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[coralaroma5]

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[amber-aromadiffusermachine]

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[aerome-in]

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[aquasoftware]

𖦹 SMASH OR PASS? 𖦹

Snippet | “Who you foolin’, doll? Look atcha—fuckin’ ruined for me.”

FT║ Fem!Reader ✘ Toji, F.

Desc║ A harmless Smash or Pass game in the break room turns into a real experience when Toji overhears your bold declaration—and later that night, he ensures you live up to your words.

Cw║ Smut proceed w caution, minimal plot, Co-workers trope, Dom/Sub dynamics, mānhandling, s!ze k!nk, tummy bulge, overstim, degrádàt!on/praise, creamp!e, chok!ng/breath play, light impact play, scratching/b!ting, a bit of säd!sm (?), humiliation, mirror sɛx, dumbǐfīcation, cocķ drunk reader, unrealistic d size, forced eye contact, implied consent + rough sėx.

WC ➜ 2.3K ➜ ML

15 minute read. | Fic type: Oneshot.

The break room was a breeding ground for gossip or useless conversations. An extremely comfortable olive-green sofa—dubbed the equivalent of a bear’s hibernation spot—stood out in contrast to concerningly constant flickering of fluorescent lights, an indented scent of roasted black coffee tip-toeing throughout the room, soon followed by cheap air freshener, while a few faded vending machines—marked with worn-out “Out of Order!” signs for what felt like decades completed the dreary atmosphere.

Unfortunately, the only real pop of color in the otherwise dull break room was the sofa everyone was obsessed with. And when you give employees a sofa with little else to entertain them you get insanely bored, unanimous groans echoing until someone suggests starting a corny game of smash or pass starring some other co-workers.

The thing is you weren’t particularly interested at first, completely tuning them out as you scrolled through cute orange cat videos on TikTok, your phone nestled in tired hands. That was—until someone blurted out, “Smash or pass Toji Fushiguro?”

A few people had the absolute nerve to say pass without even giving any reasoning. You broke your neck turning toward them, clicking your phone off to save a little battery—suddenly caring about the game you thought was so ‘stupid.’

You couldn’t deny it—you took that personally, as if Toji had already put a ring on your finger and asked for your hand in marriage on one bent knee. Lips parted without a second thought, you jumped in to defend him, readily interrupting, “Y’all are wild for passing thee Toji Fushiguro, but more for me, I guess. Smash. In fact, I’d let him manhandle me if I had the chance!”

You practically gushed, recalling every time his pecs looked one flex away from obliterating his poor, helpless uniform. The stretch of fabric over hard muscle, the teasing glimpse of skin whenever he rolled up his sleeves—it was certainly dangerous. And those brief glances you two shared? Just a flicker of eye contact was enough to make your heart stutter and your daydream-state brain short-circuit.

Laughter erupted, loud enough to deafen poor ears, splattered across the room, along with an appalled gasp from an observant co-worker.

“Oooh, speak of the devil…” she teased, wiggling her brows and covering her mouth.

Because, unluckily for you, Toji stood tall, folded arms, leaning against the doorway that nearly was unsuitable to fit his build. Clearly amused by your bold statement, a smirk rested easily on his face, piercing green eyes locking onto yours.

“Oh really, sweetheart?” he teased, running a hand through his short, jet-black hair. His chuckle was deep enough to shake the room, sending heat pooling between your needy thighs—yet startling enough to make your heart lurch at his unexpected presence.

“Oh my god, Toji, I didn’t mean-” you struggled to breathe out, your throat going dry as you shoved your slightly sweaty palms into your pockets.

Why’d he have to come in literally on cue? you thought, stomach twisting into knots, your skin burning like a furnace.

The room watched in silence, entranced, as if they had just been left on a cliffhanger in a movie, whispers shooting amongst them left and right.

Toji pushed off the doorframe, taking a slow step inside. “Didn’t mean it, huh?” He kissed his teeth, eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin prickle with goosebumps. “Shame, y’seemed pretty confident about that little claim a second ago.”

“Fine, fine, I said what I said.” You huffed, rolling your eyes, forcing yourself to stand your ground—even though you weren’t prepared for him to literally make you eat your words.

Because later that night, Toji had you pinned against his bedroom wall, facing him, one sore leg flung over his shoulder—completely vulnerable to his merciless speed.

Each brutal thrust knocked the breath from your lungs, the humid air filled with loud, staggering gasps. His grip was cruel, fingers digging into your hips as he kept your wobbly leg steady, smug at the way your body trembled under his touch.

The freezing surface of the wall contrasted with the intensity between the two of you, while looking in his direction at a time like this felt impossible.

Not that he let you look away—when you did focus anywhere else feeling embarrassed by how easily you let him fuck, his big rough hand grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him.

“Shit, that’s it baby, want you to look at me while you takin’ it.” He whispered, hot breath fanning all over your ear.

Your walls fluttered violently at his sinful words, your body bouncing feebly against the wall with every ram into your velvet walls. You could hardly take his strength, nothing more than a ragdoll for him to use, each filthy, deep stroke claiming you as his property.

His thrusts alone were enough to tell you—you were his little fucktoy.

Breaking eye contact for a brief second he peeked down seeing your one unsteady leg in action, borderline hissing at him for the amount of time he had you pressed against this wall.

“Mmmh, poor thing, huh?” he sneered, proud you struggled to keep up with him. “Leg already shakin’ we’ve barely even started.”

A taunting lie.

You had been at it for hours. There was no way in hell this was just the beginning. You could barely believe your ears when he had the audacity to say otherwise.

Before you could even attempt to reply, his hand shot up to your throat, thick fingers wrapping around your neck with precise control.

He squeezed just enough to leave your head spinning, your drooling cunt twitching at the way the pressure made the pleasure more intense—hypnotic, all-consuming.

And the moment you let out those choked, gasping moans, Toji grinned like a cheshire cat.

He knew he had you.

“Ohhh, fuck yeah—there it is, mhm,” Toji murmured smoothly, placing a soft kiss on your jawline—as if he wasn’t currently scrambling your guts.

Your walls clenched around his fat length, so fucking snug, your body basically begging for more.

Mouth falling open letting out whimpers that sprang off of the thin apartment walls, eyes hazy, with furrowed brows having a mind that could hardly function as your head lolled against the wall.

The only thing you could focus on? How impossibly full you felt, every thick inch of him smothering your sweet spots.

“Shit, baby, you really are dumb for my cock, huh?”

Toji’s lips curled devilishly, ego soaring at how easily he reduced you to just this—mindless, whiney, hungry slut for him.

“Aah, y-yes, yes, yes!”

“Good answer, pretty girl.” He spat, chest looming over your smaller figure.

Body grinding up into your sweaty pelvis real slow to catch you off guard a little feeling him nudging on your throbbing clit causing you to squirm.

But that little break didn’t last for long, he was right back to slamming into your sopping hole.

“Ooh, fuck—s-slow down, s’toomuch!” you pleaded, legs trembling as another sharp stroke sent a shockwave of ecstasy straight to your core.

Your stiletto nails dug into his shoulders, scratching deep, drawing thin rivulets of blood—desperate for something, anything to hold onto.

The sting only made Toji groan, a low, thirsty sound rumbling from his chest.

“Too much? Thought you wanted some manhandlin’ sweetheart.” He mocked.

His hand left your throat solely to slap your soft tits triggering a jolt reaction in your body, eyes glued at the way they jiggled every time his cock speared into you hitting so unfathomably it made your stomach bulge.

“Can’t handle me hm?”

“I can it’s just-” You tried to argue, but your voice came out weak, wrecked, breathless—like it had run out of ink from being used too much.

Toji snickered.

“Who you foolin’ doll? Look atcha, fuckin’ destroyed for me.” His voice ridiculed, one arm wrapped under your ass, lifting you effortlessly, stepping closer to the broad black-framed mirror across his room, as he used two fingers to turn your head.

Your reflection looked absolutely torn apart.

Toji’s markings were painted all over your skin, bruises and love bites that made it painfully clear you’d need to stop by a convenience store for some heavy-duty makeup before work tomorrow.

Your pretty pussy splitting open around his thick ten-inch cock, sparkling with slick.

Your mouth fell open in pure shock, infused with just a hint of awe.

Toji smirked slyly. “Didn’t even realize how fuckin’ filthy you looked, huh?” he rasped, licking a slow stripe up the side of your neck, his sharp teeth nipping at your ear—provoking a full-body shudder.

Tiny frame looking so good blended with him, quaking, mewling, accommodating his size. Struggling, you could barely handle him, and yet, he was sure he was a perfect fit for your little cunt.

Your stomach clenched at the sight, your walls grasping around him, signaling you were close again.

Toji growled at the way you crushed him.

“Ohh fuck yeah, Y/n you like watchin’ yourself get ruined?” He cooed, vibrating his voice with lust.

His thrusts got sharper, meaner, as one of your hands slid to your lower stomach, pressing against the bulge of his ten-inches.

Melting at the feeling was honestly an understatement.

“God, you’re so deep,” you hummed, your voice thick and sultry, nearly a duplicate of aged wine.

“Yeah? You feel me right there, huh?” Toji’s almond eyes parachuted down, watching how even his curved shaft outlined inside your belly. “Bet you love bein’ stuffed like a lil’ whore.”

You eagerly nodded, your breath hitching as Toji drove into you, each ruthless snap sending blasted waves through your body.

The way he fucked you—deep, unrelenting, possessive—had your mind hazy, You could already feel it building again, that overwhelming heat coiling tight in your core, ready to burst at any moment.

The instant his thick, mushroom-shaped tip slammed against your A-spot, pleasure unfurled inside you—deep, raw, and all-consuming.

Each precise, relentless thrust sent sharp thrills of euphoria rippling through your body, the pressure working up at an unbearable pace.

Your walls fluttered around his length, as the pleasure crested violently, surging through you in frenzied, pulsing waves that left you breathless.

Your entire body tensed, every muscle seizing at once as a wave of electric desire scampered over you.

Your vision blurred, unable to focus on Toji’s face anymore, the sheer intensity washing over your senses—momentarily drowning you in the mind-numbing pleasure.

A string of blaring curses rushed out of your lips, as the climax punctured through, feeling demolishing. Fingers clenching, toes curling, your body jittering with aftershocks.

The world around you faded, leaving mainly the astounding gratification, the lingering tremors that left you stunned.

“Hahhh, oh fuck—there she goes,” Toji grunted, watching your reflection convulse, loving the way your pussy clenched down on him, gripping him so tight he pulsed inside you.

You sobbed, false lashes coming loose, tears slipping down your scorching-hot cheeks.

He didn’t slow down whatsoever.

If anything, he fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own—dragging you along for the ride.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, hypersensitive as he kept pushing deeper, hitting that same devastating spot.

Skin slapping together rained through the entire bedroom, incapable of holding any noise back due to the immense mix of exhilaration this gave you, leaving Toji room to comment on it.

“You’re so loud, princess—y’want the whole damn building to hear us?” he scoffed, not in the mood for noise complaints later.

To solve this issue?

His pink-lips crashed against yours, swallowing your cries. The kiss was messy, drool droplets forming at the side of your mouth, a futile effort to muffle the high-pitched moans spilling into his smooth lips.

He fucked you through the overwhelming overstimulation, each deep thrust making your entire body tremble.

You were already too sensitive from previous rounds, pleasure teetering on the edge of pain, but he didn’t care—if anything, the way your walls kept suffocating him only spurred him on.

His groan was low and rough when you let out a broken, high-pitched sing-song moan, the sound shooting straight to his cock.

And with the way he was still so ridiculously hard, his length bulging against your stomach, pressing against that sensitive spot over and over?

You could barely think. A strangled whine slipped from your lips, your lashes fluttering as your vision blurred, overstimulation pulling you into a hazy, delirious state.

But Toji was right there with you.

His pace turned sloppy, thrusts losing rhythm as his control started to dissolve.

He buried his face against your skin, breath hot and heavy, panting against the shell of your ear. His grip on your waist tightened, fingers pressing into your flesh like he was trying to brand himself into you.

“Shit—gonna fuckin’ fill you up, baby. That okay?” he groaned, voice strained, desperate asking for permission.

All you could do was mumble out a frail “Yes!”

“Gonna make sure you feel me in this tummy for weeks,” he murmured, exaggerating the words, but fuck—at this point, you believed him.

Your eyes rolled back, your body going rigid as another orgasm crashed into you without warning, pleasure slamming through your veins like a lightning strike. Your walls clamped down around him so tight he nearly choked on a groan, his whole body tensing at the feeling.

That was it for him.

His hands locked onto your thighs, grip bruising as he slammed into you one final time.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, muffling his deep, wrecked moan as he came—thick, hot spurts spilling deep inside you, emptying himself like he hadn’t had sex in months.

Another pulse sent another sharp jolt of pleasure through you, making your legs shake as he fucked his release deeper, hips jerking uncontrollably with every last drop.

“Fuuuuck, fuck, fuck, Y/nnnnnnn,” he sighed, voice heavy with exhaustion and bliss.

His head fell back, eyes screwed shut, his cock still twitching inside your spent, quivering walls.

His arms tightened around you, locking you in place against his chest, making sure none of it went to waste—making sure you took all of him. You shuddered in his hold, completely wrecked, all his.

That bastard just smirked, pressing lazy kisses to your cheek.

“If I knew you were fangirling like that,” he muttered, cockiness entwined his tone, “I would’ve given you an autograph sooner, sweet thing.”

➜ ML

➜ I don't usually write rough sėx so, I hope you enjoyed 😋

➜ A rb, like, or comment is highly appreciated!!

Divider creds | enchanthings-a + hyuneskkami.

[p0orbaby]

Dancing in the Dark

summary: a tactics coach and a vice captain walk into a bar… have a not so secret relationship

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

a/n: i asked for requests and someone sent me this gem

word count: 3.1k

-

Leah texts you at exactly 12:02 a.m., a time she insists is “late enough to avoid suspicion but early enough that we’re not knackered in the morning.” The precision of it is very Leah—practical, calculated, with just the faintest whisper of rebellion. It’s always the same text—Room 308—as if she’s writing it for a stranger who might need the address for their sat nav. She never adds punctuation. You think that’s intentional, a way of keeping it casual, devoid of any intimacy that could be misconstrued.

You’ve stopped bothering to reply. It’s not that you don’t want to see her—want isn’t the word for what you feel when you see her name flash on your screen, but it’s close enough. It’s that typing on my way feels excessive when the answer’s already obvious. She knows you’ll come. You know she knows. And there’s something about that silent agreement that feels like the only part of this whole arrangement that makes sense.

The desk lamp casts a faint yellow glow across the room as you pack up. Your laptop goes into the bag first, followed by the notepad you’ve been using to scribble ideas for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. You pause to carefully align its corner with the edge of the desk—a habit you’ve had since you were a child, though you’re not sure if it’s a quirk of personality or a learned behaviour from years of Catholic school and its draconian rules about neatness.

Your hoodie is next, slung over the back of the chair like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. It’s an old one from university, the logo cracked and peeling, the sleeves stretched from too many washes. It smells faintly of your laundry detergent—a scent marketed as “ocean breeze,” though you’ve always thought it smells more like cheap fabric softener and an overactive imagination. Nothing about it suggests the ocean, or even a breeze. It’s more akin to the air freshener in a Southend-on-Sea rental cottage, the kind with faded floral curtains and a broken kettle. You wonder, briefly, if Leah would find this thought amusing. Probably. She has a way of laughing at things that don’t seem funny until she does.

The hotel corridor is silent, save for the distant hum of a vending machine and the occasional creak of overused floorboards. You walk quickly, your trainers barely making a sound on the patterned carpet—a gaudy, swirling design in shades of burgundy and gold that seems to scream corporate retreat. You keep your eyes trained forward, as if avoiding eye contact with the carpet will somehow render you invisible to anyone who might happen to step out of their room.

You’ve mapped out every staff member’s room, memorised the most efficient route, and calculated the probability of running into someone based on their known habits. Karen from PR always goes to bed early, probably still jet-lagged from the US tour. The physio, Jamie, is a night owl, but he’s more likely to be glued to Netflix than wandering the halls. Leah finds this level of detail ridiculous.

“You’re acting like MI5 is going to raid the place,” she’d said once, sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her hair was still damp from the shower, a faint halo of gold catching the light as she turned her head to look at you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know”

She’d been peeling off your shirt as she said it, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, her eyes glittering with amusement. You wanted to argue, to tell her that fun is precisely what you’re having, in the only way you know how to have it: meticulously planned, risk-assessed, and executed with the precision of a military operation. But then her hands had moved lower, and the argument had dissolved into something else entirely. Something much harder to put into words.

-

Room 308. You knock twice—firm, precise knocks that betray none of the absurd nervousness bubbling under the surface. The kind that makes your palms clammy and your chest feel like it’s trying to audition for a drum solo. The knocks are part of a ritual now, as familiar as tying your boots before a match or double-checking the pitch markings. Three sharp raps, never four, because three would seem impatient, and two would feel too casual, as though you’re dropping by to borrow sugar or ask for her Netflix password.

The door opens almost instantly, as if she’s been standing on the other side, waiting for you. Leah’s dressed in one of those oversized T-shirts she always wears off the pitch, the kind that blur the line between effortless and lazy. This one is black, or it might have been once, but it’s faded now, the fabric soft and worn thin at the seams. The logo across the chest is barely legible—AC__ME—as though it’s been through the wash one too many times. You can’t tell if it’s a nod to Arsenal, a subtle homage to Wile E. Coyote’s endless misfortunes, or one of those niche designer brands that only appear on people with a six-figure salary and a curated Instagram aesthetic. It’s probably the latter. Leah strikes you as the kind of person who’d know what Vetements is and pretend she doesn’t care about it while secretly owning three pieces.

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. Her voice has this easy warmth to it, like she’s just woken up from the kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is. There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, the faint lilt of someone who’s just thought of something funny but isn’t planning to share it with the group. You’ve always liked that about her—how she can hold a joke in her mouth like a secret, like it’s something she doesn’t owe to anyone else.

“Hi,” you reply, because what else is there to say? Hello feels too formal, like you’ve shown up for a job interview, and anything else—anything softer, more intimate—feels dangerous. Like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff just to see how far you can lean before gravity kicks in.

Her room is a mirror image of yours, down to the garish burgundy carpet and beige curtains that don’t quite close properly. It’s a symphony of stereotypical hotel design, where the furniture all looks like it’s been bolted down as a precaution against theft. But there’s something different about hers, something distinctly Leah. It smells faintly of her perfume, a citrusy Chanel scent you’d once looked for in John Lewis out of curiosity. You’d sprayed it onto one of those paper tester strips, only to feel your lungs contract at the price tag. It smells like sunshine and sharp edges, and now it’s permanently tangled up in your memory of her.

The bed is unmade, the covers thrown haphazardly across the mattress like they’ve been caught mid-escape. One pillow teeters on the edge, a casualty of her apparent inability to sleep neatly. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand, its label peeling from condensation. A pair of socks—crew-length, white with a small Nike tick—lie abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, one inside out. The room is messy in a way that surprises you. Leah, who is precise and meticulous on the pitch, leaves her personal space in a state of mild chaos. And for some reason, it makes you smile. It’s humanising, like finding out that superheroes still get toothpaste on their shirts.

You step inside, careful not to trip over her trainers—Adidas Sambas in a muted beige tone, scuffed at the edges but somehow still immaculate in their coolness. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound punctuating the silence like a full stop. You turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the dresser now, her hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. She’s watching you, her eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of open skies and lost afternoons.

“What?” you ask, because the weight of her gaze always makes you self-conscious, like you’ve walked into a room wearing mismatched socks.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You just look…” She pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air like an unfinished melody.

“What?” you repeat, a little sharper this time, though you’re smiling too.

“Like you’re trying not to smile,” she finishes, pushing off the dresser and moving closer.

And maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying not to give away how much you like this—the quiet intimacy of it, the way she looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who knows what this feels like. Maybe you’re trying not to admit how much you want to reach out and touch her, to close the space between you with a single step. But you don’t. Not yet.

-

The sex is unhurried, languid. Leah moves with the same precision she does on the pitch, her hands mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, like she’s planning her next move three steps in advance. It’s the same deliberation you’ve seen in her during matches—the way she reads the game like it’s written in a language only she understands. But this isn’t a match. There are no spectators, no whistles, no rules, just her and you and the slow, deliberate way she’s undoing you, piece by piece.

Her kisses are deep, focused. They land with intent, the kind that makes you forget your own name, let alone the fragile, tenuous boundaries of this arrangement. Her mouth lingers on yours, then moves to your neck, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. She doesn’t bite, not yet, but you can feel her teeth graze your skin, an unspoken promise that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of the hotel sheets.

Her fingertips press into your skin—not hard enough to hurt but just firm enough to leave the ghost of her touch behind, as though she’s marking her territory. They trace the length of your back, down your spine, to your hips. Her thumbs skim over the waistband of your joggers before she tugs them down with a kind of casual confidence that feels maddeningly unfair. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always does.

“You’re so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing. She presses a kiss to your collarbone, her hands slipping beneath your shirt to push it up, her palms warm against your ribs. “That’s not like you”

“I’m—” You try to respond, but her mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice smug as she moves lower, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, her pace agonisingly slow. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips instinctively, barely registering the soft laugh she lets out, the sound dark and smooth like melted chocolate.

There’s no rush. Leah’s always like this—methodical, unhurried. She knows how to take her time, how to keep you teetering on the edge until your body feels like it’s no longer your own. She kisses her way back up, pausing to nip at your jaw, your shoulder, the place where your pulse beats just beneath your skin. Her hand slips between your thighs, her touch deliberate, controlled. And you’re gone.

It’s like a tidal wave, slow to build but devastating when it crashes over you. You’re not sure when you start begging—if it even counts as begging, the broken sounds spilling from your lips without your consent—but Leah doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems pleased, her smirk pressing against the hollow of your throat as she mutters something you’re too far gone to catch.

At some point, she presses her forehead to yours, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She murmurs something—low, unintelligible, a slurred mix of swear words and your name. Or maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s a prayer. Maybe it’s both. You don’t ask her to repeat it. You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe, your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer like you can merge into her, like you can stop time if you just hold on tightly enough.

By the time you collapse onto the mattress, tangled in the hotel’s suspiciously rough sheets, you’re vaguely aware of how loud you’ve been. The walls are thin. The kind of thing where you can hear your neighbour’s TV murmuring away or the occasional flush of a toilet. It’s almost comedic, really, the way you’d tried so hard to avoid being seen earlier, only to make it painfully obvious now. You half expect a knock on the door, some irate teammate demanding silence.

Leah doesn’t seem to care. Of course she doesn’t. She lies beside you, her face flushed, her hair falling loose from the ponytail she’d barely tried to secure. She’s smirking, the way she always does after these nights, like she’s just scored the winning goal and nobody else on the team noticed. Her arm brushes against yours as she stretches out, her skin warm and damp, her breathing slow and even.

-

The next morning, you arrive at breakfast twenty minutes late, a record even for you. You’ve spent the better part of that time in front of the mirror, tilting your head at impossible angles to assess the carnage Leah left on your neck. Hickeys, in various stages of bruise-like blossoming, dot your skin like a battlefield casualty report. You try concealer—two layers, then three—but it only makes you look like you’ve dipped your neck in cake batter. After an extensive wardrobe evaluation, you settle on a jumper with a collar just high enough to obscure the worst of it, but not so high that it screams I’ve made several poor life choices and am now concealing the evidence.

You enter the dining area cautiously, your eyes scanning for witnesses like you’re in the opening sequence of Casino Royale. The room is loud with the sound of clinking cutlery, chairs scraping against linoleum, and conversations overlapping in a way that is both chaotic and oddly comforting. You spot Katie McCabe first, standing by the buffet with a bowl of cereal that is more milk than anything resembling a solid. Her spoon hovers mid-air as she glances at you, then swivels her head in Leah’s direction, who is seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone like she has never made a suspicious noise in her life.

Katie’s eyes narrow, and her mouth stretches into a grin so wicked it should be trademarked. She sets her cereal down and makes a beeline for you, walking with the kind of determination that belongs exclusively to people with too much time on their hands and absolutely no regard for personal boundaries.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes dart to your neck, then back up to your face. “Someone had a busy night.”

You freeze. Instinctively, your hand twitches toward the collar of your jumper, but you stop yourself. Guilty behaviour. Act normal. Be cool. You shrug in what you hope is a convincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, don’t play dumb,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. “What’s that, then? Tactical bruising? Working on a new game plan?”

“I slipped in the shower,” you deadpan. It’s a lie so bad it physically hurts to say, but the alternative is giving Katie McCabe ammunition, and you’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.

She snorts. “Jesus, you’ve got to at least try with these excuses”

You glare at her, but it’s useless. Katie is like a shark in open water—she can smell blood, and she’s circling. She follows you to the table, sliding into the chair next to yours without so much as an invitation. Her cereal sloshes precariously in her bowl, milk dripping onto the edge of the table. She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

Leah, of course, is completely unbothered. She’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone like she’s reading the football section of The Guardian and not actively trying to avoid eye contact with you. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie that looks suspiciously like yours. Katie clocks the hoodie immediately and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Not yet.

“Just to clarify,” Katie says, her voice loud enough to carry to the next table, “are we calling this a team-building exercise or…?”

Leah doesn’t even flinch. Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Mind your business, McCabe”

Katie lets out a delighted laugh, stealing a slice of toast from your plate like she’s earned it. “Oh, it is my business,” she says, buttering the toast with an enthusiasm that borders on offensive. “You lot kept me up all night. Thought someone was being murdered in the next room. Turns out it was just—”

“Katie,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. Your face is burning, your ears hot enough to fry an egg on.

Katie leans back in her chair, utterly unrepentant. “Relax,” she says, taking a bite of the toast she stole. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now”

She winks at you, a gesture so insufferable you consider lobbing a teaspoon at her head. Instead, you glance at Leah, whose lips are twitching at the edges, betraying the smirk she’s desperately trying to suppress.

You shoot her a glare that you hope translates to I will kill you later, but she only raises an eyebrow, as if to say go ahead, make my day.

Katie’s still watching you, her grin as infuriating as ever. “You’re lucky it was me who heard you,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Imagine if it had been Beth. She’d have the whole squad doing impressions by now”

Leah finally looks up from her phone, her expression cool, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “You done?”

Katie holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, try keeping it down. Or don’t. Makes for great entertainment”

You slump in your chair, burying your face in your hands. You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, and when you finally peek through your fingers, she’s smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, but actually smiling, like this is the most fun she’s had in weeks.

You make a mental note to kill her later. Or maybe kiss her. You haven’t decided yet.

[fratttymatty]

The Scent of Rebirth

(All characters are 18+)

James Pritchard adjusted his glasses and tugged at the collar of his too-tight school shirt, already damp with nervous sweat. At eighteen, he had the physique of someone who had spent his childhood indoors, nose buried in fantasy novels and science textbooks. He was overweight, his rounded cheeks permanently flushed, and his thick brown hair always a little too greasy.

Today’s biology lesson was on body types—ectomorph, mesomorph, endomorph. A fascinating subject to James, but not to the other students in the class, a rowdy bunch of roadmen who had only turned up because they had nowhere better to be.

Mr. Patel, their weary teacher, pointed to an illustration of an overweight figure on the board. “This is an endomorph—characterized by higher body fat, a rounder build, and—”

“Bruv, they should just go gym, innit?”

Laughter erupted across the room. The comment came from Kyle, a broad-shouldered sixth-former in an untucked school shirt, a loosened black tie, and a Moncler gilet over his school blazer. His mates, a group of barely engaged, vape-smoking roadmen, smirked and nodded in agreement.

James slouched in his seat, cheeks burning. He felt their eyes on him. They didn’t have to say it. He was the endomorph in the room.

The day dragged on, and by the last period, James was waiting alone in an empty classroom. His friends—Tom and Aiden, two equally nerdy boys—had gone to grab something from the vending machine.

That’s when he heard footsteps.

The door swung open, and Kyle and his boys strolled in. James sat up straight, instantly wary.

“Oi, man’s gotta freshen up, yeah?” Kyle grinned, pulling out a can of Lynx Africa.

“Yeah, dis place stinks of nerd, fam,” chuckled another.

James frowned. “Uh… I was just waiting for—”

PSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Before he could react, the room was filled with thick, choking clouds of Lynx Africa. Can after can was unloaded into the air, the overwhelming, spicy scent clinging to his skin and clothes.

James coughed, eyes watering. His head swam. The room spun. He gripped the desk as a dizzy heat spread through his limbs.

Something was… changing.

James gasped, his voice cracking mid-breath. His stomach tightened, the excess weight melting away as if being burned off by the sheer force of Lynx Africa. His school shirt stretched, then loosened as his chest hardened, his arms thickening into lean, toned muscle.

His spine straightened, shoulders broadening, giving him a confident, dominant stance. His fingers tingled as they toughened, no longer the soft hands of someone who spent hours typing on a laptop.

His face sharpened—his jawline becoming chiselled, his baby fat vanishing. His thick, greasy hair shortened into a trim, textured fade, perfectly styled without effort.

His glasses slipped off his nose. He no longer needed them.

His mind ached as thoughts—intelligent, articulate thoughts—were scrubbed away, replaced by something simpler. Gone were the complex political debates he enjoyed. Instead, his head filled with vague opinions about “immigrants taking over” and “how the left ruined this country.”

His voice deepened, acquiring the rough, lazy cadence of a roadman.

His clothes shifted—his baggy, tucked-in white school shirt became tight and fitted, the sleeves rolled up to show his new toned arms. His school blazer transformed into a black designer puffer, worn over his shoulders instead of properly. His once-neat tie was loosened, and his polished shoes morphed into black Nike Air Forces.

James Pritchard was gone.

In his place sat Bradley, an 18-year-old roadman, lean and toned, with a dumbed-down mind and an arrogant smirk.

The door swung open.

Tom and Aiden walked in, laughing—until they saw Bradley.

They froze.

“James?” Tom stammered, eyes wide.

Bradley frowned. “Bruv, who the fuck is James?” He leaned back in his chair, looking at them like they were a pair of wastemen.

Aiden swallowed. “It’s you, mate. You just—”

Bradley scoffed. “Nah, I dunno what you man are on about. Man don’t know no nerdy James, yeah?”

His voice was filled with swagger, his old polite, nervous tone erased completely.

Kyle and his boys re-entered, grinning. Kyle clapped Bradley on the back. “Oi, my guy lookin’ fresh, you know. Man finally levels up.”

Bradley smirked. “You done know, bruv. These neeks tryna chat shit, yeah?”

Kyle sneered at Tom and Aiden. “Oi, bun these bruddas, fam. Man don’t need no nerds in his life.”

Bradley laughed—a cocky, dismissive laugh. “Real talk.”

Tom’s face fell. “You’re really gone, aren’t you?”

But Bradley didn’t hear him. He had already turned his back, walking over to Kyle’s table. Someone passed him a vape, and without hesitation, he inhaled, exhaling a thick cloud of watermelon-flavoured smoke.

His old life? Forgotten.

Later that day, Bradley sat with Kyle and the mandem outside the school, leaning against the railings, his blazer half-off his shoulders. He took another drag of his vape, exhaling slowly.

“So what you sayin’, bruv?” one of them asked. “Man used to be one of dem lefty neeks, yeah?”

Bradley squinted. He had been a proud liberal, hadn’t he? But that all felt… cringe now. Weak. Pathetic.

“Nah, blud,” he scoffed. “Man clocked the truth. Lefties are soft, fam. Proper wastemen, letting this country get taken over.”

Kyle nodded approvingly. “Real talk, fam. Man’s gotta back Reform UK, innit. Can’t be lettin’ the government keep taking man’s money for them benefits lot.”

Bradley grinned. “Straight, bruv. And real talk? There’s bare foreigners everywhere now. Can’t even walk down my own road without hearin’ some mad language, fam. Man don’t even feel like man’s in England no more.”

The group laughed and nodded, passing the vape around.

He belonged here now.

A few days later, Bradley was posted up outside a chicken shop, surrounded by his new mandem, sharing a vape and talking about nonsense.

Then, she walked past.

Georgina.

The fittest chav in school. Platinum blonde hair, thick fake lashes, tight crop top (despite the uniform rules), and the most insane back Bradley had ever seen.

She noticed him.

“Oi, you Kyle’s boy now, yeah?” she said, eyeing him up and down.

Bradley licked his lips, grinning. “You done know.”

She smirked. “Yeah, you’re kinda fit now, you know.”

Bradley pulled her close, hands on her waist. “You already know you’re mine, innit?”

She giggled. “Obviously.”

As he leaned in for a kiss, the last fragments of James Pritchard were erased.

He was Bradley now. Forever.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

heyyy. Just had a thought about what would tan would be like on reader's birthday but they aren't together. So readeranf the twins are friends so what kind of stuff would they get her. Feel like tan would get something really meaningful and sweet that is something that he must really listen to what reader says in general to know. And when he gives her it he's reaally awkward and a blushing mess cyz he's worried she won't like it and he's saying stuff like'you can return it if u don't like it' 'its a stupid gift so u probably won't like it'. Love ur stuff recently :))

my baby hi!! sorry this has taken me longer to reply to than I usually would. been a little busy last couple days!! I got a little carried away and I couldn’t stop coming up with things😭💌

TAN GIVING READER BIRTHDAY GIFTS.

but

this guy is so thoughtful that no one can tell me otherwise!! he's a good listener, especially when you think he's not paying attention AND he's got cash to flunk which helps aid his gift-giving abilities so so so...

he's a bit of a snooper, so if he sees a tab open on your laptop or computer and it's a shopping website, he'd quickly click on it and take a picture so that he can remember what it is. maybe he deletes the items from your cart so you can't buy them for yourself

if you and the twins are shopping, and tan sees you eye up something, he'd make a note to pick it up (he's come back in a few hours or next day)

it depends on what things you like - ie flashy designer gifts or gifts for things you need/ can't buy. but he doesn't want to disappoint you so he'd get you something within that category (in that safe sweet spot)

maybe he mistakes things, so if he thinks you like a certain candle scent, he'd get it for you in air freshener form, not knowing that you know there's a difference in the smells (hence why you've never bought it for yourself) so he thinks he's being sweet (he is) but you don't really like the smell, but he's so thoughtful that you say you love the scent name (that makes sense right?)

he goes overboard and definitely puts lem's gifts to shame (even though he got you perfect gifts (I feel like lem just knows what you want and like, and the presents have funny inside jokes))

he tries hard to find the balance between a friendly and romantic gift - not wanting to overstep that line 

maybe your washing machine broke? so he buys you a new one, but a model better than your one before. maybe you mention how your floor seems empty? so he buys you a rug to match your space (would probs ask lem for advice) maybe you mention how you're running low on a lip gloss you like? but he doesn't know the shade name, so he gets you all the shades in that brand/ line so you can pick and choose when you want (it's your go-to one and you have it out often, hence why he knows the brand - he can read the logo) clear, pinks, purples, reds, browns, oranges - he'd get them all 

maybe you mention how you want to liven up your bedroom to match the season? so he buys you new bedding with colours to match your room (again, he asks lem to help) maybe you had your eye on a pair of shoes or boots but they're way out of your price range? guess what? he's had them boxed up and in his wardrobe the whole time (ready to give you on your bday) maybe there's a foreign snack you like but it's near impossible to find? so you bet when he's away for work he hunts around the shops to see if he can find any. ALSO!!!!! if he can, he'd buy loads, like I mean loads and pay to mail them back home so he can give it to you for your bday (dying)

and when it comes to actually giving them to you, he's all nervy and anxious bc he doesn't want you to hate them, so he puts it out there that he's uncertain about what he got you (even though he knows he did a good job) ALSO he really really values your opinion!!! so he says things like "I got the receipt at home if you don't like it" "that one's stupid. I thought it was alright in the shop, but I dunno" "you're hard to buy for (lie) I'll get you better stuff at christmas (or whatever it is you do or don't celebrate)" “I won’t be offended if you swap it” (or return/ refund)

and the reason you have a slight scowl is not bc of the gifts, but bc of what he's saying. like they're PERFECT gifts and he's saying that they're not 

so you're like "how did you even know I wanted that?" and he says how he has his sources yadayada

he's such a cutie pie <3

[thescarlettbitch]

Modern witch tips ✨️

Vehicle edition!

I know it's hard to connect with nature when you're in urban/densely populated areas, or in a big man made machine, but here are some tips that have helped me.

But first, please, please, please if you are feminine/fem presenting, know the dangers of having your car too feminine looking!

Your car is an extension of yourself! Keep it clean, to the best of your abilities. Go through a car wash and imagine it washing away the negativity as well.

Protective stones/spell bottles/sigils. If you're in the broom closet or are worried about the people who frequent your car being weirded out, stick them in the glove compartment, the console, the little door compartments. Use things meant to protect travelers, or just generic protection things.

Air fresheners can be witchy! You can find a hundred shops on Etsy or TikTok that make special air fresheners (for star signs, deities, fictional characters, manifestation, etc), and you can charge them with certain intent or whatever, or make your own!

Playlists that embody the feeling you want for the day. Have a bad bitch Playlist to manifest confidence and play it on your drive. Make a deity playlist and play that to feel them with you as you drive.

Roll down those windows (if safe)! Let the fresh wind wash away your negativity and breathe in the scent of the earth (if it's safe!)

Take backroads, stay off main drags, take in the natural surroundings. (Again, if safe) don't be afraid to use a GPS so you don't get lost

Park your car in a park, if possible, as often as you can. Visit parks, they can help you reconnect.

Go for a litter drive, as I call it, don protective clothing (like gloves) and pick up bits of litter you find SAFELY and dispose of it correctly.

Key chains made with protective crystals, rear view mirror hanging witches ladder, Decals with sigils, stickers on the dash, etc. (Remember, it can be dangerous to have your car be clearly owned by a woman, so be careful, I personally take my overly fem seeming decorations down when I am parking in urban areas.

Lock your mirrors! Make sure no bad energy can get trapped in there and that nothing can come out.

And I think that's all I got! Feel free to drop more. Stay safe, drive safe, be witchy, blessed be <3

[transformers-spike]

powerwasher anon back again. had a thought; being the resident bug smusher of team prime/just generally being more punchy instead of screamy when you see a bug and not even blinking when you smush one in front of sentinel. you catch his horrified expression out of the corner of your eye when you excuse yourself to go wash your hands off and it... sits with you. hes a jerk to put it lightly but seeing him so... what even was that, fear? disgust? some weird mix of both?? it bothers you, either way.

after that he avoids you for like a week, because hes not good at being subtle and remembering a similar reaction from optimus when you did it in front of him the first time, you... well, you dont pry, but you can put two and two together given optimus' history with a certain spider and maybe he and sentinel had crossed paths with her or something? you dont know, its not your business, but you still get him that fancy thing of leather cleaner and a big thing of that really nice soap that has this floral scent to it that he likes- maybe breaking plants down to their absolute basic components would help ease his... aversion to organic life, starting as small as humanly possible and working your way up with him, maybe, who knows. but he likes the smell and the soap and maybe he'll let you use the cleaner on him, for him.

neither of you mention the bug incident, but he lets you give him a proper scrub-down, so its progress. you'll get him one of those funny air fresheners or something sometime later, maybe.

... you dont mention how both spiders and machines can function based on hydraulic systems to him, but it sits with you while you clean him.

-powerwasher anon

I love this bc it's such a new way to portray his trauma - let Sentinel be taken care of by god. He deserves it

[loungeact-143]

Let Me Help You(Part 2)

Description: Y/n had been depressed and didn't clean her room for a while, She kept it from chan. Chan found out about Y/n's state of her depression, and helped Y/n clean her room.

Part 1

"What's wrong, baby? Come on, let's go to your room, yeah?

Y/n's brain froze at his words, that's what she was trying to hide for so long. She realized that Chan wasn't going to leave, and she couldn't just push him out, physically speaking. There was no point of trying to be vague with him anymore. Y/n meekly nodded and walked to her room. Chan held her hand as they went to her bedroom. He noticed her body odor but didn't say anything, he was just happy that he got to see his girlfriend.

Y/n just opened the door, wanting to get it over with. Chan's mouth opened at the sight of her room, he held Y/n's hand tighter, his heart breaking that she was living like this for so long. Tears threatened to fall down his face, Y/n was still looking down. "Y/n *sniffles* baby...why didn't you tell me that you were living like this?" Chan's lips quivered.

"I-I was afraid that you would judge me, I'm sorry." tears fell down her face. She hugged Chan, Chan held the back of her head.

"No, baby...I want you to be okay. I would never judge you for something like this."

"It's gotten so bad, Chan *sniffles*"

"Let me help you, baby. Go take a shower and I'll go get some trash bags."

He kissed her forehead and rubbed the back of her head. Y/n nodded and wiped her tears. She went to go turn on the shower, feeling the water temperature. Chan handed her a new change of comfy clothes, he then went to the kitchen to get some trash bags, tears starting to fall down his face. Thinking about how tired and lost Y/n looked.

This was the first time in a few weeks that Y/n took a shower, it felt refreshing to wash off the guilt and shame. She continued wiping her tears as she cleaned herself with coconut scented body wash.

15 minutes later....

Y/n dried herself off and put her clothes on. She had on pink fuzzy shorts and a old t-shirt with a cute print on it. She brushed all the built up knots and kinks out her hair, finally being able to run her fingers through her hair. She walked out the bathroom and looked for Chan. Chan smiled as she saw Y/n in a much healthier looking state, she had light in her eyes again. He walked towards Y/n and gave her a hug and a kiss on the lips, Y/n's ears turning red from the interaction. He smiled at Y/n and gave her a trash bag. "Let's get started" Chan said, his gaze softening at Y/n's blushed face.

They walked to her room, they started picking up the empty cup bottles, ones that she had, and ones from fast food places. All of the smelly drinks were poured down the drain, they put Y/n's empty cups in the dishwasher. They then worked on separating Y/n's clean and dirty clothes, which took 30 minutes, Chan was there the entire way. Y/n put her dirty clothes, bed sheets, and bath towels in the washer machine. It then came time to clean the surfaces of her room. Chan grabbed some bleach wipes and handed some to Y/n. They wiped her nightstands, her dresser, and the surfaces in her bathroom. They placed all of her decorations and accessories back where they belonged, Y/n's personality was starting to show in her room again. They finished the last final touches, like mopping the floors, cleaning the mirrors, windows and putting air freshener clips in her room, getting rid of the smell of expired drinks.

Hours later

It was about 2:00 am and Chan had put Y/n's now clean dishes in the cupboards. He then took Y/n's stuff out the dryer. They placed her light blue bedsheets back on her bed, then they placed her towels in her bathroom, and they spent time hanging her clothes up in her closet. Y/n sat on her bed and wiped the sweat off her forehead, Chan sat down behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, his head resting on her shoulder.

"I can actually sleep on my bed now" Y/n chuckled

Chan laughed at her words, he looked around Y/n's room. Comparing it now, to how it looked when he first came in a few hours ago. It was night and day. "Thank you....for helping me *sniffles*"

Chan noticed Y/n's tone and walked to kneel in front of Y/n, grabbing her face, making her look at him.

"You don't have to thank me, baby. I'm your boyfriend, I'm supposed to help you. Can you promise me something though?" Y/n nodded. "If you're feeling depressed like that again, please don't shut me out. I knew something wasn't right with you, that's why I came over your place unannounced. I love you and I want to know what you're feeling"

Y/n saw the tears in Chan's eyes and her heart broke, feeling guilty that she was the reason for his tears.

"Okay Chan, I won't hide from you anymore, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize baby, I love you."

"I love you too, Channie."

———

An: Y’all omg I love how this story came out. It’s definitely top 3 of my favorites so far. 🤧🫶🏽

[coralaroma5]

Coral Aroma- Scent Marketing

Uniquely refreshing scents produced by Coral Aroma have initiated scent lovers into an endless ocean of distinct natural fragrances. Coral Aroma was established in 2015, which is a prominent division of the Coral Perfume Industry in UAE . Scent marketing has been a great choice for almost every business in the marketing field, and Coral Aroma has perfectly executed this strategy through its products. In a short span of time coral aroma has grown their business into a new level with quality scent, scent diffuser, aroma oils and aroma products to support various companies in and out of GCC.

At Coral Aroma, customers have the luxury to select the most suitable scent from a wide variety of natural fragrances, to be used in the most modern fragrance diffusers we have come up with. Owning a signature scent will help you promote brand identity with considerable efficiency.  Incorporating these scents as a tool of scent marketing, they have come up with a wide range of scent marketing solutions for hotels, bars, offices, fitness centers, malls, spas, and massage parlors

[amber-aromadiffusermachine]

Nowadays, more and more people choose a high quality of life, and the aromatherapy diffuser, is an embodiment of improving the quality of life. For example, a buyer commented:

-I had been looking for some way to make my home smell like those high end hotels that always smell so good and came across this. I decided to give it a try. I was so excited to get it set up and opened it as soon as I received it. I did have a few questions but the seller was so friendly and quick to reply and I got it set up in no time. Instantly, the smell filled my two story home and it smelled phenomenal. Every time someone enters my home they immediately tell me it smells amazing and ask what I’m using. A few have even gone and purchased this diffuser and love it just as much as I do! This really is awesome and better than those plug ins or candles. I love that I can set it all up on the app and set schedules for when I want it to turn off and on and to control the amount and strength of the scent. Couldn’t be happier with this product!

-This model worked pretty well on spreading the essential oil smell without needing extra water and using surprisingly little oil in itself.  It works for a decent size room and honestly it did not require me to do very much.  I did not have to refill too often.  I just had to do some initial adjustment and it was good to go on its own.  This is a fairly big device.  It is not something you can mount.  It does have grip on the bottom so it does not slide and it also balances well.  Short of knocking it over like a glass of water, this will have no issues with falling.  One thing I will say is that it does require certain oils and they are not the cheapest.  That being said, it does not use up the oil quickly at all.  If you were to use essential oils with water, you would actually run out quicker than if you use this which is surprising.  You essentially save money in the long run with this device.  This device is nice in that everything is easily automated and programmed to your liking.  I can actually control the device with my phone which is nice.  It will tell me if I need to do anything such as add more oil.  This device is not battery powered and it does need to be plugged in to work.  The on board screen is nice.  It gives you the basic information while you phone will give you additional information.  It is not noisy at all which is great.  You can even program days where you want it to be more active.  The scent is not extremely strong so it is not over using the oils.  It is prone to scratches though on the glossy front.  There are controls on the device itself if you do not want to use your phone.  Please note that it is only connected to your device via bluetooth.  It is not a wifi device.  The instructions are not bad.  Overall this device does a good job in utilize the essential oils without burning through the oil or causing it to be too strong.  It is VERY low maintenance and easy to setup for the most part.  You really only have to do the initial setup but once you are done it is good to go.  It is not a smart device where you can connect it to your alexa but it honestly would not really need to.  You set it up how you want and can adjust accordingly.  It also disperses really well.  The sides are prone to scratching but it looks pretty nice.  You could place it anywhere in the room but it just needs to be near and outlet.

-

I am all about scent in my home. I have 2 dogs as well and I have and do everything to make my home smell good...candles, wallflowers, reed defusers, airwick you name it. This was easy to put a small amount into the container. Set the amount you want to blow out. It blows out a long puff of smell that lingers for quite a while, then re-puffs at the set time.

I was going to buy the Hotel collection but did this instead. I just bought 3 more to place in my bridal shop- it works really well!

[deathtothesoul]

Death to the Soul Chapter 17

As Lucas sorted through his pictures in his storage room, he looked around and sighed. He missed Natalie. He saw an old stripper pole wedged in between two large bookcases with photo albums.

"I could make my storage a dance studio for her!" he said, jumping up, excited. He walked into the main room and saw clothes, pictures, and various trinkets strewn everywhere. "Shit…"

Lucas picked up his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and found Ryane’s number. He took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered. 

"Hello?" Ryane said.

"Hey, it's Lucas," he said, trying to sound friendly.

A long pause hung in the air. "Uh… one moment," she said.

Lucas groaned. He could hear Ryane passing the phone over to Quinn. 

"How did you get this number, Lucas?" Quinn asked, firmly.

"That's not important right now," Lucas said dismissively. "I need to talk to your blood pet. Just put me on speaker!"

The phone clicked. "Can you hear me?" Ryane asked.

"Yeah," Lucas replied.

"What is it?" Quinn demanded.

Lucas took a deep breath. "Ryane, I need you to run an errand for me."

"What kind?" she asked slowly.

"Go to the store and pick out some girly scented air freshener, cleaning supplies and trash bags."

"Um... okay. Why, though?" Ryane said, hesitantly.

"That's none of your business! Are you going to do it or not?" Lucas snapped.

She glanced at Quinn. Lucas was his friend and they had known each other since before she was even born. She figured she should try to get along with him. "Say, please," she said. 

Lucas could hear Quinn burst into laughter on the other end. He almost snapped his phone in half but took a deep breath. "Please," he grumbled.

"What was that?"

"I said it once, don't make me say it again," he growled.

Ryane laughed. "All right, all right. We'll head out now."

Ryane and Quinn arrived at the old night club an hour later and pushed the buzzer outside the graffiti-covered door.

“Hey. Come on down,” Lucas said through the speaker. The door unlocked, and they made their way down the stairs. They stopped at the first door on the left. Lucas opened the door and grabbed the bag of supplies.

"Bye," Lucas said quickly as he swung the door closed, but Quinn held out his hand to stop it from closing. 

"Woah! Woah! Woah! You had us run all over town for you, and she doesn't even get a thank you!"

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Thank you,” he huffed.

“What do you need all this for anyway?" Ryane asked.

        "None of your…"

"Natalie!” she said, cutting him off. “You're doing this for Natalie! Move!" she said, pushing him aside and strutting into his place.

        Lucas stared at Quinn, shocked. "Did you see that!?"

        Quinn laughed and walked in after her. "Let her help you. I think you really need it."

Lucas opened his mouth to protest but looked at the state his apartment was in and grumbled to himself.

 As she turned the corner, she saw a girl hooked up to a draining machine, gagged, and tied to a chair. The girl tried to say "Help" through the gag.

"Oh, God!" Ryane said, quickly turning around.

"Put her out of her misery," Quinn hissed in Lucas's ear. 

"What? If she doesn't want to see that, she shouldn't barge into my house!" he retorted.

"She is trying to help you. Don't make her look at that. Just give her a Judas kiss or something," Quinn said, in a low voice.

Lucas groaned but approached the girl. He gently massaged her shoulders and said, "This is going to be over soon. Just take a little nap in the meantime." He gave her a deep kiss, and she went limp. Lucas checked her pulse and muttered to himself, "I'll give her five more minutes "

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked Ryane.

"Yeah," she stammered. "It was just a shock." 

Quinn looked at her and said, "Ryane, you have to remember we are predators. We're not good. We're not nice..."

"We are damn sexy though!" Lucas called, cutting him off.

Quinn shook his head. Ryane smiled at Quinn. "Well, he's not wrong," she said, giving him a long kiss.

Lucas scowled. "Gross," he mumbled.

"Let's get started," Ryane said.

Quinn and Lucas went to work, cleaning and re-organizing the storage room while Ryane worked on the bedroom. She avoided looking at the girl tied to the chair at all costs.

Lucas went back to the bedroom to check the girl’s pulse again. "She's dead," he announced. He began dragging her into the back room.

"Wait!" Ryane said, tossing him a tarp. "Don't you dare make a mess in there after I just cleaned it!"

"Really?" Lucas asked, poking his head in. It was scrubbed clean. The blood stains were gone, the floor was mopped, and all his tools were laid out neatly on the large metal table. 

"Woah…" Lucas said, eyeing her work.

An amused smile formed on Quinn's lips. He picked up a can of air freshener. "Tootie-frootie," he read aloud as he sprayed it in Lucas's direction. Lucas glared at him and flipped him the bird.

When they were done, his bed was made, all the clothes on the floor were hung up in the closet, and the dance studio was finished.

"Wow!" Lucas said, admiring their work. "It doesn't even feel like my place any more…"

"You're welcome," Ryane said.

Lucas rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Whatever."

“We’ll be going,” Quinn said, with a slight smile.

"Bye Lucas!" Ryane said, giving him a hug.

Lucas stiffened. "Quinn! Control your human!" he snarled.

Quinn chuckled and before Ryane could pull away he had both of them in his arms.

"Gah!" Lucas said, trying to squirm out of his grip. "I don't do hugs with humans!"

Quinn rolled his eyes and released them.

Ryane laughed. "I'll win you over eventually," she said, with a smirk.

"Don't waste your time," he scoffed.

"Well we're going to get revenge on a few of my former friends that need to be taught a lesson. How about you join us?"

Lucas arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"They really hurt her. So she's going to give him a taste of their own medicine," Quinn explained.

"I don't need a pity invite from you," Lucas sneered, drilling Ryane with a cold stare.

"Natalie will be there," Quinn chimed in.

Lucas perked up. "Really?"

Quinn nodded with a smug grin.

"Ugh! I guess! I mean if Natalie's going to be there," he said, trying to play it cool.

Ryane giggled. "You do have a soft spot."

Lucas glared at her. "Yeah but not for you sweetheart," he snarled. "Now get out!"

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[fictional-love-is-my-life]

I think It's canon that transformation can smell scents. At least in the bayverse. I mean, they can have car scent air fresheners or sprays that they can use 🤔 so can I get which scents are the favorites of bee, Optimus, hotrod, hound, and wreckers in general? It doesn't have to be just car scents. It can be things in nature that they enjoy the scent of. Like a flower or the beach or a freshwater lake.

So I did what air fresheners they would have. I will put the link here.

But I will do what smells they like other than air fresheners.

~

Bumblebee:

He enjoys the smell of workshops, fresh oil, and antifreeze.

He also likes the smell of popcorn, from every time he went to a drive-in theater.

Optimus:

He liked the smell of cleaning products. The NEST base was always kept clean and sterile and he enjoyed the clean smell of it.

He also enjoys the musty smell of old human books. And the smell of summer.

Hot Rod:

He loves the smell of the ocean, the saltiness. Being surrounded by it while living in England he has gotten so used to it.

He also likes the smell of fresh flowers from Burton's garden, and the tea/coffee Vivian likes to drink on the way to work.

Hound:

He loves the smell of gunpowder and explosive putty. He likes the smell of smoke, whether it comes from campfires, cigars, or from his overused machine gun.

Though he has a soft spot for Vanilla scents. And lemon, since they are such a contrast to his usual scents. He finds them very pleasant.

The Wreckers:

They love the smell of oil and grease. They also like the smell of burning metal as they weld things together. They like the smell of jet fuel.

They also quite like the smell of freshly cut grass. While building their ship out, they were surrounded by fields that would regularly get cut and they came to enjoy the smell.

[esoteric-space]

The Loveland Pit Stop

The night of Christmas Eve had worn thin enough to see Christmas morning threatening on the horizon when I spotted the Loveland Pit Stop sign floating in the dark. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed with a peculiar frequency, a sound somewhere between electricity and insect wings. It was an unusual stop on a routine trip. The coffee from three states ago had worn off, leaving behind a metallic taste and a tremor in my hands. I looked around at the parking lot full of cars as I pumped gas into my car.

In the fogged windows of the convenience store, Christmas lights hung unevenly across the dusty frames, their strands drooping where the tape had surrendered to gravity. A few bulbs flickered reluctantly, their dull hues lingering just a moment too long before fading, while others stayed stubbornly dark, leaving gaps in the rhythm. The fog on the glass softened the glow into muted pastels, blending reds, greens, and blues into a lethargic kaleidoscope, as if the lights themselves bore the weight of the empty hours.

Mom's kitchen light would be on, even this early. She’d wake up before dawn to bake, the smell of sugar and cinnamon curling through the house like a warm embrace, spilling out into the frosty air when she opened the door to greet me. It was a ritual as constant as the seasons, her way of holding onto something in a world that kept changing. 

The pump clicked at $14.08. The automatic doors parted with a whisper.

Inside, the fluorescent lights took on a pallid hue, casting a stark glare over the scuffed grey linoleum floor, amplifying the wear on every surface. The store's air was thick, almost syrupy with the artificial pine scent of holiday air fresheners mixed with something older and sweeter, like decades of coffee spilled in places no one had looked. Shelves line the narrow aisles, their contents arranged in a haphazard attempt at abundance: bags of chips with crinkled, faded packaging lean against each other, off-brand candies sit under a faint sheen of dust, and energy drinks in mismatched rows add a pop of color to the otherwise muted display. A whirring cooler hums faintly from the back, where pre-made sandwiches and cartons of milk crowd under a dim light that flickers intermittently. 

I grabbed a basket, its metal edges cold and rough, and moved through the aisles to begin my routine: powdered donuts that Mom pretends to hate but always snags from my bag, a bottle of Advil to stave off the headache crawling steadily behind my eyes, and coffee to fill the hollow ache left by hours of highway monotony. My footsteps echoed oddly, the sound arriving a fraction too late as I moved through the store grabbing the items. 

As I reached for the coffee station at the back, a row of cheap Santa plush toys loomed on a nearby shelf, their beady plastic eyes locked on me as I stood in front of the coffee machine. The digital display didn’t greet me with the usual cheerful prompts for dark roast or decaf but instead cycled through an erratic cascade of random numbers, each flickering with unsettling speed. I tapped the screen once, then again, harder, but it didn’t respond, the numbers continuing their frantic, nonsensical dance. A faint hum came from the machine, a sound that seemed to rise and fall in uneven waves, as if the display itself were breathing.

Turning toward the counter to look for help, I paused as I noticed that the cash register sat unattended. I slowly walked to the front, the air near the register felt heavier, cooler somehow. I froze, my fingers curling tighter around the handle of the basket until the metal bit into my skin. My breath caught in my throat, the faintest puff of it visible in the suddenly cool air. The chair’s slow, almost deliberate sway pulled my gaze, each creak of its movement stretching the silence into something alive. The radio sputtered, a warped voice crooning half a line of a carol before dissolving into static that sounded like someone trying to whisper in my ear. The chair behind it, slightly askew, swayed just barely as if someone had vacated it a moment too soon.

My eyes drifted to the counter, where an abandoned name tag glimmered faintly under the flickering fluorescent lights. The letters blurred and twisted, rearranging themselves into shapes that looked familiar but meant nothing, like the remnants of a dream slipping through my fingers. My pulse thudded in my ears, louder than the soft hum of the cooler or the faint ticking of the coffee machine behind me. I took a step back, my sneakers catching on the sticky floor, the sound echoing loudly in the empty store. 

"Hello?" My voice fell flat, absorbed by the dense, peppermint-saturated air, leaving behind an unnatural stillness that prickled at the edges of my senses. No hum of the cooler or the faint ticking of the coffee machine.

From somewhere in the back came a faint, unsettling sound—a dry, deliberate scrape, like paper being torn one agonizing fiber at a time. The coffee machine sputtered and gurgled, breaking the silence in uneven, wet gasps. My eyes darted toward its polished stainless-steel surface, catching the faint shimmer of my reflection. It was there, but wrong. Its head tilted slightly, almost curiously, dark eyes narrowing with a piercing intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. The stare was unyielding, searching, as though it were peeling back layers I didn’t even know were there. Then, it smiled.

My chest tightened, and my breath hitched as I stumbled back, the basket slipping from my trembling hands. Powdered donuts rolled across the linoleum, leaving trails of sugar-white dust that seemed stark against the dingy floor. The reflection didn’t flinch as I did. It stopped smiling, leaning closer to the polished metal surface, its hand raising slowly as though reaching for me. My own hand twitched in response, drawn by an inexplicable pull toward the gesture.

Behind the reflection, something shifted. Other faces began to appear—versions of me, emerging one after the other, their features faint and fragmented, like sketches left unfinished. Their presence was a ripple, each one more translucent, more fractured than the last.

"Hello?" I said again, my voice thin and wavering. The word felt hollow, swallowed by the thick air pressing in around me.

The reflection’s lips moved silently, mouthing words I couldn’t hear. My heart hammered as I instinctively stepped closer, the movement automatic, detached from any conscious choice. It leaned in, its hand sliding down the coffee machine’s surface, leaving streaks in the condensation like tears trailing down glass.

Then its head snapped up, the motion sudden and sharp, locking its gaze onto mine. The air seemed to collapse, crushing and heavy, as the faces behind it stirred. One by one, they pressed their hands against the invisible walls of their prisons, their eyes wide with recognition—and terror. Their mouths opened, straining in silent screams that I couldn’t hear but could feel, reverberating like static deep in my chest. I wanted to scream too, to break the suffocating silence, but my voice stayed buried, trapped beneath the weight of a truth I couldn’t name.

I turned and ran toward the exit, but the automatic doors didn’t budge. Their glass panes remained sealed, fogging over as though something outside was breathing heavily against them. Panic surged as I banged against the doors, the dull thud of my fists swallowed by the dense air. I grabbed a magazine rack and swung it against the glass, desperation driving my arms. The rack clattered to the floor, its metal legs bending uselessly, but the doors didn’t even crack.

Gasping, I turned back to the coffee machine, my heart pounding in my ears. Its surface reflected only the dimly lit store now, empty and still, as if nothing had ever been wrong. But the silence wasn’t clean; it carried an edge, a tension strung tight like an invisible wire.

The radio crackled suddenly, the static from earlier flipping through fractured bursts of sound. Voices rose and fell, overlapping incoherently until they steadied, just for a moment. A smooth, familiar voice emerged mid-line, carrying a haunting resonance that prickled along my spine.

“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

In that moment, the store stretched around me, aisles elongating into infinite corridors of fluorescent-lit limbo. My reflection watched with patient understanding as reality peeled away like old wallpaper, revealing the void beneath. The last thing I saw before the world inverted was my own face, watching from behind the glass, eyes filled with a horror I would soon learn to understand.

Then I was nothing. Not darkness - darkness requires eyes to perceive it. Not silence - silence needs ears to notice its weight. I became an absence, a space between thoughts in a mind that no longer existed. Perhaps I floated there for eons, or for the length of a single heartbeat. Perhaps I had always been there, would always be there, in that infinite moment between being and becoming. Time has no meaning here. Until it does. 

—

Reality flickered back like a fluorescent bulb catching current, starting with the soft whisper of automatic doors. And suddenly there I was, watching myself walk in with tired eyes and trembling hands, moving with hesitation. Christmas lights hung in the same uneven pattern, their strands drooping where tape had surrendered to gravity. The same burnt out bulbs. The fog on the windows softened their glow into the same muted pastels I remembered. The magazine rack I'd hurled at the glass lay undisturbed in its place, metal legs unbent, covers glossy under the fluorescent lights. The windows showed no sign of my desperate attempts to break them. It was as if none of it had happened.

Or perhaps it hadn't happened yet…

I looked toward the counter where I’d seen the abandoned name tag, the swaying chair. There had never been anyone there, I realized now—not tonight. Not any night. I watched myself scan the empty store, remembering how wrong everything felt in that first moment. My hands pressed against the cold surface of the coffee machine, desperate to warn, to prevent what was coming. But like all the others trapped here, I could only follow the script written in time itself. Powdered donuts, Advil, coffee.

I tilted my head, intrigued by the figure approaching, the way her movements carried the weight of something unresolved. I’d seen myself countless times in reflections, but this was different. It was me—my face, my body—alive and moving, untethered from the glass. A rush of fascination gripped me, a strange, giddy curiosity at seeing myself from this side. My breath caught as our eyes met, and for a moment, I simply stared, taking in the contours of a face I knew so intimately yet had never truly seen. I couldn’t help it—I smiled, a quiet, absurd acknowledgment of the moment. The ridiculousness of seeing myself, real and tangible, yet out of reach, tugged at the corners of my mouth like a private joke only I could understand.

The basket slipped, powdered donuts rolling across the linoleum, leaving trails of dust. I pressed closer to my side of the surface, my palm trailing against the cold, smooth barrier as I leaned in.

I watched as I took an involuntary step forward, my movement mirroring mine, both of us caught in the same gravitational pull I remembered all too well. Desperation tingled at the edges of my thoughts—I wanted to warn myself, to break through the glass with something louder than my helpless smile. But the absurdity of it lingered, that same hollow truth whispering that I’d already tried—and failed—before.

A whispered "Hello?" vibrated through the metal between us. I tried to speak, to warn, but my words dissolved into nothingness. When I dragged my fingers across the surface, they left trails in the condensation—proof that I existed here, in this impossible space behind the glass, where warm breath could still meet cold metal. I looked at how the droplets floated against an invisible barrier from my new perspective. Then I looked up sharply, meeting eyes that still held questions I now knew the answers to.

Behind me, countless versions of myself pressed against the boundaries of their reflections; their presence hummed like static electricity against my skin. Their horror, fascination, and acceptance rippled through me like emotions I had already felt or was yet to feel. The air grew thick as reality folded around me. The fluorescent lights above flickered in a rhythm that felt like language, shadows bending and twisting against the edges of the store. Soon, I would join the reflections again, another fragment in the endless choreography of fractured time.

I wondered if anything truly existed beyond these doors anymore. If somewhere, beyond this pocket of frozen time, Mom's kitchen light actually burned—its warm glow cutting through the predawn darkness like it always had, like it always should. If she was still waiting, moving between window and oven in an eternal rhythm, for a Christmas morning that would never quite reach dawn. If any morning still existed at all.

[ri-son]

The Ultimate Tips For Improving Cat Litter Box Experiences

A comprehensive guide to understanding and optimizing your cat's bathroom needs

1. The Art of Litter Box Placement

Cats are fascinating creatures who need a delicate balance of privacy and security. Think of their wild ancestors – they needed to stay alert while being vulnerable. Your house cat has the same instincts!

The Perfect Location Checklist:

Quiet but not isolated

Away from food and water (cats naturally separate their eating and elimination areas)

Clear escape routes (cats don't like feeling trapped)

Safe from sudden noises (washing machines, dishwashers, furnaces)

Good visibility of surroundings

Easy access

Pro Tip: Try the "Three Days Test" - place litter boxes in different locations and observe your cat's preferences over three days. Their behavior will tell you what works best.

2. The Science of Cleanliness

Did you know? A cat's sense of smell is 14 times stronger than humans! This explains why cleanliness is non-negotiable.

Essential Maintenance Schedule:

Scoop twice daily (morning and evening)

Maintain 4 inches of litter depth

Complete box cleaning every 2 weeks

Replace plastic boxes annually (they can retain odors)

Natural Odor Control Solutions:

Baking soda (sprinkle lightly under litter)

Activated charcoal filters

Air purifier nearby (but not too close)

Open windows for ventilation

Avoid These Common Mistakes:

Scented litters

Air fresheners near the box

Harsh cleaning chemicals

3. Respect the Routine

Cats are creatures of habit – their bathroom routine is no exception. Changes in their litter box setup can cause stress and behavioral issues.

Change Management Tips:

When introducing new litter, mix it gradually with the old

Keep the old box location when adding new boxes

If you must move a box, do it inch by inch over several days

4. Smart Space Management

Protecting Your Space:

Use tracking mats (larger than you think you need)

Consider decorative screens for privacy

Install motion-sensor lights for nighttime use

Use furniture strategically to create natural privacy screens

Innovation Spotlight: There are now smart litter boxes that can track your cat's bathroom habits and alert you to potential health issues!

5. Size and Style Considerations

Use a litter box that is the right size for your cat, about 1x the length of your cat, or enough room to turn comfortably around. A box that's too small can result in scattered litter or mishaps.

6. Multi-Cat Harmony

The famous N+1 rule (where N is the number of cats) is just the beginning. Consider these factors:

Territorial dynamics

Age differences

Mobility issues

Social hierarchies

Additional Resources:

Books:

"Think Like a Cat" by Pam Johnson-Bennett

"Cat Sense" by John Bradshaw

Online Tools:

International Cat Care (icatcare.org)

The Indoor Cat Initiative (indoorcat.osu.edu)

Jackson Galaxy's Cat Resource Center

Apps:

Litterbox Tracker Pro

Cat Health Monitor

Expert Corner

Consulting veterinary behaviorist Dr. Sarah Wilson suggests: "Monitor your cat's litter box habits. Changes in bathroom behavior can be early indicators of health issues."

Common Signs of Litter Box Problems:

Excessive digging

Perching on the edge

Multiple attempts to cover waste

Meowing before or after use

Remember: If you notice sudden changes in litter box habits, consult your veterinarian. Sometimes what seems like a behavior problem is actually a health issue.

See our stylish cat litter box and accessories that will keep you and kitty purring.

Did you find this guide helpful? Share your experiences and tips with other cat parents in the comments below!