#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

[irmisc]

Living Room Loft-Style in Los Angeles

[headowardo]

Contemporary Living Room in Boston

[sweettea-and-honeybutter]

Take You There IV

Song that inspired this chapter...it was actually a few honestly

A/N: This was meant to come out yesterday, I just didn't realized how detailed I was gonna make it 🥲 I should know myself better than that by now. I barely proof read this, I pulled an all nighter with it cause ADHD hyper fixation aint no joke, so excuse any typos im too delirious rn to catch them. Also I had Back 2 Luv by Grimm Lyn on repeat for this chapter too 👀

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Reign Adisa (black female OC)

Warning: smut! fucking finally! because you've all been so patient 💕 and I just wanna say that its only up from here 🤭 now that they've finally done it?!?! How will they ever stop??

Word Count: 4,764

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Chapter 4

Reign followed Terry’s SUV through Houston’s winding night traffic, her foot itching to press harder on the gas whenever his tail lights flashed ahead. At every red light, she’d rev her engine playfully, catching his raised eyebrow in the rearview mirror and the hint of a smirk each time he glanced back at her. Her thoughts raced, and she squirmed in her seat, the A/C on high but doing little to cool the warmth of her anticipation.

When they finally pulled into his gated complex, Terry waited by the entrance, gesturing her through the gate and leading her to a spot next to his. He stepped out of his SUV, watching as she grabbed her things, including a sparkly pink “spennanight” bag that caught the light as she slung it over her shoulder.

"I am nothing if not a prepared woman, Terry," she said with a playful shrug, noticing the amused way he looked at her bag.

He took a step closer, his hand finding her waist with a possessive ease, fingers pressing just enough for her to feel the strength in his grip. His voice dropped as he leaned in. “Oh, I’m starting to see that Reign. And I like that… a lot.”

Without another word, he guided her toward the entrance, his hand firm on her waist as they walked. The energy between them was electric, sparking with tension, and Reign felt her breath catch at the intensity radiating from him. He’s just as needy, she can tell, he’s just better at masking it. Terry’s grip was a silent promise, one that sent a thrill through her as they stepped into the dim, private world of his building.

Even the elevator ride was excruciating. His grip on her kept her from swaying to the bland music playing overhead, forcing her to remain still as heat pooled between her thighs. Reign let out a soft whine, feeling her heartbeat race south, where her clit still felt ghosts of his touch. Terry smoothed his big hand from her waist, firmly down to cup her ass, shushing her as his touch grew deliberate, his deep voice doing little to calm her. 

“Patience baby girl, I won’t make you wait much longer I promise.” Reign let out the most dramatic sigh of relief when the elevator doors opened and practically skipped out into the hallway, Terry following close behind with an amused chuckle. He showed her to his door, unlocking it and entering first, scanning the familiar shadows as he switched on the lights. Reign stepped in and was immediately struck by the space. His loft fit him perfectly: strong, quietly confident, and magnetically stylish.

As soon as Reign moved further into his apartment, she was immediately met with Houston’s skyline, the industrial windows giving her a stunning panoramic view. His living room was divided by a dark leather couch that looked both inviting and like something he never actually used.  It faced an expensive looking suede ottoman that sat on top of a dark gray rug, softening up the feel of his sitting area. His large tv mounted on the wall was framed by a few minimalistic art prints in black and white, abstract and slightly edgy, yet tasteful.

Reign ran her fingers over the couch’s leather as she walked in, turning to face the rest of his apartment, noticing a dark sleek kitchen next to a spiral staircase that led to his lofted bedroom. His room looked like a cave from this angle behind the metal railing up there. She could imagine someone like him never actually wanting to leave a home this reclusive. 

And the smell—it was unmistakably him, a blend of sandalwood, whiskey, and something richly spicy that filled her senses the moment she walked in. Reign’s mouth watered as she took it all in, feeling like she’d walked into a private corner of Terry’s mind. She looked over her shoulder at him, and he watched her with a glint of pride in his eyes, clearly pleased with her reaction. 

"Your home is so nice, Terry. It really suits you,” she gave him a little smile gesturing to the shadows, “maybe a little too serious at first glance… but there’s something comforting about it."

Terry stepped closer, his gaze intense as he watched her move around more comfortably. "I like having you here, Reign." His voice was low, his words laced with a budding possessiveness that sent goosebumps racing across her skin. She noticed the way his fingers twitched as if he had to keep himself from reaching out to touch her right then.

She nodded, biting her lip, trying not to let her shy nature win over in this moment, not when it feels like it took her a lifetime to get here with him. She forced herself to hold his gaze, voice coming out breathless as she suggested, "why don’t I go get the shower started for us?"

Terry’s eyes darkened to a murky green, his stance relaxing as he nodded. "Upstairs to the left, I’ll be right behind you," he said, his voice thick with yearning.

With a final look, Reign headed for the spiral staircase, feeling his gaze attempt to undress her as she ascended, her heart pounding with each step.

~~~~~~~

Reign tied her braids up around themselves in a messy bun, her fingers trembling as she stripped off her clothes, her skin prickling at the rush of cool air as she leaned over to turn the shower on. Her glasses fogged as the heat rose around her, blurring the room in a soft haze. She could hear Terry moving around just on the other side of the bathroom door, and her entire body pulsed with the anticipation of him joining her. She grabbed her loofah and soap out of her bag she’d placed on the wide counter, and opened the shower door, stepping into the scalding water, letting it pour over her and coax the tension from her muscles.

She placed her glasses on the tiled shelf and turned towards the water, wetting her loofa and adding her sweet floral soap. Reign began to lather her skin softly, moaning at how sensitive her body was. She ran her soapy hands up to her neck, imagining Terry’s hands replacing her own, his warm lips finding the delicate spot behind her ear, kissing her there, and making her body melt against him.

Reign lathered her breasts, her fingers grazing over her pebbled nipples, and she called out his name sweetly. She pinched them gently and she grew impossibly wetter, letting  her hand drift lower down her body. The hot water cascaded over her curves as she trailed her loofah down her stomach, scrubbing gently across her thighs, imagining Terry’s firm grip there, his fingers pressing into her softness just hard enough to leave marks against her mahogany complexion.

The faint sound of music drifted through the door, a sensual beat that seemed to echo her pulse, and Reign leaned back against the cool glass wall. She lifted one leg, balancing it high against the opposing tiled wall, her muscles stretching as she held herself open to the hot water. The contrast of the cold glass against her back and the steaming water against her front heightened every sensation, her heart pounding at the idea of Terry stepping in to find her like this.

Reign moaned more uninhibited now, hooking one hand under her thigh to brace herself, and taking the fingers of her other hand to delicately open herself up, unwrapping her pussy like a gift as she spread her puffy lips, unveiling her clit. Her fingers mimicked the circles Terry made at the park, and a feverish desire made her standing knee buckle.

“Terry please…” she called to him louder, growing impatient, losing herself in pleasure he should be causing. Reign heard the bathroom door slam open and thud against the wall as cool air flooded in.

~~~~~~~

Terry was just trying to set the mood—a nice experience for them both, that’s all! Poor guy was running around lighting candles, tripping slightly as he yanked off his cargo pants, dropping his portable speaker when he caught her first moan. She didn’t need to see him this flustered, overwhelmed just by having her in his private space. Hell, it’d be over in 5 minutes if he didn’t get his shit together.

He shrugged off his shirt, sprayed a touch of cologne on his bed seeing as how she loved his scent, and tossed water bottles onto the side table. He was reaching to turn on the ceiling fan when he heard her again—her voice melodic, rising in pitch, like a siren calling him to drown in her depths.

Without realizing it, he was through the door, gaze zeroing in on the round curve of her ass pressed against the glass shower wall. Fuck. His needy girl, so lost in her own pleasure she hadn’t even waited for him. 

Terry actually couldn’t be bothered with anything else but going to her aid—not his boxers that were still snug on his hips, getting tighter as his dick swelled, not the speaker still thumping on his floor which would surely cause Ms. Sheila downstairs to cuss him out the next time she saw him—he was helplessly drawn to her as her energy anchored him to this moment.

Terry stalked forward, pushing the shower door open, barely registering the steaming water pelting his skin, coming to stand in the space her open legs created just for him. All words lodged in his throat as his intense gaze observed every little thing—the way her eyes were desperately squeezed shut, sweet whimpers leaving her where she bit her plump bottom lip harshly, her own nails digging into her thigh where she was holding it up against the wall, her other hand creating intoxicating wet sloshes where she thrusted two of her fingers deep into her pussy.

“Terry I need-” that was all it took to snap Terry out of the trance she put him in, hearing her voice whine his name.

“Shh baby I’m here,” he grabbed the back of her neck with one hand, bringing their wet lips to press together hungrily as his other hand replaced her own on her thigh, hoisting her leg up higher to hook around his waist. They both moaned into the heated kiss, tongues fighting for dominance, stealing each other's breath. Terry cursed against her lips when she clawed her nails into his back, pulling away from her only to dive to the crevice of her neck, leaving biting kisses that had her mewling sweetly for him.

“I know what you need baby girl,” he licked down her chest, bringing his hand from her neck to cup her breast, teasing her nipple with his soft lips as he looked up at her through his long wet lashes, “let me help you.” His tongue swirled around her nipple and Reign threw her head back as he sucked it into his hot mouth, arching her back to offer more of herself to him.

“Pleaseeee I need more Terry!” He hummed against her, moving to suck her other nipple and bite it softly, causing Reign to gasp, thigh trembling in his hand.

Terry kissed lower and lower down her soft body, making a silent promise to spend time kissing each of her tattoos later, when the need to satiate this hunger wasn’t so suffocating. He fell to his knees before her, wide shoulders forcing her standing leg to spread more, and he placed her thigh to rest heavily on his shoulder.

Terry pressed a fleeting kiss to her hard clit, his teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. “Just so you know, Reign,” his voice deep and unyielding as he spoke, his hands gripping her hips to keep her steady. “the more you cum for me, the more you become mine. You ready for that?”

She didn’t get a chance to say a damn thing. She could only let out a sharp cry of relief as Terry’s thick lips wrapped around her clit, his tongue circling at a maddening pace and his groan of pleasure reverberated up into her body. He could drink her essence for days, her sweet warmth delighting his starving taste buds. Terry grabbed handfuls of her ass, squeezing hungrily and pressing his face harder into her, chasing her honey right to the source with his tongue. Reign’s moans echoed beautifully off every surface in the bathroom, literally music to his ears.

Terry kept his tongue in her pussy as he hooked his bicep around the thigh resting on his shoulder, bringing his thumb around to massage her clit. His eyes rolled back at the feeling of her pussy clenching around him, and he fisted himself out of his drenched boxers with his other hand, finally remembering the rushed state at which he joined her. He timed his strokes with the way his fingertips danced on her hard nub, pumping his dick firmly and moaning as she left more scratches on his back, grinding her pussy harder against his face.

“Sh-shiiit Terry! You eat my pussy sooo good baby, don't stop!” She grabbed the back of his head, wet body slipping against his hold on her as she chased those crashing waves.

Reign had lost all concepts of time and space and anything that wasn’t Terry’s persistent mouth on her and his pretty eyes boring into her whenever he could keep them open. She felt weightless, save for the heavy pulsing of her pussy seeking to drown him. Neither of them noticed the water growing cold, nor the ache in their muscles. All Reign knew is she was being ruined for anyone else who attempted to bring her to this high.

Squeaky obscenities left her mouth as Terry brought his lips back to her clit, sucking with a stronger pressure now, grunting into her as he palmed the swollen tip of his dick. “Fuck you’re gonna make me cum!” Terry moaned into her, his bright eyes blinking away the water droplets stuck to his lashes so he could see her better, wanting to imprint the sight of her orgasm to his memory for later use. “I’m gonna cum da-” her whole world shattered on his tongue, he could hardly hold on to her slick, wiggling body as she rode each coming wave, blessing him with more of her sweetness. 

She whimpered at the overstimulation of his sucking turing to soft kisses to her clit, her positively puffy lips, and all over her mound. His kisses didn’t stop as he eased her thigh off his shoulder, both of his strong hands massaging her legs lightly to get the blood circulating properly. Terry felt dizzy, drunk off her, never wanting his tongue to be rid of her unique flavor. 

Terry rose slowly, his lips trailing kisses up her trembling body, letting his hands steady her waist as she caught her breath. Reign sighed softly, her fingers brushing against his jaw to tilt his face up, her smile lazy and satisfied as she looked into his smoldering gaze.

“Baby,” she murmured, her voice still shaky, “if that’s what your mouth can do... I don’t know if I’m ready for the rest of you.”

Terry chuckled low, his lips curling into a wicked smirk. “Oh, you’ll take it. All of it,” he growled, his voice dripping with promise. “And you’ll thank me for it.” His thumb brushed tenderly along her jawline, a stark contrast to the dominance in his tone, and Reign felt her knees nearly buckle again. He pulled her to him for a kiss, letting her taste what was driving him crazy and she moaned, already getting flashbacks of his tongue in her.

Terry took a step back to stand directly under the spray of now icy water and Reign’s eyes flicked down. She laughed softly, her finger trailing playfully over the waistband of his boxers. “You’re over here tryna snatch my soul, and you’re still halfway dressed. Unacceptable.”

Terry tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze. “And what do you plan to do about it, Reign?”

She smirked, bending at the waist as her hands hooked under the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down slowly. “Guess I’ll have to fix that,” she murmured, the teasing rasp in her voice making him clench his jaw.

Terry’s dick sprang free, almost smacking her in the face, and her lips instinctively brushed against his tip, her tongue poking out curiously to taste the bead of precum leaking from him. Terry’s body jerked involuntarily and he stepped back quickly, his large hands gripping her shoulders gently to stop her and pull her back up. “Reign, if you do that,” he warned, his voice strained, “I won’t last. I’d rather be inside you when I give you my cum.”

Her eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and satisfaction warming her features. Standing gracefully, she let her hands trail over his chest as she moved. “Alright then, let me help get you cleaned up,” she said softly, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

Reign grabbed his soap and loofah, lathering it between her hands, her touch gentle and deliberate as she worked the suds across his broad shoulders. Her hands moved with care, tracing the lines of his muscles and washing him thoroughly, almost reverently.

The confinement of the shower made the moment feel cocooned in intimacy, their previous teasing replaced with something softer. Terry watched her through half-lidded eyes, the weight of her attention making him feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with his nudity.

“Reign,” he said quietly, his voice full of something unspoken. She looked up at him, her hands pausing on his chest, and for a moment, neither of them moved, the fading steam curling around them like a protective veil.

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You feel…so good here. I don’t want this to just be tonight.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she pressed her forehead to his chest, letting the water cascade over them as she whispered, “Then don’t let it be.”

~~~~~~~

Terry didn’t give them much time to dry off; his need for her was impossible to ignore, a force driving him beyond reason. He stepped out of the shower first, water glistening on his skin as he wrapped a fluffy towel low around his waist. Turning to her, his hands were gentle but firm as he gestured for her to step forward, wrapping another towel snugly around her torso.

As soon as the towel was secure, his lips captured hers, hot and insistent, tasting the lingering steam between them. With a deliberate grace, he guided her backward out of the bathroom, his large hands framing her waist as though she might disappear if he let go. When the back of her legs hit the edge of his bed, he expertly nudged his speaker aside with his foot, the motion smooth and instinctual, all his focus locked on her.

Reign pulled away from the kiss, settling herself gently onto his bed. Her hands smoothed over the dark green duvet, fingers tracing the soft fabric as she took in the mood Terry had created with the soft glow of the candles and the sensual thumping music. The room smelled of his cologne, the air thick with unspoken desire.  Her gaze flickered back to him—he stood there between her legs, his eyes dark with an intensity that made her stomach flutter. She noticed his dick twitch under the towel, and she bit her lip to stifle a smile. He couldn't help himself. She looked so damn beautiful lying there, waiting for him.

Reign’s lips curved into a teasing smile as she tugged at the edge of his towel, freeing his length, finally able to get an up close and personal view of him. His whole body was absolutely beautiful, she doesn’t know why she was so surprised to find his dick was too as it hung heavily against his thigh, and she could practically see his heartbeat from here with how thick his veins are. 

She looked up at him through innocently fluttering lashes, her voice low and playful. “You’ve kept me waiting long enough.” Terry reached forward to gently tug at her own towel, freeing her soft curves and beautifully decorated skin.

“Do you want to use a co-” she cut him off with a sure shake of her head, placing her warm hands on his thighs, feeling them flex as he kneeled over her on to the bed, prompting her to scoot backwards to make space for him.

“Are you on birth-” he stopped talking with a laugh, watching her smile and nod her head, laying back on his pillows, spreading her legs wide for him. 

“Don’t make me beg Terry, not again.” He wouldn’t be that cruel with her, yet. Without further prompt, he bent over Reign, hooking a strong bicep around her torso and lifted her against his body, causing her to squeak in surprise. She could feel his tip nudge against her clit, almost slipping inside of her from how wet she was. Terry grabbed two pillows from the head of his bed, placed them under her lower back, and gently set her back down. This way he could stay more elevated on his knees, and her pussy would be right where he needed her. Oh he was not about to play with her at all.

Terry leaned over Reign to give her a wet, sweet kiss, grabbing her wrist and guiding her hands to hold her thighs open for him. Reign silently obeyed, moaning into the kiss as she felt his dick glide over her slick pussy, his length hot and demanding, and she felt her heart start to race faster. Terry broke the kiss, whispering lowly against her lips “keep these hands right here okay? Keep yourself open for me, pretty girl.”

She bit her lip and nodded, watching as Terry straightened back into his kneel, sturdy thighs flexing dangerously. One of his hands coming on top of hers, applying more pressure to her thigh, spreading her open more, the other hand smacking his dick against her puffy pussy, causing her to yelp at how sensitive her clit still was from earlier. Terry couldn’t take his eyes off her, the soft pink peeking out from the brown petals of her lips, it was so fucking pretty, just like his girl. He began to rock his hips against her, his thighs kissing hers as he grinded his dick through her pussy lips with more purpose.

“Remember what I said, Reign? Hmm?” He slapped his tip heavily on her clit to get her attention and Reign nodded frantically, squeezing her eyes shut as she squeaked out—

“The more I cum, the more I’m yours daddy!” Terry groaned at that, at her remembering, at her calling him that already, at her wetness coating his dick and dripping down his length.

“That’s my good fucking girl.” His voice was deep, a growl in the back of his throat as he finally slipped into her. The sensation of her tightness wrapped around him made his eyes roll back for a moment—he was struggling to hold himself together.

She moaned, pulling him deeper as she clenched around him, a natural instinct as her body tried to pull him in. “Let me in, baby girl.” He didn’t ask, and his shallow thrusts seemed to possess a rhythm of their own. His hands moved to her hips, gripping them tightly as he watched her body react. Her tits bounced lightly with each thrust, and his mouth watered at the sight.

Reign bit her lip, a look of strained concentration on her face as she tried to relax her walls. He felt so damn good, filling her completely, stretching her in ways that made her burn. The pillows under her tilted her hips up, causing him to repeatedly hit her g spot.  She struggled to hold her composure, the pleasure building in her core.

Terry’s eyes locked on where they connected, primal instinct surging within him. He opened his mouth, not asking but needing to see it—drooling on her pussy as he watched his cock slide into her, slick with her wetness. She moaned loudly, her body tightening at the sensation, her pussy opening up even more as he slowly sank deeper.

“Fucking hell, this pussy feels so good, baby,” he groaned. He slid his hand down, rubbing the extra wetness onto her clit, rewarding her for letting him in, for giving him more.

Eyes hazed and misty, she gripped her thighs tighter, trying to do as he said and keep her legs up and open. She groaned, her body trembling as she fought to hold back another orgasm. Reign bit her lip, muffling an agonized moan at his slow, fluid thrusts.  Terry noticed his pretty girl trying to hold back.

“I’ve been wanting to be here…” his voice deeper and husky from his visceral need for her, and Reigns moans increased in volume at how she could somehow feel his voice in the depth of her being, right where his tip repeatedly kissed her cervix. 

“…in this moment with you, for too long Reign.” He could hardly speak anymore, the feeling of her warm pussy squeezing around him in response to his words, it was too much. Reign moaned louder, eyes shut tightly at his increased thrusting, getting lost in all he was giving her. 

“Don’t hold back shit from me, baby girl. Give me everything.” And Terry watched the dam break, listened to the uninhibited moans she gifted him, the squeal of his name as she gushed and came around his length. 

“Yesss” Terry hissed at her, smiling darkly as his fingers sped up on her clit, and he leaned over her, her thighs now pressed against his chest, causing him to dig impossibly deeper. “Keep going baby, give me more” 

She missed the crazed look in his eyes, the way this moment solidified her as his new drug. Poor thing was too busy making a mess of his dick, pussy creaming and squeezing, leaking her cum. 

"Say thank you for making me cum daddy." Terry started circling his hips every time he bottomed out in her, dragging her orgasm out with a harsh grind.

"Thank you daddy! Fuck its too much baby I—"

Terry cut her off by leaning over her further, her ankles now resting on his broad shoulders. He turned his head to the side and, before he could stop himself, he leaned down, kissing and sucking on her toes. Her squeals hit his ears like music, the sudden shock of the sensation making her pussy gush even more. Everything about her was so natural and so pretty, and Terry found himself hungry for every inch of her—nothing was off limits to his tongue. He could feel his balls tightening; he wouldn’t last much longer.

“Where do you want my cum pretty girl?” his thrusts were sloppy, his breathing was ragged. He stared into her pretty eyes, his brows furrowed with barely restrained ecstasy.

“I want you to nut in me baby.” her sweet voice asking him to mark her walls as his own was too much for him to question if this was a good idea, he simply obeyed his pretty girl’s command with a loud groan, dropping his head to the crook of her neck and slowing his thrusts until he was twitching spurt after spurt of cum deep into her. 

Reign ran her hands up and down his back, smoothing over the scratches she left there earlier, trying to ignore the ache in her hip joints at feeling more of his weight rest heavily on her body. The warmth blossoming inside of her as he grew softer within her left her feeling content as exhaustion settled in. After a moment, Terry propped himself up on his forearms, giving Reign room to move her legs further down his body, wrapping around his narrow hips. His piercing eyes implored her own, leaning down to kiss her nose softly and smiling at her sweet laugh. 

She brought her hand down to lightly trace the edges of the nicely healing tattoo she’d given him. A new song playing from his speaker caught her attention and he watched that playful glint return to her eyes. 

“Hmm I guess this means you’re mine now too, huh soldier?” Her teasing smile softened as she noticed the earnest look of his own.

“I think I’ve always been yours Reign,” the burning intensity in his eyes left her breathless, “I just didn’t know it yet.”

~~~~~~~~

I'm gonna go take a nap 🥲 let me know what you think! A warning, chapter 5 is way worse than this. I really had so much to get out of my system 💀

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @slutsareteacherstoo @liatreads @sageispunk @teddybeerz @eviescloset @planetblaque @soft-persephone @violetmuses @miyuhpapayuh @iterum-incipi @blackgurlnhermoods @helloncrocs @blyffe @meannaim @nun0ir @onherereading @eilujion @maria-gab-rielle @gg-trini @gwenda-fav @violetlovezzz @keyaho @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @honeytoffee @avoidthings @brattyfics @abeautifulmindexposed @blowmymbackout @kumkaniudaku @pocketsizedpanther @mysecretbleedingheart @amyhennessyhouse @tvchi @aristasworld @stabrichie @geriixox @diaries-of-me

[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.

[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.

[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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