of his dreams.

Warnings: SMUT! And just pure joy, a bit of laughter and a bit of teary eyed sweetness!

The Chanel Ribbon: The Wedding

Timothée had finally proposed to his beloved y/n and they finally engaged from last month. They were sitting at home discussing wedding plans while laying on the sofa. It was proving to be difficult, because both sides of the respective families all had their opinions and suggestions about what kind of wedding they should have. One of y/n’s cousins thought they should have a big lavish wedding, an old aunt thought they should get married in a church, but although Timmy was half Christian on his dad’s side he didn’t practice.

So they had shut the curtains, switched off the phones and laptops and any other form of communication and shut everyone out.

They were currently talking about their all time favourite movie, as a break from the wedding talk.

‘We should’ve just eloped as soon as we got engaged.’ Timmy suddenly joked from his spot behind her.

Y/n chuckled but her head suddenly began to spin with ideas.

‘You’re hilarious Chalamet, but your mother would kill you.’

‘True. And if Pauline would help bury my body’ he got up asking if she wanted anything from the kitchen he shook her head no going back to her magazine.

But when he disappeared she quickly messaged Mark and asked him to do some things for her. It was a long shot but if anyone could help her with this particular thing it was his father. She sent the message and got a response almost instantly. She wrote down the information given and put it away until she perfected her plan.

Timmy came back in with some snacks and cans of soda and she smiled. ‘I said I didn’t need anything’

‘Yes but if I had just came back with snacks for me you would’ve be eating them all’ she rolled his eyes and grabbed a bag of chips.

‘Listen, I was just thinking, let’s go away for a few days. Just us, you’ll be doing SNL soon then we won’t have time. I think a few days off will be good.’

He nodded as he turned on the tv pulling her against him. ‘That’s actually a good idea, where abouts were you thinking?’

‘Hmm… How about France? Just to get away from all this stress and we can just relax.’ She looked at him nodding while watching tv.

‘We could get our own villa, with a swimming pool and I could wear that new bathing suit I bought.’

His head snapped towards her his entire attention on his fiancée now. ‘I haven’t had the chance to wear it for you with all of this going on.’

‘Uh-huh’ He watched crawl closer to him.

‘I could bring it and I could try it on-‘

‘I’ll book the tickets now’ she smiled as he grabbed his phone and started looking for early flights to France. The snacks were forgotten on the coffee table as he concentrated on his phone.

She went to move off him and he looked up frowning and whined like an injured puppy. ‘Heyyy’ he made to drag her back but she moved away. ‘I need to pack and I’ll let your parents and sister know we’re taking a few days off, then I’m all yours.’ She walked past him kissing him on the head as she did and hopped upstairs quickly texting Pauline telling her everything about her idea and for her and her parents to meet them at the exact location. Nicole called in tears saying it was such a kind and beautiful thing to do for Timmy and that he would love it. Mark called just to say ‘Thank you y/n, for doing this for my son.’

A few days later they arrived in France and it was beautiful weather despite it being August. Timmy was confused as to why y/n asked him to bring a shirt and tie and his good blazer. ‘Because we may go out to a nice restaurant and you can’t go out in your usual jeans and hoodie Timmy’ Timmy agreed reluctantly and reminded himself y/n was rarely wrong about this kind of thing and this would be the first step in obeying everything his wife wanted.

Their time in France was beautiful, they ate amazing food they visited all of the tourist attractions and Timmy even took her to where he spent his summers. They made love in the evening and she did try on that bikini and he ended up taking her right there in the swimming pool.

They ended up staying longer than intended, one day y/n wanted to go to this little village in the French countryside which Timmy found odd because there was hardly anything in it. She had told him to wear his suit and she wore his favourite dress the simple one he had bought her.

They reached the small village and they stopped in front of an old church, Timmy looked at it confused and looked back at y/n who was smiling at him.

‘Y/n, where are we?’

‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’

She spoke softly holding his hand.

‘This is the church your grandmother married your grandfather in.’

Timmy gasped and his eyes widened before filling with tears.

‘I wanted your grandmother to be with us when we got married.’

He looked back at the old church before grabbing y/n by the back of her neck and crashing his lips to hers and kissed her as the tears fell from his eyes. He broke the kiss and whispered ‘Thank you.’

She smiled nodding and took his hand leading him towards the church where his parents and his sister were waiting for them along with y/n’s parents and sister. As soon as Timmy saw his parents he rushed over to them burying his face in his mother’s shoulder sobbing gently. ‘Mama’

Y/n new he missed his grandmother dearly so it felt right to get married in the same church she did.

Timmy moved from his parents embrace and hugged his sister before turning to his future in-laws and hugging them.

After the greetings and preparations Timmy stood at the alter waiting for his bride. This was better than any lavish wedding and the fact y/n did all of this for him, in memory of his beloved grandmother sealed his confidence that this woman, this incredible beautiful woman would be his and only his. He would watch her soar with her music and they would support each other and have that happy ever after.

They exchanged their vows in French and sealed their bond with a kiss and walked up the aisle husband and wife. Equals.

They had a small private meal at their favourite in Paris and then went back to the villa. Timmy asked both families if they wanted to stay with them but they already got somewhere to stay. Y/n’s parents were staying with the Chalamet’s at the family villa.

They all bid their goodbyes and the happy couple went back alone.

Y/n smiled as she knew Timmy just wanted to get her back to the villa to have her to himself.

Her theory was proved right as soon as the front door was locked he shoved her against it and attacked her mouth.

He picked her up in his arms and carried her bridal style upstairs to their bedroom and shut the door with his foot before setting her down.

She reached for him sliding his jacket from his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground, he pulled her against him by her waist and buried his face in her neck and whispered ‘Wife’

Her breath caught in her throat and she whispered back ‘Husband’

A choked gasp escaped his throat and he groaned against her neck nipping her shoulder, they shed their clothes quickly and she pushed him gently to sit on the bed before climbing on to his lap.

The place was in darkness but he could feel her fingers trailing along his chest as she made to push him backwards, but he flipped her over so she was underneath and began kissing and nipping her lips before moving down her throat and all the way down.

She took a deep breath as she felt him at her thigh and heard him gasp and smirked. She had tied around her thigh the Chanel Ribbon instead of the traditional lace garter. She heard him groan and felt the ribbon being pulled off her leg and suddenly see him above her ‘You’re so bad’ he still had the ribbon in his mouth and she took it from between his teeth before wrapping it around his neck and tying it in a bow around his throat

‘Oh’ he breathed out softly at the feel of the satin around his neck and she grinned at his surprise.

‘You can proceed now’

He looked at her through the dark with wide eyes in shock before he dove down and began devouring her holding her legs open as she cried out and gripped his curls.

He began moving his tongue up and down her bundle of nerves before poking his tongue inside of her making her slam her hand against the railing above her head.

She knew she would have bruises where he was holding her hips down as he went down on her and she didn’t care.

She was close to coming and so pulled on his hair to bring him back up and dragged him to her by the ribbon around his throat smirking when he gasped. He groaned as he flipped them onto his back and kissed her hard before letting her sit up and sink down on him, they both groaned and started moving together. She untied the ribbon and pulled on both ends with her hand pulling him slightly and smirked as he grunted in surprise. She leaned down and met his lips and they kissed passionately as they rode each other hard.

Timmy held onto her digging his fingers into the skin of her back leaving scratches and slamming his hips against hers meeting her force before rolling them over and burying his face into her neck. His arms were trapped around her shoulders underneath and he could feel her dragging her nails down his back. He growled out against her neck at the sting of her nails and grabbed the bed railing using it for leverage and slammed into her harder, hearing her small gasps against his shoulder ‘T-Tim- I’m-‘

She cut off and arched into him as he thrust a few more times before coming with her his hand sliding down the headboard as they breathed heavily against each other.

After catching their breathes they lay in bed together and he played with their entwined fingers as she lay her head on his shoulder. He looked at their wedding rings and smiled softly as they glowed in the dim light of the moon shining through the open window.

‘This was just the beginning’ was Timmy’s last thought before he fell asleep in her arms!

@sufferingstarlight

@kteezy997

@lixzey

@gatoenlaciudad

[collegiatesins]

──   (  savannah lee smith. twentythree. cis woman. she/her.  ) thank god you’re here, man - have you seen LEONA REMINGTON-CARR anywhere? i totally lost them after their rendition of uber by leia jules & dim ebbo last night. no? they’re like, aye - high and go to LANGSTON - i think they’re a SENIOR studying ACTONG & THEATRE + LINGUISTICS ? but who knows, these days. all i know is that they’re MERCURIAL, WILLFUL and a VIRGO . last night they kept going on and on about how they won MOST LIKELY TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING THEIR FIRST HUSBAND last year, which is cool and whatever, but i just wouldn’t expect it out of them, considering they’re so, like, INDECISIVE, BEGUILING, you know? anyways - i’m going to check down by the maze garden, i think that’s where they like to hang. text me if you see them, okay? bye! / as penned by lulu.  28.  she/they.  cst.  n/a.

BASICS

full name : leona magdalene remington-carr .

nickname(s) : leo , nana .

age : twenty - three .

date of birth : september 19th , 2001 .

birth chart : virgo sun , aquarius moon , cancer rising .

hometown : atlanta , ga .

gender : cis woman .

pronouns : she / her / hers .

sexual orientation : bisexual .

DISPOSITION

myers - briggs : the virtuoso ( istp-t )

ennegram : the achiever ( type three )

moral alignment : chaotic neutral .

likes : classical literature . foreign films . gourmet cuisine . stargazing . botanical gardens . calligraphy . ocean sounds to fall asleep . when the practice room is empty & she can monologue alone . performing in front of a crowd . vintage thrifting . candle / perfume making . finding new mom & pop coffee shops . board games / trivia . using dating apps as an ego boost but ghosting all her matches . long showers (sorry mother earth) . acting surprised when she gets a lead role in the play . making niche and very specific playlists . etc .

dislikes : reality tv shows . fast food chains . loud parties . unkept spaces . sudden changes . excessive swearing . unreliable / disloyal people . wastefulness . invasive questions . overly spicy food . true crime podcasts / documentaries . astrology . impersonal gifts . etc .

quirks : maintains a regal and upright posture at all times . intense mood swings , going from extreme excitement to deep melancholy in a short span . often tunes out information they find uninteresting . tendency to use hyperbole to emphasize their point . frequent wardrobe changes . always has nails with unique and striking shapes , from stiletto to almond . creates a unique scent by blending multiple exotic perfumes to form their. signature fragrance . etc .

CHARACTER ASSOCIATIONS

blair waldorf ( gossip girl ) , celine ( before sunset ) , sharpay evans ( high school musical ) , chanel ( scream queens) , alexis rose ( schitt's creek ) , cece ( new girl ) , amy march ( little women ) , love quinn ( you ) , cordelia chase ( buffy the vampire slayer )

REPUTATION AROUND PALLADIAN

resident hurricane in human form, she’s always doing the most. starring in three productions, directing a fourth, and somehow still finding time to argue about chekhov's gun in act III. she's got a dry wit that cuts sharper than any stage dagger, and a stare that can stop egos in their tracks. the planner. the prepper. the one with a color-coded google calendar and an emergency sewing kit in her bag. a chronic overthinker. infamous for writing long, unsent drafts of texts. collects ticket stubs and saves voicemails. keeps her circle tight, but once you’re in, she’ll fight for you with the quiet ferocity of someone who’s been let down before. playlists for everything. reads stage directions like scripture. drinks tea with judgmental elegance. has a secret soft spot for dumb rom-coms and cries at the same part every time. her sarcasm is dry, her hugs are rare but meaningful, and her disappointment is devastating.

CHARACTER SUMMARY

you don’t remember a time in your short life where your parents didn’t fight. they display a united front in the public eye but within the walls of your childhood home lies a warzone and your existence is collateral damage. the only solace you find is in the treehouse in your backyard and vhs tapes of your favorite movies.

you’re thirteen, drunk off wine coolers ( stolen from your mother’s not so secret stash ) and spite when you put pressure on the wrong branch and find yourself spiralling downward toward cold hard earth. the paramedics that rush you to the hospital tell you that you’re lucky you only broke an arm but the only thing you can focus on is your mother’s threats to tear down “that god forsaken treehouse.”

it’s a threat that she makes good on because you’re barely released from the hospital before she’s hired help to pull your haven apart plank by wooden plank. as if that weren’t enough, a couple weeks later she chops the entire tree down to make room for a gazebo and coy pond. your loss has always been her gain hasn’t it?

unfortunately for mother dearest, taking your treehouse hardly did anything to keep your feet planted on the ground. some people, after all, were born to have their head in the clouds.

your mother never wanted children, it’s a fact that she never bothered to hide from her only child. and your father? well, he wanted an heir which meant your mother could only do one of two things: give him one or agree to a divorce. in the end, his monetary value meant more to her than her lack of a maternal instinct and you were brought into the mayhem of their bizzaro love story.

while your mother’s affection and attention has always been a faucet that turns off and on, your father’s interest in you has been anything but inconsistent. he has doted on you since you were a child. the apple of his eye your mother would always recount with a touch of bitterness.

unlike your mother, your father has been very lenient toward your imperfections. he doesn’t mind that you aren’t quite dubuntante material and that your hobbies are odd and borderline eccentric. all that matters to him is your intelligence and artistic ability, he cherished you in a way that only a man starved of affection in his own youth was capable of.

he promised to love and protect you forever, but that promise was broken shortly after you fifteenth birthday wasnt it? his death was sudden and life altering. leaving you in the care of the parent who never wanted you in the first place. at least he'd left a decent sum of money behind. a comfortable home for you to spend the rest of your adolescence, that is if your mother hadn't burned everything.

when she had no more in her bank account, the house had to go as well. you were devastated but she? well, she'd already moved on to her next target. a wealthy european man willing to sweep her off her feet and relocate the pair to england. if she could have gotten away with leaving you behind, she probably would have. but her new beau was a family man with kids of his own. it would have been a bad look if she dared to drop the caring mother act. so, off you went, to join a new family when you were still mourning the loss of the only person in your life who made you feel like you belong.

you're sixteen and a half by the time you relocate, and though your world opens up more, you're still lonely. the only companions you find are your new step siblings but even their company can't shield you from the toxicity that festers within the world of elite and old money. you start to understand why your father had wanted to keep you from it.

perhaps that's why you're always trying on different versions of yourself but no matter where you go leo, you feel like a fish out of water. you only know how to adapt, not how to be. and you constantly wonder which version of yourself will ultimately prevail and come out on top.

you'll never admit as such but you exhaust even yourself sometimes. all you want to do is rest and finally be yourself....whoever she is.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

could you write a one shot where the marquis is out and about doing marquis stuff but in the middle of the public, there’s a shoot out and (because the assassins aim is poor) they hit the reader instead of the marquis. The marquis gets the reader to a hospital and finds himself getting curious about the stranger that got shot instead of him?

“Was that the Marquis de Gramont?” The newest nurse to take over asked.

Opening your eyes, and glancing over, you were met with the curious, excited woman’s face. “No his name is Vincent. Not Marquis.” You added.

The woman’s high pitched giggling echoed through the room. “Oh my! You’re serious?” She asked as she had a hard time getting control of herself. “Marquis is not a name, it’s a title. It means they’re practically royalty, and quite rare in France considering our history.”

You analyzed the woman’s uniform, making sure it was in fact a proper uniform, and not some escaped patient. You had no idea what she was even talking about. As far as you knew, all the French royals were wiped out in the French Revolution. They killed so many people, they had to invent the guillotine to keep up, plus you’d never heard of that title.

“It says here you’re an American. You’d think you’d know how to avoid getting shot with all the shootings you guys have over there. I don’t know how you all manage it. What with every single citizen carrying multiple guns… sounds terrifying!”

It was your turn to chuckle now, “everyone doesn’t have guns in America. Plenty of people don’t own any at all.”

She looked at you incredulously, putting her hands on her hips, “well the BBC, which is English, but still a respectable news source says there’s 10 guns for every person in America.”

“Oh they don’t mean everyone has ten guns! There’s gun collectors and enthusiasts that have many many guns, while the average person might own one. I personally don’t own a gun at all.” You explained, “I have never seen anything like yesterday though.”

Previous day

You couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. Your whole life you’d been told how beautiful Paris was, but so far had found it overcrowded, and smelly. Graffiti was everywhere, and you hadn’t seen a single mime.

You had dressed up in a smart Chanel suit, with a stylish complimenting hat and even gloves, going for a classic French look, but you stood out like a sore thumb. All your preparations and extra bag fees to bring what you thought was a proper French wardrobe was for naught.

You’d barely walked anywhere and your feet were already screaming, but you didn’t care. Your shoes went perfectly with your ensemble, and you’d have bloody feet before you swapped them out for a pair of sneakers.

A loud bang, followed by a few more bangs sounded off in the distance. Knitting your eyebrows together, you tried to figure out what it was. You knew guns were illegal here so that wasn’t it, but it was too early for fireworks.

Suddenly several cars were driving at a great rate of speed in your direction. They were weaving in and out of traffic and one even drove on the sidewalk. Several more bangs sounded, and people around you started running and screaming. You still couldn’t figure out the bangs tho. What the hell was happening on your trip you’d saved up all year to take?

As the chaos unfolded before you, an expensive looking sports car, hit the curb and spun out of control. Spinning across the intersection, it slammed into a barrier about 100 feet away from you. Spurred into action by the loud crash and smoke billowing from within, you daintily ran towards the car.

Reaching the vehicle, you noticed there was a person inside that wasn’t moving. Making your way to their door, you pulled on the lever, only to nearly get smacked in the face by the door springing up, instead of out.

Inside was a well dressed, beautiful man, that was what you’d been thinking was the standard French man. Staring at him a moment, unsure what to do, you scanned the immediate area and saw that one of the other speed demon cars, had parked and two men were making their way towards you.

“Move sweetheart. We got no beef with you.” One of them said.

“We don’t have time for this shit. Fucking shoot ‘‘em both and let’s get outta here.” His accomplice said.

Eyes widening you turned to face the two thugs, placing your hands on your hips and glaring. “Excuse me, but nobody is getting shot today. I’m afraid you’ll have to-“ suddenly you felt a terrible burn and looked down to see red blooming above your hip. Gingerly touching it, you brought your gloved fingers in front of your face to confirm that you were in fact bleeding… in your Chanel tweed suit.

Rage burned through you. Your suit was ruined! RUINED! In a fit of rage, you tomahawked your purse at the one who shot you, hitting him square in the head. Removing your shoes, you threw them too, shrieking various insults about their breeding and disrespect of proud fashion houses. Looking back, you likely were in shock and running on adrenaline, but just as the two men raised their guns once more to undoubtedly ruin your clothing further, two gunshots rang out behind you. Both men before you, suddenly had holes in the center of their foreheads and fell to the ground dead.

Colors distorting and your surroundings slowing and blurring all around you, you reached out to catch something to hang on to, finding the unmistakable feel of a cashmere and silk blend suit jacket. Blinking slowly, you turned to see the beautiful man beside you holding a gun and looking around.

Smiling the best you could, you uttered, “don’t let me fall in the street and ruin my outfit further.”

Then all went dark.

————————————————————-

You’d woken up this morning to find the beautiful man standing at your bedside, staring down at you with a contemplative expression on his face.

“You changed.” You blurted out. “This suit is good too.”

Looking down at your hospital gown, you gasped. Reaching up to your head, you found your hat was gone too. “I’ve been robbed!”

Hearing a chuckle, you turned back to see the man genuinely smiling at you. “You were shot and they had to cut your clothes off of you. I apologize for leaving your shoes and purse at the scene, but I found it most important to save your life.”

Trying to look appreciative, you bit your lip and tried to hold back your tears. “Thank you for saving me…”

“Vincent.”

“Vinnie. That’s a fun name.”

“It’s actually Vincent.” He corrected.

“Who got shot here? Oh ya it was me. Jesus Vinnie. You have to choose your battles.” You stated matter of factly. “So what happens now? Am I to be released in this abomination?” You asked, plucking at your hospital gown. “Porky pig my way through the streets of Paris?”

Vinnie hadn’t stopped smiling since you’d woken up. He bent down and took your hand into his.

Slightly surprised by the familiar behavior, you just stared wide eyed at him, waiting for him to inform you what was happening.

Massaging your hand, he moved your hair behind your ear with his other hand, before speaking; “you’re going to rest for a couple days and let them take care of you. When they are ready for you to leave, they will call me and I will come personally pick you up with a new Chanel ensemble.”

“With matching accessories?” You asked hopefully.

“Do I look like an amateur?” He asked with a dazzling smile.

Shaking your head, you leaned back into the pillows feeling very tired all of a sudden. Barely able to keep your eyes open, you swore you felt lips brush across your hand, followed by your forehead, before darkness once again claimed you.

——————————————————-

“Well honey that man is the richest, most eligible bachelor in Paris. He’s also one of the best looking too but dangerous. It’s nice he saved you, but end it at that. Too many people come in here saying his name.” She said as she checked your vitals and replaced medicine. “It was exciting seeing him up close tho. I’ve only ever seen him in the gossip rags or on the telly.”

“He said he’s going to get me a Chanel suit with accessories and pick me up from the hospital when I’m ready.” You mumbled.

“WHAT?” The nurse shrieked before jumping up and down clapping excitedly. “You know what? Forget what I said. Go with him! And have the time of your life for however long it lasts!”

You once again inspected this woman’s uniform. Finding nothing amiss, you closed your eyes and let sleep take you once more.

[hellocrumblkitty]

perfume and cologne !!

Yoshiro did not want to be here. He didn’t want to be in a store. He wanted to be home back in his comfy bed surrounded by pillows upon pillows. Did he have much of a choice though? Of course not. Yoshiro lazily looked over the section of cologne. He forgot which one he bought last time. It started with a C. Chanel? Coach? Calvin Klein? He had zero clue and this employee next to him was getting suspicious since they’ve been standing there for a few minutes. The employee had to close and lock up the case once he grabbed a cologne. He just didn’t know which one.

“Sorry.”

He mumbled out embarrassed. The employee gave him a tired smile with a no problem. He grabbed a coach one. Glass, blue, and white. The employee closed back up the case as he went to the register with a fast pace. The faster he could get out of this store, the faster he’d get home.

Home.

It seemed like a distant memory with how long he’s been here. As he made shortcuts through aisles and aisles, he knocked into a small someone. Someone live-streaming?

“Ack!”

Yelped the feminine voice. Her blonde locks moving as she almost hit him with her phone upon instinct. Addison eyed the stranger as she pouted.

“Hmph! Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

Addison hissed out, strongly smelling like something mature and sort of sweet. Yoshiro went quiet for a few moments. He was embarrassed. How could he not notice an entire person?

“Sorry.”

He mumbled out. That apology didn’t satisfy Addison but she had to continue her livestream so she let him pass. As he hurriedly went past her, a faint smell of something musky and fresh passed her. Something she didn’t mind so much as she minded him. Addison did an innocent laugh as she held the phone back up, forming a peace sign with her right hand.

“Sorry guys! Got the wind knocked out of me by some giant! Total 6’5 blond hottie rolled up into me! Thought it’d be my soulmates meet cute, instead it was some Disney nerd dude who has a speech impairment. Anyways, let’s keep shopping for the rare, super limited When In Rio, Sol De Janeiro!!”

Addison said in a sugary, sweet tone that could give someone a cavity if they listened to her for too long. Yoshiro could, of course, hear her. The whole store could hear her. Yoshiro was more interested in paying for the cologne and getting the hell out of that store. He hated shopping. He hated anything that made him get out of bed.

He made it up to the register with some flush left on his cheeks due to his two previous embarrassments. Yoshiro nervously handed the cologne to the cashier.

“That’s all today?”

The cashier’s gritty voice rang out to him as he nodded. The cashier nodded, answering a trained response.

“Do you have a rewards card with us?”

Yoshiro shook his head no, taking out his wallet as the cashier looked him up and down. The cashier then rolled her eyes, pressing a few buttons on the register.

“Would you like to donate a dollar to the poor children of St. Maki, a beautiful island with people to match its exterior and interior?”

Yoshiro looked up at the cashier then nodded. Handing the cashier a single, crisp dollar as the cashier lazily grabbed it and put it into a germ infested jar with a half-assed job of drawing donations prettily.

The cashier finally rang up his cologne and bagged it. Yoshiro fidgeted with a corner of the check-out.

“Receipt or no receipt?”

“No receipt, please.”

He received his bagged cologne with a half-way spoken “have a nice day sir” since he was rushing to get out of there. All Yoshiro wanted to do was go back to bed.

🎀 🎀

preview finished!! the actual story might be out soon. no clue. <3

🎀 🎀

[shakespearerants]

How to find a clothing style you actually like to wear- A Guide by Me

Step 1: Information gathering

Find out what you want to look like. Ideally, do this over quite a long time - I'm talking a year. Why a year? If you live in a region with seasons you won't want to wear the same clothes in summer as in winter. Regardless of where you live, keeping a list of Stuff You Want that goes longer than a trend cycle will help you determine what pieces you actually want and what is just the fast fashion algorithm talking. When keeping your list, it is important to a) not do the Pinterest thing - instead of saving Fotos of whole outfits, either write down the elements or, if you must do the visual, do a quick notes app sketch, also b) be specific - every item on you list must be described in 3 words or more.

Example:

Description:

- chunky lace up boots with a big platform

- ripped jeans, light wash

- minimalist comfy sweater no hood

- tiny leather backpack

- oversized thin hoops

- plastic frame angular sunglasses

OR:

WHY?

This way, you won't focus on getting this exact sweater or pair of sunglasses or whatever, and instead focus on what drew you to the look. I didn't write down that the earrings were silver -> form was more interesting than material. I didn't write down the brand of shoe -> look was more important than name. I mentioned the shape and size of the sunglasses -> exact form interested me. When you look at the list a few months later, you won't fall into the "but EVERYONE has a tiny Chanel right now!!!"-trap, you'll go "tiny leather backpack? What a stupid idea, I need my bag to be able to fit five average cats minimum and leather gives me the ick" and save yourself from throwing a whole bunch of money out of the window.

Step 2: Identifying core style traits

Go through your list and sort all your single pieces into groups by what makes them distinct from other T-shirt/sweaters/pants/jackets/etc. Your goal is to identify significant accumulation in one or more categories. I've found these helpful:

- Material -> are there 20 million wool sweaters/latex skirts/fur coats/linen sundresses on my list?

- Texture -> are most items on my list smooth/knitted/fuzzy/shiny/etc?

- Colour -> are there 1 to max 3 colours that dominate my list?

- Silhouette -> do most of my items create a boxy/curvy/angular etc silhouette?

Once you've done your grouping, you should have a better understanding as to what is important to you Re: the look you're going for. If you don't care about silhouette at all, but all your items are lime green, you will have different priorities going forward than someone who has all colours of the rainbow on their list but every single thing is straight cut to maximize boxiness.

What you can also do at this stage is identify "make or break" pieces. A "make or break" piece is an item of clothing that incorporates your important points so much that it basically doesn't matter what you wear with it, it will always have a very specific vibe. A "make or break" piece will usually be shoes, pants or a jacket, never an accessory (only exception: hats) and only in rare cases a top. An example for an outfit consisting only of "make or break" pieces:

Every single item, from the hat to the boots, is giving 1920s dig for the tomb of Tutenchamun. You can imagine her wearing a neutral black suit with only the hat, only the shirt, only the pants or only the boots and suddenly your suit is also giving 1920s dig for the tomb of Tutenchamun. Identify 2 or more "make or break" pieces for your winter, spring/fall and summer wardrobe.

Step 3: Know your own body

Why is this important? Because HOW the clothes fit on you is arguably more important than WHAT you are wearing. Especially if you have a different body than most of the people modelling your list items, if you just go out and buy them, you will not get the look that you want. You need to know how to get the look you want with the body you have. (If the one thing all your list items had in common was colour, you can skip this part).

Example:

This is your inspo

And this is your body

You're not going to get that tomboy androgynous whats-my-gender-wink-wink look. You're going to look like...someone with boobs and tummy wearing a suit that isn't cut for boobs and tummy. So, we identify what we want from the look - a silhouette with big shoulders and no curves - and think about how to achieve that with the body that we have. This may look like making sure to wear a sports bra and pants that sit at the hips instead of at the waist to create more of a straight line in the torso instead of an hourglass figure. Or this may look like wearing the suit with a dress shirt + undershirt from the men's section that's buttoned pretty high up because that gives you the no-boob-illusion. You will probably also have to have the suit altered or buy a slightly different cut because it will hang different on your body. And the same goes in the other direction.

If this is your inspo:

And this is your body:

The exact same suit will not give you the same look. To get that same look, you will have to look for something with shoulder pads, tailoring at the waist and possibly some structural enhancement at the bottom of the jacket. You'll also want those pants to fit different - tighter at the ankle and looser in the hips - to give you the illusion of the model's curves.

Step 4: The shopping

Now that you know what you want your things to look like and how they should be cut to work on your body, all you have to do is go out and get them. To get the maximum transformation out of minimum new stuff, I would suggest the following prioritization:

Get first: "make or break" piece that goes with the most stuff you already have (usually shoes or pants, in my experience) -> this will help you pull the awkward phase between styles more in the desired direction.

Get next: replacement for what bothers you the most in your current OFTEN WORN OR DAY TO DAY wardrobe (in my experience: usually shirts) -> this will have the biggest notable impact but MAKE SURE YOU ARE REPLACING ITEMS THAT YOU WEAR *REALLY REALLY* OFTEN. Seasonal wardrobe doesn't count!!!

Get last: outerwear/statement pieces (hats, jackets) unless the situation is extremely dire (e.g. you new aesthetic is basically dark academia and all you own are baby pink see through raincoats covered in sanrio characters).

Step 5: The wearing

You know those 'wearing vs styling' videos going around on various social media platforms right now? Yeah, that. Experiment with how you tuck in your shirt. Experiment with what items you combine together. Experiment with accessories. GET SOME accessories if you don't have any. Think about how your vibe changes with little adjustments, and make them deliberately. My genuine advice: stand in front of a mirror, pick one item of clothing (example: knit sweater) and try to wear it in every way possible (normal, backwards, inside out, over the shoulders, around the hips, as a skirt...with nothing underneath, with a collared shirt underneath, with a t shirt underneath, with a tank top underneath, with a different sweater underneath...under a jacket, under a blazer, under a cape, under a different sweater....etc etc etc). Really get creative with it, and watch how it transforms your outfit! Then take that information and use it to make your clothes do what you want them to for your vibe.

What to do it you still feel like shit in your clothes:

- I like the clothes, I just hate my body. Consider: Therapy for body dismorphia, dumping people commenting negatively on your looks, getting rid of all mirrors in your living space that allow you a full-body view (this really does work!), feminist theory, exploring your gender identity.

- Idk I like it but...something is missing. Consider: A hat (this fixes most problems, I find), a watch, an outrageous amount of jewellery, extravagant facial hair, a cane or other mobility aid masquerading as a fashion accessory, diving deeper into a specific alternative fashion subgenre, getting a bag/purse that matches the vibe.

- I really want these clothes to work but I just look wrong in them. Consider: Having them tailored (a lot cheaper than you might think), a HAIRCUT (!!!!), giving yourself time to learn how to move in new (and potentially weirdly constricting or weirdly liberating) clothes, double checking that your shoes, coat and purse/bag if your carry one are giving the exact vibe you want them to give, changing your makeup (or starting or stopping wearing any all together), buying a different size.

Now go forth and develop a personal style that you love, friends!

[tim-mlt05-blog]

HI GURLIES !!!!

💖.

how to look like hailey bieber ✨

aka: how to embody effortless beauty, quiet luxury, and the ultimate cool girl energy !!!

step 1: skin like a glazed donut ✨

if there’s one thing about hailey, it’s that her skin ALWAYS looks fresh, hydrated, and expensive. it’s giving lit-from-within glow, like she sleeps 10 hours a night and drinks nothing but spa water. the essentials:

• hydration is key. hyaluronic acid, a thick but non-greasy moisturizer, and never ever skip SPF.

• radiance > coverage. ditch the cakey foundation and go for skin tints (think: chanel les beiges, kosas, or rare beauty tinted moisturizer).

• bronzed + blushy perfection. soft, warm-toned bronzer to sculpt, blended blush on the cheeks and nose for that sunkissed glow. hailey loves a peachy-pink blush moment.

• glossy, juicy lips. overline slightly with a brownish-nude liner (charlotte tilbury “iconic nude” or makeup by mario “hugh”) and top it off with rhode peptide lip treatment. always glossy, always kissable.

step 2: the hair—effortless but perfect ✨

hailey’s hair is the definition of i woke up like this but with a side of it still cost $$$. you’ll usually see her rocking:

• a sleek, tight bun. clean, snatched, middle part, no flyaways.

• soft waves or a blowout. think: bouncy but undone, smooth but natural.

• the perfect honey-bronde shade. warm, dimensional blonde/brunette that looks sun-kissed and healthy.

pro tip: healthy hair > styled hair. deep conditioning, hair oiling, and heat protection are your new best friends.

step 3: the wardrobe—quiet luxury meets off-duty model vibes 🕊️

if you want to dress like hailey, it’s all about minimalism, tailoring, and investment pieces that feel effortlessly chic. some staples you need in your closet:

• oversized blazers (black, camel, or gray—paired with anything, it just works).

• baggy jeans + tiny tops. the perfect balance of slouchy and fitted.

• sporty chic pieces (bomber jackets, baseball caps, sleek sneakers).

• mini dresses + knee-high boots. hailey loves a leg moment.

• gold jewelry. always dainty but never boring—think chunky hoops, layered rings, and sleek bracelets.

• perfect sunglasses. rectangular, oversized, or vintage-inspired (celine, ysl, balenciaga vibes).

• the right bag. something structured, timeless, and slightly masculine (like a birkin, if you’re feeling extra).

step 4: the energy—it’s a lifestyle, babe 💅

hailey’s entire aura is about being put together but never trying too hard. she’s the girl who walks into a room and you just know she smells like expensive body lotion and a hint of vanilla. to truly embody her energy:

• walk with confidence. shoulders back, chin up, effortless strides.

• prioritize self-care. pilates, matcha, a good skincare routine, and 8+ hours of sleep.

• drink your water, babe. always with a cute stanley or glass bottle in hand.

• minimal makeup, maximum glow. looking expensive is about simplicity, not excess.

• be a little mysterious. post less, exude main character energy, let people wonder what your next move is.

• ALWAYS smell good. hailey is a vanilla girl—her signature scents are ysl libre and ex nihilo fleur narcotique.

the ultimate hailey rule: less is more. keep it clean, polished, and effortless. be the girl everyone secretly wants to be.

TAKE CARE OF U HONEY 🌸

[mjonthetrack]

audit only

Chapter Eighty-One: TA Drip

The afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains, golden light spilling over the living room where Jey sat on her cloud-like couch, a dog-eared copy of The New Jim Crow balanced in his lap. He was halfway through rereading a section on prison labor when the front door opened and chaos entered.

Not chaos in the wild, violent sense. No — it was the sound of bags crinkling, heavy footsteps dragging, keys jangling, and a familiar voice muttering dramatically.

“Jey! Open the door wider! These bags ain’t about to levitate themselves!”

He leapt up, book forgotten. “What the hell—?”

Jordan staggered in like a woman returning from war. She was nearly hidden behind a stack of designer shopping bags—Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Dior, Gucci—each swinging from her arms with strained elegance. She wore oversized sunglasses, a messy bun, and the air of someone on a very specific, very dangerous mission.

“Girl,” Jey blinked, moving the coffee table instinctively, “Did you hit every store in the damn zip code?”

She collapsed onto the floor dramatically, fanning herself. “I blacked out. The drip demon possessed me.”

He crouched next to her, helping her unload the bags. “This a birthday haul? Anniversary? Apology for something I don’t know about yet?”

She shot him a look, then pointed a well-manicured finger at him. “It’s for you. My TA. My man. My academic zaddy. Don’t play with me.”

Jey opened the first box — a crisp black Dior button-down shirt, tailored to hug his broad shoulders and taper perfectly at the waist. He touched the fabric like it was sacred. “Damn… this feel like sin and salvation in one.”

“That’s the ‘lecture look.’” Jordan smiled. “Commanding. But soft-spoken menace vibes.”

Next, he lifted a matte black garment bag from Burberry. Inside: a light camel trench coat, heavy and soft. “This coat cost more than my first car,” he muttered.

“Good. It should. My man teaches with presence.”

He opened another bag—Gucci slacks with subtle embroidery, pairs of sharp, dark denim for casual days, and cream-colored Balmain trousers that made his jaw drop. “Where the hell am I even wearing these?”

“To our victory brunch after midterms when the students talk about how fine and brilliant their T.A. is,” she said smugly.

A separate box revealed a pair of clean, buttery leather Ferragamo dress shoes. Under those, Gucci loafers. Under those—his breath caught—custom Nike Dunks in UCLA blue and gold.

“Stop playin’ with me,” Jey murmured, running his fingers over the suede.

“I don’t play about my man’s drip.”

He reached into the Chanel bag next—two bottles of cologne nestled inside: Bleu de Chanel and Tom Ford’s Fucking Fabulous. He lifted them like rare potions. “You tryna get me jumped on campus?”

She just smirked, opening the final box.

Inside, a pair of Rolexes gleamed in the light. One was a clean stainless steel Oyster Perpetual. Elegant. Timeless. The other? Black and gold, sportier, with custom detailing on the face that read: TA 001.

“You customized it,” he whispered.

“I did. First ever. Number one. My forever pick.”

His throat tightened, fingers lingering on the cool metal. “Jordan…”

She stood then, grabbing the Louis Vuitton duffel and holding it up with both hands like Simba on Pride Rock. “For your laptop. Your notes. Your books. You a professor’s man now.”

He dropped everything and walked to her, arms wrapping tight around her waist. He pressed his forehead to hers.

“No one has ever seen me like you do,” he said softly, voice thick. “No one ever gave me shit just because they thought I deserved it.”

“You’re not on borrowed time anymore, Jey,” she whispered. “You’re building it. And I’m your biggest investor.”

He kissed her then, deep and grateful, while Dior shirts and Rolex light danced around them.

“I look this good, I’m gon’ be late to class on purpose,” he teased, making her laugh through her blush.

She grinned, sliding her arms around his neck. “Then you better take me with you. Can’t have the girls thirsting over what I built.”

He smirked. “You gonna style me every day now, huh?”

Jordan winked. “TA drip is a lifestyle, sir.”

And just like that, he knew this wasn’t about luxury or brands. It was about love—the kind that prepared you, dressed you, believed in the best version of you… even when you didn’t know how to see it yourself.

Chapter Eighty-Two: Barber Chair Royalty

Jey had barely recovered from the Rolex reveal, still running his thumb over the custom “TA 001” engraving, when Jordan stepped back, arms crossed, eyes slowly scanning him like she was envisioning something even more dangerous.

He blinked. “What? You already done spent half of Rodeo on me.”

She tilted her head. “Mmhmm. And what’s that fade lookin’ like right now?”

He grinned. “I just got it cleaned up—”

Jordan raised a brow.

“—by my boy, he good with the clippers—”

Her brow rose higher.

He paused, then sighed. “Aight. Mid.”

She grabbed her phone, already tapping into her contacts. “You ever been to The Chair in downtown?”

Jey’s brows furrowed. “The one you gotta book a month out? That joint where they serve you champagne and do facials too?”

She nodded. “Yes. That one. You got the drip now, baby. Time to match the crown to the throne.”

Before he could respond, she was already talking into the speaker. “Yes, hey—Sasha? I need a premium cut appointment for my man—yes, full deluxe, beard shaping, steam towel, the works. Also add two more—his brothers. Sefa and Jimmy. No, I’ll cover all three. Put it under Dr. Jordan Myers.”

Jey gaped at her, Rolex still in hand. “Yo. You serious?”

She hung up and looked him dead in the eye. “Oh nah, we takin’ you to that fancy ass barber in downtown. I’ll pay for all y’all. Jimmy and Sefa too. Need my man looking lethal.”

He couldn’t help the way his mouth curled into a stunned smile. “You spoilin’ me.”

Jordan stepped into his space again, lifting the collar of his Dior shirt with two fingers and smoothing it down gently. “You deserve it. Always have. You just never had someone who saw it.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to her temple, softly. “You gon’ make me cry before I even get in the chair.”

She smirked. “Good. Then your pores will be open for the facial scrub.”

He laughed, rich and full, arms sliding around her waist as he lifted her off the ground, spinning her once as she giggled into his neck. She kicked her feet in the air, Chanel slides flying.

Down the hall, his phone buzzed — Jimmy’s name lit up on the screen, followed by a group FaceTime request. Jey set her down with a grin and went to answer.

As the camera clicked on, both Jimmy and Sefa were already laughing.

“Aye, what’s this I hear about us gettin’ bougie barbershop service? Jordan payin’ for us to get lined up like we on the Met Gala carpet?” Sefa said, eyebrows up.

Jey held the camera up to show Jordan in the background now opening a bag of Balenciaga socks like it was cereal.

Jimmy shook his head with a smirk. “She dressin’ you up like a professor or a mob boss, Uce?”

“Both,” Jordan called from the kitchen, sipping her juice like it was Dom Pérignon. “He can be dangerous andeducational. You’re welcome.”

Jey smirked and turned the camera back on himself, already flexing the Dior. “I ain’t ever had it like this. I ain’t even gone lie.”

Sefa laughed. “Yeah, we pullin’ up to this barbershop like it's prom. Bet.”

“Bet,” Jey echoed, and then looked back at Jordan — arms full of shopping bags, hair up in a bun, no makeup, pure magic.

He smiled wide.

He had never felt more seen. More loved. More worthy.

And tomorrow? He was walking into campus looking like a million dollars… because to Jordan, he already was.

Chapter Eighty-Three: Faded, Bearded, Blessed

Jordan kissed Jey’s cheek, shoved the key fob to the Porsche in his hand, and waved his brothers inside. “Barbershops are sacred male territory. Go on. Talk sports, lie about your bench press, traumatize each other with childhood stories. I trust you.”

She flashed Jimmy and Sefa a winning smile as they trailed behind Jey, their footsteps crunching lightly on the spotless stone path leading into the massive glass storefront with a platinum plaque etched in cursive that read:

“The Chair | Grooming for Kings”

“Tell the receptionist y’all are with me,” she added, pointing a manicured finger. “And if y’all come chill later at the beach house, there might be goodie bags.”

Sefa perked up. “Goodies?”

“Designer cologne. Boozy snacks. Maybe cigars and some drip if you behave.”

Jey just squinted at her. “You tryna bribe my brothers?”

She grinned. “Absolutely.”

He shook his head with a smirk, watching her slide into the Porsche, oversized sunglasses pushing her curls back as she flicked the ignition. Just before pulling off, her window rolled halfway down and she leaned out slightly, not even thinking before calling, “Alofa atu!”

And then she was gone in a blur of glossy black paint and red taillights headed toward her own hair appointment.

Jey stood there dumb for a second, heart thumping a little too hard. Jimmy elbowed him.

“Ayo. You hear what she said?”

“Alofa atu,” Sefa repeated, brows up. “Bro. She loves you.”

Jey didn’t answer. He just smiled, tucked the keys into his pocket, and turned toward the doors of The Chair.

The inside of the barbershop was a damn experience.

Marble floors. Gold fixtures. Tall leather chairs that reclined fully, each one in a private semi-enclosed booth with a mounted flat screen and dimmable lighting. A hostess in sleek black offered them complimentary glasses of Veuve Clicquot or hibiscus iced tea, with optional cigar pairing. A shelf lined with luxury beard oils, fragrance mists, aftershave tonics, and custom shave creams wrapped in matte black glass glinted in the sunlight pouring through the frosted skylight above.

Jimmy took one look and let out a low whistle. “This ain’t a barbershop, Uce. This a church.”

Sefa leaned into the leather chair, eyes wide. “I ain’t even get cut yet and I feel important.”

Jey was still half-dazed, eyes darting from the touchscreen booking kiosk to the infused towel bar.

“She really got us in here like this,” he muttered. “I was just gonna fade myself in the bathroom last week.”

They were ushered into three separate stations, each with their own barber—tailored uniforms, master-level certificates framed on the walls, jazz playing softly under the sound of clippers.

As the towels were draped over their shoulders and the warm steam began, Jimmy spoke up over the booth divider.

“So…you in love?”

Jey exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Sefa laughed. “Took y’all bending her like a Pilates instructor for you to figure that out?”

The barber paused, blinked once, then went back to shaping Jimmy’s fade like he hadn’t heard a thing.

“I was already there,” Jey said, quietly. “I think I knew the second she cooked for me. It’s just—every time she looks at me like I’m worth it?”

He paused, fingers clenching the armrest.

“Like I’m not a mistake or a project or just some body with a past? It feels like I can breathe again.”

His voice was softer now, sincere. “Nobody’s ever loved me like this.”

Jimmy and Sefa didn’t say anything right away.

Then Jimmy murmured, “I get it. Tamara loves me like that too. It’s…different.”

Sefa smirked from his chair. “Shit, I want what y’all got. I’ll take love and a damn Louis duffle any day.”

They all laughed.

By the time the session ended, the trio looked like royalty—beards gleaming, edges sharp enough to cut ego, brows cleaned up with precision, and skin glowing.

Jey glanced at himself in the full-length mirror, fresh Dior shirt on, new white dunks, a soft silver Cuban link at his neck. He looked like the future.

He reached for his phone and sent a picture to Jordan with one word:

“Lethal.”

Her reply came instantly.

“That’s my man.”

He smirked, slipping his phone into his back pocket.

“Alright,” he said to his brothers as they walked out into the LA sun, “Let’s go show these professors what Samoan excellence really looks like.”

Chapter Eighty-Four: Green Faces, Red Hands, and Samoan Gold

They pulled up to her Malibu beach house just as the sky dipped pink over the horizon, Pacific waves crashing soft like lullabies against the rocks. The whole driveway smelled like sea salt and luxury cologne, the Porsche already parked neatly up front.

Sefa’s jaw dropped when the front door opened and soft jazz and laughter floated out.

“Bro,” he muttered, eyes widening. “She got snacks and a vibe?”

Inside, Jordan’s house was a dream — tall ceilings with wood beams, art on every wall, candlelight flickering in corners, and warm tones wrapped around modern design. The big glass sliders to the back patio were open, sea breeze blowing through sheer curtains.

She was curled up on the leather couch, loose curls pinned half-up, in an oversized cream sweater and tiny lounge shorts. Designer frames rested on her nose. Her phone was pressed to her ear, and she was mid-laugh, voice low and conspiratorial.

“Okay, yes — that date’s set. Just remember: their board of trustees is nosy, so we keep everything ‘mutually beneficial.’ No overt language yet. I’ll send the mock-ups tonight—mhm. Yes. You know I got you.”

Jey watched her, chest heavy with something not even lust could explain anymore.

This woman.

He barely stepped through the door before she peeked up at him and his brothers with a soft gasp.

“Oh! Perfect timing. Y’all look damn good.” She clicked her phone off, tossed it aside, and stood.

Three glossy black goodie bags sat on the kitchen island, each one perfectly folded and labeled with gold calligraphy tags.

Jordan grinned and walked over, gesturing. “Welcome to the Fatu brother appreciation lounge. All-inclusive, no return policy.”

Jimmy laughed as she handed him his bag first.

Inside: a red-faced Rolex with a Samoan tribal engraving around the bezel, a vintage Coogi sweater in crimson and black, and a gold chain with an intricate carving of the Fatu family crest. At the bottom — a sealed envelope. First class plane tickets for him and his wife to spend a week in Turks and Caicos.

Jimmy blinked, actually speechless for the first time in his life.

Sefa’s bag was next. A green Rolex — same tribal engraving — two vintage Coogi sweaters (one in bold green, the other a soft gradient with ocean blues), and a limited-edition pair of Louis Vuitton loafers. At the bottom: a voucher for a full week at a luxury Tongan-Samoan men’s retreat spa in Bora Bora.

“Yo,” Sefa whispered, stunned. “Yo. What the hell—”

“Y’all are Jey’s world,” Jordan said simply, shrugging. “That makes you mine too.”

Jey’s bag was still untouched, and he didn’t dare look inside yet. He just stared at her, eyes tracking every move she made, like he was trying to memorize the moment in 4K.

Jordan made her way back to the couch, grabbing a wine glass and curling up with it like she hadn’t just casually dropped tens of thousands of dollars in custom luxury.

“I know y’all didn’t think I was gon’ have you out here lookin’ dusty in Dior,” she teased, raising a brow. “And snacks are in the kitchen. Tequila’s on the counter. Don’t start nothing wild until I finish this call back though—”

“You done?” Jey cut her off, stepping closer.

“Why?”

He leaned over the couch, kissed her hard and slow right in front of his stunned brothers, then bit his lip against hers with a groan. “Because I’m about to drag you to that bedroom and show you how much I love this loud ass love language of yours.”

Jordan blinked, flushed pink, lips parted.

Jimmy and Sefa groaned in unison, tossing their bags onto the floor.

Sefa covered his eyes. “We’re still here, y’all!”

Jey didn’t even flinch. “Then go outside. The ocean’s right there.”

Jordan giggled, hiding her face in his chest.

Jimmy clapped his hands once. “Yup. I need a drink.”

As the brothers scattered toward the kitchen to raid the fully-stocked bar and dig into imported snacks and sea salt caramel popcorn, Jey leaned down and whispered in Jordan’s ear, “You keep treating me like this, Jaybird, I’m not gonna let you sleep for the next two days.”

She didn’t answer.

She just reached for her wine, took one long sip… and handed it to him to finish.

Chapter Eighty-Five

“Welcome to the Family”

The air was tinged with sea salt, sunlight streaming in golden streaks through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Jordan’s beach house. The boys had just returned from the upscale barbershop in downtown L.A.—that appointment Jordan had insisted on. Their fresh fades were crisp, their beards lined to perfection, and the moment they stepped inside, they were hit with a scent that could only be described as “black luxury.” Incense and bergamot. Expensive candles burning in corners. Air conditioning humming low. The faint sound of Beyoncé’s Virgo’s Groove spilling from speakers in the kitchen.

But what caught their eyes immediately wasn’t the view, the designer furnishings, or even the ocean practically in the backyard—it was the ridiculous level of hospitality.

On the kitchen island were three personalized gift bags, each embossed in gold foil with their names. Sefa’s name gleamed on a forest green Louis Vuitton bag. Jimmy’s shone on red. Jey’s? Black on black—matte leather and clean chrome accents. The inside of each bag was curated with military precision.

Sefa reached in and blinked. “Yo… is this a green-faced Rolex?”

Jey looked over, jaw dropping. “Bro. It’s the Oyster Perpetual. That’s vintage money.”

“And what the hell—COOGI sweaters? Like the Biggie ones? Damn near museum pieces!” Sefa carefully lifted one, feeling the thick, intricate knit. “She knows I been talking about these.”

Jimmy was laughing but paused when he opened his own bag. His Rolex was fire-engine red with custom Samoan tribal engravings that wrapped around the bezel and band—his jaw actually slackened. “Bruh. I don’t even know what to say.”

Each bag had snacks, too—imported chocolates, spicy beef jerky, little cans of whiskey-and-cola cocktails, grooming kits, beard oil, and handwritten notes in Jordan’s curvy script that said things like “Only the finest for the finest. Thanks for loving him right.”

And if that wasn’t enough, Jordan herself was lounging on the suede sectional in biker shorts and an oversized Fenty tee, one manicured hand holding her phone to her ear as she kicked her feet. She was grinning, clearly in her element, talking to someone and sipping from a custom bedazzled tumbler.

“Mmhmm, girl, I told you. His brothers? All fine. Like I swear Samoa is heaven’s hottest export—hold on,” she pulled the phone away and called out, “There’s snacks in the fridge, custom towels in the guest baths, and I already stocked the bar! Jimmy, I invited Tamara—she on her way down now. She’s stunning, and I got the upstairs guest suite for y’all. Big ass tub and everything.”

Jimmy blinked. “You invited my wife?!”

“I like her! Plus, y’all ain’t been alone in weeks—go love on that woman,” Jordan said before she turned to Sefa. “And you? Don’t trip. My homegirl Corrine just flew in from New York—flexible, single, and sweet as honey. Ex-gymnast. I think y’all’ll get along. Go shower or whatever, she’ll be here in thirty.”

She turned back to her call. “Yeah, I’m the plug now. Bougie Black Auntie Energy. We thriving.”

Sefa had to sit. “Yo, this woman is unreal.”

Jimmy was cracking up. “Nah, you should’ve seen how she talked to the barber—told him Jey can’t be looking like no ‘dusty prison bae’ if he’s gonna be walking next to her on campus. And paid for all of us. I still can’t believe it.”

Jey was quiet, sitting on the armrest, a black tumbler in his hand as he watched her.

She wasn’t trying to impress. She wasn’t flexing for clout. Jordan was just built like this—generous, intentional, and quietly powerful in her own way. The way she loved? It was expensive. Not just money, but energy, effort, care.

“You love her,” Jimmy said plainly.

Jey didn’t even deny it. “Yeah. I’m gone. Like… ain’t no bouncing back from her.”

Just then, Jordan hung up, tossed her phone on the couch, and stretched with a yawn before blinking at them with a proud smile.

“Y’all good? I got rosé chilling and a seafood boil on the way. Y’all want hookah later or nah?”

Jey couldn’t stop smiling. And when she walked past and brushed her hand across his back, humming sweetly like he was just another song in her soul, he turned and kissed her temple before she made it two feet.

Sefa whistled. “Oh yeah. He’s done. Cooked. Folded like laundry.”

Jimmy nodded. “And she set the dryer on high.”

Chapter Eighty-Five – “She Got You Pimped Out!”

The late afternoon sun kissed the Malibu coast, warm gold pouring through the tall glass windows of the beach house as ocean wind threaded through gauzy curtains. Inside, it was peaceful—quiet in that luxurious way, with the distant sound of waves and faint island music playing from the speakers in the open-concept living room.

The Fatu brothers had been lounging all morning—Jey stretched out shirtless in a deck chair sipping on fresh guava juice, Sefa sprawled on the floor with chips and his phone, and Jimmy half-dozing on the massive couch.

Until the front door creaked open.

Two women entered like an unexpected gust of heat.

Tamara came in first in cutoff shorts and a crop top, locs freshly retwisted, shades pushed up on her head, lips already pursed.

Behind her, Corinne walked like sin itself—soft brown skin kissed with a glowing tan, thick thighs out in Nike shorts, a baby tee that hugged her toned core, and a lazy confident smile on her glossed lips.

Jimmy sat up immediately, already grinning like a fool. Sefa’s jaw dropped just enough to be embarrassing.

“Yooo,” Jey drawled, smirking as he stood to greet them. “Y’all came with energy.”

Tamara cackled, brushing past him to drop her purse on the couch. “Don’t ‘y’all’ me—I came to see Jordan. You? You just come with the house.”

She turned and smacked Jimmy’s chest when she noticed his jaw hanging.

“She got you all pimped out, you better work that goofy ass smile and get me a matching set! Look at you! Dior shorts and a line-up like a man who lives right.”

Jimmy ducked his head, blushing but still cheesin’.

Sefa was still locked in on Corinne, blinking slow as if his brain was buffering.

She gave him a polite little wave and a teasing, “You good?”

“I—uh—yeah,” Sefa stammered, then glanced around like he needed witnesses to prove he wasn’t hallucinating.

Jey was wheezing now, dragging his hand down his face.

Tamara raised her brows at her younger brother-in-law. “Girl, this you?” she asked Corinne, eyes wide in disbelief and delight.

Corinne smirked, casually checking her nails. “Might be. Depends how he acts.”

—

Just then, Jordan called from the hallway, her voice floating above them like smoke.

“There’s envelopes on the kitchen counter for all three of y’all—” she called. “You’ll wanna open those.”

Tamara made a beeline, heels clicking over hardwood as the brothers followed.

Jimmy opened his first, his fingers moving slower than usual like he already suspected she was up to something. His brows flew up as he unfolded the luxe black and gold cardstock inside.

“Yo…”

“What is it?” Tamara leaned over his arm.

Sefa and Jey opened theirs too.

Private jet tickets. First class. Non-refundable. Destination: Apia, Samoa.

Open date. All expenses paid.

A week in paradise. Time to rest, reset, reconnect with their roots.

Tamara clutched Jimmy’s shoulder. “Oh she’s different different.”

Jey was quiet for a second, a slow smile blooming as he held the ticket like something sacred.

“She ain’t just loving me,” he said, voice low with reverence. “She loving us.”

Tamara sniffed playfully. “Damn right. I need to step my game up. I been feeding this man baked ziti and she out here giving international healing journeys.”

Sefa turned his head toward Corinne and held up his envelope. “Wanna come with me?”

Corinne laughed. “We just met, baby. I might. If you play your cards right.”

Tamara hooted and slapped Jimmy’s chest again. “Your whole family got it bad. Jordan got y’all in Dior and therapy. I love it here.”

From the back of the house, Jordan’s voice came again, amused and casual.

“Y’all hungry? I made smoked short ribs, pineapple fried rice, and there’s a cooler full of mango popsicles and hibiscus tea on the patio.”

Tamara shouted, “YES MA’AM!”

And with laughter bouncing through the walls and the scent of jasmine floating from the backyard, it was clear—this wasn’t just a vacation.

It was a beginning.

Chapter Eighty-Six

The sun dipped low behind the beach house, casting a soft golden hue across the water as the waves rolled in rhythmically, like the steady beat of something sacred.

Inside, everything was quiet.

The only sounds were the faint clicks of ice settling in glasses on the kitchen island, and the muted thump of Jey’s footsteps as he headed into the bathroom for a long, hot shower—still sore in that smug, satisfied kind of way from Jordan’s latest round of affection. But for once, the quiet didn’t settle easy over the house. Not for Jimmy and Sefa.

They were sitting on the plush couch in the sunken living room, half-listening to music, their feet propped up, eyes drifting between the crashing waves outside and the manila folder Jordan had just placed in front of them.

Jordan stood in front of them, poised, firm but not stiff. Calm. “Look,” she began, voice steady and clear. “I know y’all know him better than I ever could. You’ve been with him through everything. So this—this ain’t me trying to overstep. But I believe in him. I do. That man is… different. And I don’t just mean different from what I expected—I mean different from the world. From how the world treated him.”

Jimmy looked up slowly, his jaw tightening, nostrils flaring ever so slightly. He already didn’t like where this was going, but he stayed quiet.

Sefa sat up straighter, arms resting on his thighs. “Go on.”

Jordan exhaled once. “I talked to my mom. I don’t know if Jey told y’all—but my daddy’s Samoan. But my mom? She was a whole Black Panther back in Oakland. A real one. And now? She’s the DA. Like… the DA for this entire region. She and I—we went through everything we could. Pushed every legal lever, pulled every favor. She went in for me. For him.”

She tapped the manila folder once with her fingers. “That’s his case file. Or it was. It’s gone now. Every mark. Every black mark they stamped on him. Expunged.”

Sefa’s mouth opened slowly. “Wait—what?”

Jordan nodded, eyes wet but determined. “Gone. Clean slate. No more parole. No more check-ins. No more system weighing down his back like bricks. He’s free.”

The room fell silent. Not just quiet—silent.

Jimmy looked down at the folder, his shoulders slowly rising with each breath. His hands flexed once on his knees. “You—he don’t know?”

Jordan shook her head. “I wanted y’all to tell him. That’s your brother. You were there when he was locked up. You wrote him letters. Took his calls. Showed up when the world was quiet. It should be you.”

She turned slightly, her phone buzzing in her back pocket. “I’m about to take the girls—Tamara and Corinne—to get waxes and pedicures. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Just… take your time.”

Then, softer, “He doesn’t know how to hope yet. But he trusts y’all.”

Without another word, she gave them both a warm, knowing smile and walked out the door, calling out to the girls who were already giggling and waiting in the Porsche.

Twenty Minutes Later

Jey came out of the shower in a crisp pair of black joggers and a sleeveless tee, toweling off his braids lazily. The look on his face softened the second he spotted his brothers, but then furrowed as he noticed their expressions—tight, unreadable, serious.

“What happened?” he asked slowly, his voice low but cautious.

Jimmy didn’t say anything at first. He just reached forward, picked up the manila folder, and held it out.

Jey took it.

The silence in the room was loud.

He flipped it open, brows drawn as he started scanning the pages. At first his expression was confused. Then sharp. Then… stunned.

“I—what the fuck is this?” he asked, voice cracking slightly as he turned page after page.

Sefa finally spoke. “You free, uso. For real this time. It’s done. Gone. All of it.”

Jimmy stood up slowly. “Jordan and her mom went to war for you. Clean slate. You ain’t just some parolee now. You a free man.”

Jey stared at them both, the folder shaking in his hand. “You serious right now?”

“I held it in my hands,” Jimmy said, voice husky. “Read it myself. Squeaky fucking clean, Jey.”

Jey sank down slowly onto the couch, like the weight in his chest finally buckled him. His mouth opened but no words came. His eyes glossed with tears that fought to fall. Then—

He let out a sound. Low. Raw. A broken, overwhelmed sob wrapped in laughter. “She really did that for me.”

Sefa sat beside him and pulled him into a hug, holding the back of his head. “Yeah she did. ‘Cause she sees you. Just like we do.”

Jimmy crouched down in front of him, tears in his eyes too. “You remember when we was on that collect call back in ‘22 and you said you ain’t think you was ever gonna make it out? Look at you now. You not only out, but you out free. Clean. Got a woman who ride for you. Who don’t flinch. That ain’t a second chance, Jey. That’s a new life.”

Jey wiped at his eyes, overwhelmed, shaking. “I don’t even know what to do.”

Jimmy grinned through wet eyes. “Start with thank you. And then go build whatever life you want, brother. You deservethis.”

Outside, the sun warmed the sand, and inside the house—three brothers sat together, the ocean air thick with emotion and quiet joy. It wasn’t just about paperwork or freedom.

It was the first time Jey felt… light.

And he wasn’t gonna waste it.

Not this time.

Chapter Eighty-Seven

The sun was starting to dip low again, drenching the ocean horizon in gold and rose, streaks of tangerine curling like brushstrokes over the water. Inside the beach house, the silence after that emotional bombshell still lingered thick and charged. Jey had barely moved from the couch, the manila folder still open on the coffee table in front of him, eyes puffy but lit up in a way neither of his brothers had seen in years—maybe ever.

Jimmy was halfway through making a sandwich he didn’t need when the front door eased open with a click.

Light, airy laughter floated in first, followed by the sound of something thudding—then something else clattering.

“…shhhh, we s’posed to be movin’ soft,” Corinne whispered through giggles.

“We are soft, this is just hardwood and I’ve had three mimosas since noon!” Tamara hissed, her voice slightly slurred, dragging out each word as her keys jingled in her hand and her heels tapped too hard across the tile floor.

“Y’all are so loud!” Jordan stage-whispered behind them, collapsing into more laughter as her Chanel slides half-skidded on the rug.

All three of them stumbled into the foyer like tipsy thieves, faces pink from laughter, hair tousled from the wind. There were telltale blunts perched behind each ear—one on Tamara’s right, Jordan’s tucked into her puff, and Corinne’s nestled like a pencil above her sleek low bun.

The house practically vibrated with their return.

Jimmy blinked, looked toward the door, and then groaned, laughing. “Ain’t no way.”

He squinted, took a breath through his nose, and frowned. “Is that…? Oh nah, Tamara brought that loud with her?”

Sefa leaned up from the couch, catching a whiff of something rich and sticky in the air as the girls shuffled through the kitchen grabbing snacks like a whirlwind.

“Oh my god,” Jordan moaned, kicking her shoes off and immediately undoing the top of her linen dress. “My legs are hairless, my coochie is burning, I am high, and I’m starving.”

Corinne snorted. “Not you yelling about your—”

“—MY BUSINESS,” Jordan cut in, tossing a bag of kettle chips on the counter.

Tamara was digging through the fridge like she paid the mortgage, pulling out strawberries and sparkling water. “Y’all can judge me if you want, but I told you I wasn’t leaving LA without matching lashes and a blunt that smelled like a divorce.”

“Jimmy this you?” she called back over her shoulder to Jimmy, catching sight of him posted up on a stool, arms crossed and lips twitching. “You in this ladies kitchen eating a sandwich.”

Jimmy burst out laughing, “Why you gotta roast me when you high?”

Tamara shrugged, popping a strawberry in her mouth. “It’s how I show love, now shut up and roll something.”

Sefa tried to hide his grin, glancing over at Corinne—who, somehow, despite being barefoot now, looked like she belonged in a streetwear ad. Their eyes met for a split second and Sefa blinked hard. This was gonna be interesting.

Meanwhile, Jordan caught Jey’s eye as she leaned against the back of the couch and grinned at him, her lashes fluttering and cheeks glowing. “Hey, Professor,” she teased.

His face softened instantly, all the earlier weight still in his chest but melting as he looked up at her. “Hey yourself.”

Then, all three women grabbed their snacks and disappeared out back in a flurry of silk wraps, tank tops, designer bags and weed smoke—giggling like they were fifteen again. They left the sliding door open behind them as they made a beeline to the infinity pool.

As the breeze blew through the house, Jimmy shook his head, utterly amused. “We not gon’ see them again for three hours.”

“Nope,” Sefa muttered, still watching Corinne’s hips sway before she belly-flopped onto a floatie.

Jey leaned back against the couch, lips curled into a dazed, almost dreamy smile. “She really got that good weed and a better heart,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

And just like that, the house slipped into a new kind of peace. Smoke curling from outside, laughter echoing across the water, the future cracking open wide and full of fire.

Chapter Eighty-Eight

The sun had fully clocked out for the day, replaced by soft twilight casting rose gold across the private beach and glowing against the infinity pool's surface like a painting. Inside the house, all was still—outside, chaos in the form of sweet, stoned Black joy and flirtation unfolded.

Jimmy cracked open the sliding glass door and stepped out into the thick aroma of tropical weed and Chanel perfume. The scent of strawberries mixed with the sharp tang of lighter fluid as Tamara leaned in with her gold-plated torch to spark his blunt for him.

“There you go, baby,” she hummed, lips already curled in a flirtatious smirk. “Lookin’ all handsome with that fresh cut. I see you.” She kissed him slow, eyes closed like she was savoring the moment—and the weed—and then winked, snatching the blunt back to take the first hit anyway.

Jimmy groaned, “You foul.”

“And fine,” she said smugly, letting the smoke roll out slow. “Now kiss me again and stop playin’.”

A little farther down, Corinne was already half on Sefa’s lap in the pool lounge chair, wearing an oversized Tupac tee and a pink bikini bottom. Her thighs were slick from the water, her lashes lopsided from giggling too hard, and her mouth locked to Sefa’s in a kiss so messy and enthusiastic it could only mean she was high-high. She kept laughing into his mouth, then going right back in like she forgot what she was doing between kisses.

“My bad,” she whispered breathlessly. “Your lips just feel like a marshmallow.”

“You feel like an edible,” Sefa muttered, a little dizzy himself, “and I ain’t even eat none.”

She cackled and threw her arms around his neck, whispering something in his ear that made his eyebrows shoot up. He grinned slow and tucked her closer.

And then there was Jordan.

The good doctor was laid out on a massive floatie like she was conducting a one-woman stand-up special. She had one knee bent, the other leg dangling in the water, head back and cheeks flushed, giggling to herself like somebody had whispered the funniest joke in the world into her scalp.

Nobody was talking to her.

She was just vibing. Loudly.

When Jey walked outside, he was shirtless in basketball shorts, towel still around his neck, fresh from the shower and visibly glowing like a glazed ham. His eyes were instantly drawn to her—his girl. High off her ass, sun-kissed, legs out, and hair still half-wrapped in a silk scarf. His whole heart tugged.

“Jordan.”

She turned her head sluggishly and grinned up at him, blinking slowly as if seeing him through a dream.

“J-Jey,” she said in that dazed, sugary voice. “My coochie is bald and ready to be pet.”

Jey stopped in his tracks, nearly choked on his own spit.

Sefa let out an audible “OH SHIT”*, and even Jimmy—mid-kiss—busted out laughing.

Jordan blinked again, clearly processing her own words on a ten-second delay, then broke into hiccuping giggles, covering her face with both hands.

“Oh my god,” she muttered behind her palms. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Yes you did!” Corinne shouted gleefully, still attached to Sefa.

“Say it with your chest, friend!” Tamara hollered.

Jey grinned, heart full and something fierce tugging in his chest. He crouched next to the floatie and leaned in close until he was eye-level with Jordan, brushing a curl away from her cheek.

“I love you high,” he whispered. “You honest as hell.”

Jordan peeked through her fingers, still giggling. “You gonna pet it or not?”

Jey’s grin widened dangerously. “Not in front of the damn pool.”

“Fair,” she whispered.

He kissed her forehead and climbed up onto the floatie with her, dragging her into his arms as she squealed and wrapped her arms around him like a koala. Her laughter softened against his chest, her eyes drooping, peaceful and warm in his arms.

“I love you,” she whispered, like a secret tucked in the dark.

Jey’s heart stopped and restarted in the same breath.

“I know,” he said, “I love you more.”

Chapter Eighty-Nine “High Love.”

The moon hung low and full over the beach, glowing like a witness to the soft, sensual chaos unfolding inside the master bedroom.

The pool session had ended in laughter and munchies, everyone peeled off to their corners of the beach house. Now the night was quiet, save for the low ocean waves and the occasional soft moan caught in the breeze.

Jordan was still high.

She was stretched out on their bed in just his oversized Tupac tee and a fresh wax, a blunt balanced between two fingers and a dangerous smirk painted across her lips. Her eyes were heavy-lidded but mischievous, glowing from within. Every time she passed him the blunt, she kissed him with more purpose. More pressure. More claim.

Jey sat beside her, shirtless and loose-limbed, legs slightly spread as he took the blunt from her and dragged in slow. The smoke curled out of his nose as his gaze locked on her face. The way she was watching him—soft but unblinking, her fingers tracing the veins in his forearm—had his heart and his dick playing double dutch in his chest.

His body buzzed, but his mind kept drifting to the manila folder still tucked into the nightstand drawer.

What she’d done for him. What she’d risked. Who she’d moved heaven and earth to call.

He hadn’t found the words yet. His throat still tight from the earlier conversation with his brothers. But in her touch, he could tell—she didn’t need him to say anything right now. She just wanted to feel him.

And right now, so did he.

“C’mere,” she mumbled, fingers curling into the waistband of his boxers.

Jey dropped the blunt into the tray and shifted, letting her tug him in until he was laying on top of her. His weight pressed into her slowly, deliberately, and he braced himself on his elbows, just watching her for a long second.

“You good?” he asked, his voice a rasp.

“Never better,” she whispered. “You petting it or nah?”

His mouth twitched. “You gotta stop sayin’ that.”

“I like sayin’ it,” she giggled, and then gasped as his hand slid between her thighs, slow and steady, warm and firm. “J-Jey—”

He didn’t let her finish.

He kissed her instead—deep, slow, the kind of kiss that tasted like secrets and salt and too many emotions packed into a single drag. Her lips were warm, her breath sweet from the wine and the blunt, and her fingers curled into his hair as he rolled his hips against hers and teased her with long, coaxing strokes of his hand.

The moan that slipped out of her was dangerous.

She blinked up at him like he’d rewired her brain.

“I think… I’m still high,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said, eyes full of smoke and affection.

“I also think you’re trying to kill me.”

“I also know that.”

She laughed, then gasped again as he slid lower, his tongue replacing his hand, her thighs trembling around his shoulders. She writhed, head thrown back, and he held her in place like he was anchoring her to this moment.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, even as her hands tangled in the sheets and his name tumbled from her lips like prayer, he couldn’t stop thinking:

She did that for me. She made sure I’m free.

He moved with intention—tongue, fingers, body—because if this was how she loved, how she protected him, he was going to make sure she felt every ounce of gratitude in his bones.

When he kissed his way back up to her mouth and sank into her slow, she arched up with a soft sob, arms locked around his neck.

“I love you,” she whispered into his ear, hoarse and honest. “So much.”

Jey kissed her again, slower now, eyes fluttering shut.

“I know, baby,” he murmured. “And I got you. Always.”

The rest of the night was a blur of skin, sweat, slow laughs, whispered confessions, and the kind of soul-deep, high-fueled intimacy that wrapped around them like a secret.

By the time they finally crashed hours later, limbs tangled and the room still faintly smelling like pine weed and coconut oil, Jey was still thinking about the folder. About what she’d done.

And how he was never letting her go.

Chapter Ninety “Before the Sun.”

The sky outside the open balcony doors was still navy blue, just beginning to flirt with the first pale threads of sunrise. The ocean was quiet this early, the waves slower, sleepier, like they too were still tucked under some cosmic blanket.

Inside the bedroom, the air was still warm with the scent of sex, salt, and sweet smoke.

Jordan stirred first.

Her lashes fluttered, her body a slow stretch against the cool sheets. Her thighs ached deliciously, her lips still tingled, and her heart? It was soft and full in her chest. She blinked slowly, adjusting to the soft light filtering in from the hallway, and turned her head to see him.

Jey was still asleep.

One arm sprawled across the bed where she used to be, the other tucked under the pillow, thick chest rising and falling in a slow, deep rhythm. His curls were wild and his face relaxed—so relaxed it made her ache a little bit.

He looked peaceful. Safe.

Loved.

And maybe that’s what got her. Not the soft moonlight, not the ache between her thighs, but the reality of it. Of him. Of how safe he made her feel. The things he carried every day but never asked for anything in return. And the way he loved her like it was instinct—like it was already written in his DNA.

She bit her lip.

Then her eyes darkened.

“Mm,” she hummed to herself. “My turn.”

With catlike grace, she slid under the covers, careful not to jostle him too much. Her hands grazed his waist, then lower, tracing his hipbone with her nails. She dipped even lower, and—

He twitched.

“Mmm…” he groaned, half-asleep, hips jerking gently as her mouth made contact.

Jordan grinned.

“Wakin’ you up proper,” she whispered against his skin.

Jey’s body arched slightly, a slow gasp leaking from his lips as her mouth moved, soft and deliberate, devouring him slow like she had all morning. He cracked an eye open, groggy and confused for a half-second before his lips parted.

“D-damn… Jordan…”

She didn’t say anything. Just gave him that devilish look from under her lashes and kept going. He reached down to stroke her hair, chest rising faster now, groans rough and thick scraping out his throat.

“Baby,” he muttered, trying to gather her. “You—damn—wait.”

She just moaned around him like nope. She wasn’t waiting.

She was chasing. Chasing the way he made her feel last night. Chasing the power of making him come undone. Chasing her man, because that’s what he was. Not a student. Not a case. Not a story. Just Jey. Her Jey.

By the time she was finished and climbing up his chest like a satisfied cat, he was wrecked.

Thighs trembling. Breathing hard. Voice gone.

“You tryna kill me before 8 a.m.?” he croaked, eyes still dazed.

Jordan just grinned, draping herself over him. Her naked thighs slid across his as she curled under the blanket, planting a sweet, messy kiss to his jaw.

“I missed you,” she whispered, almost shyly.

“I was right here.”

She shook her head. “No. I mean I missed you.”

Jey’s hand cupped the back of her head, pressing her to his chest. He still hadn’t said anything about the folder. Still hadn’t found the words.

But she hadn’t asked.

She just loved him. And right now, that was enough.

They stayed like that for a while. Wrapped in silence and warmth. The sun beginning to creep in through the sheer curtains, bathing them in soft gold.

And Jey? Still staring at the ceiling, chest full of things he didn’t know how to say.

But soon. He’d say them soon.

For now, he just held her tighter.

Chapter Ninety-One

Sunlight crept through the gauzy curtains of the master suite, painting golden streaks across the king-sized bed where Jey lay sprawled, tangled in silk sheets, snoring softly like a man who had fought for his life in the night—and technically, he had.

Jordan stretched beside him quietly, a smug little smirk playing on her lips. Her lashes fluttered before she glanced down at him. He was peaceful. Vulnerable. Still a little flushed from the night before and already growing hard again in his sleep.

“Well, good morning to you too,” she whispered mischievously, easing down beneath the sheets with feline grace.

By the time Jey’s eyes flew open with a guttural sound lodged in his throat, Jordan was already humming around him, her hands gripping his thighs, her gaze locked on his as she dragged him from dreamland straight into heaven. His breath hitched; his entire soul buckled.

"Shiiit, baby—wait—Jordan—"

She didn’t. Not until he was gasping her name like a prayer and pulling at her shoulders, dazed and broken in the most euphoric way.

He collapsed back onto the pillows when she kissed his chest lazily and settled in beside him, smug satisfaction coating every inch of her smile.

“That… that was foul,” he mumbled hoarsely, chest heaving. “You gon’ have me walking around this house like you did after that beach night. I need a damn walker.”

Jordan laughed into his shoulder, biting his skin playfully. “Good. Balance has been restored.”

They lay there in the silence for a beat, hearts steadying. Jey’s fingers tangled with hers and he exhaled slow.

“You… did all that for me?” His voice was quieter now. Thick. Strained with something deeper than gratitude. “The expungement… my record?”

Jordan blinked up at him slowly, caught. Then she nodded once. No showboating, no smugness, just quiet truth. “Yeah. I did.”

His throat worked. “You talked to your mom. Used her weight. You did all that—and you didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t need to. It wasn’t for credit,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “It was for you. Because you deserve more than carrying that shit around for the rest of your life.”

He rolled onto his side to face her fully, face unreadable for a long, silent moment.

“I never thought I’d meet somebody like you,” he said finally, voice raw. “I ain’t even think women like you existed, for real. You saw me when I was at my lowest and you still—” His jaw flexed, his voice broke. “You gave me freedom.”

Jordan reached up and touched his cheek gently. “I didn’t give you anything you didn’t earn, Jey. I just… cleared the path.”

He kissed her then. Deep. Full of gratitude and reverence. Not rushed or needy—just the kind that said I see you. I feel you. I love you for real.

When they pulled apart, he whispered, “I don’t ever wanna be without you.”

Jordan swallowed, suddenly shy again. “So don’t be.”

They lay there, wrapped in each other, with nothing but the sunlight warming their skin and a new, heavier kind of peace settling in.

For the first time in a long time… Jey Fatu was free.

And she was the reason why.

[ateezyuri]

WHATS IN YURI’S TRAVELING BAG

“what’s in my bag? i don’t even know what’s inside.”

MAKEUP BAG

“so to start off with, i have this makeup bag that mingi got me for my birthday last year!”

“i just have the necessity’s in here — moisturizer, sunscreen, foundation, concealer, powder, mascara, blush, brow gel, contour, lip gloss, all those life savers. it’s really handy for when i wake up an hour late and have to do my makeup in the car. i think that’s why mingi even bought it for me.”

“if i had to pick my favorite item from this i would probably pick my benefit brow setter and my rare beauty lip oil in the shade happy, rare beauty is my favorite makeup brand ever, the makeup is so pigmented and it’s run by selena gomez, it’s a win win.”

TOILETRIES

“when i first got my purse, i got really excited and just started shoving everything in there, and i quickly figured that i wouldn’t be able to find anything or things would get broken, so i put everything in pouches. i have another pouch, which is chanel, again! i think this was given to me as a gift after my first chanel photo shoot.”

“but in here, i have just a bunch of mini toiletries. i have a mini native deodorant, my favorite scent is coconut and vanilla, it smells so so good.”

“next i have some hair ties, bobby pins, safety pins, and a claw clip. i also have a tiny mirror in here as well.”

“this perfume is literally my favorite perfume ever, it’s the YSL LAVALLIERE. it makes me smell so so good, i have the actual perfume bottle but it’s in my room, for now i’m just keeping the sample in my purse. but it’s literally the best perfume, it lasts so long, and i love to put it on after i work out or after practice, and sometimes when the boys are really stinky i spray them too.”

“lastly, i have some hand sanitizer, hand lotion, a mini dry shampoo bottle, a mini hair brush, and mini toothbrush and toothpaste. i know it’s a lot, but this is the bag that comes with me everywhere, and i mean everywhere.”

MEDICINE BAG

“in this pouch, i just have a few things that i may need throughout the day. first, i have some advil, i have some cough drops, and then i have the powdered electrolyte mixers that you put in water! i also have some mints in here as well. super helpful on days where we are performing!”

HEADPHONES + CHARGER + KEYS

“are you kidding me?!? *yuri sighs when she picks up the charger — that looked like it was on the verge of breaking.* i looked for this EVERYWHERE, and it was in my purse the whole time?”

“hey, don’t make fun of my charger, atiny. it works PERFECTLY fine.”

“i used to be an airpod girly but they kept falling out of my ears when i was working out so now i use headphones. i only use my airpods when i’m in my bed now.”

MINI COLORING BOOK AND MINI COLORED PENCILS

“okay don’t judge — but when you’re waiting to perform or for others to get ready, it can get very boring. i find coloring mini fairies very therapeutic in stressful times.”

EYE DROPS

“you gotta have them — they are a NECESSITY. i think i need to restock my eye drops though — i used them all after i held staring competitions with all the boys yesterday on vlive. i won all of them, by the way.”

“what do you mean “did they know of these competitions?” of course they did! they just chose to lose like the losers they are.”

SNACKS

“if you know me, you know i always need some snacks. in my purse i have some protein bars and cookies, and then it look like i have some sea salt seaweed crisps. a very interesting combination, but they are really good when i have low energy!”

GLASSES + CONTACTS CASE

i have my eye glasses and then a case for my contacts as well as solution! after schedules my eyes get really dry or if the air quality is bad i like to take my contacts out and put my glasses on! or if i want to take a nap i take them out, before i used to just take a nap in my studio with them in and they would fall out and i had a lot of dried contacts everywhere, so hongjoong made me start taking them out. he was tired of finding contacts everywhere he sat i guess.”

WALLET

lastly, here is my wallet! i have my keys attached to it because sometimes i just grab my wallet when i’m just going to the store or something, i only haul my purse around when i really need it.”

tags: @atzaria @ateezjuliet @m00niesk7 @btsnvra @softieteez @shinyddeonghwa @girlzwfun @still-astray @txt-yaomi @kittiverse @billboard-singer @mrk-lees [send an ask to be included or removed]