#men white high neck sweaters

[montecarlofashion]

Men's white sweaters are versatile and timeless wardrobe essentials that effortlessly blend style and comfort. Whether it's a classic crewneck, V-neck, or a trendy turtleneck, white sweaters for men provide a blank canvas for accessorizing with scarves, watches, or statement jackets. Monte Carlo's men white sweaters adds a touch of refinement to any ensemble while ensuring warmth and comfort.

[rahultistabene]

Elevate Your Winter Wardrobe: High Neck Sweaters in Fashion

Make a style statement this winter with our high neck sweaters. Designed for both warmth and fashion, our collection features on-trend styles that cater to every taste. From cable-knit classics to modern twists, our high neck sweaters are wardrobe essentials. Embrace the chilly season with confidence, knowing you can stay cozy without compromising on style. Whether you prefer a casual look or a more polished ensemble, our high neck sweaters have you covered. Explore the perfect blend of comfort and fashion in our latest collection.

[monicaverma10]

Embrace the winter chill in our Cozy Elegance wool sweater. Crafted with the softest materials, it offers warmth without sacrificing style. Perfect for a chic look while staying snug on frosty days. With its dreamy design and snug fit, it's the perfect companion for chilly days. Wrap yourself in warmth and style this winter.

[leaentries]

Riding High | nico hischier

summary: when his girl decides to take charge, whose he to object?

warnings: marking, slight handjob, hair pulling (m. receiving), unprotected sex, riding, creampie, slight cockwarming, sub!nico, more porn with little to no plot, swearing

wc: 1.6k+

the captain’s girl masterlist

Stumbling through the front door, your lips found any part of Nico they could latch onto. Hands snaking up the tight tank top that clung to his rigid body. The slight scar that remained on his cheek flashed in your vision as you kissed up his jaw. 

Nico Hischier’s existence was truly unfair to other men.

“Fuck, schatzi.” He panted as his foot managed to kick the door closed. 

Nico’s body pounded against his sweaty skin, still riding high from the team's win over Philly. His mind went hazy the second your hands began to roam once you reached the elevator. His heavy breaths were the only sound that escaped into the crisp air. He was putty at your feet, but he preferred it that way tonight. 

Truth be told, Nico loved it when you decided to take control over him. It gave his mind a break from “Captain” mode. Normally, Nico would bend you over and have his way with you, especially after a win like this, but all he could think about was the way your nails felt against his toned abdomen. 

And the shockwaves it sent to his cock.

His head tilted back as your mouth began to leave hot red marks down the column of his throat. Nico squeezed his eyes shut, pulse beating rapidly against your lips. His chest heaved with anticipation.

“Please, baby,” Nico whined. 

A small smirk found home on your face, relishing in the whimpers that left your boyfriend at the slightest touch. He was so sensitive, yet it just fueled your libido that much more. Pulling your mouth away from his body, Nico’s eyes shot open, immediately seeking your own. His bambi eyes were blown out, pupils so dilated they were practically black. 

He swallowed the complaint bubbling up, “Why’d you stop?” 

It was almost endearing, the meekness in his voice. Nico was so driven by the pleasure you were bringing him that he couldn’t form a coherent thought about anything else. 

You remained silent, simply pulling his wrist as an invitation to follow you to the living room. He let you guide him without hesitation, body desperately craving your touch. You quickly kicked off your shoes, discarding them somewhere between the kitchen and the living room. 

Once you reached your desired destination, you moved Nico till you could walk him backward towards the couch. He felt his calves hit the soft cushions, falling down to them as you gently pushed his chest.

Straddling him, you brought your hands to his swollen biceps in an attempt to balance yourself. Nico’s warm eyes peered into yours, patiently waiting for your next move. He traced every inch of your face as you reached down to grip the bottom of your sweater. Nico felt his breath hitch the second your breasts popped into view. 

The sound of his uneven pants was music to your ears, but the feeling of his thick cock pressed against your core was even better. Throwing aside your sweater, you began to slowly grind yourself down into him. Nico’s head fell back, exposing his marked-up neck. You brought your lips back to where they were earlier, this time lowering your trail. 

The slight red tint of your lips marked their territory on his white tank, no doubt staining it. You dragged your hands over his chest, smirking at the stutter of his hips as you brushed over his nipples. You continued your journey downward, only stopping once you reached the hem of his shirt. You gripped the edge, urging Nico to help discard the material. He leaned up, swiftly removing the unwanted layer. 

As he leaned back, you let a single finger dip through the faint lines of muscle on his stomach. Nico’s chest was covered in a sheer coat of sweat as your teasing got worse. He opened his mouth once more but was quickly silenced by your lips. You swallowed any sounds he attempted to make, licking into his welcoming mouth. Nico hummed in approval.

You slowly untied the sweats he had on, dipping your hand into the waistband. You pulled away to look at his flushed features.

“No boxers, Neeks?” You teased.

Nico blushed a deeper shade of red, crimson now spreading down his neck. The words he once had died in his throat.

He shook his head slightly.

You felt a wave of adoration wash over you at the sight of your big, hockey player boyfriend getting all shy. Nico wasn’t typically like this, it was a welcomed change to your sex life.

You tsked, “Such a naughty boy, Nico.”

Although he knew you were joking, his cock leaked at your sultry tone. You wasted no time in pulling down his pants just enough to pull out his dick. Wrapping your hand around his shaft, you slowly began to pump him.

“Oh fuck,” Nico’s eyes screwed shut, “Just like that, schatzi.”

You continued pumping him, letting your thumb rub over his swollen tip in the process. In spite of his protests, you remained at a torturingly slow pace. You took the time to admire the slight curve of him and the way Nico would buck his hips when you applied pressure to the vein on the right side of his cock.

“Such a pretty cock,” You cooed, “So pretty, all f’me.”

Nico whimpered.

You thought his moans were hot, but hearing him whimper from just a basic handjob was a whole other ballgame.

You continued to stoke him, beads of precum beginning to stick to the tips of your fingers. Nico’s body began to tense as you squeezed the base. 

“S-shit,” He cried.

You knew he was close, but the throbbing that each of his whines sent to your clit was enough to have you pulling back and stepping off of him. Nico looked at you pathetically, desperation and need filling his dark eyes. 

“I know, I know,” You soothed, “I just need you inside of me, pretty boy. That okay?” 

Nico couldn’t agree fast enough. He attempted to help remove your leggings, only to be swatted away. 

“Nuh-uh. No touching until I say so.” 

Nico swore he almost came right then and there. Something about the authoritative edge in your voice had his mind reeling. The only thought he could process was you sinking down on him until his cock was so deep he wouldn’t be able to remember his name. 

You rushed to discard your bottoms, your own desperation now taking over. You straddled him once more, biting your lip as his hard-on pressed into your sensitive clit. You ground yourself further down, spreading your arousal all over his length. 

“I can’t,” Nico’s hoarse voice snapped you back to reality, “Please, schatzi. I need to be inside you.” 

You leaned to press a sweet kiss on his lips. 

“Okay, baby.” 

Giving in to his pleas, you carefully line his tip with your soaking entrance before slowly sinking down. Your eyes nearly roll back at the delicious stretch of him. Nico struggled to regain his breath as your tightness made his cock weep. 

You both sat for a moment, too worked up to move yet. Placing a kiss on his scar, you gently began to move your hips. Nico’s hands flew to your waist, gripping the meaty flesh. Too consumed in the way he felt dragging along your velvet walls, you couldn’t even bring yourself to reprimand him for breaking your “No Touching,” rule.

Your hands wrapped around his neck as you tangled your fingers in his soft hair. Nico’s moaned as you tugged slightly.

“You, fuck,” You gasped as you you continued to bounce, “You like that, Neeks?” 

He nodded, giving you his infamous doe-eyes. 

“Yeah? You like it when I pull your hair?” 

You pulled again, this time slightly harder. Nico’s hips bucked up, a deep groan bubbling up from his chest. Satisfied with his reaction, you moved your hands to his shoulders. You braced yourself, quickly increasing your pace. You tried your best to ignore the burning sensation in your thighs as you rutted against Nico.

Nico noticed your pace faltering, his hands moving to your thighs to hold your weight. His hips began to thrust upwards at a brutal pace, a loud cry escaping your mouth. Your hands scratched at his muscles, clinging to the back of the couch as the searing pleasure began to build in your tummy. 

Nico, lost in his own pleasure, began to mumble incoherent German in your ear. His husky voice sent pulses of electricity through your veins, finding enough strength to push back against his pelvis as he thrusted. 

In his mix of languages, you were able to make out hsi faint chant of begs.

“Keep doing that, schatzi.” 

“Oh, don’t stop.”

“Gonna cum, please.” 

You swiveled your hips forward, Nico’s cock edging deeper into your cunt. You convulsed around him, coaxing him to his orgasm. 

His head fell back, deep whines leaving with each thrust as you milked his cock. The feeling of his warm finish filling your spent pussy was enough to tip you over. You screwed your eyes shut as you felt the waves of orgasmic bliss blind every sense you had. 

You could barely make out the feeling of Nico’s thumb rubbing encouraging circles around your clit. 

Coming back to reality, you collapsed into Nico, his strong arms wrapping around your soft figure. You both relished in the post-sex glow, enjoying the feeling of each other's bodies pressed so close together. You let your eyes shut, Nico’s fingers running down your spine lulling you into relaxation. 

“You ready for bed, baby?” 

You smiled at the change in his demeanor. It was just like him to immediately take on his protective and caring nature once more. Not that you were gonna complain. 

You shook your head, “Want to stay here for a minute. I like you inside of me.”

Nico let out a groan, “Can’t say things like that, schatzi. You’re gonna make me hard again.” 

You simply laughed, placing a kiss on his collarbone.

[inkdrinkerworld]

throwing up bc i can’t stop thinking about dealer!remus and r high and spending new years together bc they just want it to be them two and them being each others new years kiss and using that as a way to make a move on each other bc they were too scared to do anything before pleaSe sedate me

No because why didn’t I have a dealer!remus to kiss me breathless for the new year??!

There’s a frog in your throat. There usually isn’t when you’re alone, but there always seems to be a lump in your throat when you’re with Remus that no amount of affection for him will lessen.

In fact, it seems that the more affection you harbor for him the bigger the lump grows.

You’re sitting on his sofa, in a sparkly New Year’s Eve midi dress and tall socks that are hidden under a fleece blanket.

Remus is in dark slacks and a white shirt- both outfits remnants of the party you’d both escaped from.

“Sure you don’t want a sweater, dove?” Remus asked as he’d undid his tie and honestly, a sweater would’ve been so much worse than suffering in your sequin dress that’s scratching the sliver of skin exposed of your thighs.

“The blanket’s fine, Remmy,” you’d promised, mostly because the idea of being in a sweater that smelled exactly like Remus- a little like his detergent, his citrus and pepper perfume and weed, would’ve made you even more of a mess.

Currently, you’ve got a blunt hanging from your lips, content to have the smoke billow from your mouth and around your head.

Remus is halfway done with his own, watching you mostly as he lets the last bit of the weed burn out.

“There’s something wrong with my hands, Remus.” You say, and he supposes that there should be more urgency in your words, but you get this even softer, mushy quality about you when you’re high that makes every thought seem like nothing.

“What’s wrong with them?” He asks, turning his body so he’s facing you. Your knees knock as you turn to him too.

“Can’t move them,” the blunt almost falls from your lips, and truly your arms feel like lead. Remus catches it before it falls, holding it close to your mouth in case you still want a pull. “Thanks.”

You’re always earnest and shy, but it only seems to become that much more endearing when you smoke, and Remus finds he loves it even more.

The way every word sound wistful, the way your eyes blink up at him slowly like you’re trying to stare at him for as long as possible.

“You’re really pretty, Remus. Which is strange for men,” you say it thoughtfully, like you’ve been thinking it forever.

You’re not sure why you can’t stop talking, or ally you’ve a lot less words to use; but tonight it seems resolutions have come earlier.

“Yeah?” Remus smiles as you nod and take a drag before exhaling.

“Yeah, and your lips, they’re so pretty.” If your hands were working you’d probably reach out to touch the thin scar that slices through his lip, but right now you can’t and maybe it’s a blessing.

Unconsciously, you lean into Remus some more, your thigh covering his knee.

“You’ve got a better pair, pretty girl.” Remus insists and your eyes widen. It’s funny that you seem to find the compliment unhinged.

The distance closes some more.

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, you and Remus are almost lip to lip, noses brushing.

“Yes, dovey,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours and before he can even ask, you close the distance.

The kiss is shy, an experimental press and then you pull back. Remus doesn’t let you get far and sets the blunt into the ashtray before grabbing the back of your neck to pull you back to him.

It’s a kiss not like what you’d expected; Remus tastes like weed, but there’s something else and it fogs your head even more than the high grade you’d just been smoking.

The kiss is slow but deep, a dance Remus leads with ease. His fingers tangle in your hair to keep you in place and yours finally seem to work again and climb the back of his shirt.

“Happy New Year, dove.” He pulls away and is almost as breathless as you are, the light of the fireworks being set off brightening the window behind you.

“Happy New Year, Rem,” you hide your face in his chest when you catch your breath and Remus chuckles. “Dunno why you’re laughing. Can’t kiss a girl like that and not expect her to get flustered.”

That only makes him laugh even more. Remus’ hands rub down your back.

“You’d get flustered if I only looked at you baby, let’s not pretend.”

[twistedchatterbox]

insatiable

Summary. No plot

tags. Jade Leech. This gets suggestive though it is not explicit, GN-ish reader? This was written for me by me though, You/your pronouns, your boyfie sleeps without his shirt on, he hides his sweater so that you gotta cuddle him instead, some making out? idfk, fluff, slice of life, domestic fluff, college AU if you know me, SFW intimacy, skin-to-skin contact, cuddly loverboy for you, no beta we overblot like men and this drained me of life, tumblr refused to process it for over seven times ffs

Wordcount; 2000+ | Masterlist & Taglist

Cold; it's late at night, or too early in the morning, but either way you lay awake in the arms of your soulmate, clicking away at a console to tire yourself out until you can sleep again. The winter time weather's thawing meant for more rain, yet the white noise couldn't be further from your mind, not able to relax as his body unconsciously and habitually sought after yours, your touch, clumsy in his sleep yet yearning for you.

His body feels warm against yours, though cooling off, most likely leeching off of your warmth. The thought makes you huff in amusement, faintly shaking your head against the pillow, making yourself comfier in the process, and making him seemingly more aware of you as well. Touch of his nose against your shoulder blade makes you tense at how cold that part is specifically, eliciting shivers down your spine when he cuddles up right against your back, holding you against his body with nothing separating skin-on-skin contact between you two. Well, the knowledge of your boyfriend sleeping shirtless and hooking his limbs around was surely stirring you awake into what could be considered a good time as well as torture for your racing heart. Whether fueled by you, or his ever curious wandering hands, you are not sure, but you will settle for the answer of both, swaying in favour of the latter when he lazily repositions himself, caging you within his body, curled up like a shrimp as if trying to protect you in his sleep. The idea makes your gaze soften in adoration, even if your feeling heart continues to march on far too fast for your liking; unable to hold still as the object of your affections nuzzles and cuddles his face further onto the spot where the side of your neck meets your collarbones. You unhurriedly save your process before turning off your console, feeling that you won’t be focused enough to get anything useful done somewhere in the back of your mind. Carefully placing it back into its holder within your nightstand, a plastic divider separating it from the couple of jewellery boxes that held your boyfriend’s piercings and such, you close the drawer. The half asleep vicewarden half-trills, not awake enough to stir from your momentary reach, he settles for gently squeezing you as he cuddles you back into place like a body pillow, acting very adorably similar to a koala. You smile at the passing thought, momentarily pausing to slow down and properly admire such a cute mental image closer as it fills you to the brim with the happy feeling you’ve grown to call love. Some days you feel so emotionally fulfilled knowing that only you get to see him like this. And that train of thought abruptly reaches a stop when he slips in his knee, bringing you out of your love dazed daydream, his thigh moving between your thighs and drawing up until it reaches the apex between, unsure of how awake he is, you try to hold as still as you can. Thankfully, he was happy enough in dreamland to settle for that, for reasons unknown to you. You take another moment to note how he has subtly shifted in place while you were deeper in thought, namely, the way his face now rested comfortably against your hair, making you unable to ignore the warmth breathes that traveled down your neck. Sighing, you close your eyes and simply let yourself rest against the bicep below your head, your hands just resting idly next to your body. High waisted, soft pyjama shorts unaccompanied of the matching blouse, you lean back into your boyfriend’s body for warmth under the covers. Knowing him, he stuffed his sweater, your favourite, under his pillow, making it more convenient to cuddle him instead. Not that he’d ever admit if you called him out on it, but really, there was no reason to. You enjoyed having a convenient excuse to enjoy this, it was mutually beneficial banter if anything; and some part of you rolled eyes at that train of ideas, perhaps the benevolent dorm of dubious arrangements brought the worst(best) out of you in this regard. Your thoughts began to act as your white noise. Unable to pinpoint when the white noise turned static, resting hearts and soft breathing filled the room. You dreamt of something idle, dreaming nothing, yet accompanied by the smell of mushrooms and coffee, the serenity-inducing scent of rain and earth mixed like a wonderful blend of things that felt a lot like love. Something in the back of your mind stirred out of sleep, barely dragging you up with it, far too warm to consider opening your eyes until a pair of cold hands made way onto your bare skin; making your soul flinch out of your body like a knee-jerk reaction, as your thighs trapped his where it idly rested. Damn-near fully conscious, you blink once, twice, slowly allowing your mind to catch upon your body. Your boyfriend hugging you was one of the first things, feeling his bare chest against your back made you shiver for reasons unrelated to the cold night time temperatures of octavinelle. And as your mind cleared enough to focus on sound, you heard trills. It almost sounded like crooning noises, muffled by his face buried in the tangled mess of hair he surely contributed to the making of. Next, the sheets, which were a jumbled mess, unlike the now-rare times he slept on his own, the soft comforter and everything were folded and skewed around, pulled and pushed off, half-half, so-so and most definitely a mess. The sweatpants he put on the prior night ever so slightly slipping off by the side of his hip, which you can feel very clearly, yet choose not to for the sake of your own clarity, Surely, not meant to last for long if he had a say in it, leaning down to nuzzle and press sloppy, sleepy kisses up and down the pulse beating against your neck. The beat of your heart raced– but maybe it wasn’t yours, maybe it –your heart–, really was for him to keep. Some part of you becomes sure of it when you feel the rows of teeth, sharp, giving you the softest nip he can manage. Not wanting to prick you by accident, and perhaps it was habitual, if the rumbling noise from his chest in response to you tucking hair out of his way is anything to go by. You blink away some sleep caught in the corners of your eye, opening them properly.Morning.. you attempt to say, to greet him, yet It’s barely a whisper, drowned out by the drowsiness and the sea of sleep in your body...you sighed; alright, you could improvise. Above your shoulder, you can see.. light rays peeking through the curtain. Light often does not reach the octavinelle dorms, for most people, the dorm is resided and encased in cold, deep depths beneath the waters’ surface, though some days you find yourself amused by the idea of it having a comedic vendetta against your beloved; as it passes through the curtains, landing right on his eyes. You swear you feel bad, you swear you do internally to yourself but you must laugh if not at the comedic irony, then at the sour, pouty expression of Jade’s, and the way he stubbornly hides himself from light’s way by acting like a cat, nuzzling onto you, face first. Jade makes an immensely upset and sulky noise, though you can hear it in his voice that it’s not against you. He really is not a morning person, you giggle, placing your palm above his eyes in mercy. He sighs,content with your touch, and being as cuddly as he is, makes no resistance when you softly tug onto his arm; making himself comfortable and snug with his arms wrapped around your hips and waist, leaning on one cheek as his head rests on your collarbone, right above your chest; comfortable with your new arrangement, you wiggle a little to make it cosy and settle your hands within his hair, soothing it out in slow, relaxing motions that make him trill and croon. Once again, you compare the cunning, widely feared vice warden to a cuddly, lovey teddy bear. Or.. teddy-eel? Well, you weren’t awake enough to care about shower thoughts. As the idle, repeating motion goes on and you are lulled by the white noise of water, too awake to fall asleep again, yet unwilling to leave the bed, you resort to watching the aquatic life of the dorm’s outside waters, reflected by the mirror on the door with half-lidded eyes. And, really, the feeling of your boyfriend’s sizable hands- now warm, you sigh in relief- redirecting your attention towards him was to be expected from you, knowing just how cuddly he really is; only for him to squeeze the skin and softness in his palms ,making you more flustered than you’d like to admit for how often it’d happen. His hands repeated his previous gesture, softer. His voice was whispered and mumbled against your skin, the volume akin to his soft breathing, yet you found it so easy to focus and hear over your own heartbeat, which beat like a drum in your ears. He murmured mostly to himself, half awake and nuzzling his cheek against the pulsing vein on your neck, clearly enjoying himself. His talented, uncalloused hands rubbed circles on the sides of your hips, letting go so that he could properly hug you from behind, encircling his arms around you. Slowly, you reach out to him with one hand, following muscle memory to tuck the long stand of his hair behind his ear, relishing in the way he nuzzles into your palm, making you lose your breath as you can sort out the distinctive feel of a smile on his pretty face. You do not hear the words, but you feel them on his lips, and you feel the rumble of its soft nature resting against his lungs. Good Morning. You feel the rumbling of it against your back, it’s pleasant. He slowly closes in on you, unhurried, sleepily and guided by muscle memory, closing the gap between your lips and his; you meet him in the middle where a sigh melts into an exchange of feather light kisses, only when the kisses begin to last longer, when he keeps diving in for more, you close your eyes under his intense gaze.Feeling the air in your lungs grow thin; finding a stable hold on his hair, you try not to tug too hard, pushing lightly when you need to pull away. He slowly lowers  himself to rest his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose onto your cheek in amusement when he opens his eyes, not even sure at which point he closed those, and sees you well-kissed, well-blushed, and certainly well-loved. Feeling dizzy by the end of the exchange, no longer sure where it began or ended, you let him settle as he wishes, obviously happy with himself as he held you like a little spoon, once again.

Nuzzling against your hair, Jade lets out a sigh that sounds far too relieved to be unintentional, and you swear his pupils have dilated enough to cover the colour of his two toned eyes back then- though it was hard to tell with his eyes being nearly closed. ”-You just look so tasty-” he mumbles with a chuckle that only means trouble, the playful kind that makes both of you late on any other day, he faux-nipped onto a lock of hair, making sure not to make a mess of it, “-I might just never have enough” ; and you might just be starting to believe him if he keeps whispering these things against your ear. it was all entirely silent from there, the waters as white noise and humming tunes.. Until; Jade smile against the crown of your head, mischievous in tone, “Hm~ Darling, We were quite.. pressed up close and personal in our sleep, it seems” He hints, “it was quite lovely to wake up to.” Jade emphasizes, pressing his knee against the back of your legs- Oh.  “Oh fuck you-” You laugh, hsyterical when you meet Jade’s gaze and see his playful expression as he raised his eyebrows. “I might just take you up on that offer next time, my treasure-” he says, probably jokingly in a sing-song tune, and you lose it; while he gazes tenderly, nuzzling into your hair. 

[tinytennisskirt]

Angel

Part Two: In Practice

Summary: in continuation of part one, singlemom!reader treats Patrick to dinner. He has a hard time keeping his feelings to himself and it only gets harder to do so as he sees you with every lesson he gives her son.

Warnings: tension, touch, fluff! still unedited, from my notes app. some suggestive content.

“So my sister is on a date with a tennis player,” she said. “I thought we agreed no dating jocks back in high school.” She said. “How old did you say he was?”

“Younger than me- and it’s not a date,” you told her, putting on your lipstick. Your sister caught the lipstick before you put it in your purse.

She looked at you knowingly, “The shade of your lipstick is literally called date night.”

“I like the colour,” you reasoned, shrugging and dropping it in your bag. “I’ll probably be back around 9:30 or 10. Nothing crazy, just something to get to know the man teaching my son tennis.”

“A stranger from the park.”

“And from the grocery store and cafe.” You reasoned again. “He agreed to go to dinner with me and we haven’t settled on a price yet, so I think this night would be very productive to get that settled.”

“Uh huh… a younger man, Y/N.” She pretended to claw at the air, snarling like a cat.

“I’m not old enough to be a cougar,” you laughed. “My guess is he’s mid-twenties. It’s about ten years. He doesn’t seem to mind, he was kind to me either way.”

“When are men not kind to you? You’re a walking model, I don’t know how you popped out a kid and bounced back the way you did. I still feel pregnant most of the time.” Your sister laughed with you. She peered out the window. “Your taxi is here.”

You bid her and Kit, preoccupied with his toys, a goodbye and got in the taxi. The restaurant was one of your favourites. They had amazing tomato soup, you were pretty excited for it. You sat at a table and waited, hands folded.

Patrick wasn’t far behind you. The last time you’d seen him he was all sweaty, the other times he was just casual, jogging, buying groceries. Today he looked noticeably nice.

His curls were the same, but he was wearing a sweater and jeans, unlike his regular shorts and t-shirt. He looked comfortable. “Hi you,” you said as he approached. “How are you?”

Patrick loved how you cared, eyes wide, wondering how he was doing. “I’m good, I’m great, actually. How are you?” He took a seat.

“I’m good. I’m so glad you let me bring you here there’s a lot I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” You said. Patrick knew it wasn’t a date, he could keep his cool, he wouldn’t do anything. Which was admittedly out of character, but you were you. And you were perfect, so he would have to be on his best behaviour. However, it was a bit hard when you looked the way you did. He could tell you put some effort in, so despite this not being a date, he looked at you as if it was. “So I was thinking I should tell you a bit about Kit, but first I want to talk about you.”

“Sure,” Patrick said. He just wanted to hear you speak. Your lips were so pretty, painted such a shade. Patrick was wishing hard for that lipstick to end up staining his white sweater, his neck, his face. He snapped himself away from the vision with a reminder. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Perfect. Well for starters, your last name, maybe?” You giggled. It was a sound made of air. Patrick was becoming a poet.

“Oh, Zweig.” He answered.

“Patrick Zweig,” you replied. He loved his name on your tongue. “That’s familiar, almost?”

“I played a few televised games, might be that.” He replied. He hoped trying to impress you wasn’t coming off as boasting. But to you, it wasn’t. “I wasn’t meaning to show off-“ No girl ever made him doubt the things he said. No woman.

“No, it’s amazing. I’m so impressed, tennis is… hard.” You gushed. “And you’ve been playing since twelve?”

“A little before twelve. Since I was eight? But professional tournaments came around twelve and then tennis academy. I grew up on tennis. I think Kit is at the perfect age, honestly. I wish I started earlier, even now.”

“Really?”

Patrick nodded, “It’s been my life, so if you’re worried about qualifications-“

“It’s not a job, I’m not interviewing you,” you laughed. It sounded like delicate bells chiming. “I know you’re qualified I’m just curious about… you.” You said. You felt inclined to pause there and you weren’t sure why.

He laughed and rubbed his neck. You looked him in the eyes and he forgot everything he knew about himself. Leave it to Patrick to be absolutely dumbstruck by a woman like you. “What are you looking to know?”

“What do you like?”

Patrick felt inclined to state who. But he shrugged just slightly, you were interested in him. “I like tennis a lot. I play it a lot. I like to cook sometimes, mostly easy stuff, but I like a challenge. I like old movies, westerns, guns and horses, that kind of stuff.” He loved how intently you listened. You took in every word.

“My father used to watch a lot of those,” you chuckled. “He played this one on repeat, background noise for doing dishes and folding clothes- something called The Horse’s Man. Lots of guns, horses.”

“That’s a weird one, I’ve seen it, I have it on VHS, actually,” Patrick chuckled. He was impressed that you even knew that one. It was rare, independent. Patrick wondered if it was appropriate to ask what you liked, given his position. “Are you not a fan?”

“I think I’ve been conditioned into it but on my own, I like romantic comedy. And horror comedy, no gore.” You replied. Patrick smiled. The conversation went from there. It strayed from simple things as you and Patrick delved into your passions. You laughed a little too much. He was funny and he was charming and it was odd how nervous he seemed. You liked it though. Not to say you liked him. Not liked him liked him. He was cute, but too young. You were just glad he could legally order a Tom Collins. Patrick settled on $20 per lesson after you insisted and insisted on $60. It was a good fight and you’d almost won but he insisted. You filled him in on everything he needed to know about Kit and he loved every second of learning about the boy you’d sculpted him to be. Kit sounded like a really sweet kid and Patrick was honestly a bit excited.

The banter didn’t cease. It got borderline flirtatious but neither you nor Patrick noticed. You both cared too much to care. The night came to an end after a few drinks and the calling of a cab. You both stood outside in the cool summer breeze, he was facing you. “Thank you for everything,” you said, wind blowing around your face softly. Patrick’s eyes on you were soft, you could see the smile in his eyes.

“I’ve never been taken to dinner out of gratitude, so thank you.” Patrick grinned fully. You smiled. You were so beautiful, Patrick was overtaken. You in this breeze, this lighting- dim but lit by the streetlight, your perfect smile. Your perfect lips…

“Of course,” you said. “I’m glad you obliged, I’ve learned so much about you.”

“I can’t say I know enough about you,” he replied. “But I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“Tuesday,” you repeated the date. Kit’s first lesson. “God, you’re an angel, I’m still so grateful.” You gushed. He loved the title. Patrick had never been called that before, but you’d taken to it. And he loved it.

“I still don’t think so.” He shrugged. Things for you, doing things for you was the easiest thing. The wind gusted stronger, as if in tune with the surges of feeling Patrick was enduring. No woman had ever made him feel like this, not once, not ever. You batted your hair away, out of your face and it was instinct for Patrick to reach and push your hair from your face.

Immediately he apologized. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that-“ Patrick would usually act like it was intention, not apologize, but the action was very much so instinct. He wouldn’t act like it was intention.

“It’s okay, it helped,” you chuckled, your eyes twinkling. Patrick was so done for. “Thank you for being so kind.”

Patrick shook his head, “I don’t think I’ve been kind or even too great, if I’m honest with you. I’m glad you’re letting me do these things.”

“I think it means more to me than you know.” You signed, “And I still think twenty is too little.”

“Good thing I’m twenty-two.” Patrick joked. It would have been funny if his finger hadn’t grazed your cheek as he pushed your hair behind your ear. You tried to stop your eyes from widening. Twenty-two was three years younger than you’d guessed. Your heart beat fast. But it was funny anyway. You laughed as your taxi pulled up.

“This is me,” you said. Patrick leaned over and opened the taxi door for you. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Sounds perfect. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Patrick.” You replied. His name never sounded less beautiful coming from your mouth.

-

When the first lesson rolled around, everything went perfectly. You sat and watched and cheered on your son, laughing and cheering and you were the brightest thing around in broad daylight. Kit was a fast learner, but he was prone to tripping over his own feet. Patrick found it cute. He did look like you in some ways and anything to do with you, he found perfect.

“He just needs to work on his balance,” Patrick said as he walked you and Kit to your car. “Other than that, he’s a natural.”

Kit tilted his head up to grin a toothless grin at Patrick and you. You smiled back, “That’s wonderful. And you are such a natural teacher, you’re so kind with him. And thank you for being so patient in his moments of doubt.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t know how to get through it any other way,” he shrugged. “It’s my first time teaching so thank you. I needed the confidence boost.”

“You seem so sure of yourself, I can’t imagine a boy such as yourself truly needs it,” Patrick wanted to tell you he was a man, a man, a whole man. An adult man. Not a boy, a man. But he didn’t.

“I do, I do,” he nodded. “You have too much faith in me.”

“I can have less if you’d like,” you smiled, helping Kit into the car.

“No, please, you’re the one with faith for the both of us,” Patrick said. “I appreciate it.”

You smiled, “Well, I appreciate you.”His heart skipped. Maybe he wasn’t a boy or a man. Maybe he was a girl. “I’ll see you in two days for the next one?”

Patrick nodded. “Yes. It was great seeing you.”

“You as well! Goodbye Patrick!” You got in the drivers seat, windows open, you nudged your son. “Kitty, say goodbye to Patrick.”

“Bye bye Patrick!” Kit said in his small voice.

Patrick waved goodbye as you pulled away. Silently, Patrick hoped this kid wouldn’t be the death of him. The kid was adorable.

-

The next lesson was about the same. Balance issues, racket-holding issues. God, he was cute. God, you were gorgeous, sitting there in your red skort and pink tank top with a red visor. You matched Kit today, apparently having taken a trip to Old Navy. Your hair in the sun was the single most gorgeous thing- THUD.

Kit hit the ball, really hit the ball and it hit Patrick right in the centre of his forehead. It didn’t hurt that bad, it was a tennis ball and Patrick was more than used to it, but it was a big hit for a little guy.

“Are you okay?” You called from the side. You walked over as Patrick pressed a hand to the place of impact.

“That was a great hit buddy!” Patrick called. Kit did a little happy dance. He wondered if you noticed that it was your fault Patrick had been more than distracted. Now it was bad because you were so close, on your tippy toes too, without asking, inspect where the tennis ball hit him. Patrick knew you were a mom, but this was very mom-like. But it was endearing all around and you smelled… amazing. Patrick only could hope he smelled decent, he showered twice already. “I’m okay.” He said, unable to help a smile.

“Okay, good.” You grinned. “Promise?”

“I’m used to it.” He told you. You nodded, comprehending. Patrick debated milking it so you’d stay close but there was no way this kid could have hit it so hard. You returned to the sidelines.

The lesson ended and you let Kit go to the playground as you sat at a picnic table with Patrick. “He’s a great kid.” Patrick told you. “In case nobody’s told you, you’re doing a great job with him.”

Your head turned from the park to Patrick, your expression showing more shock than anything. “Patrick, that’s- nobody has said that to me ever. Not my mom, not my sister, I-“ you could barely speak. Patrick didn’t mean to give so much shock factor, but the truth was you hadn’t heard it. You sat up and covered your face.

It was the easiest, most true compliment, Patrick didn’t think so much of it. “Are you okay?” He reached forward and touched your shoulder. He thought it was a good enough excuse to touch you, just gently.

“Mhm- yes, thank you,” you said, wiping away the two tears you’d let fall. It was good to hear something like that. Patrick was sweet and kind and his hand was so warm. You looked at him and he had a bit of a half-smile, but a look of concern mostly. “You are an angel.”

“You say that but I don’t see any wings,” he replied. It made you smile. Patrick could have called you an angel just the same the way the sun seemed to give you a halo wherever you went. You were the image of perfection to him. He wished you knew the extent to which he thought so.

“I can see them,” you nodded. “That’s all that matters, I think.”

Patrick nodded slowly and looked you in the eyes, “I meant what I said though and I don’t want you to forget it.”

“I couldn’t if I tried, Patrick.” You laughed. His hand slid down where it rested on your arm and rested on the picnic table. Your eyes were so pretty when they were wet, the way your lashes stuck together.

< Part One / Part Three >

[anonymouspuzzler]

OLD MEN YAOI !! (feat. Minnie Is Also There)

[Image IDs under cut!]

[Image 1 ID: A black-and-white digital drawing of Puzz's OCs, Buck and Davey. Buck is a middle-aged white man with a barrel-chested build, square head, large nose, balding hairstyle with one tuft of hair on top of his head, and a large bushy mustache. Davey is a middle-aged black man with a lanky build, amputated right arm, diagonal scar across his face, thin mustache, large round ears, large eyes with long lower eyelashes, large eyebrows, and long curly hair. Buck is wearing a t-shirt, simple long pants and no shoes, while Davey wears a loose tank top, sports shorts and no shoes, with his hair loose. Davey is sitting at Buck's left with his legs thrown over his lap, arm around his chest and shoulders, head leaning against Buck's. Buck has his left arm around Davey's torso and his right resting lazily on Davey's leg. They are both looking at each other with lovestruck expressions. End ID.]

[Image 2 ID: A black-and-white digital drawing of Puzz's OC Davey, drawn from the neck up. His hair is down and he is beaming with a closed-eye, open-mouthed grin. His front teeth have a very slight gap. There are wiggly lines emanating from him as if he was glowing with delight. End ID.]

[Image 3 ID: A black-and-white digital drawing of Puzz's OCs, Buck and Davey, drawn from roughly the bust up. Davey is wearing a loose tank top and has his hair in a ponytail, while Buck wears a t-shirt with cuffed sleeves. Davey is standing behind Buck with his arm around him, leaning down to give him a kiss on the cheek. Buck is leaning back into the kiss and is holding Davey's hand with his right hand. End ID.]

[Image 4 ID: A black-and-white digital drawing of Puzz's OCs, Buck and Davey. Both are in sleepwear, with Davey wearing a quilted sleep mask, silk bonnet, and boxers, while Buck wears a cropped t-shirt and long flannel pants cuffed at the ankles. Davey is sprawled out on his back, arm off to the side, drooling slightly. Buck clings to him like a koala, head resting on his chest and legs tangled up with Davey's. End ID.]

[Image 5 ID: A black-and-white digital drawing of Puzz's OCs, Buck and Davey. Davey is standing to the right of and slightly behind Buck, leaning on his shoulder and looking down at him with his tongue sticking out cheekily. Buck is looking back at him with one hand on his hip. They are wearing paired t-shirts based on this post; Davey's reads "I'm the dog they put with cheetahs to keep them from going crazy in captivity", while Buck's reads "I'm the cheetah that is threatening to go crazy". End ID.]

[Image 6 ID: A black-and-white single-panel comic of Puzz's OCs, Buck, Davey and Minnie. Minnie is a stout 13-year-old white girl with a square head, freckles, buck teeth, and hair in long braided pigtails with short bangs to one side. She is wearing a school uniform-type outfit with a pleated skirt, blouse, and knee-high socks, but is not wearing shoes with it; she also has a sweater tied around her shoulders. Davey is wearing a loose tank top and sports shorts, with his hair loose, while Buck wears a turtleneck. Davey is asleep on the couch flat on his back, head tipped back, arm dangling off the side with a TV remote loosely in his hand. There is a blanket underneath him and one pillow squashed into the couch beside him, while another has fallen to the ground. Minnie sits perched on the back of the couch, looking down at him with mild disdain, saying, "bet together we could shove him off." Buck, standing behind the couch and leaning on the back, one elbow propped up so he can rest his head in his hand, looks down disinterestedly and replies, "yeah, I'm not doing that." End ID.]

[aloysiavirgata]

Title: Fern Hill

Rating: NC-17

Timeline: pre-series

Category: XF/The Fall crossover

Summary: For everyone who asked for a Stella/Mulder prequel from my little prompt ficlet

Author’s Note:

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,

Time held me green and dying

Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

The blonde two stools down is eyeing him unashamedly. She’s got on tight jeans and a white cable knit sweater, summer-wheat hair straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad. Eyes like Lake Tashmoo before a storm.

“You’re Phoebe Green’s American,” she observes. It isn’t a question. Her voice is buttery, a burnt-velvet purr that makes the back of his neck tingle. She sips at a rock glass full of something tawny in the subfusc gloom of the pub.

Mulder, intrigued, moves next to her. “What the fuck?”

She blinks, the barest hint of a smirk tightening her lips. “I’m not wrong.”

“I’m not Phoebe’s anything,” he replies. “She stole my Pink Floyd sweatshirt and burned my Knicks hat. She fucked a vegetarian trumpet player.”

The blonde smiles fully now. “You’re marked forever, I’m afraid. You’ve some kind of animal name, haven’t you? Bear, was it?”

He knows she knows his name, this unsettling girl. Somehow, he knows she does. “Bear,” he agrees.

“Stella,” she says, holding out a slim, white hand. “You’re Fox.”

It’s a warm plum in her mouth. Delicious, desirable, something to be proud of. Belongs in the Ralph Lauren ad with her pre-Raphaelite face and flag of golden hair.

“Mulder,” he says, shaking the proffered hand.

“Mulder.” She squeezes his fingers, then withdraws.

Mulder sips his gin and tonic, pondering. “So you know Phoebe socially,” he says. “That must be a hell of a thing. As a woman.”

Stella considers him down the length of her nose. She has the androgynous beauty of a Greek youth. A Roman statue of Minerva.

“Where do you think she got the idea for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s grave,” Stella asks.

He almost chokes on an ice cube.

“If you’re coughing you’re breathing,” she observes, dispassionate, as he nearly hacks up a lung.

Mulder’s heart rate settles back to normal after a moment. He looks at Stella, the hard lines of her cheekbones, her incongruously cute freckles.

He thinks of Stella and Phoebe together. Wonders if he could make that happen, their peony mouths and fine-boned faces. He would be willing to temporarily make up with Phoebe for it. Phoebe would love the theater of a dramatic apology and a threesome.

“Was the grave a hot tip or a shared experience?”

Stella only smiles, sphinx-link. Taps her glass in the bartender’s direction.

“Does it matter,” she asks, watching as her drink is refilled.

Tremendously.

“No. Do people do a lot of Brando impressions?” He clutches his t-shirt with an anguished expression.

She chuckles a bit at that and Mulder feels like the cleverest man in England. In the Northern Hemisphere.

“Plenty,” she says. “Which I like, because it creates a self-selecting population of people to avoid.”

People, he notes. Not men. He thinks of Phoebe again, her dark hair against Stella’s blonde, imagines ringing her up and what he’d say and-

Stella’s hand on his thigh. “Where do you live?” she asks. Her voice is obscene, her high breasts soft against the sweater, slender neck and perfume rich with amber and honey and musk.

He gulps at his drink. “Uni flat. You?”

“Summertown,” she murmurs. “It’ll be nicer than your place.”

Mulder blinks, impressed. His parents give him money but not Summertown money.

“Are you inviting me home with you, Stella?” he asks, low.

She considers him, swirling her glass. “I’m inviting you to my bed. I don’t need you lingering in my home.”

He laughs aloud while wondering if he is capable of falling for a woman who doesn’t have substantial emotional damage. “So you don’t want me to show up with two dozen roses and a box from Charbonnet et Walker?”

Stella sniffs disdainfully. “I’m not interested in the girlfriend role as a concept. I plan to finish school and be a detective.”

He perks up. “I’m planning on the FBI when I wrap up the DPhil. Don’t know that I’m interested in the girlfriend thing as a concept either at his point,” he says, knowing it savors strongly of bitterness.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stella says. “I think you’d make someone a very nice girlfriend.”

Storm-goddess eyes wicked over her glass.

He pays both tabs and watches her finish the Scotch.

***

Her flat is full of solid wood furniture and good upholstery. Some of the framed artwork appears original, and there’s a Cross Townsend pen on her walnut secretary. A stack of leather notebooks that look like Smythsons or Conway Stewarts.

He wishes he could stop this, the eternal analysis.

Her bedroom smells of lemon wood polish and clean cotton and expensive unguents. The queen bed is made, an ivory silk robe draped at the foot of it. There’s no girlish clutter on her shelves, no stuffed bear on the pillow.

There’s a copy of Where the Wild Things Are on the mantel. “Seems a little below your reading level,” Mulder observes.

“It was my favorite book when I was little.” She touches the cover. “Well, one of my favorites at least. I rather wanted to be King of All Wild Things.”

He grins at her. “You wouldn’t have even needed the wolf suit I bet. You’re a bit scary, Stella.”

She snaps her teeth.

Mulder sees the two of them in her gilt-framed mirror, Stella fierce and delicate as a faerie out of Perrault. Her pale throat, her bright eyes. In the moment he wants a cantrip that will bind her.

Her face is serious again. She unbuttons his shirt with focused dexterity, her brows furrowed, her lips pursed. Dior Poison, he sees on the vanity, and gives a name to her scent.

Stella planes her hands over his chest. “Very nice,” she says, peering up through dusky lashes. She pulls her sweater over her head, drops it to the floor. Wriggles out of her jeans and kicks them aside.

He is hard as a fifteen year old.

“I try.” He hasn’t kissed her yet, even though her mouth reminds him of a little Parisian pastry and he wants to nibble at it. Apropos of which, Mulder had expected plain cotton lingerie but it’s all frou-frou lace confectionery trimmed with rosettes and ribbons. Feminine. Delightful. Flawless.

“God, you’re so-“

“Shhh,” she says, pushing him down onto her bed with a single, imperious finger. “I know all that.”

Stella straddles his lap and he’s somehow surprised that such a large presence should weigh almost nothing.

She leans into his grasping fingers, rolls against his tensed thighs. Sighs when he thumbs the front of her panties.

“Stella….”

She leans forward to kiss him, her hard belly against his own. Her clever hands at his fly.

“Let’s see how badly Phoebe fucked up, hmmm?”

***

They had wine from a Thermos and went to bed. She’s lithe and breathless in his arms, spine like worry beads against his palms.

He’d spoken to his father who helpfully reminded him that Samantha had gone missing around this time and shouldn’t he come home to see his mother?

Stella’s fully nude, hair a long braid over her shoulder, and he tugs it experimentally.

Stella makes a liquid noise in her throat, tightens around him.

He unwinds the elastic band and works the plait loose with his fingers. Spools her hair around his hand and pulls down hard until their lips are brushing.

“Fuck,” she hisses into his mouth, and it’s what he needs somehow, the grinding pain of her little teeth and he comes and comes and comes.

***

He’s headed home in six weeks with a DPhil and an acceptance to the FBI Academy and vague praise from his parents.

“Fox,” she groans against his temple. “Fucking hell.”

Mulder nips at her throat, her hair spread behind her like the tail of a comet. “Why did you call me Fox?”

“Why did your mother call you Fox?” she asks.

“She is a very sick woman,” he says into Stella’s patrician ear.

She laughs and bites his lower lip. “Me too,” she mumbles, and her heels dig into his kidneys.

***

They never said goodbye, not really, and he meant to let her go like the tide.

His flight home is in thirty six hours.

“I thought I was ready but I- a pregnant woman,” she says flatly into the phone. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He lets her use him, her lean swimmer’s legs against his own and her skirt rucked up at her waist and her tailored Met jacket and blouse fallen open along her breasts, lacy cobweb of a bra fighting for its life.

He gazes up at her, pink and silken as rose petals.

White and distant as the moon.

“Hurt me,” she gasps. “Mulder, please, I want-”

He hurts them both.

***

He leads her into the hotel room shower, washes her princess hair while she stands still, staring at nothing.

***

He left bruises along the softest parts of her. The hidden parts, where she asked. The palimpsest of her skin will be flawless again in a few days, and he tries not to think about how else the dark things in her might like to play. He absorbed her pain like charcoal absorbs poison.

“I truly don’t know if I can do this,” she remarks to the ceiling, palms against her eyes.

He tastes her on his lips, oysters and Sauternes. He wants to nudge his face back between her thighs in the way we are called by water. She is primordial and essential and delicate and terrifying. He has an Ivy League degree in psychology, even if it’s only from Pennsylvania, and he still can’t figure her out.

“You can,” he promises, like a faithful acolyte.

“And what does it mean if I can,” she asks and he wonders the same thing about himself.

***

He fucks her against an alley wall, thick with refuse and ennui. She’s gorgeous the way that supernovas and jaguars are gorgeous.

“Stella,” he groans. “Jesus.”

“You’ll miss your flight,” she mumbles, then laughs at the idea that they care.

“You going to see me off?” he pants into her neck. “Kiss me goodbye at the gate?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I told you I have a meeting in 45 minutes.” She hitches a knee up higher. “Oh, god, like that.”

Mulder grinds into her until she cries out, nipping at his chin, his earlobes.

He follows her into the starburst haze of an orgasm, his back shuddering, and Stella hot and twitchy against his chest.

They breathe together for a moment, riding out the wave.

“We both have to go,” Stella reminds him. “A parting of the ways this time, I think.”

Mulder lowers her to the ground. He ties off the condom and shoves it into a garbage can.

He zips his jeans up, watches Stella smooth her uniform, her hair.

“Here’s lookin’ at you kid,” he says, rather lamely.

But Stella smiles one of her rare, full smiles. “One day when you’re a world famous profiler and I’m Commissioner we’ll team up,” she says.

He brushes brick dust from her shoulder. “Why are you running the Met and I’m a lowly Special Agent still?”

She looks confused. “Because I like to be in charge and you don’t. You didn’t want to be King of All Wild Things.”

He palms her jaw, thumbs her cheekbone. He smiles fondly down at her.

“Don’t,” Stella warns.

Mulder shakes his head. “No. Go, run the Met and remember the little people when you ascend the throne.”

She covers his hand with hers for a moment. “Phoebe fucked up badly,” she says. “Now go back to the colonies and teach them how to make a proper cup of tea.”

“We just throw it in the Harbor.”

Stella squeezes his hand before taking it from her face. She walks briskly out of the alley without ever looking back.

***

He makes the plane, though barely. He falls asleep over Dublin. He dreams of sailboats and lonely islands and even in dreaming he knows Stella is right. He wants to be where someone loves him best of all.

[sephirthoughts]

Just Like Honey: Chapter 9

SOMEONE PHOTOSHOP GLASSES ONTO A PICTURE OF REEVE PLEASE I NEED IT FOR REASONS

AU: organized crime, cabaret, sex work

SHIPS: MULTIPLE! rufus/cloud, vincent/cloud, sephiroth/cloud, reeve/cloud, rufus/cloud/tseng, cloud/other characters as clients because that's his job, weiss/nero, background aerti

RATING: EXPLICIT, MINORS DNI, NO MINORS ALLOWED

WARNINGS: sex workers, prostitution

Chapter 9: Friends in High Places

Leslie and Cloud’s old tenement apartment and Reeve’s Shinra Tower penthouse represented the bookends of residential living situations in Midgar. Expansive didn’t begin to describe Reeve’s place, and the entirety of it had clearly been furnished by a professional decorator. 

Overworked, oblivious Reeve probably didn’t even notice how gorgeous the mahogany bookshelves were, or how supple the calfskin leather on the couches, or how thick and plushy the hand-woven Persian rugs. To him, this palatial residence was a box he went into, once in a while, to sleep and shower.

In all fairness, Cloud hardly noticed, either, because Reeve answered the door wearing a cable knit, v-neck sweater, grey slacks, and a pair of—

“Glasses!” Cloud gasped, pointing accusingly at Reeve’s face. “And you didn’t even warn me!”

“Uh…sorry. Do you not like them?” said the understandably confused Reeve, reaching up, to take them off. 

“Nuh-uh! Don’t you dare!” 

Cloud kicked the door shut behind him, dropped his bag, and grabbed Reeve, dragging him into a kiss. Reeve was too startled to react for a second, then he gave a soft groan and leaned into it, letting his hands roam hungrily over Cloud’s taut little body, as they fumbled their way to the sofa and fell onto it, without breaking the kiss.

“I guess—I guess you like the glasses, then,” Reeve said breathlessly, when Cloud released him. 

“No fucking way, they’re flat-out cheating!” Cloud complained. “You’re already that hot, and you really have the nerve to pull out the sexy-dad glasses and sweater look? Rules violation, unfair play!”

Reeve chuckled. “Wow. No one’s ever said I look like a dad before.”

“Maybe not to your face. I bet a lot of little Shinra employees call you daddy behind your back.”

“You’re making me sound a lot more attractive than I really am. Trust me, there’s no way anyone at work thinks of me that way.”

“Oh, no. It’s just as I feared,” Cloud lamented, cupping Reeve’s face in his hands. “Overwork has fried your brain, and you’re living in a delusion where you’re not one of the sexiest men alive.”

“W—what?” Reeve stammered. “I’m not even close to one of the sexiest men alive. Especially not when men like you exist.”

“We don’t count.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. In the interest of fairness, athletic twinks have our own separate category. Otherwise, all other men would always lose to us.”

Reeve laughed again. “Well, you’re not wrong about that.”

Cloud couldn’t help but smile, too. “You’re a lot happier when you’re not in that stuffy office. Speaking of which, I’m gonna go change into something a little more comfortable. That ok?”

“Yes, please. Make yourself at home. The bathroom is the third door, there. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yeah, anything’s fine. Whatever you’re drinking.”

When Cloud returned from the bathroom, Reeve choked on his sip of wine, coughing and sputtering into a napkin. “Holy—holy shit! You can’t say I’m cheating, when you’re wearing that!”

“What, this old thing?” Cloud said innocently, while doing a little twirl, to demonstrate that the pink-lace short-shorts laced up in the back, with a pink ribbon. With the matching camisole and slippers, he was basically dressed like he was playing a teenaged girl in a naughty sleepover porn. 

“You said you wanted the girlfriend experience, so I dressed accordingly.”

“If I had a girlfriend who dressed like that, I’d never leave the house,” Reeve muttered. 

“So, what do you feel like doing tonight, honey-bunny?” Cloud crooned, accepting the glass of white wine Reeve was holding out to him. “Want to snuggle up on the couch and pretend to watch a movie?”

“I, uh…yeah. That sounds good,” Reeve said awkwardly.

“Or, how about I give you a neck rub, and you tell me about your day.”

“Sure.”

Cloud narrowed his eyes. “Don’t just agree to whatever I say. I’m here to make you happy. If there’s something you want, I want to hear it.”

“No, no I don’t���well, maybe. Ok, yes. But it’s kind of…embarrassing.” 

“Good news. If there’s anyone you don’t need to be embarrassed telling about it, it’s me. You’re the one who told me sex workers are like therapists. So, treat me like that. A safe space.”

“Hoo boy.” Reeve passed a hand across his forehead. “It’s just, I know it probably isn’t a cool fantasy to have, and I’d never want to do anything like that in real life, I just—”

“Hey,” Cloud interrupted, taking his hand to squeeze it. “Every kind of fantasy is ok. It doesn’t matter what you get turned on by. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Reeve looked unconvinced. “Are you…are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You could tell me you daydream about fucking cartoon hedgehogs, and I still wouldn’t judge you. As long as it’s just fantasy, or you express it as part of consensual play between adults, literally anything is ok.”

“Well…alright.” Reeve took a deep breath and let it out. “Here goes. I would like it if you could pretend to…to be asleep, while I touch you and…do things to you.”

Cloud blinked. “Is that really what you were worried about telling me? Then it’s no sweat, I’ve done plenty of somno play.”

“Somno?”

“Somnophilia. Wanting to fuck someone who’s unconscious.” 

“Oh. Wow. I didn’t know there was a real term, for it. But there’s more. I—I also want you to ‘wake up’ partway through, while I’m already inside you, and, uh…”

“You want me to struggle? Beg you to stop? I can cry, if you want.”

Reeve squinted an eye at him. “You’re not nearly as weirded out by this as I expected.”

“Reeve, my sweet, summer wolfman,” Cloud sighed, patting his shoulder. “This is one of the least weird things I’ve been asked to do.”

“Really? Wait, wolfman?”

“Yeah, really. I had a client once who wanted me to soak in a cold bath, first, and play dead while he fucked me. I got a married couple who wanted me to pretend to be their kid, and walk in on them fucking. One wanted to be a new stepmother, and I was the horny stepson who took advantage of her, while dad was out of town. I have multiple current clients who like to be put on leashes and treated like dogs. I even have these four brothers who make me cook food for the three younger ones, then the older one fucks me in another room, while they eat.”

Reeve looked appropriately astonished. “My thing probably sounds pretty tame, then.”

“Non-con fantasies like that are the most common ones, believe it or not. But I’ve done pretty much everything. Power exchange, age play, pet play, teacher-student, coach-athlete, voyeurism, incest…”

“Incest?”

“Yeah, mostly daddy and big brother stuff.”

Reeve swallowed hard. “Would you…would you call me daddy?”

“Try and stop me.”

A little while later, Cloud was ‘asleep’ in Reeve’s huge, ridiculously comfortable bed, with the lights out, and the only illumination coming from the windows. The door opened softly, letting a beam of warm light from the hallway fall across the bed.

He heard Reeve call out, “Sweetheart? You awake?”

Cloud didn’t reply, obviously.

Cautious footsteps padded across the carpet, to the bed. He was lying on his stomach, hugging a pillow, with his legs splayed out and one knee bent, so when the covers were drawn back, the first thing Reeve saw was the pink lace of the tiny shorts, barely concealing the bulge of his sack, between his thighs. 

A knee pressed down on the bed, then big, warm hands slid up under the shorts, to gently cup his ass. Reeve’s thumb hooked the crotch and pulled them to the side, and the other thumb and forefinger spread him apart.

Cloud heard him curse under his breath and grinned inwardly. Covering his asshole, was a sparkling, pink, heart-shaped gem, which was the base of the plug he was wearing, and hadn’t told Reeve about. 

There was a short pause, then Reeve’s warm weight pressed down on him, as he leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Playing with yourself in daddy’s bed. I’ll have to teach you a lesson.” 

The scent of wine on his breath, mingled with Reeve’s aftershave, really did lend to the atmosphere of a slightly drunk parental figure, about to do unspeakable things to a sleeping teenager. Cloud’s dick began to swell and thicken, with excitement.

Reeve slipped his pink shorts down, leaving them hanging around his ankle, and slid a palm under his abdomen, to pull his half-hard dick down between his thighs. There was another pause, in which Cloud could hear Reeve’s uneven breathing. Then the hands took hold of his ass again. 

It was only because of his extreme professionalism, at that point, that Cloud was able to remain still and unresponsive, breathing relatively evenly. Reeve’s beard tickled his inner thighs as he bent down and put his hot mouth on Cloud’s sack, sucking and licking, while his thumb rhythmically prodded the plug. Pretty soon, Cloud’s dick was rock-hard, despite being forced to point downward between his thighs.

Reeve drew away, then took hold of the jeweled base of the plug and began to pull. Cloud stirred slightly and made a drowsy murmur of protest, as it popped out, with an obscene squelch. A thin stream of clear lube trickled down over his balls. 

“Got yourself all ready for daddy, didn’t you,” Reeve said hoarsely. 

Cloud heard a belt and zipper, and the rustle of fabric. Reeve guided the head of his cock to Cloud’s taut, lube-slick entrance. 

“Fuck, baby. Your pussy’s so tight,” he breathed, as he pushed in. “Daddy can barely fit inside you.” 

Cloud was about ready to explode. His dick was throbbing and drooling, and it took all his self control not to moan from sheer relief, when Reeve finally bottomed out, filling him to the brim. Cloud waited for him to set a good rhythm, then he began to stir, and groggily lifted his head.

“What…what’s happening,” he mumbled. Then he froze and pretended to panic. “What are you doing! Stop! Help!” 

Reeve grabbed his wrists and pinned them, as he began to sob and thrash. “Sh, sh, sh. It’s just me, sweetheart.”

“D—daddy?” Cloud sniffled. “Why are you…why are you doing this to me?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted? You were playing with yourself, in my bed, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t! I wasn’t—!”

“Don’t lie to me,” Reeve cut him off sternly, punctuating the sentence with a savage thrust. The uncustomary aggressiveness in his voice amplified his sexiness by about ten-thousand, and sent chills up cloud’s spine. “Daddy came home and found you asleep in my bed, with a toy stuck up your slutty little hole. Weren’t you playing with yourself and thinking about daddy fucking you?”

“Hngh—ah! I was! I was!” Cloud ‘confessed.’ “I’m sorry, daddy! I won’t do it again!” 

Reeve slid almost all the way out. “It’s too late for that. You wanted daddy’s dick, so now you have to take it.” He slammed it back in, all the way to the base. 

“Noooo! Daddy, it’s too big!” Cloud whined, pretending to struggle under Reeve’s solid weight.

“Don’t fight, baby. Be good and take it,” Reeve panted, thrusting even harder, as Cloud bucked against him. His cock was getting hotter and harder. He was close. “You’re gonna make daddy come, if you keep tightening up like that.”

“Daddy, s—stop! It feels weird!” Cloud wailed (while gleefully tilting his ass up to take Reeve’s dick as deep as he could).

“Hngh…baby! Daddy’s coming! Fuck!” 

Reeve pulled out abruptly, and Cloud felt warm fluid spattering across his ass and thighs. As soon as he’d finished, he pushed back inside, to ride out the spasms, while Cloud wrung himself hard and fast, till he came in the tight space, between his stomach and the mattress.

“Oh, fuck,” Reeve said breathlessly, falling onto the bed next to him. “That was—that was amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Not so bad yourself, daddy,” Cloud said, with a wink. Then he pretended to pout. “You’re not tired already, are you?”

“Not yet. Thank the goddess for all that boxing. Just, uh…just give your old man a couple minutes.”

They rolled around for a while, flirting and laughing, and wound up fucking again, with Cloud on top, riding Reeve cowgirl style. After that, they took a long shower together, in Reeve’s enormous spa-style Swiss shower. Reeve wanted to walk him out, but Cloud waved him off, saying he was a big boy and could take care of himself. And so the two cheerfully said goodnight at Reeve’s door, promising to see each other again, soon.

When the elevator reached the lobby, Cloud peered around, half expecting to see Zack, or Reno and Rude, but no one was around except for a few security guards and holographic receptionists. The scene was less desolate, outside, since this part of Shinra Tower was a block from Loveless Avenue, and the nightlife was always lively.

Cloud was crossing the bustling fountain square, bound for the train station, when a hand fell heavily on his shoulder, giving him a jolt. “I see you’ve been making friends in…high places.” 

Cloud attempted to swallow in a suddenly dry throat. “Sephi? W—what are you doing here?”

“I might ask the same of you, if I didn’t know perfectly well, already.” Sephiroth leaned close, so Cloud could feel his breath on his ear. “There’s a man’s scent, all over you.”

His voice was hard and cold and crystal clear. Like knives made of ice. Which meant he was sober, and thus at his most dangerous. Cloud suppressed a shudder.

A gloved hand took hold of his arm, and Sephiroth deftly steered him around the corner, onto the intersecting street. He glanced anxiously about, but he wasn’t thinking of calling for help. His fear was less that Sephiroth would hurt him, and more that he’d hurt other people. He didn’t want anyone to get killed, so the only choice he had was to go along with the man, and hope he’d stay calm.  

They walked for about half a block, before Sephiroth pushed him into a dark, narrow space between buildings and shoved him up against the brick wall, pinning him with a hand on the back of his neck and a knee between his legs. 

“I don’t think you quite understand your situation, little puppet, so I will explain it.” Sephiroth lowered his voice to a menacing murmur. “You belong to me. The fact that you are able to run about and do as you please, is because I allow it.”

“It’s my job, Sephi. It’s not like I can just—”

“Hush. If I objected to your waywardness, I would put a stop to it, but I do not. It amuses me, the way you play these fools like perfectly tuned instruments. The way you make them line up to lay riches at your feet, in exchange for a taste of your body. You have given yourself to so many men, and yet none of them can truly possess you. They are your servants and playthings. You are free.” 

“B—but you just said I belong to you,” Cloud faltered.

“That does not mean I intend to cage you. You would wither in captivity, and you would hate me. I would rather…but that is not what I’ve come to talk about. I sought you out because you are in a position to be useful to me. You are going to be my eyes inside Shinra.”

Shit. Cloud’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean? Why me?”

“There is no chance you would travel regularly to Shinra Tower for an ordinary client, and even less chance an ordinary client could dispatch the Turks, to transport you, to and fro. That means your clearance must grant you upper-level access.” 

Cloud was stunned that Sephiroth knew all of that, but he didn’t dare ask how. He also didn’t think his usual tactic of playing dumb was going to do much good, so he just kept his mouth shut.

Sephiroth slapped something onto the wall, in front of his face. It was a creased and faded photo, of a pretty young woman, with brown eyes and light-brown hair. 

“Who’s she?” Cloud asked, confused.

“Irrelevant. All you need to know is that she is somewhere in Shinra Tower. Memorize her face. You will look for her, for me. Tell me, immediately, the moment you see her. That’s all. Simple enough, yes?”

“Seph, this…I can’t just go snooping around in there. What if I get caught?”

“I trust you can use your talents to talk your way out of any minor trouble you encounter. But if it truly came to life or death, you’ve no need to fear. I will come to your rescue.”

“Oh, you will? And how the hell are you gonna rescue me, inside Shinra Tower?” Cloud demanded, his blue eyes sparking defiantly.

Sephiroth answered with a cold chuckle. “There are few places in this world that can keep me out.”

“If it’s so easy for you to get in, then why don’t you look for this woman, yourself? What do you need me for?” 

“The time has not yet come, to move openly, against Shinra. For now, I must stay in the shadows.” His grip tightened on the back of Cloud’s neck. “I trust my little puppet will do his very best, for me.”

“I—I will,” Cloud gasped, as Sephiroth pressed him into the wall with his body, and his hard dick dug into his ass. “You know I’ll—ngh! You know I’ll do whatever you say.”

Sephiroth gave a pleased hum, then grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. Cloud’s mouth opened readily, to submit to the invasion, as the man’s tongue rolled forcefully over his.

He didn’t like being suddenly grabbed on the street and ordered around, but being near Sephiroth for any length of time had an intoxicating effect on him. No matter how insane and dangerous his rational mind knew Sephiroth was, Cloud’s body always wanted him so badly he could taste it.

That raw, animal desire was even more intense now, away from his workplace, and without the context of a professional transaction. He was already fumbling to undo his own trousers and yank them down around his thighs, as they kissed feverishly. He heard steel buttons jingle faintly behind him, then that huge, heavy dick slotted into the cleft of his ass. 

“My bag,” he panted, licking his kiss-bruised lips. “There’s lube.”

Keeping a hand on his hip, Sephiroth reached down and picked up the bag. Cloud dug out the bottle of lubricant, which he squeezed all over his hand, then reached back to slick the thick, hard, veiny shaft. That was all the preparation Sephiroth had the patience for. He pushed the big, blunt head against his hole, still pink and swollen from Reeve, and impaled him, in one long slide, clamping a gloved hand over Cloud’s mouth, to muffle his moans. 

Once he was all the way in, he set a ruthless pace, showing no tenderness, whatsoever; thrusting hard and deep, pounding Cloud into the cold bricks. The way Sephiroth fucked was always pretty rough, but this felt different. Possessive and domineering, with a hostile edge. Like he was trying to fuck Reeve out of him (despite the fact that Reeve was a gentleman and hadn’t come inside, and Cloud had already showered, anyway). 

Just then, a wave of Sephiroth’s aromatic, masculine scent, like leather and cedar smoke, washed over him, and made Cloud’s head spin like he was drunk. He let go and lost himself in the unhinged lust and brutal intensity, radiating like heat from this monstrously strong and preternaturally gorgeous man. 

That massive shaft was drilling into him, thrumming over his prostate, making his dick so hard it ached, and was leaking like a faucet. He wanted to come so badly, he didn’t care about anything else, let alone the fact that they were outdoors, in a public alleyway, only a few meters from a busy street.

Biting his bottom lip, he looked over his shoulder at Sephiroth, and grabbed hold of his leather coat, tugging him closer, urging him to fuck him harder. 

Sephiroth’s slit pupils dilated visibly in his pale, blue-green irises. He clamped his hand over Cloud’s mouth again, and with a low snarl, he bared his sharp teeth and bit into his neck, so deep it broke the skin. 

Cloud went rigid, screaming hoarsely into Sephiroth’s muffling glove, while he came hard, spurting against the wall, in hot, rapid pulses. Sephiroth came at the same time, with a strangled groan, hips stuttering, as his big, thick shaft pulsed, pumping a molten hot flood into Cloud’s convulsing hole. 

The gloved hand released his mouth. Cloud’s head lolled forward and he let his sweat-damp forehead rest on the cold brick, enjoying the soothing coolness, while he caught his breath. Sephiroth was breathing hard too, still holding him pinned, but more gently, now, pressing what felt like apologetic kisses to the badly bruised spot on his neck. 

When he pulled out, he held Cloud open with his thumbs, to watch the semen trickle down his thighs, which seemed to please him immensely. Cloud wrinkled his nose in annoyance, but he was facing the wall still, so Sephiroth didn’t see. 

It really was incredibly rude of him to come inside, considering Cloud still had to ride the train for an hour to get home. He was thinking irritably about that and zipping up his pants, when the roar of a motorcycle engine filled the air, amplified by echoing off all the walls in the small alleyway. 

“Come,” a much subdued and unusually lucid-looking Sephiroth said, holding out his gloved hand. “I’ll take you home.”

Kadaj was waiting on the street, astride one of the gang’s huge, black motorcycles. When he saw them step out of the alleyway together, he dismounted and stood there sullenly, looking at the ground. Sephiroth threw his long leg over the saddle and Cloud climbed on, behind him. Without so much as a glance at his younger brother, Sephiroth instructed Cloud to hang on tight, then gunned the engine and sped away, down the street.

Kadaj lifted his pale-blue eyes and glared venomously after them, his fists clenching and unclenching, at his sides, till they faded from sight. Then he turned and walked away, in the opposite direction. 

Atop the roof of one of the many brownstone residential buildings, that filled this area, another figure leaned out and peered down the street, in the direction Sephiroth and Cloud rode off, then the direction Kadaj went. Then it also vanished into the night.

When they pulled up in front of the Honeybee, Cloud clambered off the bike, and hung his arms around Sephiroth’s neck, while they shared a slow, lingering kiss. Even after they drew apart, Sephiroth gazed at him for a long time, tucking his hair behind his ear and stroking his face, like he was reluctant to let him go. 

Cloud’s cheeks got hot and his stomach fluttered. He’d never felt so much like Sephiroth was actually looking at him and seeing him, before. There was something lonely and longing in the man’s eerily beautiful eyes, that made made Cloud’s chest ache. 

His own eyes began to sting with impending tears. Then all at once, it was as if a wall of ice snapped up between them. The catlike eyes glittered and the line of that perfect mouth hardened.

“Go,” Sephiroth said, turning away. “Don’t forget to do what I told you.”

Cloud stood there looking dazed, as the motorcycle roared away, down the narrow street. Then he shook himself and hurried inside. He almost ran face-first into Nero, who was standing directly in the doorway, for some reason. 

“What the hell!” Cloud said crossly. “Why are you always blocking every door I go through!”

“Who was that man, on the chopper?” Nero asked. “It can’t be…does our little bimbo have a boyfriend?”

Cloud wanted to tell him to fuck off, but asshole or no, Nero worked here, now. He should know about the hazards he might encounter. “That was Sephiroth, the leader of the Remnants biker gang. He’s psychotic and dangerous as fuck and I don’t want to die, so I do whatever he says. If he comes here, we all do whatever he says, and don’t give him an excuse to kill anyone. You can ask Andrea, if you don’t believe me.”

“It didn’t look like you were scared for your life, just now. It looked like you were kissing your boyfriend goodbye.” Nero sniffed the air and smirked. “And you smell like you just fucked in an alley.” 

“How could you possibly smell an alley?” Cloud retorted. “You’re just saying any shit you can think of, to be insulting.”

Nero arched a black brow. “Am I wrong?” 

Cloud blushed guiltily and scowled to cover it up. “It’s none of your business! Why are you even talking to me?”

“Andrea wants you. He said to bring you to his office, when you got back.”

Cloud slumped. He was sticky and grouchy and exhausted, having spent the past several hours having sex with two men in a row, and then riding on a motorcycle all the way from the upper city, clinging to a madman for dear life, the entire time (which was still more than half an hour, despite Sephiroth’s kamikaze style of navigating traffic). But Andrea was the boss, so he dragged himself to the elevator, pointedly ignoring Nero, who followed him in, looking infuriatingly smug. 

“Cloud, you’re here,” Andrea said, beckoning them into his office. “Your client has confirmed that trip, he mentioned. You’ll be leaving Friday afternoon, and returning the following Friday.”

Cloud nodded, unable to suppress his smile, upon hearing that he really was going to Wutai with Vincent. And for a whole week! 

“That’s why I called you both in,” Andrea went on. “Nero, this means you’ll be filling in for Cloud, for the first time, Saturday night. It’s a big responsibility. The Honeybees will be counting on you to carry the show.” 

Nero’s crimson eyes flashed eagerly. “I won’t disappoint you, boss.” 

“Good! That’s what I like to hear,” Andrea said, looking pleased. “Cloud, you have a few days before your trip, so I want you to spend them helping Nero prepare for the headlining spot. That’s your top priority. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Cloud said glumly, his Wutai excitement severely dampened by the prospect of having Nero stuck to his side for three days.

When the two left the office, Nero’s hands were shaking with adrenaline. This was the moment he’d been waiting and preparing for. He was going to see Vincent Valentine, face to face. Finally, everything would be set in motion. Cloud noticed his agitated fidgeting, while they were riding the elevator, and misunderstood.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said. “It’s not much different from the Friday night shows.”

Nero didn’t correct his error. “I heard all the VIPs come to your Saturday shows, though. That’s a lot of pressure.” 

“They’re just bored, old, rich guys. They’re not scary,” Cloud assured him, as the two disembarked, on their floor. “The only one we absolutely must keep happy is Vincent Valentine, and he won’t be there, so there’s nothing to stress about.”

Nero’s heart stopped. “What…he won’t?”

“Of course not,” Cloud said, as if he should have known. “I’m going to Wutai with him. That’s why you’re covering for me, in the first place. See you tomorrow.”

Nero was still reeling from the emotional whiplash, as Cloud walked away, and their rooms were on opposite ends of the hall, so he had no excuse to follow and probe for more information. His initial disappointment quickly gave way anger, at the little blonde who was blithely ruining all his plans. Under a black cloud, he stalked to his room, slammed the door, and threw himself on the bed. Weiss flipped down from the headstand push-ups he’d been doing, and came to sit beside him. 

“I’m covering the bimbo’s show Saturday,” Nero said, before he had a chance to ask. 

“That’s exactly what we wanted,” Weiss pointed out. “What’s wrong?”

“Vincent Valentine won’t be there! He’s taking the bimbo out of town, and that’s why I’m covering for him! It’s like that little rat-faced eyesore exists just to get in my way!”

“There will be other opportunities. Don’t get upset, you’ll make yourself sick,” Weiss said, spreading his arms. “Come here. Let me hold you.”

Nero turned his back and curled into a sullen ball. Undeterred, Weiss dragged his stubborn little brother into his lap, to wrap him up in a tight embrace. Nero wriggled and kicked petulantly, but only for a moment. Then he surrendered and burrowed into his brother’s bare chest, taking deep breaths of his scent, to soothe himself. 

“I hate him, brother,” he pouted, peering up at Weiss from beneath his long, sooty eyelashes. “Kill him, for me.”

Weiss smiled adoringly, smoothing the silky, black hair back from his pallid face. “Soon, my love. We must first fulfill our purpose. Then we will have leisure, to bathe in the blood of our enemies.” 

“But who knows how long that’s going to take,” Nero huffed. “I want to kill him, now.”

Weiss chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated in his broad ribcage. “Have patience, little one. When all is done, I will bring him to you, and we will take our time with him. I wonder how long we can keep him alive.”

Nero pushed him onto his back and straddled him, sliding his hands up and down his ridiculously muscular torso, his crimson eyes kindled with a deranged light. “Tell me, brother. Tell me what you’ll do to him. I want to hear it, so I can imagine every single detail.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

MY SAD MURDER-BABY SEPHIROTH SOMEONE BE NICE TO HIM

[topguru1]

How to Style Men’s Leather Pants with a Minimalist Approach

Leather pants often evoke bold, statement-making looks, but they can also be styled with a minimalist approach to create sleek, refined outfits. Minimalism in fashion is all about keeping things simple, versatile, and functional while maintaining an effortlessly stylish appearance. Here's how to style men's leather pants with a minimalist approach for a sophisticated yet edgy look.

Why Choose a Minimalist Style?

The minimalist approach focuses on the essentials, allowing each piece to speak for itself without overwhelming the outfit. Here’s why minimalist styling works well with leather pants:

Timeless Appeal: Minimalist fashion transcends trends, offering a classic and enduring style that doesn’t go out of fashion.

Versatility: Simple styling makes it easy to transition from casual to semi-formal settings without the need for drastic changes.

Less Clutter: With fewer pieces in your outfit, it becomes easier to achieve a well-balanced and clean look.

Focus on Quality: A minimalist wardrobe emphasizes quality materials, craftsmanship, and fit, making leather pants an ideal piece due to their durable nature.

Styling Tips for Men’s Leather Pants with a Minimalist Approach

1. Pair with a Classic White or Black T-Shirt

A simple white or black t-shirt is the epitome of minimalist style and pairs perfectly with leather pants. The monochromatic look not only keeps the outfit sleek but also places the focus on the leather pants as the statement piece.

Choose a high-quality cotton or linen t-shirt for a clean finish.

Opt for a slim or regular fit to keep the silhouette streamlined.

Tuck the t-shirt in for a more polished look or leave it untucked for a relaxed vibe.

This pairing works well for casual outings, weekend brunches, or even low-key evening events.

2. Opt for Neutral-Colored Knitwear

For a minimalist style that’s suitable for cooler weather, pair your leather pants with a neutral-colored sweater or knitted pullover. Shades like gray, beige, cream, or navy work well without overpowering the look.

Go for a slim-fit sweater to maintain a structured appearance.

Layer a turtleneck or crew neck for a touch of sophistication.

Choose fine-knit materials like merino wool or cashmere to add a luxe element to the outfit.

This combination offers a refined look that is great for semi-formal events or dinner dates.

3. Monochrome Outfits for a Streamlined Appearance

Going for an all-black or all-neutral outfit can amplify the minimalist aesthetic. Monochrome styling keeps the look cohesive and puts emphasis on the different textures in the outfit, such as the leather of the pants and the fabric of the top.

Pair black leather pants with a black turtleneck or black shirt for a sleek, unified look.

Experiment with shades of gray or beige for a lighter, more casual take.

Incorporate different fabric textures to add subtle interest without breaking the minimalist vibe.

This look works especially well for evening occasions or settings where you want to exude effortless style.

4. Add a Minimalist Outer Layer

A minimalist outer layer like a wool overcoat, bomber jacket, or denim jacket can complement leather pants without overwhelming the simplicity of the outfit. Choose a jacket in a neutral tone to maintain the minimalist feel.

A black leather jacket over black leather pants can create a monochromatic yet texturally diverse look.

Opt for a gray wool coat to add warmth and depth to the outfit.

Denim jackets in classic blue or black can add a touch of casual style while keeping the look polished.

This pairing ensures your outfit is layered enough for various weather conditions while still appearing clean and stylish.

5. Choose Minimalist Footwear

Footwear is an important aspect of minimalist styling. For leather pants, choose shoes that are understated and in neutral colors. Classic styles like Chelsea boots, loafers, or white sneakers will work seamlessly with the minimalist aesthetic.

Chelsea Boots: Add a sophisticated edge and work well for both casual and dressier occasions.

Loafers: Provide a refined touch that pairs nicely with slim-fit leather pants.

White Sneakers: For a casual, modern look, white leather sneakers can keep the outfit grounded and versatile.

Stick to simple designs without flashy details to maintain the minimalist approach.

6. Accessorize Sparingly

When it comes to accessorizing with a minimalist outfit, less is more. Use simple accessories to enhance the look rather than overpower it.

Choose a slim leather belt to complement the leather pants without drawing too much attention.

Wear a watch with a clean, minimal design (such as a metal or leather strap).

If adding jewelry, stick to one or two pieces like a thin chain or a simple ring.

The goal is to keep accessories understated and functional, rather than making them the focal point of the outfit.

Practical Tips for Wearing Leather Pants with Minimalist Style

Opt for Slim or Straight-Leg Fits: These fits keep the look tailored and prevent the pants from appearing bulky.

Stick to a Neutral Color Palette: Use shades like black, white, gray, navy, or beige to maintain a cohesive look.

Invest in Quality Leather Pants: Since the minimalist approach relies on fewer pieces, ensure the leather pants are made from high-quality materials.

Consider Texture Variation: Add interest to your outfit by mixing textures, such as pairing the smoothness of leather with the softness of knitwear.

Conclusion

Styling men's leather pants with a minimalist approach is about embracing simplicity while making a bold style statement. By focusing on clean lines, neutral colors, and quality materials, you can create effortlessly stylish looks that are suitable for various occasions. Whether you're aiming for a casual vibe with a t-shirt or a more refined appearance with knitwear, leather pants can be a versatile addition to a minimalist wardrobe.

FAQs

Can leather pants be part of a minimalist wardrobe? Absolutely. Leather pants, when styled with neutral colors and clean lines, can fit perfectly into a minimalist wardrobe.

How do I choose the right fit for leather pants in a minimalist style? Stick to slim or straight-leg fits for a tailored look that aligns with minimalist principles.

What tops should I pair with leather pants for a minimalist look? Go for basic tees, fine-knit sweaters, or monochromatic shirts to maintain a simple and cohesive aesthetic.

Are accessories necessary for a minimalist outfit? While not necessary, a few simple accessories like a watch or belt can add a touch of sophistication without cluttering the look.

How do I care for leather pants to ensure they last? Wipe them down with a damp cloth after wear, avoid excessive moisture, and use a leather conditioner to maintain the material.

This guide aims to help you embrace a minimalist style with leather pants, ensuring you achieve a refined and sophisticated look. Let me know if you’d like more sections added or further adjustments!

[flmed]

THINGS YOU MUSE YOU WILL NOTICE ABOUT MINE.

WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE. rich white man. johann purposefully wears quiet, luxury clothes as if he were from old money family; italian suits, IWC watches, polished shoes &. cufflinks. however, if you ever meet him in his laid-back mode, he would wear navy/dark sweater &. matching scarf &. jeans .. two different people, but he feels comfortable in either styles. the only noticeable difference from posh men is that he doesn't fully shave his stubbles, even grow it out. if you really becomes close to him, at some point he can resemble a german shepherd: brooding, scary, but actually it's an exterior.

WHAT THEY SMELL LIKE. musky, petrichor with a mix of smoke aroma. nothing grand, but curated in italy to support local products because he finds marketed colognes have lost its authenticity for the user. he puts on either sides of his neck &. wrists. after he smokes, he would re-apply it therefore there's a lingered smoke aroma mixed with musky, earthy aroma.

WHAT THEY TASTE LIKE. mint. espresso. fresh bread. those are the most prominent taste if you ever kiss him. it's everything he eats for breakfast: fresh bread &. espresso. he also taste like ricola mint because he takes those to subdue his nicotine addiction.

WHAT THEY SOUND LIKE. a velvet, cascading voice; it's low, especially when he talks in german. however, when he talks in english; his accent switches to a fusion of german &. british accent, mostly whenever his accent shows when he tries to pronounce a word that has a W in the beginning, using the german pronunciation in english words that is similar to german ex. ideologie (ideology). however, when he speaks french, it will be more high pitch than usual because to get the pronunciation right &. do the "bwoah,"; russian is more tone-flat, arabic is even more deeper.

WHAT THEY FEEL LIKE. burning ember that hasn't extinguished for years; he's warm, steady, however can be dangerous when it is provoked. fire that's too hot to touch but your intrusive thoughts want to feel it. mystery that isn't solved so you're itching to solve it but in the end, would it be all worth it or you're just excited to uncover things? home, to his ex-wife; a safe place to some of people; nobody to his family. perhaps he'll be someone to your life, or just somebody.

tagged by @cartelheir

tagging. @alienateus @soleiltm @c-louise @medicbled @parieur &. anybody!!

[monicaverma10]

Wrap Yourself in Cozy Warmth: The Ultimate Winter Knit for Stylish Comfort

Embrace the winter chill in our Cozy Elegance mens wool sweater. Crafted with the softest materials, it offers warmth without sacrificing style. Perfect for a chic look while staying snug on frosty days. With its dreamy design and snug fit, it's the perfect companion for chilly days. Wrap yourself in warmth and style this winter.

[uncloseted]

i really like how the olsen twins dress but i am broke. could u recommend some affordable pieces like their style? i prefer ashley olsen's style, more flowy and baggy stuff. thanks in advance <3

I've got you! Allison Borenstein, the creator of the "three style words" method, describes Ashley's style as "oversized, refined, and minimal", so I think those are words to keep in mind when shopping for pieces. You want to look for pieces that are designed to have a oversized look or that are literally larger than the size you would normally wear, but that are crisp and tailored without too much detail. Obviously their brand The Row is great for this style, but if you're on a budget, I would check out COS, Uniqlo, and H&M's Premium line. These are also brand that are pretty easy to find on resale sites if they're still out of your budget. I've seen a lot of COS pieces on ThredUp in the $10-$20 range.

For an example, I'm going to put together a capsule wardrobe of items that I think would fit Ashley's style from high street stores and try to keep it as inexpensive as possible. If you want, you can send me your sizes and I'll do another post where I try to find pieces from secondhand sites, but I thought I'd start with high street stores in case other people are interested in the same items.

First things first, you want an oversized white shirt. These are two options from H&M. One is the Oversized Poplin Shirt which is on sale for $8.99 USD and the other is the Oversized Cotton Shirt for $19.99 USD.

Then we need a pair of trousers. I like the Uniqlo Wide-Fit Pleated Pant for $49.90 USD, which have that perfect tailored but oversized look. You can also try these Wide Leg Pants from H&M for $34.99 USD.

Another staple of Ashley's wardrobe is an oversized cashmere sweater, so let's do this Men's Cashmere Crew Neck from Uniqlo for $59.90 USD. It comes in a ton of colors, which is awesome, and (except secondhand) I've never seen cashmere at a lower price.

For maxi dresses I was kind of struggling, but I would maybe go for a slip dress like the Wilfred Secret Maxi Slip Dress from Aritzia that's on sale for $43.99 USD. It can be worn under a shirt, sweater, or with an oversized coat.

I would also grab an Oversized Blazer like this one from H&M for $57.99 USD. I also like the Cardigan with Tie Belt from H&M for $29.99 USD. I think I've seen Ashley wearing something similar before.

A long oversized coat is a must for an Olsen twin style. I feel like every time I see them, they're in a long coat. I would maybe try this Double-breasted Midi Coat from H&M for $84.99 USD and wear it unbuttoned.

Then I would grab some accessories. I would go for a big pair of sunglasses like these for $12.99 USD and a structured bag like this one for $19.99.

And for shoes, I would grab a sandal like these for $26.99 and a loafer like these for $34.99.

All together, that's between $323 USD and $385. Definitely not cheap, but given that the least expensive thing I can find on The Row's website is a toe ring for $390, I think I did okay 😭

[subiysu-chan]

My Dark Academia Magical Girl desings

Magic School uniform:

-So the school uniform would be comprised from:

-A light under chemise with reglementation panties (cotton, old fashioned and with the waist at the natural waist) or pair of combinations. Many might choose to wear a corded corset to have a better silhouette and when the weather gets cold. This one wouldn't be school themed per say, and some students might wear their personal underthings instead.

-According to dress code, stockings must be black, grey, brown, kaki, beige or white. Shoes must be black, but any style would do.

-Girls are free (and encouraged) to wear a washable petticoat or shorts if they want to.

-So, the uniform itself would be comprised for girls of: a white blouse, blouse, a bellow-the-knee skirt of tweed and a waist coat of the same material. The school uniform also has an apron, to protect the clothes from more dirty tasks, and younger students are encouraged to wear it most of the time (kids are messy and adventurous). Boys would have a similar uniform, exept the waist coat would be straighter and the skirt is replaced with mid-calve shorts. There waist coat would have the school symbol on them, same for the aprons.

Casual form:

-So, MC-chan, her name might be Cordelia. Inside her dorms, she'd wear sturdy cotton canvas pants that are dark greige in color, with a cream-colored supportive tank top, a very worn buttoned shirt for men that is dark grey (with the dye somewhat dilluted and discolored) with a faint cross pattern, with a cropped oversized light purple home-knitted sweater. It would be her beginner project, so, it'll be quite messy and crudely knitted, nothign special, but be very warm. On warmer days, the pants could be replaced with her old denim shorts (made out of a pair of jeans that would otherwise be way too ripped and the knees) that she typically wears underneath her school uniform. With her school uniform, she'd wear Mary-Jane shoes and opt for some denim shorts ending near her mid-thighs beneath her skirt. Her clothing style would always cover her chest, because of that birth-mark with the special special stone is. Whenever she doesn't have gym, she would accessorize with faux-feather earrings that are also purple, that are a somewhat dustier shade. I think her natural hair color would either be red or black, but she'd wrap some strands in embroidery thread, most often some shade of purple or blue with pinkish undertones.

-So, Drow girl, her name would be Rodoeé ("pink eyed" or "most beautiful", but goes to school as Liïa ("rain"), would wear on casual day a long shift of thristle and nettle cloth and pantalettes of the same material, and would wear them beneath her uniform. Would wear her school uniform even in casual setting, since she would not know of high elven styles of dress or even own any of them. Would however wear green-tinted glasses whenever she cannot deal with the metomorphosis drops for her eyes, and she'd wear them even indoors. Her clothes and uniform would be fittely, as she's a child, and one unused to wearing a lot of clothes (underdark has limited supply of clothing material). Her shoes would be made of fish leather, quite narrow, and not covering the top nor the sides of her feet. Her hair would usually be kept in a low pony-tail.

-Crazy masochist would be the most. Her name would be Rozenn. Colorful of the bunch. She'd wear inside her dorm a simple white blouse with a short, pink sleeveless sarafan, and a oversized, thick and fluffy gradiant multicolored pastel cardigan with cute buttons. Her favorite stocking would be white-thighies with some cabblewire patterns. Around her neck would be a lacy collar. Beneath her uniform, she'd prefer a pair of combinations, quite lacy ones at that. She'd usually wear her side-hair braided, while the rest is loose.

-So, the super sweet mermaid girl would be called Leucosia. Her mermaid nature would rapidly exclude bifrocated garments, and inside her dorm, she'd wear a light, unpadded linen crop-top or a loosely croched-one and a macrome skirt. She'd wear her unifrom blouse and vest open so that her gills are more comfortable, and her long hair on proud display, loosely braided so it doesn't get caught in her wheel-chair. Would gladely circulate in her dormatory nude, but the school wouldn't allow it. Because of how mermaid skin work, she would find the uniform unbearably hot, and would not wear any corset for sure, prefering beneath her crop top and a short petticoat. She eventually gets a special permission after nearly fainting of heatstroke to not wear much in class unless it's a school photo. Her hairstyle is a -Cleopatra bob with neerly waist-long side burns.

-I think the headmistress' granddaughter would be called Agnes. I think inside her dorm she'd wear a well-ironed pastel house dress, of course yellow, and with an apron. Her hair would most likely be styled in a bun with a custard yellow ribbon. She'd wear her uniform with a pair of combination, corset and petticoat, itself quite well-ironed. Her shoes would be Oxford shoes.

-All these girls share a dorm, and Leucosia sleeps in a cave connected to the sea and protected from predators by a grid and a safety handcuff.

[bittcnneck]

fill in the below categories with several things that your character can be identified by.   

𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 / 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂.

FEAR. The emotion Lacey is most familiar with. Something she used to feel all day, everyday. She left those days behind, yes. But she still can not help but be scared of specific things.

DISSAPOINTMENT. Because of how weak she is both emotionally and physically, she often fails certain stuff. She hates letting people down more than anything. She often feels dissapointed in herself.

ANXIETY. Every single day. Even when she smiles. Even when she works. Even when she looks like she is having fun, she feels it. She is in dire need of therapy.

PAIN. Also something she feels every day. Although it lessened after a certain event, it keeps going. As she is immortal, she is in constant pain.

SADNESS. She just can not help it but be sad. She has had way too many puffy eyes after hours of forcing herself to be silent by burrying her face into the pillow as she sobbed. Again, as her life turned around, this lessened. But its still haunting her.

HAPPINESS. A pretty rare feeling for her, sadly. She feels it more these days. Back then, her only source of happiness was her doggy and her friends in high school.

𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙾𝚁𝚂.

DARK BLUE.

BLACK.

WHITE.

RED.

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂.

VANILLA. This is her shampoo, so if you are taller than her, it's the scent you will most likely smell when you stay close to her.

HONEY. The scent of her bodywash. If you were to hug her, if you are shorter than her or bury your face into her neck, you will most likely smell it.

CIGARETTE. She smokes when she is very stressed, so if you encounter her while she is smoking or a little while after she smokes, you will most likely smell it on her. But she knows how unpleasant this smell is so she brushes her teeth and changes her clothes as soon as she gets the oppurtunity. She does her best not to smoke next to someone.

𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶.

CROP TOPS.

STOCKINGS.

JACKETS.

SHORTS.

BLUE/BLACK PANTS.

CARDIGANS.

SWEATERS.

SWEATPANTS.

𝙾𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃𝚂. 

POCKET KNIFE. This item is in her right pocket to reach the second she needs to. This is not a self defense weapon she would prefer to use, so this is a last resort one. She is more likely to use the other two.

PEPPER SPRAY. In her left pocket, she is left handed so she is more likely to reach this before the knife. first thing she would use under attack.

STUNT GUN. left pocket of her jacket. Second most likely to use.

KEYS. House keys, in her bag.

A PACKET OF CIGARETTES. In her bag.

WALLET. In the right pocket of her jacket.

𝚅𝙸C𝙴𝚂 / 𝙱𝙰𝙳 𝙷𝙰𝙱𝙸𝚃𝚂.

SMOKING. She is not an addict, but she craves it under difficult circumstances.

SELF HARM. Unfortunately this is something she used to do very often, to the point she would almost have to be hospitalized. It lessened, but she still sometimes does it on her thighs.

OVERTHINKING. Whenever she can, she overthinks and doubts herself. Almost every single situation, she overthinks.

ALWAYS ASSUMING THE WORST. Because of her fate, something good happening to her is very unlikely, unfortunately. So she almost always thinks bad things will happen.

WARY OF ANYONE SHE DOESN'T KNOW. she has severe trust issues so this is no shocker. She is more likely to be trustful towards women, but if a man is just waking behind her, she will think their intention is bad, even if it isn't.

MISOGYNY. She does think women are better. She trusts women more. She does not like to think this way because she believes in equality, but she just can not get herself to believe in men the same way she believes in women.

𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴.

TREMBLING/SHAKING. She is quite the coward. She often flinches with the slightest move because of her traumatic past. She violently shakes when she is terrified or having a panic attack, as if someone is actually shaking her. But this also happens when she is very excited about something.

QUIVERING LIPS. This often happens when she tries not to cry.

PLAYING WITH HAIR OR HER FINGERS. she does this often when she is speaking to someone, or when she is anxious. Or both. This is sort of her way of fidgeting.

HOLDING HER OWN HAND IN FRONT OF HER STOMACH OR BEHIND HER BACK. When she is anxious and/or speaking to someone, as well. It feels comforting to dig her nails into her palms or the back of her hands.

AVOIDING EYE CONTACT. When she is interacting with someone that makes her heart beat elavate, (this can be stress, shyness, embarrasment.) She avoids looking in their eyes. Also because her eyes are scary. They are plain white so most people get a little shiver down the spine when they look at it too long. She tried using colored contacts but got an infection.

𝙰𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂.

Y2K. Although she likes dark clothing more than lighter ones, it is possible to see her with pink crop tops and baggy pants.

STAR GIRL. Her main aesthetic. She enjoys the sound of being a star girl. She loves being called that and she loves the style. She owns a shirt that says star girl on it, white and black starts are also on some of her clothings, and stickers of stars can be seen on her laptop and phone. There is a black and white star pin on her bag aswell.

TAGGED BY . . . @demonsfate (ty ❤️)

TAGGING . . . Sorry I'm too lazy, so I'm just gonna say anyone who sees this 😭