#sleek wall mounted tv

[killthemwithyourawesome]

Houston Family Room

With a wall-mounted tv, beige walls, and no fireplace, this large, elegant game room photo has an open concept, medium tone wood floor.

[chelseafcazul]

Philadelphia Enclosed Family Room Inspiration for a large modern enclosed dark wood floor family room remodel with blue walls, a wall-mounted tv, a standard fireplace and a tile fireplace

[runwalk]

Houston Traditional Family Room Large elegant open concept medium tone wood floor game room photo with a wall-mounted tv, beige walls and no fireplace

[olsenmolly]

Contemporary Basement - Lookout Basement - mid-sized contemporary look-out porcelain tile and brown floor basement idea with multicolored walls and a ribbon fireplace

[fratttymatty]

The Basement

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot York had always lived in a world of his own making. A world painted in shades of faded Polaroids, sepia-toned photography, and the tactile hum of his beloved vintage film camera. At 30 years old, he'd never left his childhood home. His mother didn’t mind. She was just happy he was there, safely tucked away in the basement, where he spent hours surrounded by his photography equipment, sketchbooks, and the scent of old books. His life had always been quiet and unassuming—except for the occasional flare-up of frustration over his stalled career as a freelance photographer and artist.

The basement was his sanctuary. He had put up curtains to separate the clutter of his workspace from the cozy corner where he gamed, lounged on old leather sofas, and tried (and failed) to distract himself from the loneliness that gnawed at him. The art on the walls, his collection of vintage cameras, the scattered paintbrushes and half-finished canvases—they were all remnants of a dream that had long been abandoned. But Elliot had found peace there, or at least a dull form of acceptance.

But one evening, as he sunk into his usual routine—editing photos, sipping cheap wine, and scrolling through social media—something strange began to happen. The room felt different. The walls started to shift and hum with an energy that he couldn’t quite understand. It wasn’t a good feeling, not the cozy, familiar vibe that usually calmed him after a long day. No, this was something else. It was unsettling, almost alien.

Elliot stood up, his bare feet cold against the concrete floor. He reached for his phone to check the time, but the screen went black before he could tap it. As if on cue, the lights flickered, then dimmed, and then everything went dark. The silence that followed felt suffocating.

Before he could react, the floor beneath him began to tremble. His heart raced, and the air seemed to pulse with something he couldn’t name. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash, a searing light that filled every corner of the room. He shielded his eyes, but it was no use. The glow was everywhere.

The sound of furniture shifting, re-arranging itself, reached his ears. When the light finally faded, Elliot opened his eyes to find that the basement had transformed into something… different.

Where his art studio had once been, now stood a private gym. The walls were lined with weights, punching bags, and racks of dumbbells. There was a neon sign in the corner that read “GET BIG OR GO HOME,” and a large flat-screen TV mounted on the opposite wall, with gaming consoles strewn across a low table. His leather sofas had been replaced with sleek beanbag chairs, and there were posters of famous athletes and cars decorating the walls. The entire room reeked of sweat and testosterone.

Elliot staggered backward, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened. He looked around in a daze. This… this wasn’t his space. This was some jock’s lair. It was everything he wasn’t. But before he could piece together what was going on, he felt a strange tug in the pit of his stomach. It was an almost physical sensation, a deep, primal force pulling at him, rewiring him, altering him in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

And then it started.

His body began to heat up, the air around him feeling thicker, as if his very cells were being remade. His skin stretched and tightened, his muscles swelling unnaturally as the change began. Elliot gasped, but the sound came out wrong. His voice, once soft and melodic, deepened into something guttural, more masculine. The edges of his vision blurred as the pain started to radiate from the inside out.

His hands, once slender and artistic, grew thick with muscle. His arms were covered in a sheen of sweat as his shoulders broadened and his chest expanded. His abdomen contracted and thickened, forming the abs of a bodybuilder. He could feel the air leaving his lungs as the transformation continued—each breath a battle. His legs grew stronger, thicker, the bones in his legs cracking and reshaping, giving him the powerful legs of a jock.

As the changes continued, Elliot's mind was bombarded by new thoughts, new instincts. The urge to lift weights, to work out, to dominate, it all consumed him. His thoughts flickered and shifted, like pages turning in a book, each one erasing a part of his old self.

His hair was the first thing he noticed. The bleached buzzcut he had been sporting for the past year—decorated with delicate flowers and a symbol of his indie artist lifestyle—was gone. In its place was a thick, dark brown fringe that fell messily across his forehead, styled in the latest TikTok jock fashion. He ran a hand through it, surprised at how it felt so right to him now.

His clothing, too, had transformed. The oversized hoodie and vintage jeans he had been wearing were gone, replaced by a fitted, tight athletic shirt and cargo shorts that clung to his newly muscled thighs. He stared at himself in the reflective surface of the gym mirror. The person staring back at him was unrecognizable.

The most shocking change, however, was the way his mind worked. Elliot—no, the person who had been Elliot—was slipping away. His new name was Ethan. He knew that now. He felt it. The name Ethan York seemed to pulse in his veins. The old worries about art, about the future, about being different—all of that was fading. In its place, a new drive surged within him: sports, girls, and partying. The thrill of competition, of lifting weights, of kissing girls on couches like these… that was what mattered now.

Ethan stood there for what felt like hours, unable to tear his eyes away from the mirror. His entire identity was slipping through his fingers like sand. His old life—the life of an artist, of a photographer, of someone who had longed to find his place in the world—felt distant now, like it belonged to someone else. It no longer seemed to matter.

A loud cheer echoed through the basement, and Ethan realized with a jolt that there were people here now. His friends—his new friends—were hanging out in the basement, lifting weights, laughing, playing video games, and throwing around crude jokes. One of them, a tall guy with broad shoulders and a thick neck, slapped Ethan on the back.

“Yo, dude, you ready for the party later?” he asked, his voice full of that easy confidence that Ethan now understood all too well.

“Yeah, for sure,” Ethan replied with a grin that felt so natural, it was as if he had always smiled like this. His old self—the one who had stared at the world through the lens of a camera, capturing fleeting moments—was gone.

As Ethan joined his friends, slipping into the role of the charismatic jock, he realized that there was no going back. He had been reborn. His old life, his old dreams, everything that had once been important to him, now felt hollow, irrelevant.

The basement—the gym, the gaming consoles, the posters of athletes—was no longer a prison of his own making. It was home. And for the first time in a long time, Ethan felt free.

He never once looked back.

The first few days after the transformation were a blur of new experiences, sensations, and… changes. Ethan, as he was now called, settled into his new life with an unsettling ease. At first, there was a part of him—buried deep inside—that clung to the remnants of his old identity. The artist. The creative soul. The man who had spent years living in his mother's basement, making art and dreaming of a different life. But that part of him quickly became overshadowed by the aggressive, hyper-masculine energy that now consumed him.

The more he worked out, the more his body seemed to crave the endorphin rush of weightlifting, of winning, of being the best. His muscles were constantly sore, but the pain felt good—it felt like he was becoming something greater, something stronger, something… dominant. And the more he grew in this new identity, the more he found himself disdainful of anything weak, anything soft. His patience with his old hobbies—photography, art, writing—waned. His camera, once a tool of self-expression, now sat neglected in the corner of his room, gathering dust.

Ethan started to feel that old life was for losers. The people he used to admire—quirky artists, introverted thinkers, anyone who didn’t fit into the tight mold of a jock—seemed… pathetic now. And in its place, a new breed of arrogance and entitlement bloomed within him. He was the center of his world now, and he knew it. The stares, the whispers—he loved them. He could feel the eyes of girls on him whenever he walked into a room, and it sent a rush of pride through his veins.

"Yo, Ethan, you gonna hit the gym today or what?" a voice called out as he walked through the basement. His buddy, Kyle, was sprawled across the new couch, his feet up on the coffee table, wearing a tank top that showcased his broad arms.

"Yeah, in a minute," Ethan replied with a lazy shrug, flipping his dark, messy hair out of his eyes. He no longer cared about the quiet, artistic moments he'd once cherished. Instead, he reveled in the shallow conversations, the jokes about how much protein they were consuming, and the constant flexing of muscles.

But then there were those moments, the ones that made his blood boil—moments that left a sour taste in his mouth, even in the high of his newfound popularity.

One evening, he was hanging out with a group of his friends—drinking beer and playing video games in the transformed basement, laughing too loud, throwing insults at each other like it was the height of wit. The mood was light, but there was something that cut through the laughter that made Ethan’s muscles tense, his jaw clench.

A guy he barely knew—Mark, one of the freshmen from the high school he still technically attended—had shown up at the party, wearing a tight shirt that clung to his body a little too snugly for Ethan's liking. Mark wasn’t a jock, not in the way Ethan now thought of as right. He was more on the geeky side, wearing glasses and talking too much about video games instead of football.

“Yo, Ethan, I didn’t know you liked photography,” Mark said awkwardly, holding a bottle of soda like it was his lifeline.

Ethan glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, I used to be into that art stuff. Now I’m focused on real things, y’know? Like... working out.” His voice was rougher now, full of the newfound arrogance that he couldn't even recognize as self-loathing anymore.

Mark fumbled with his drink. "Oh, cool. I mean, I think it's awesome how, like, artistic people can still be jocks."

Ethan’s expression shifted immediately. His lip curled into a sneer, and his eyes narrowed. “Artistic, huh? That’s cute. You know what I think about art?” He looked down at Mark with mock pity. “It’s for soft people. You know, like… weirdos.” His words were sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. The others at the party laughed, clearly uncomfortable but complicit in the joke.

Mark flushed, visibly shrinking under Ethan’s gaze. Ethan wasn’t even thinking about it at this point; he was just speaking what came naturally. The idea that someone could be into photography and still be tough, still be masculine, felt so wrong to him now. He couldn’t put it into words, but his gut told him that real men didn’t concern themselves with art or sensitivity. Real men got girls, lifted heavy weights, and dominated life. His new life.

But it wasn’t just about art. Ethan’s homophobia had grown like a weed in a garden, spreading uncontrollably. It was like his new self had to rewrite every part of him, especially the parts that could be considered “weak” or “soft.” His tolerance for things that felt “feminine” had evaporated, and soon, even the smallest hint of something that was remotely “gay” or “queer” made his skin crawl.

At one point, when a guy from school—Chris—who was a bit more effeminate and openly gay, sat down on the couch near him, Ethan felt his blood pressure spike. Chris had always been polite, always too friendly, but Ethan had never given it much thought—until now.

"Hey, Ethan," Chris said, adjusting his hoodie and running a hand through his sleek hair. "You up for a game later?"

Ethan didn’t look at him at first. Instead, he took a long swig of his beer, his eyes scanning the room. "Nah, man. I’m good," he muttered, his tone dismissive.

Chris laughed awkwardly. "Alright, well… if you change your mind, you know where I am."

Ethan’s eyes flicked back to Chris, narrowing. “Honestly, dude, you should maybe… like, tone it down a little,” he said, his voice low, deliberately cutting. "You don’t have to be all... effeminate all the time. It’s a little weird."

His words hung in the air, like a heavy stone.

Chris blinked, clearly taken aback. "What do you mean?" he asked, his face shifting with confusion.

Ethan leaned back, his gaze hardening. "I mean... just… you're acting like you’re in a fucking musical or something." He chuckled, but it sounded hollow even to him. “You don’t need to act so… gay all the time. It’s just uncomfortable for everyone.”

There was a cold silence in the room. Mark, Kyle, and the others shifted uncomfortably, but no one said anything. They just stared, either not caring or too afraid to speak up.

Ethan didn’t care. He was beyond caring.

He was a man now. And men didn’t have time for weakness, for sensitivity, for anything that didn’t fit into the world he had molded for himself. The girl he had been flirting with earlier, Mia—she was all over him now, and that felt like the only thing that mattered. He wasn’t some soft, emotional artist anymore. He was Ethan York, and he was popular, and he was a man.

The party continued late into the night. Ethan and his friends played video games, traded insults, and knocked back more beers. The air was thick with bravado, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. But Mark—who had been pushed aside by Ethan's cruel words earlier—remained quiet, nursing his soda.

He watched Ethan, his old classmate, with a strange mix of fascination and unease. Something about Ethan had shifted, something deep, something unsettling. But at the same time, Mark couldn’t help but feel a weird sense of longing—a desire to be part of the group, to be part of what Ethan had become. There was a magnetism about Ethan now, something powerful and alluring. And despite everything inside him that told him he didn’t belong in this world, a small voice in his head whispered that maybe, just maybe, he could change.

It was then that the transformation began.

It started subtly, like the shifting of shadows, creeping through Mark’s body like a slow burn. He felt a wave of heat flood through his chest, his limbs tingling with unfamiliar energy. He was still sitting on the couch, his eyes locked on Ethan as if hypnotized, but everything around him seemed to blur. His body seemed to ache, his muscles pulsing as if they were being stretched and expanded.

Mark’s hands clenched, his knuckles cracking as his fingers thickened with new muscle. His legs seemed to twitch, his jeans growing tighter around his thighs as they bulked up, swelling with new strength. He gasped, his breath catching in his throat as his entire body seemed to reshape itself, and his thoughts—his old, nerdy thoughts—faded away, replaced by an overwhelming desire to fit in, to be powerful, to be strong.

His clothes felt tight, uncomfortably so, and with a sickening snap, his shirt ripped open across his chest as his pecs ballooned out. His face burned, his jawline sharpening, and his hair—once messy and unruly—now fell in a dark, tousled fringe that framed his face in the exact same style as Ethan's. He barely recognized himself. Mark’s body, once scrawny and awkward, was now a mass of muscle, solid and imposing.

He stood up, suddenly feeling taller, stronger—almost as if he was made to stand out. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on Ethan, who stared back with a mixture of amusement and pride. Mark didn’t say a word.

The transformation had taken hold completely.

“Yo, Ethan,” Mark said, his voice now deep and confident, full of swagger. His tongue felt heavier in his mouth, and his words came out with a new arrogance, “This is fucking awesome.”

Ethan smirked, clearly satisfied. "Welcome to the team, bro," he said, throwing an arm around Mark’s newly broad shoulders, the two of them standing side-by-side. It felt natural, as if this was how it had always been.

Mark didn’t hesitate. His old self—the nerd, the shy, creative guy who had spent hours tinkering with gadgets and buried in his books—was gone. In its place stood someone who had finally found their place in the world. Mark was a man, and he wasn’t going back.

The soft hum of the gym in Ethan’s basement was now a constant background noise in his life—weights clanging, music blasting, and the occasional cheer of a newly broken record. The basement had been his domain, but in the last few months, it had become more than that. It had become the center of his life, not just in terms of workouts and gaming, but in how he’d built the new life he’d always dreamed of—confident, strong, and undeniably him.

But the biggest change had nothing to do with the weights or the video games. It had everything to do with her.

Mia.

She was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked up under her as she flipped through a magazine, occasionally glancing up at Ethan as he adjusted his dumbbells. The space between them was no longer just one of attraction or chemistry—it was something deeper now, something rooted in trust and understanding. They had been together for several months, and while the world around Ethan had transformed beyond recognition, there was one constant—Mia.

And she’d always had a way of seeing beyond the surface.

“Hey, how’s the game going?” Mia asked, a playful edge to her voice. She didn’t need to say much to get his attention.

Ethan grinned, setting down the weights. He wiped the sweat from his brow, then leaned against the wall, glancing at her. “Crushing it. Of course.” He winked, his tone cocky, but the smile on his face was genuine.

Mia raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You’re always crushing it,” she said, her voice light but full of affection. "You need to teach me your secret sometime."

Ethan laughed, walking over and sitting next to her on the couch, his hand naturally resting on the back of her neck. He let his fingers trail lightly over the skin there, brushing away a strand of hair. “You mean the secret to being irresistible?” he said, voice laced with playful arrogance.

She snorted. “You really do have an ego now, don’t you?”

He grinned, but the cocky edge in his voice softened. “Maybe a little. But I’m not complaining. Life’s good right now.” He took a deep breath, feeling the quiet satisfaction of his success, but it wasn’t about the muscles or the achievements. It was about the life he had built—and who he was building it with.

Mia reached up to cup his jaw, her fingers gentle as they traced the sharp line of his face. She studied him, her expression softening. “Yeah,” she said quietly, “I can see that. But you know what? I’m proud of you, Ethan. You’ve worked hard for all of this. I see the difference in you.”

Ethan smiled, the weight of her words settling warmly in his chest. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you, Mia.”

She tilted her head slightly, still holding his gaze. “Maybe not. But you did it. And that’s all you.”

There was a silence between them—one of those comfortable, content moments that didn’t need any words. He knew what she meant. She wasn’t just talking about the physical changes—those were easy. What she meant was that he’d grown into a person who wasn’t afraid to be himself anymore. He wasn’t pretending to be someone he wasn’t, or hiding behind old insecurities. He was a man who had claimed his place in the world—and who had found someone who not only accepted him, but loved him for exactly who he was.

Their lips met softly in a kiss, one that wasn’t rushed or full of desperation, but one that carried years of silent understanding. They’d both grown over the past months—not just together, but as individuals. Ethan had finally come to realize that strength wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, too. And Mia had always been there, steady and real, pulling him forward whenever he felt like he was slipping.

As they pulled away, Mia grinned up at him. “So, what are we doing tonight? I was thinking we could actually hang out in the real world instead of this basement gym.”

Ethan laughed. “You mean… like a date? Outside of this cave?”

“Exactly,” she said, her smile wide and genuine. “Maybe we could hit up that new sushi place you’ve been talking about? You know, actually go somewhere without a weight bench involved?”

Ethan thought about it for a moment. He was used to the basement—the familiar pull of weights, the games, the comfort of his private space. But as he looked at Mia, at the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something as simple as dinner out, he realized that there were more important things than the four walls that had once defined his life.

“Sounds perfect,” he said, reaching down to take her hand. “I think I’m ready for something new.”

Mia grinned, squeezing his hand. “You mean you’re finally ready to leave your little kingdom?”

Ethan chuckled, pulling her up from the couch and leading her toward the door. “Maybe. But don’t get used to it. The basement's still got a few more workouts left in me.”

Mia laughed, her head resting against his shoulder as they walked out the door together. She was right—Ethan had changed. And while the muscle and the confidence were part of it, the real change had happened inside. He was no longer the guy who hid in the shadows of his mother’s basement, afraid to show the world who he truly was. Now, he was the man who had built his life, step by step, with the strength of his own will—and with the love of someone who saw him, really saw him, for all of it.

And as he stepped into the world outside, hand in hand with Mia, Ethan knew that whatever came next, he was ready for it. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t just surviving. He was living.

And he had someone by his side to enjoy it with.

[sophrosynesworld]

With all my love, pt 6

Our car drives out of Tokyo, the once vibrant neon lights dimming in the rearview mirror. Inside the vehicle, a heavy silence hangs like a storm cloud. 

Bakugou sits rigid beside me, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. Izuku, in the driver’s seat, occasionally glances at us through the rearview mirror, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.

The bustling cityscape fades into the countryside, the stars now twinkling brightly against the night sky, freed from the city's light pollution. It’s been so long since I left the city, the last time was for our training camp at UA. What happened to us?

"Can someone please tell me what happened back there?" Izuku’s voice cuts through the silence, his eyes darting between us in the mirror.

Bakugou's grip tightens on his knees. I take a deep breath. "It’s complicated, Izuku. Katsuki and I... we’ve been going through some things." I sound like a mother breaking bad news to her child.

Izuku’s gaze shifts to Bakugou. "You two need to talk. This silence isn't helping anyone."

Bakugou scoffs. "Talk? She thinks I’ve been cheating on her."

Izuku's eyebrows shoot up, but he stays silent. For once, I’m grateful.

"You’ve been distant, Katsuki. Coming home late, missing our dates, disappearing for days. What else was I supposed to think?" My arms cross over my chest, frustration bubbling.

Bakugou sighs, running a hand through his hair. "You really think I'd do that to you? I’ve been hiding something, but it’s not what you think."

"What is it, then?" I question him, but he averts his gaze, staring out the window instead.

The landscape outside changes subtly, flat fields giving way to gentle hills and clusters of trees. Moonlight casts an eerie glow, illuminating our path.The car falls silent again, the tension thick as Izuku navigates through the dark roads. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Izuku turns down a dirt road, leading us to a modest house. Bakugou lets out a deep breath, his grip on the door handle tightening.

"Come on," he says gruffly, stepping out of the car and gesturing for me to follow. ‘

I follow Bakugou up the path to the house, my heart pounding in my chest. He stops at the door, fumbling with the keys before pushing it open. 

As we step inside, I take in the surroundings. The entrance hall is warmly lit by a small chandelier, casting a soft glow on the polished wooden floor. A plush rug lies beneath our feet, muffling our steps. The walls are adorned with tasteful art pieces, and a small table by the door holds a neatly arranged stack of mail and a decorative bowl for keys. I slip my shoes off next to him. 

Bakugou leads me into the living room, and I can't help but marvel at the space. It’s furnished and beautiful. The room is spacious yet cozy, with large windows that offer a view of a well-kept garden outside. A comfortable-looking sectional sofa dominates the room, adorned with an array of throw pillows in various shades of blue and gray. A coffee table sits in front of it, holding a few magazines and an empty vase. The walls are painted a soothing shade of light gray, complemented by dark wooden bookshelves filled with an assortment of books and knick-knacks.

A large flat-screen TV is mounted on the wall, and below it, a sleek entertainment center holds various electronics and neatly arranged DVDs. The soft hum of an air purifier is the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Everything is meticulously arranged, reflecting a sense of order and calm.

“I don’t understand what we’re doing here.” I tug on Bakugou's sleeve to get his attention, my frustration clear. The room is shrouded in dim light, with the moon casting its soft glow through the windows, painting the walls in a subtle hue of silver. “Why did you bring me into the middle of nowhere?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, his back towards me as he walks towards the large glass window overlooking the garden. The soft rustle of leaves and distant chirping of crickets create a serene backdrop to our conversation.

“Whose house is this?” I ask, my voice rising with a mix of confusion and anger.

"It's ours," he admits, turning around slowly, his voice low and strained. The moonlight catches the edges of his face, highlighting the contours and curves. "It was going to be the home we raised our children in."

My heart skips a beat as I process his words. "What are you talking about?" I press, confusion consuming me. "This isn’t our home."

He sighs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "When you got hurt, it was one of the few times I’ve been afraid." His voice cracks, and I can see his shoulders tremble. "The doctors didn’t know if you’d ever wake up."

I want to reach out, to comfort him, but I stay silent. He needs to get this out.

"When you opened your eyes and called my name," his voice wavers, tears spilling from his eyes, "I knew I wanted to spend eternity with you."

I’m stunned. "You’ve been planning this since then?"

"Six months ago, I bought the land. I picked up extra shifts to build this. Every detail, every corner, designed with you in mind. I wanted to build this home for us, to show you that I’m serious about our future.”

I look around the room with new eyes. Everything reflects my tastes. My heart aches with the realization of his efforts. The soft gray walls, the comfortable sectional sofa adorned with an array of throw pillows, the sleek coffee table—every detail reflects my preferences, my style. The thought of him working tirelessly to create this place tugs at my heart.

"You’ve been working on this for six months?" My voice softens as I slowly begin to understand..

"Yeah," he murmurs, regret mingling in his eyes. "I wanted to surprise you. To make up for all the times I’ve been absent. But I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want to ruin it."

I know I should be ecstatic, but anger ignites within me. "You kept this from me while I worried we were falling apart? Do you know how that feels?"

His expression hardens. "I was doing it for us! To prove I could give you everything you ever wanted!"

"But I never asked for this!" I shout. "I just wanted you, Katsuki!"

"I was trying to make things better!" he yells back. "I thought if I finished this place, you’d see how much I care!"

"What do you want from me?" I scream, tears spilling over.

"I want you to be my wife!" His voice cracks, the raw emotion behind his words slicing through the tension in the air.

I stare at him, shock consuming all of my words.

"What?"

Without another word, he storms to a drawer, yanking it open with a force that rattles the whole dresser. He pulls out a small velvet box, his hands trembling. "I wanted to propose to you here, in the house I built with you in mind." he says, his voice barely above a whisper, yet charged with desperation. "I love you more than anything and if I don’t ask you now, I might not be able to later. 

Katsuki drops to one knee before me, holding out an engagement ring that catches the light with a mesmerizing sparkle. The band is a delicate, platinum twist, leading up to a stunning solitaire diamond, flawlessly cut and glistening like a fragment of a star. Smaller diamonds are embedded along the band, adding an extra layer of brilliance. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. 

“Will you marry me?"

Tears blur my vision. "Katsuki..."

The weight of Bakugou's words hangs in the air, his raw admission still echoing in my ears. As he kneels before me, holding out the ring, time seems to stand still. My heart races, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Shock, confusion, anger, and a glimmer of hope—all tangled together.

"No more secrets, no more running away. Just you and me, building our life together. Please, say you’ll be my wife."

I look down at him, the moonlight casting a soft glow on his face. His eyes are filled with a mixture of desperation and vulnerability that I’ve rarely seen. This strong, fierce man is baring his soul to me, and it breaks something inside me.

My hands tremble as I touch his face. "Yes, I’ll marry you."

Relief and joy light up his face as he slips the ring onto my finger. He pulls me into a tight embrace, the tension finally dissolving.

He takes a deep breath, his gaze never wavering from mine. “I know I messed up. I thought I was doing the right thing, building this place for us. But I see now that I was wrong to keep it from you. I was afraid, afraid that I wasn’t enough, that I couldn’t give you what you needed.”

Tears blur my vision as I kneel down to be level with him, our faces inches apart. “All I ever wanted was you, Katsuki. Not some perfect house, not grand gestures. Just you.”

He reaches out, his fingers gently brushing away my tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, we just sit there, on the floor of this beautiful house, holding each other. The anger and hurt begin to melt away, replaced by a deep, aching love. The road ahead is still uncertain, but I can see a glimmer of the future we could have together.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny/Tim, Blue, Tooty Fruity

@ailithnight Prompt fill #4. Feel free to continue this if you want! I was going to add more, but no, not, this is best right here.

-

Tim stops on the threshold to his apartment. His fingers tighten on the doorknob. Slowly, he leans back enough on his heels to to glance at the unit number by the door. Alright, yes, right apartment. He glances back into apartment. Back to the unit number.

Still the right number.

Tim is at his apartment, by all accounts. He shouldn’t have this much doubt. It’s just that… well, the apartment looks like a high school theater set for Gilligan island threw up in it. There are broad leaf plants framing the door and effectively hiding the sleek, modern kitchen to the left. Tan, sand colored drop cloths cover the floor along with a scattering of plastic sea shells. A large hammock hangs in the center of the room and there are colorful beanbags to the side. (Tim wasn’t sure where his real furniture was). The back wall is covered by a questionably painted landscape. The focal point is the volcano that leads up to the TV, mounted over the mantel, that’s playing a video of rising smoke over a tropical sunset. There are ocean noises.

He’s pretty sure he sees the edge of a plastic kiddy pool behind a bird of paradise.

His boyfriend appearing from behind the plants in nothing but by very small, very green speedo and a fabric flower lei doesn’t help Tim’s understanding in the least.

Danny’s face lights up with a smile though. “Tim! Aloha! Welcome to your topical vacation!”

What?

“What?”

[daichislover]

same time next week? (Law college au)

summary: feeling more anxious than ever, you find yourself seeking help from Luffy’s med student friend, someone you've never had the chance to meet before

warnings: fluff, swear words, slight mention of prescriptions, mentions of smoking weed/vaping/CBD, slight mention of drinking (be responsible y’all!), law keeps his place TIDYYY you can’t tell me otherwise, implied plug!law lol

word count: 1337

MDNI

You don’t want to do this.

You stand at this random person’s door, double-checking your phone to ensure you’re at the right apartment number that Luffy gave you. Nervousness tightens your chest. What's the worst that could happen? A simple 'no'? But then again, you've never met this man; anything could happen. Taking a deep breath, you muster the courage to knock but are interrupted by a text.

From: Luffy 

“He’s not that bad, I swear! You’ll get along just fine.”

Easy for him to say, you think, shutting off your phone with a sigh. He could befriend a wall if he tried. After shutting off your phone, you turn to the door. As you finally go to knock, the door swings open abruptly, revealing a man in a penguin hat holding a trash bag. 

Not noticing your presence, the strange man collides into you. You stumble back as he falls, the bag ripping open, trash spilling all over. Groaning, he sits up, then realizes what - or who - he just ran into. “Oh shit… ARE YOU OKAY?” he exclaims, scrambling to his feet.

Stepping back from the spilled trash, you reply, “I’m fine. I’m sorry I didn’t move out of your way.” You then offered to help clean up, but he shakes his head at you and waves off your apology. “Why were you standing outside our door anyways? You lost or somethin’?”

Before you could respond, another figure steps out from the apartment - a tall, tattooed man in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Your eyes widen at the sight of him. This man is very, very attractive and catches you off-guard, fueling your anxiety. You start to blush.

He sighs at the scene before him. “You had one job,” he mutters to the first man, who can only laugh. After bickering back and forth about the mess in the hallway, the trash-covered man turns to you with a smile.

“Whatcha need, sweetheart? My name's Penguin” With a shaky smile, you introduce yourself and add, “I’m looking for a Trafalgar Law? My friend Luffy mentioned-" 

“That’s me. Call me Law.” The gorgeous man interrupts. His smirk doesn’t help your pounding heart as he invites you inside, telling his roommate to clean up the mess.

Walking into the apartment was like walking into a magazine. The place is unexpectedly pristine, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. “Woah…” You say to yourself while looking around. The living room is spacious, featuring a sleek black leather couch and a TV mounted above a fireplace. How can a couple of college kids afford this place?

Another guy emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “I know right? Law’s basically an interior designer. If becoming a doctor doesn’t work out, you’ll definitely see him on HGTV or whatever that home design channel is.” You laugh, feeling your nerves slightly disappear. Law dismisses the comment with a glare and leads you to his room. "Don't mind Shachi, he loves to be an ass."

You follow him down a hallway, and he opens a door on the left, ushering you inside his room. You murmur a soft "thank you" as you step inside, taking in the neatly arranged space. Aside from a desk cluttered with medical books and papers, everything is meticulously tidy. You slowly scan the room, absorbing the details, while he settles into a chair at his desk. As you admire a collection on his shelf, you notice something familiar.

“Is that the ‘Sora, Warrior of the Sea’ collection?” You look closer to double check, and smile when you realize that you’re right. He doesn’t say anything for a while, but then clears his throat. “Yeah, been collecting them for a while. You read?” You mention how you and your brother, Sanji, grew up reading them together. He nods, not saying anything further.

After a few beats of silence, you realize that you forgot why you were there in the first place. Panicking, you start to stutter. “I- uh. Um..” He cocks his head at you, waiting to hear what you were trying to say. You feel yourself getting flustered again and widen your eyes. “Uh-”

“Luffy mentioned something about you needing my help? What can I do for you?” His expression was unreadable, yet he seemed to be listening intently.

You inhale deeply, gathering your thoughts before you start speaking. "Since starting college, my anxiety has worsened, and it’s hard to afford prescribed medication with my tight budget," you explain. "I mentioned exploring alternatives like weed to Luffy, and he suggested that I talk to you. Is there any way you can help me?" You stand there, gripping at your purse. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea; your nerves kick in again and you feel like running away from embarrassment.

Law nods and turns to his desk, pulling open a drawer to retrieve a vape pen, which he extends towards you. You take it, examining the unfamiliar device with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Seeing your puzzled expression, Law asks, "Have you ever smoked or vaped before?" You shake your head. "No, I only drink when I go out."

He hums thoughtfully and gestures for you to hand it back. "Let me show you how it works, then." He carefully demonstrates how to use the vape pen, explaining each step as he goes, before handing it back to you. "Ready to give it a try?" Despite your hesitation, you nod. Law's demeanor instills a sense of trust, but the nerves are still there—after all, this is your first time smoking.

“You’ll probably cough quite a bit on your first try, but don’t worry, you’ll be okay. I’ve got some water ready if you need it,” he reassures you. You nod, feeling your palms begin to sweat.

You bring the pen up to your mouth, and inhale. The feeling was weird and very foreign, but not so bad. Immediately after, you feel a horrible burning sensation in your lungs and throat and start coughing. 

God, how embarrassing. Law quickly grabs his glass of water and hands it to you and you drink it immediately, thankful for his preparedness. After a couple of minutes, and a refill of water later, you finally start to calm down. You look over at Law and see him smirking. “So, how was your first hit?” he asks.

“What do you think?” you retort, half-embarrassed, half-amused. He smiles, turning back to his desk. “See how the pen works for you from now on, then we can discuss other options. That’s yours to keep, no charge. Consider it a first-timer’s discount.” Smiling, you whisper a quick “thank you” and take another hit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a few hours filled with small talk, you find yourself surprisingly at ease with Law. As the evening unfolds, you not only learn more about him but also share aspects of yourself that you usually keep reserved during a first meeting. His company is surprisingly delightful, and you make a mental note to thank Luffy later.

Stretching your arms, you suddenly realize how late it has become. "Oh my god, I didn't realize the time—I have a paper due tomorrow!" you exclaim, hastily grabbing your purse as Law rises and stretches alongside you. Catching a glimpse of his tattooed abdomen, you feel a flush of warmth. Can he get any hotter? You quickly avert your gaze before he notices you staring.

He leads you to the door, passing his roommates who are deeply engrossed in a video game, oblivious to your departure. At the front door, you pause and turn to face him. Law doesn’t seem like the type of person who gives goodbye hugs, which is really more like your style, so you simply smile at him instead.

"Thanks again for everything," you say, gratitude coloring your voice. "When should I come back?" He returns your smile, his eyes slightly lighting up. "Same time next week?"

Your cheeks warm at his smile, and you find yourself nodding eagerly. "Yeah, that sounds perfect."

a/n: idk why, but college law just seems like the type of guy to be a plug LOL hope y'all enjoy

'til next time!

[star-xxx1]

Mrs Romanoff your truly fucking sick, but I'II always love you -

Mob!Natasha x fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha misses you.

Warnings: Dark Natasha, stockholm syndrome, making out, mentions of murder, tooth rotting fluff, Blood.

Natasha's expression was stonic as she glared out the tinted widow of the Matt black landrover. Now ruined, blood smeared on the expensive leather seats. Studying the outside world around her. Her eyes still on the road but examining for anything that might be off or dangerous. Her mind overflowing with thoughts, each one cutting through her like a knife cutting butter. Emerald Eyes flickered to the rear view mirror. There displayed the many blood drenched weapons laid out on back seat, reminding her off the stressful event's she had to deal with this month.

Wow a month without the love of her life, She could only go so long without you and that timer had ran out. You really didn't want to clean up the affects of her rampages that were unleashed if deprive of you for a short 'lengthy' period of time, destroying or killing everything or everyone in her way.

That's what she needed, you, she couldn't feel a thing with out you, no remorse or pain, nothing.

During her time away she would face time you any chance she got. Purposely being late to meetings and events just so she could chat to you a little longer. Mortified when the last week of the work trip turned into a survival game and she had to cut all contact, not wanting anyone to trace her to you. Of course she told you before, not wanting you to stress but you just couldn't help but to do just that.

Within that week, that already annoyed Natasha became more irritated making her even more dangerous. The redhead already was riled up without your touch. Your calls kept her from tiping over the edge but now she had nothing. She couldn't stand it. All she wanted to do was engulf you in her arms and never let go.

When she first kidnapped you met you she was already heavy addicted but when you started warming up to her dark and twisted ways, she got even more obsessed. It was like she was dependent on you. Dependent on your, touch, smell, voice, personality. Just you in general, and without it, she is like a drug addict having violent withdrawal symptoms. Not being able to sleep, irritability, changing moods, depression, Having carvings of you. Her grip tightening on the sleek wheel, more annoyance and fusration building up in her chest.

She had snapped big time. Slashing the throats of many, smashing people heads into walls, stabbing, shooting. That rage had to go somewhere and today it was put into one of her countless killing sprees. Her last three victims being teammates who where suppose to come over to discuss more business, but that would only restrain her from touching you longer. After safely discarding of the bodies she hopped back into her car, continuing the journey home, not caring about the mess she had created.

She was only a few minutes away but that short distance felt like miles to her. Pressing her foot down on acceleration, she put all her focus Into getting home, speeding down the dark streets of new York City.

Tried and worried you plopped down onto the enormous, white couch, to you it felt like pure clouds. You lied there thinking about the intoxicating redhead, anxiety dripping from every pore on your body.

You were stressing out way to much it wasn't healthy at all. Grabbing the tv remote you turn on the huge flat screen tv which was mounted to the wall, hoping it would help distract you. You flicked through the many apps, selecting Netflix. Mindlessly scrolling through the movies and series, you finally saw something that caught your eye. It was a comedy action movie, pressing play you tried to push out all the fear that bubbled inside you.

Around 10 minutes later you were alerted by the penthouses ai that the front door was opened. Springing up you quickly made your way to the door, pacing down huge hallways.

"Natasha?" You called out before Turing the corner. There you saw her drenched head to toe In blood. Taken aback sightly, you stopped in tracks, trying to get used to the sight of your wife. You've seen her like this before but it still catches you off guard everytime. "Is that yours? Did you do it again?"

She was hypnotized by the sight of you in her fuzzy sweater, which was way to big for you, and the pink sleep shorts you had paired with it. You looked adorable. Taking a deep breath she closed the space between you and her. As she came closer you could see miniscule chucks of something on her signature black jacket. "Natasha, what the actual fuck in that?"

"Brains, flesh I don't know? Both maybe? Could be anything?" She shrugged.

"How many?" You questioned raising a brow.

"Like, 20?"

"20! Natalia!" You raised you voice at her. She grinned at your reaction, finding it cute. She pulled you into a tight hug missing you so dearly. "Great you've got blood all over me and that shit too" she chlucked at you comment. "Come on Natty let's get you into the shower" you pulled away and held her hand. Dragging her the through the halls and into your bedrooms bathroom.

You turned on the shower and started undressing, feeling a pair of eyes burn into you. "You gonna undress to?" You asked. The women quickly started stripping. Once done you grabbed a plastic bag and put the clothes into it. After tying it and placing it onto the counter, Natasha slammed your back against the cold shower tile, and smashed her lips into yours. You let out a loud moan which she greedily gobbled up. Swiping your lower lip with her tounge asking for permission which you happily granted. The kiss was sloppy, passionate, and intense. Only pulling away once you both couldn't breathe.

"I really missed you natty" you rested your head in the crook of her neck lightly crying.

"Shh, it's okay dekta, I'm here now" she kissed your head while whispering sweet nothings. You both griped on each other for dear life In comfortable silence, basking in the feel of being with eachother.

After finishing your shower, scrubbing away all the blood, you both got dressed into pajamas. Natasha slipped under the covers off the large bed. Expecting for you to join, only to see you leaving the room with the plastic bag.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm just putting your clothes on the kitchen counter to remind us to burn them tomorrow since there's no point trying to save them there to far gone, I wont be long, I promise sweetheart" you ressured her.

She gave you a warm smile and adjusted her position into a more comfortable one.

When back, you turned off the lights and crawled into her arms, so happy to have your wife back.

"I love you Natty" you mumbled.

"I love you more dekta" Natasha responsed back.

Natasha felt whole again, stable and content with you back in her arms. All her pervious stress melting away. You both soon fell into slumber, feeling so loved by each other.

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Twenty Five: A Force Of Nature SS: 3 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 1.8K Content Warnings: none?

Previous Next Masterlist

Ayame stands outside the meeting room, gripping her laptop like it's a shield against her nerves. Her black blouse is meticulously pressed, tucked into high-waisted red cigarette trousers that scream power, while her black stilettos make sharp, decisive clicks against the floor whenever she shifts her weight.

Her hair is styled to perfection, a balance of professional and effortless waves cascading over her shoulders. Outwardly, she looks composed and confident; inside, she's a swirling mess of anxiety.

Minho stands directly in front of her, his hands gripping her shoulders with an intensity that borders on comedic. His tone is low but firm, the perfect blend of pep talk and threat. "You're going to walk in there, and you're going to fucking kill it, Ayame. Got it? You're smarter, sharper, and hotter than anyone in that room."

"Definitely hotter," Jisung chimes in, standing next to Minho and nodding so enthusiastically his head looks like it might fall off. "Like, dangerously hot. I'd hire you just to stare at you. Not that they should do that, because that's wildly inappropriate, but you get what I mean."

Ayame lets out a soft laugh despite herself. "Thanks, oppa."

Hyunjin, leaning dramatically against the wall like he's posing for a Gucci campaign, sighs with a hand over his chest. "I still say we should've gotten matching shirts. Imagine it: bold, white letters. Team Ayame. Chic, supportive, iconic."

Seungmin doesn't even look up from his phone. "Because that's exactly what she needs. A group of idiots parading into the office like we're at a fucking pep rally. Genius idea, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin rolls his eyes so hard Ayame's half-convinced they're about to fall out of his head. "It's called morale-boosting, Seungmin. Look it up sometime."

"You're boosting my headache, not her morale," Seungmin deadpans, sliding his phone into his pocket. "Ayame, can you just go in there, prove you're better than everyone, and win this already? I have dinner reservations, and I hate being late."

Ayame chuckles, the chaotic banter easing some of the tension in her chest. "You're all fucking ridiculous."

Minho ignores them both, squeezing her shoulders slightly tighter, his voice lowering like he's about to deliver a war speech. "Listen to me, Maknae. You've worked for this. You deserve this. You've got the brains, the looks, and the balls. That room is yours. You fucking own it. Got it?"

Ayame exhales sharply and nods, determination flickering in her eyes. "Got it, oppa."

Minho winks. "That's my girl."

Jisung gasps dramatically. "Oh my god, are we doing the 'break a leg' thing? Do I get to say it? Please let me say it."

Hyunjin cuts in before anyone can answer, his tone bored but amused. "No, you don't get to say it. You'll jinx her."

"Fine," Jisung mutters, pouting. "Then I'll just say... uh... don't trip in your heels?"

Ayame snorts, the laughter bubbling out of her before she can stop it. She straightens her blouse, adjusting her stance as her friends look on, a chaotic and oddly comforting collection of support. "You guys are a mess."

"And you love us," Minho says confidently, stepping back to give her space. "Now go. Make them eat their fucking words."

With one last steadying breath, Ayame squares her shoulders, lifts her chin, and strides into the meeting room, her heels echoing with the kind of confidence she's willing herself to feel. Behind her, she hears Hyunjin murmur, "She's so fucking badass."

Seungmin snorts. "She's badass because she doesn't listen to you."

Minho claps once, grinning. "Either way, she's about to make history. Let's celebrate later. Drinks on me."

Jisung grins. "You're paying? Best day ever."

Ayame sets her laptop on the sleek meeting room table, her fingers steady as she connects it to the large TV mounted on the wall. She adjusts the cables, her mind laser-focused, though her pulse is racing beneath her composed exterior. Her red cigarette trousers catch the eye of one of the board members, Mr. Yoon, who raises an impressed eyebrow at her sharp, polished look.

She turns to face the three board members, Mr. Yoon, Mr. Park, and Ms. Seo, and offers a confident, professional smile. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today. I know your schedules are packed, so I'll get straight to the point."

Ayame clicks the remote, and the TV screen comes to life, displaying the opening lines of Lee Aera's latest novel. The words are styled in a clean, dynamic font, paired with a striking visual of a digital book interface. Ms. Seo leans forward slightly, her interest clear.

"What you're about to see is more than just a book," Ayame begins, her voice steady and clear. "It's the foundation for a new kind of reader experience. Imagine a platform where the lines between author and audience blur. Where stories evolve in real time, shaped by the people who consume them."

Ms. Seo tilts her head, intrigued. Mr. Park folds his arms, his expression skeptical but curious. "And how exactly does that work?" he asks, his tone a little clipped.

Ayame clicks to the next slide, revealing a sleek flowchart of the user experience. She steps closer to the screen, gesturing with the remote. "Here's the vision. Readers purchase serialized chapters digitally, think of it as the Netflix model, but for books. After each chapter, they're invited to join an online community where they can discuss what they've read with other readers. But here's the kicker, the author joins in, too."

Mr. Yoon leans back in his chair, his eyebrows arching in surprise. "The author? Participating with the readers?"

Ayame nods, her smile widening. "Exactly. The writer takes real-time feedback and incorporates it into the next chapter. It's serialized storytelling, reimagined for the modern digital landscape. Think Charles Dickens but with Wi-Fi."

A small smile tugs at Ms. Seo's lips. "That's... ambitious," she says, her tone tinged with approval. "And risky."

Ayame doesn't miss a beat. "Risky? Sure. But isn't innovation always risky? Readers are craving more immersive, personalized experiences. This isn't just another publishing gimmick, it's the future."

Mr. Park leans forward, his fingers steepled. "And the budget? These kinds of platforms aren't cheap to build or maintain."

Ayame clicks to another slide, which displays a detailed cost breakdown. "If you turn to section two of the document in front of you," she says, gesturing to the neatly bound proposals on the table, "you'll see a comprehensive budget. We've accounted for everything. Development, marketing, community management, and server costs. Most importantly, the platform is built for scalability. As user demand grows, so does our capacity."

Mr. Yoon scans the document in front of him, nodding slowly. "The numbers seem solid."

"And the projected returns?" Ms. Seo asks, her pen poised above her notepad.

Ayame clicks to another slide, which displays a graph illustrating projected growth over five years. "With the current growth of the audiobook and e-book markets, this platform positions us perfectly to capitalize on those trends. By year three, we're looking at a 200% ROI. By year five, it doubles again."

The room falls quiet as the board members digest her words. Ayame doesn't falter, standing tall and meeting each of their gazes with unwavering confidence. She clicks to her final slide, which displays the words Reader Evolution Starts Here over an image of an open book.

"In conclusion," Ayame says, her voice ringing with conviction, "this platform isn't just a new way to consume stories. It's a revolution. It bridges the gap between creator and consumer in a way that no other medium can. With your approval, we can turn this vision into a reality."

She bows deeply, her hair brushing her shoulders. "Thank you for your time and consideration."

The room stays silent for a beat, then the board members exchange brief, unreadable glances. Ms. Seo is the first to nod, followed by Mr. Yoon and Mr. Park.

"Thank you, Ms. Lim," Ms. Seo says with a small smile. "We'll be in touch soon."

Ayame gathers her laptop, keeping her composure as she packs up. Her heels click against the polished floor as she walks out of the room, her head held high. Once the door closes behind her, she exhales sharply, the adrenaline flooding her system finally subsiding.

Ayame walks into Nari's office, the adrenaline still humming under her skin from the presentation. Nari, perched casually on the edge of her desk, looks up from her phone and smiles warmly, a tissue-paper-wrapped package sitting next to her. The cosy office smells faintly of jasmine tea, Nari's signature.

"Well?" Nari asks, her voice carrying a perfect blend of calm and curiosity. "How'd it go?"

Ayame collapses into the chair opposite her, crossing her legs and letting out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "They grilled me on the numbers like I was trying to justify world hunger, but I nailed it."

Nari beams, sliding the package across the desk toward Ayame. "I knew you would. Here, I got you something."

Ayame raises a brow as she picks it up, the tissue paper crinkling under her fingers. "You got me something? Is it tequila? Because I could use tequila."

"Better," Nari says with a smirk. "Open it."

Ayame tears into the wrapping and freezes, staring at the worn but pristine original copy of Pride and Prejudice. Her eyes widen, and her mouth falls open slightly. "Holy shit, Nari. This is- This is insane. Where the hell did you find this?"

Nari shrugs, clearly pleased with herself. "A little bookstore on the corner of Insanity and Fuck Your Budget. I thought it might inspire you."

Ayame laughs, running her fingers reverently over the embossed title on the cover. "Inspire me? Nari, you just handed me the Holy Grail of feminist sass. I'm about to be unstoppable."

"You were unstoppable before," Nari points out, crossing her arms. "Darcy's just a little nudge."

Ayame snorts, still staring at the book like it might evaporate if she blinks. "You know, I've always thought Darcy was overhyped. Inscrutable, misunderstood... too much brooding. The reality? Half the time, a guy's just an asshole."

Nari laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that fills the room. "God, isn't that the fucking truth? Jane Austen might've been brilliant, but let's be real, she set us up for disappointment."

"Exactly!" Ayame says, setting the book down carefully, like it's made of glass. "Darcy would've ghosted Elizabeth Bennet the second she disagreed with him about where to eat dinner."

The door creaks open suddenly, and Minho pokes his head in. His eyes are wide, his expression a mix of urgency and uncontained excitement. "They've made their decision."

Ayame's stomach flips, and her heart jumps into her throat. She stands abruptly, clutching the book to her chest like it might shield her from whatever's coming. "Already? Fuck, that was fast."

Nari places a steadying hand on Ayame's shoulder, her own voice calm but firm. "You've got this. Whatever they decide, you've already proved yourself."

Ayame takes a shaky breath, nodding. Minho waves them on impatiently, practically bouncing on his feet. "Come on, maknae, let's move. I didn't sit through Haechul's stupid power monologue in the hallway for nothing."

"Was it about how great his dick is again?" Ayame mutters, the nerves making her mouth run faster than her brain.

Minho smirks. "Oh, it always is. But don't worry, you're about to show them that brains and balls come in much better packaging."

Nari chuckles as they make their way to the meeting room. "Ayame Lim. Brains, balls, and stilettos. A force of nature."

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait guys <3 I had two 2,500 word assignments and a 3,000 word assignment to do over the Christmas period but they've all been done and I'm back <3 Vote on my three day poll for my new story: The Inheritance of Love

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[mediocre-eternity]

Tell us about your mortal friends.

Sure.

Oh, and I would like to clarify just one thing, before I write about these poor things… just to clarify one little bite Lestat wanted to take at me… I do not keep “mortal slaves.” There are no mortals that help me against my will and any suggesting I might do on my part would never disrupt their waking lives. I am ethical towards mortals I am routine with. Then again, I don’t really know what Lestat’s written about me recently. These are things I hear through the grape vine.

Speaking of, if any of you mortal readers want to talk to me about Lestat’s recent dissemination, please inform me. I’ve only gotten what his final three publications were about second hand.

If we are talking about frequency of communication only, I would have to say my right-hand neighbors Eric and Mohammad are probably our two closest mortal acquaintances. They are also the two that I have to maintain a true human-like relationship with most of the time.

Eric is an Italian-American man. He is large and imposing, with red hair and beard, skin adorned with and barely visible under decades of tattoo collecting and his voice is loud but friendly. He used to be a part of a gang, one that rides motorcycles. He mentioned something to me once, something about being in the one-percent. A Hell’s Angel. What a dramatic name. In summer months he parks his maroon-red Harley Davidson next to my Suzuki. Eric told me he stopped wanting to be violent after meeting his husband, Mohammad, because he didn’t want to lose what little family he had left. His father, who was a house builder and taught Eric the same trade, disapproved of Mohammad and Eric only spoke of their marriage when this father was on his death bed. Before that, they hadn’t spoken in twenty years.

Tragic.

Because Eric is a house builder by occupation, he has helped Daniel and I many, many times when we’ve found ourselves in a real pickle, as he’d say. Once our pipes froze over and he helped us acquire repairs. Even little things like getting my car started on a snowy evening, helping me mount our TV to the wall and amusingly telling Daniel what gay nightlife used to be like (Daniel is older than Eric by nearly fifteen years, haha!) are what Eric can be relied on for. We like Eric a whole lot.

Mohammad, or Mo, on the opposite, is a slight, beautiful and quiet man, always dressed with voguish sophistication. Whatever his job is, it either keeps him on his phone or in their house. When he does drive, it is in a sleek black modern Audi. Occasionally he will let me practice Arabic when we exchange pleasantries, but often Mo does not want to be bothered, so I don’t bother him.

Our other closest mortal friend is Abby, our housekeeper, who comes to our home about once a month. The entire household has gotten very close to her and we text her most of the time. She’s an NYU student working toward being a lawyer. A beautiful twenty-seven year old woman who is so incredibly entertaining to talk to. She is a wealth of information and big ideas about these modern nights. So much so that it’s a shame knowing she plans on moving to Puerto Rico after she graduates. Though we can’t be so close to mortals forever.

She likes thinking about Daniel a whole lot, when we do get the opportunity to see her outside of our home, which can be quite infrequent. I find it funny when she entertains courting Daniel… I like to think back on the pretty young women Daniel would find attractive and be at their heels in their bedroom once they were alone together. She is very very nostalgic to be around.

We bought her and her boyfriend a couch a few months ago at Ikea.

Anyway, these are just the few living folk we spend most of our time around anyway. I mean, there’s hundreds really, but they can be a dime-a-dozen. We have another neighbor, Xu Li, an elderly woman who immigrated to New York when she was nineteen. She is ninety-four now and her house is a revolving door of her numerous family members. When I do speak to her, she is resting on the balcony that faces mine. I also had a small group of like-aged individuals I was spending my time with but my appearance became a hindrance to seeing them so often. And it made me a bit sad, too.

Lately I’ve been thinking about how much Daniel and I have set our roots in Brooklyn and how much more Night Island is becoming a memory. I long for it, the weather, the storms, the ocean, but we’ve built the closest thing we’ve ever had to a community, mortal and immortal, in New York. The first time I remember really being enamored with Daniel was in New York and there’s always a calling for home with us here. But who knows. What are relationships to a thing that never dies.

[blueberrysauce54]

The Game She Plays- Chapter 12

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Athena worked relentlessly, pushing herself harder than usual in the gym. The weight of each dumbbell seemed to mirror the weight in her chest—tension she was eager to burn away. She had been at it for hours, working through sets with meticulous focus, sweat glistening on her skin. Vi, lounging on a bench nearby, couldn't help but chuckle at her friend's intensity.

"You know, you're just trying to look good for Caitlyn, right?" Vi teased, grinning slyly. "But you can't be all sweaty and gross when she shows up. She might not be able to handle all that... attraction."

Athena shot her a look, brushing her hair out of her face, but couldn't suppress a smirk. "I'm not trying to impress anyone," she replied, even though the words felt a little empty as she pushed herself for yet another set. "Just training."

Vi raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

Hours later, as the gym slowly emptied out, Athena wiped her forehead with a towel. She looked at her phone—Caitlyn was on her way. The weekend had finally arrived, no classes to attend, no stress to carry. Just Caitlyn, her, and a little time to themselves.

When Caitlyn finally arrived at the gym, she looked as pristine as ever, effortlessly stylish in casual clothes that made Athena's heart skip. Her hair was still in place, her makeup, if any, barely visible but perfect. She smiled at Athena, amusement twinkling in her eyes. "How's the workout, champ? You gonna be able to move later?"

"Of course," Athena replied with a smile, trying to ignore the small blush that crept up her neck. "I'm fine. You're early."

"I like to be punctual," Caitlyn teased, walking up to Athena. She leaned in for a quick hug, her arms wrapping around Athena's waist in a familiar but sweet gesture. "Ready to go?"

They arrived at Caitlyn's apartment later, and Athena couldn't help but notice how meticulously clean it was—an almost surreal contrast to her own chaotic space. The light was soft and warm, casting long shadows across the stylishly arranged furniture. The living room was spacious, with a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. There was an impressive collection of books on a shelf, neatly organized, paired with a sleek, black leather couch that Athena had seen before in their texts—the "fancy-ass couch," as she had jokingly called it. The floors were hardwood, and there was a light scent of lavender that seemed to linger in the air, giving everything a serene vibe.

Athena's gaze drifted to the counter where she had left her bag the last time she was here, still in its place. She grinned softly. "I missed that bag," she said, walking over to it and running her fingers over the leather strap. "Feels like home already."

Caitlyn smiled at her, walking into the kitchen. "Well, if you're feeling at home, that's a good start."

The night unfolded with easy conversation, Caitlyn ordering takeout—Athena's favorite—and the two of them sharing jokes and subtle touches. The food arrived, and Athena went to pay, but Caitlyn stopped her, stepping forward to handle the transaction.

"I've got it," Caitlyn said, smiling. She handed the delivery man the cash and then turned back to Athena. "Besides, I'm paying you back from the dinner you got me,"

Athena chuckled. "Guess I'll let you get away with it. "

"Shut up, Athena," Caitlyn said playfully, tossing a napkin at her. "Let's just eat."

Later, the two of them settled on the couch, a blanket draped over their legs. Athena couldn't help but laugh at the sheer luxury of it all, the soft cushions enveloping them like they were sitting on clouds. "Fancy-ass couch," she muttered, poking Caitlyn's side.

"You don't like it?" Caitlyn teased, leaning back and grinning. "You seemed impressed when I showed it to you."

"Oh, I'm impressed alright," Athena responded, her voice low as she got comfortable. "But I think I might need to stay here forever. This couch is living the dream."

They laughed together, the sound of their voices mixing easily in the air. The movie started, and for a while, they didn't say much—just eating, talking, and getting lost in the moment. As time passed, they slowly edged closer to each other. Athena's shoulder brushed Caitlyn's, and Caitlyn didn't shy away. In fact, she let her hand rest on Athena's, their fingers intertwining gently. Athena couldn't remember when the physical distance had shrunk so much, but now, with Caitlyn's body warmth against her, it felt... right.

Before long, the movie had eded, Athena's head was resting on Caitlyn's shoulder, her breathing steady and calm. Caitlyn smiled down at her, her phone in hand, though her attention was mostly on Athena. She didn't want to wake her, just savouring the closeness.

A few minutes later, Athena stirred, blinking her eyes open. She groaned softly, stretching and rubbing her eyes. "Sorry... I shouldn't have worked out before this. I always get so tired after a workout."

Caitlyn looked down at her, her fingers brushing Athena's hair back. "It's fine. You're still here, right?" Her voice was soft, and Athena could feel the warmth of it more than hear it.

Athena met her gaze, a little shy now that they were so close. "You make me feel like I can actually be here. Like I can just... be."

Caitlyn smiled, squeezing her hand. "I'm glad."

And that was when it happened. The words left unsaid in the air. The feeling that had been building between them suddenly became undeniable. Caitlyn moved slightly, leaning in closer. Athena's breath hitched as she watched Caitlyn's lips draw nearer.

Then, it was like everything clicked. Athena closed the gap, her lips brushing against Caitlyn's in a soft, tentative kiss. It was slow, careful, as if neither of them wanted to rush it, even though their bodies were pulling them closer. Caitlyn's hand found its way to Athena's cheek, her fingers trailing lightly across the skin, as Athena cupped Caitlyn's face, deepening the kiss ever so slightly.

A warmth spread through Athena's chest, her heart pounding, her hands moving to Caitlyn's waist, pulling her closer. There was a hunger in the kiss, but also a tenderness—a mix of longing and care, a desire to savour the moment.

But then, just as their hands started to wander, Athena pulled back slightly, her breathing a little heavier. She smiled, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "I've always done this... rushed things. I don't want to mess this up with you."

Caitlyn's expression softened, a small laugh escaping her. "I don't want to rush either," she said, her voice low but comforting.

Athena grinned. "Yeah, and as much as I love your fancy-ass couch, I'm not sure this is the place for that."

They both laughed, the tension easing between them. Athena let out a breath, feeling lighter now, the weight of the moment dissipating.

"I'm happy you understand," Athena said softly, her fingers tracing along Caitlyn's hand. "We'll go at our own pace."

Caitlyn nodded, her smile wide and genuine. "Of course. We'll take it slow."

__________

The room was filled with the faint sound of laughter and the rustle of blankets being tossed aside. The remnants of their takeout boxes sat forgotten on the coffee table, but the mood was different now. No longer were they two friends just enjoying each other's company. Now, the space between them seemed electric, charged with an intensity that neither of them could ignore.

Athena, still nestled on Caitlyn's shoulder, lifted her head slowly, meeting Caitlyn's gaze. There was a softness in her eyes, but also something deeper, something unspoken. Caitlyn's fingers brushed Athena's cheek gently, almost as if she were memorizing the feel of her skin.

"You know," Athena said quietly, a small smile curling at her lips, "I really like this."

Caitlyn's brow furrowed slightly, her thumb grazing the side of Athena's neck. "What do you mean? Like the... couch?" she teased lightly, her lips curling into a small grin.

Athena chuckled, shaking her head. "No, I mean... us." Her voice was softer now, but the sincerity in her words was unmistakable. "I like us."

The air between them shifted, thick with the weight of those words. Caitlyn's heart fluttered, her pulse quickening. There was a certain clarity in Athena's confession, a vulnerability that Caitlyn hadn't expected, and it made her feel something even stronger than before.

"Us?" Caitlyn repeated, her voice low but filled with the same warmth that was spreading through Athena's chest. "You mean this... everything we're doing?"

Athena nodded, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on Caitlyn's arm. "Yeah," she said, voice steady but full of affection. "Everything. I want this to be real."

Caitlyn smiled, her hand gently cupping Athena's face. "Then let's make it real."

So- they in fact, did not take it slow.

And just like that, the world around them seemed to disappear. Their lips found each other again in a kiss that was far more intense than any of the ones before. It wasn't tentative now; it was urgent, driven by something more than just the spark between them. Their mouths collided, their breath mingling in the space between them as Athena shifted, straddling Caitlyn's lap without even thinking. The kiss deepened, heated and hungry, as though neither of them wanted to stop, and yet they were both savoring every moment.

Athena's hands slid beneath Caitlyn's shirt, the warmth of her skin sending a shiver through her. Caitlyn's fingers threaded through Athena's hair, tugging her closer, if that was even possible. It was a dance—one that neither of them knew the steps to, but they were both so willing to learn.

Athena's body pressed into Caitlyn's, the heat between them only growing as their kiss became more frantic. The world outside the apartment ceased to exist. It was just them, the soft rhythm of their breath, the taste of each other lingering on their lips. Every touch felt electric, every movement filled with the tension of what was to come.

But as the pace quickened, Athena pulled back slightly, breathless, her eyes wide and searching Caitlyn's face. "I'm sorry... I didn't—" Her voice faltered for a moment, unsure.

"No," Caitlyn whispered, her hands gently holding Athena's face, forcing her to meet her gaze. "It's okay. If you're ready..."

And that was all it took. Athena nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she ran them down Caitlyn's chest, pausing at the waistband of her pants, her fingers brushing lightly over the fabric. The heat between them flared again, but Athena needed to be sure—sure that this was what they both wanted.

"Are you sure?" Athena asked, her voice quiet, almost uncertain, though her body betrayed her. She was ready. They were ready.

Caitlyn leaned in, kissing her gently but firmly, as if to answer Athena's unspoken question. She pulled Athena closer, their bodies pressed tightly together, their hearts racing in sync. And without another word, Caitlyn guided her toward the bedroom.

The moment they stepped inside Caitlyn's room, the energy shifted. The room was dimly lit, soft lighting casting long shadows on the walls. Caitlyn was glad she decided to clean it yesterday night. The bed, made and inviting, stood at the center of the room, a place where a thousand possibilities seemed to hang in the air.

Athena felt her heart race faster as Caitlyn gently set her down on the bed, their eyes locked in a silent agreement. They were no longer just two people figuring things out. They were two people who had already decided they were ready to take this next step, together.

Caitlyn's fingers trailed up Athena's arms, feeling the muscles there flex beneath her touch. Athena responded by leaning down, kissing Caitlyn with a tenderness that made her knees weak. Their hands began to move more freely now, exploring each other's bodies with a mixture of urgency and reverence, as though they were both discovering something new and beautiful with every touch.

Caitlyn's hands slid to the hem of Athena's shirt, lifting it slowly, deliberately, as though savouring each moment. Athena pulled back just enough to let Caitlyn slip it off, her breath hitching in her chest as she caught sight of Caitlyn's eyes—filled with something deep, something that made her heart race even more.

"You're beautiful," Caitlyn murmured, her voice low, reverent. "So beautiful."

Athena smiled, pulling Caitlyn closer.

Their lips met again, this time slower, more deliberate, but still just as filled with that consuming heat. They continued to explore each other—hands trailing over skin, lips pressing, breaths mingling—as the moment between them reached its peak. The room seemed to close in around them, but all Athena could focus on was Caitlyn—the way her hands felt against her skin, the way her lips tasted, the way she made Athena feel like she was exactly where she needed to be.

In the heat of the moment, their movements grew more desperate, more frantic. The world outside the room was long forgotten, replaced only by the overwhelming desire to be as close as possible.

Caitlyn's hands were gentle but firm as they cupped Athena's face, tilting her chin up, and their eyes met—deep, searching, both of them silently asking if this was the moment. Athena's pulse quickened, her lips parting in anticipation, and Caitlyn's gaze flickered down to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

With a slow exhale, Caitlyn leaned in, brushing her lips softly against Athena's. It was a tender kiss, one that spoke of everything they had been holding back, a soft release of desire. Athena responded immediately, her hands reaching for Caitlyn's back, pulling her closer, the heat between them intensifying.

Caitlyn deepened the kiss, her fingers tracing the delicate curve of Athena's neck, feeling the warmth of her skin. Athena's breath hitched as Caitlyn's lips moved lower, brushing against her jaw, then her collarbone, her skin soft and warm under the touch. Every kiss was a promise, every movement a whisper of something more.

When Caitlyn's hands gently slid down Athena's body. Athena's breath caught in her throat, her body trembling slightly under Caitlyn's touch. She nodded, just barely, giving Caitlyn the permission she craved.

With careful intent, Caitlyn's lips moved down further, her body pressed close to Athena's as she undid the button of her pants with practiced ease. The air between them was thick with anticipation, and every inch of skin Caitlyn exposed felt like an offering, an invitation to something deeper.

Athena's hands were in Caitlyn's hair, pulling her in closer, as Caitlyn continued her slow, deliberate descent, kissing her way back up. The intimacy of the moment was all-encompassing—there was no rush, no need for anything more than the quiet, tender connection between them.

Caitlyn paused, her forehead resting gently against Athena's, both of them breathless. Their gazes locked once more, and there was a silent understanding in that look, an unspoken question that passed between them. Athena's voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough to break the tension.

"I trust you," Athena murmured, her voice steady but full of warmth. Caitlyn's heart swelled at the words, and she kissed Athena deeply once more, this time with a promise—of care, of tenderness, of something deeper than just the physical.

Athena's words resonated through Caitlyn, igniting a fire within her. With newfound confidence, Athena gently pushed Caitlyn onto her back, reversing their positions. Her eyes, dark with desire, roamed over Caitlyn's form as she straddled her hips.

Slowly, reverently, Athena's fingers traced the contours of Caitlyn's face, committing every detail to memory. She leaned down, her lips brushing against Caitlyn's ear as she whispered, "Let me show you how much I trust you."

Athena's touch was electric as her hands glided down Caitlyn's neck, across her collarbone, and lower still. She took her time, savouring each gasp and shiver she elicited from Caitlyn. With deliberate care, she undid the buttons of Caitlyn's blouse, placing soft kisses on each newly exposed inch of skin. Caitlyn arched into her touch, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Athena," Caitlyn breathed, her voice thick with emotion. Her hands found Athena's hips, pulling her closer.

Athena smiled against Caitlyn's skin, reveling in the way Caitlyn responded to her. She trailed her fingers along the curve of Caitlyn's waist, feeling the subtle tremors beneath her touch. With gentle pressure, she guided Caitlyn's arms above her head, interlacing their fingers.

Their eyes met once more, a world of unspoken feelings passing between them. Athena lowered herself, pressing her body fully against Caitlyn's, relishing the warmth of skin on skin. She captured Caitlyn's lips in a deep, passionate kiss, pouring all of her emotions into it. Caitlyn responded with equal fervour, her body arching up to meet Athena's.

As they kissed, Athena's hands began to explore more boldly, tracing the curves and planes of Caitlyn's body. She revealed in the softness of Caitlyn's skin, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed under her touch. Caitlyn's breath hitched as Athena's fingers danced along the waistband of her pants, teasing and tantalizing.

"Please," Caitlyn whispered against Athena's lips, her voice trembling with need.

Athena pulled back slightly, her eyes searching Caitlyn's face. What she saw there - the trust, the desire, the vulnerability - made her heart swell. With a tender smile, Athena nodded, understanding the depth of what Caitlyn was asking for. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Caitlyn's forehead, then her cheeks, and finally her lips once more.

"I've got you," Athena murmured, her voice low and soothing.

With careful movements, she began to undo Caitlyn's pants, her touch gentle yet purposeful. Caitlyn lifted her hips, helping Athena slide the fabric down and away. The cool air on her newly exposed skin made Caitlyn shiver, but Athena was quick to cover her body with her own warmth once more.

"You're so beautiful," Athena murmured against Caitlyn's collarbone, her voice filled with awe.

Caitlyn's fingers tangled in Athena's hair, gently guiding her lower. Athena took the hint, trailing kisses down Caitlyn's sternum and across the soft swell of her breasts. When her lips closed around a sensitive nipple, Caitlyn arched off the bed with a soft moan.

Encouraged by Caitlyn's response,

Athena's tongue swirled around the hardened peak, her hands caressing Caitlyn's sides. She lavished attention on one breast, then the other, reveling in the soft sounds of pleasure escaping Caitlyn's lips.

Caitlyn's hips began to move restlessly beneath Athena, seeking more contact. Athena smiled against her skin, understanding the unspoken request. She kissed her way down Caitlyn's toned stomach, pausing to dip her tongue into her navel. Caitlyn's breath hitched, her fingers tightening in Athena's hair.

"Athena, please," Caitlyn whispered, her voice husky with desire.

Athena looked up, meeting Caitlyn's gaze. The raw need she saw there made her own body throb with anticipation. Slowly, maintaining eye contact, Athena hooked her fingers into the waistband of Caitlyn's underwear and began to slide them down her legs. Caitlyn lifted her hips to assist, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants.

As the last barrier between them fell away, Athena took a moment to drink in the sight of Caitlyn, completely bare and vulnerable before her. She felt a surge of tenderness, mixed with an overwhelming desire to worship every inch of this woman who had entrusted herself to her care.

Athena's hands glided up Caitlyn's thighs, gently encouraging them to part. She settled between them, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive skin of Caitlyn's inner thighs. Caitlyn's hips bucked slightly, a quiet whimper escaping her lips.

"Patience, love," Athena murmured

Athena's eyes trailed down Caitlyn's body, her gaze lingering on the spot where her thighs met. The anticipation in the room was palpable, the air thick with it. Caitlyn's breath was shallow and fast, her body quivering with need. Athena felt a rush of excitement, her own desires burning brighter as she leaned in, her breath ghosting over Caitlyn's most sensitive area.

With the lightest touch, Athena's lips met Caitlyn's center, a gentle kiss that sent waves of pleasure through Caitlyn's body. A soft gasp left her mouth, and she tightened her grip on Athena's hair.

Athena's eyes closed, savouring the taste, the scent, the feel of Caitlyn against her. She kissed her again, more firmly this time, and Caitlyn's hips jerked upwards.

Athena's tongue traced a slow, deliberate line, exploring and teasing, learning what made Caitlyn's body react.

Caitlyn's legs trembled, and she moaned softly, her body straining towards Athena. Each stroke, each kiss was a declaration of intent, a silent promise of pleasure to come. Caitlyn's breath grew ragged, her body arching off the bed, silently begging for more.

Athena's fingers followed the path of her tongue, slipping inside Caitlyn. Caitlyn's eyes widened, her nails digging into the bedsheets as Athena's thumb found her clit, pressing and circling with just the right amount of pressure. Athena watched Caitlyn's face, reading every twitch and moan as a map to her desires. "Athena, yes, just like that," Caitlyn whispered, her voice a hoarse rasp. Her hips rolled in rhythm with Athena's movements, urging her on. Athena's eyes remained locked with hers, the intensity of the moment binding them together as tightly as their bodies. She could feel Caitlyn's walls tightening around her fingers, her body begging for release.

The sound of their breath mingling filled the room, punctuated by the occasional moan that slipped from Caitlyn's parted lips. Athena's tongue danced around Caitlyn's clit, teasing and flicking before delving back in, tasting her sweetness. She felt Caitlyn's body tense beneath her, the muscles in her thighs tightening around her neck. "Athena, oh god, I'm so close," Caitlyn panted, her eyes squeezed shut, lost in sensation.

Athena watched Caitlyn's face, the way her eyebrows furrowed in pleasure and her lips parted on a silent cry.

Her own eyes trailed down, taking in the view of Caitlyn,  glistening with arousal. She felt a sense of power, a thrill knowing that she was the one bringing this beauty to the edge. With a gentle smirk, she slipped her fingers inside Caitlyn's warm folds again, feeling her wetness coating her hand.

"Does this feel good?" Athena asked, her voice a seductive murmur as she began to pump in and out."Mm, yes, it does, baby," Caitlyn managed to reply, her voice thick with lust. "Keep going, just like that." Athena watched Caitlyn's face as she complied, her thumb continuing to circle Caitlyn's clit, while her other hand stroked the length of her. She could feel Caitlyn's body tightening around her, the rhythm of her breathing growing erratic. Athena's own arousal grew as she listened to Caitlyn's whimpers and felt the wetness coating her fingertips. "You're so wet for me," Athena said, her voice a soft purr as she added a third digit, stretching Caitlyn gently. Caitlyn's eyes snapped open, meeting Athena's gaze, and she nodded frantically.

"Athena, yes, oh, fuck yes," Caitlyn's voice was breathless, her chest heaving as Athena's skilled fingers curled inside her, hitting that spot that made her toes curl.

Athena's eyes never left hers as she picked up the pace, her thumb pressing firmly on her clit in a steady rhythm that had Caitlyn's hips rocking in time.

Caitlyn's pussy was slick with arousal, and Athena could feel the muscles tightening around her fingers, the sweet pressure that told her she was close. "Cum for me" she urged, her own breath coming in ragged pants as she watched Caitlyn's body respond to her touch.

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." Caitlyn's words trailed off into a moan as Athena's thumb made one final, firm pass over her clit. Athena felt the shudder of Caitlyn's climax, her pussy pulsing around her hand, her body arching off the bed as she let out a cry of pleasure. The sight was intoxicating, and Athena's own need grew more urgent. She leaned down, her tongue tracing the path her hand had taken, tasting Caitlyn's sweetness, feeling her pulse against her mouth. Caitlyn's legs tightened around her head, her hands in Athena's hair, holding her in place as she rode out the waves of her orgasm.

When Caitlyn's body finally relaxed, Athena pulled back, smiling up at her. "Was that okay?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of pride and concern.

Caitlyn's smile was dazzling. "More than okay," she murmured, her eyes heavy with satisfaction. "You're amazing."

The praise sent a thrill through Athena, and she couldn't help but lean in for another kiss, tasting herself on Caitlyn's lips. The kiss was deep, hungry, a mirror of their earlier passion. Caitlyn's arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, her legs still shaking slightly from the intensity of her climax. As their kisses grew more fervent, Caitlyn's hand found its way to the waistband of Athena's pants. Athena broke the kiss with a gasp as Caitlyn's hand slid inside, finding her own wetness.

"My turn," Caitlyn whispered against her ear, her breath hot and ragged. Athena nodded, eager for more. In her quick hookups she'd never been able to feel this pleasure reciprocated. This was the first, and she wanted Caitlyn to show her the same pleasure she had just given.

Caitlyn's fingers were gentle as they explored Athena, finding her clit and teasing it with featherlight strokes. Athena's hips began to rock into the touch, her breath hitching in her chest. The anticipation was exquisite, her body thrumming with excitement.

"Caitlyn," she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut. "More, please, more!"Caitlyn chuckled, her touch growing more insistent as she added a second finger, mimicking the rhythm Athena had used on her. Athena's body responded immediately, her muscles tightening, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Their eyes met again, and Caitlyn's gaze was filled with a fiery need that matched Athena's own. They were both lost in the moment, the room spinning around them, the world narrowing to the feeling of their bodies joined together.

"Cum for me, Athena," Caitlyn said, her voice a seductive whisper. "Let me feel you come apart in my hand, just like you made me do."

Athena's eyes widened at the words, and she nodded, her hips moving faster, her breath coming in short pants. Caitlyn's hand moved in perfect sync with her body, her thumb pressing and circling, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

And then she was falling, the world around her shattering into a million pieces as she came, her body shaking with the force of her climax. Caitlyn's hand didn't stop, riding out the waves with her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

When the last tremor passed, Athena collapsed onto Caitlyn, her body spent, her heart racing.

Caitlyn wrapped her arms around her, holding her tight as their breathing slowed. They lay there for a moment, just basking in the afterglow of their shared pleasure, the room quiet except for the sound of their hearts beating in sync.

"You're.. amazing," Athena murmured with a chuckle, nuzzling into Caitlyn's neck."Only for you," Caitlyn replied, her voice a warm caress against Athena's ear. She stroked Athena's hair gently, her touch a silent promise that she would always be there to take care of her.

They laid there, tangled in a mess of limbs and blankets, their bodies still humming with the aftermath of their passionate encounter. Athena couldn't help but smile, feeling more connected to Caitlyn than ever before. Caitlyn's thumb traced circles on her back, her fingers occasionally brushing against the damp skin of her neck.

"So," Athena began, her voice still a little shaky from her orgasm, "you're not just a fancy-ass couch enthusiast. You've got some serious skills."

Caitlyn chuckled, her chest rising and falling with her soft laughter. "I might have had some practice," she admitted, her voice light and teasing. Athena propped herself up on an elbow, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You'll have to show me all the things you learned"

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. "You're insatiable," she said, her hand moving to cup Athena's cheek. "But I'm happy to indulge."

Their kiss was softer this time, a gentle reminder of the connection they had just solidified. They took their time, savoring each other's taste and the feeling of their bodies entwined.

As they pulled apart, Caitlyn leaned over to grab a water bottle from the nightstand, offering it to Athena first. "Drink," she said, her voice still a little gruff with passion. "You're going to need it."

Athena took a sip, the cool water soothing her parched throat. "Thanks," she murmured, her eyes never leaving Caitlyn's. "I don't know how you manage to make everything feel so... right." Caitlyn's smile grew tender. "It's because it is right," she said, taking the water bottle back for a sip of her own.

Their eyes held for a long moment, the words hanging in the air like a promise, a declaration of something deeper than they had ever shared before. It was a moment of pure understanding, of knowing that this was more than just physical attraction—it was something real, something that could last.

And with that knowledge, they curled up together under the blanket, the soft light of the moon casting shadows on their skin. They talked for hours, sharing secrets and dreams, their laughter mingling with the occasional kiss. It was a night of firsts, but Athena knew in her heart that it was just the beginning of a love that would be full of many more.

As the conversation wound down and their eyes grew heavy with sleep, Athena reached for Caitlyn's hand, interlocking their fingers. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion."For what?" Caitlyn asked, her voice laden with sleep."For... everything," Athena said, her eyes drifting closed. "For making me feel like I can be... this with you."Caitlyn squeezed her hand gently. "You're welcome," she murmured. "Now go to sleep, you've had quite the workout."They both giggled, the tension of the moment dissipating into the warmth of their joined hands. As sleep claimed them, their bodies curled into each other, their hearts beating as one, Athena felt a contentment she had never known before. This was it—this was where she belonged

_____

Chapter List

[timeless-fanfic]

I know you just posted it but I really like the start of the mini series! Excited for more to come

Out of Time: Chapter 2

Strangers in a Strange Land

Word Count: 1319

Andrew x Reader

Note: I am so glad! I hope you enjoy Part 2 :)

The walk from the café to (Y/N)’s apartment was surreal for Andrew. The city continued to pulse around them—cars zooming past, strange advertisements flashing on screens, and people bustling down the sidewalk with determined focus. Every part of it felt like a sensory overload. He could hear Peter muttering beside him, clearly still on edge, but Andrew found his gaze wandering to (Y/N), walking a few steps ahead.

She led them through the chaos with the calm of someone who’d been navigating this world her whole life, and it amazed Andrew. He knew Peter was suspicious of her—he always was with strangers—but Andrew didn’t sense any danger. In fact, there was something almost peaceful about the way (Y/N) handled everything, like she was a beacon in the midst of all this confusion.

“Stay close,” Peter murmured in a low voice, his eyes never stopping their constant sweep of the street around them.

Andrew nodded, though his attention kept drifting back to (Y/N). The way she effortlessly interacted with this world stirred a curiosity in him that he couldn’t shake. They had traveled with Jesus for years, but nothing had prepared them for this. Nothing prepared him for her.

(Y/N)’s apartment building loomed ahead, a towering structure of glass and concrete that seemed impossibly tall. She led them through a set of glass doors into a lobby that was somehow even more overwhelming than the city streets. The walls were white, clean, and modern, with plants in sleek pots and a large screen mounted on the wall flashing the latest news. The disciples hesitated for a moment, but (Y/N) beckoned them forward with a gentle smile.

“You can relax here,” she said as she pressed a button on the wall, and the metal doors of what Andrew had learned was called an "elevator" slid open. The disciples exchanged wary glances before following her inside.

Andrew had never felt anything like the smooth lift of the elevator as it rose, making his stomach drop momentarily. Thaddeus muttered a prayer under his breath, and even John gripped the railing as if he expected the box to fall out of the sky. Andrew found himself watching (Y/N) once again, wondering how all of this seemed so natural to her.

When the elevator stopped and the doors opened again, (Y/N) led them down a hallway to her apartment. She unlocked the door with yet another strange device—this time a small card that slid into the lock—and opened the door to reveal a cozy, modern living space.

The disciples hesitated on the threshold, their eyes wide as they took in the apartment. It was small by modern standards but still far more luxurious than anything they had ever known. The walls were adorned with framed pictures, bookshelves lined the far wall, and the kitchen gleamed with polished metal appliances they couldn’t even begin to understand. There was a soft, plush couch, a flat screen TV mounted on the wall, and large windows that provided a view of the bustling city below.

“Make yourselves at home,” (Y/N) said, gesturing to the space. “I know this must all be very overwhelming, but we’ll figure it out together.”

Peter, ever the leader, crossed his arms and surveyed the room. “Why are you helping us?” His tone was cautious, bordering on accusatory.

(Y/N) didn’t flinch. She met his gaze evenly, her expression calm. “Because you looked like you needed it. Besides, everyone deserves a little kindness, right?”

Peter didn’t respond immediately, but Andrew could see the suspicion in his brother’s eyes. Peter had always been wary of strangers, protective of their group. Andrew knew it came from a place of love, but sometimes that love turned into walls too high for others to scale.

Andrew, however, wasn’t as guarded. “Thank you,” he said quietly, earning a soft smile from (Y/N).

As the day wore on, (Y/N) began showing them around the apartment, explaining things that the disciples couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“This is the oven,” she said, gesturing to the sleek metal appliance in the kitchen. “It’s used to cook food, though I’m guessing it’s a little more advanced than what you’re used to.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at it as if he expected it to attack, but Thomas stepped forward, his curiosity piqued. “So, how does it work?”

(Y/N) smiled, showing him how to turn it on with the press of a button. The oven whirred to life, and the disciples jumped back in surprise.

“Magic,” John whispered under his breath, though there was a hint of excitement in his voice.

(Y/N) laughed, shaking her head. “Not quite. Just electricity.”

From there, she introduced them to other modern marvels—the refrigerator, the microwave, the light switches that didn’t require flame. Each explanation left the disciples more amazed than the last, though Peter remained tense, his arms crossed as he watched everything with a critical eye.

But Andrew found himself getting lost in the simplicity of (Y/N)’s explanations. She was patient, never making them feel foolish for not knowing how things worked. There was a lightness to her that made him feel at ease, even when the world around him was anything but familiar.

As the afternoon drifted into evening, (Y/N) led Andrew outside to a small garden she had on the balcony. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden light over the city. Andrew paused, taking in the sight of the plants growing in neat pots, the leaves swaying gently in the breeze. It reminded him of home—the quiet, the earth, the simple beauty of nature.

“I come out here to relax,” (Y/N) said softly, stepping beside him. “It’s not much, but it helps me stay grounded in the middle of all this.” She gestured to the bustling city below them.

Andrew nodded, his eyes tracing the edges of the plants, his fingers brushing against the leaves. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, feeling the peace that had been so hard to find in the chaos of the day.

(Y/N) smiled, watching him for a moment before speaking again. “You know, when I first saw you all, I could tell you weren’t from here. There was something... different about you.”

Andrew glanced at her, curious. “Different?”

She nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “It’s hard to explain. But you seem... I don’t know... more connected to things. Like you come from a time when life was simpler.”

Andrew considered her words, feeling the weight of the truth in them. Life had been simpler. Before all of this, before the city and the noise and the confusion, he had lived a quiet life by the sea, following Jesus, trusting in the path laid before him. But now... now everything felt uncertain.

He said quietly, “I wonder if we’re meant to be here. It feels like we’re out of place, like we don’t belong in this world.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer right away. She just stood beside him, the sound of the city humming softly in the background. “Maybe you’re here for a reason,” she said finally, her voice gentle. “Maybe you’re supposed to find out what that is.”

Andrew looked at her, his heart stirring at the sincerity in her words. For the first time since they had arrived in this strange new world, he felt a flicker of hope.

“Maybe,” he agreed, though he didn’t fully understand it yet.

They stood in silence for a few more moments, the soft rustle of the plants and the distant hum of the city filling the space between them. Andrew felt a strange sense of peace wash over him, as if somehow, amidst the confusion and the chaos, things were starting to make a little more sense.

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