[loredrops]

❝ #𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒔 ❞ is a 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 selective , 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢-𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞  odyssey  curated  by lynn   [ she / her / woc / 25+ /cst ] 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 and topics will be  present. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢. please read my guidelines before interacting.

† : oc muses. horror muses.  starters. wishlist. wanted.

[dirtyauthority]

korede's jaw tightened as she spoke, each word landing exactly where it was meant to. she wasn't wrong. that was the worst part. "i know." the admission came quietly. "i know it doesn't work like that." for once, there was no carefully constructed counterargument waiting behind his teeth, no clever explanation that could unravel the mess he'd made. his gaze dropped briefly to the floor before finding her again. "and i-i'm not asking you to drop everything, peyton." he paused, the words feeling foreign in his mouth. korede was used to certainty. used to walking into a room knowing exactly what to say and exactly how to say it. with her, every sentence felt like crossing a tightrope without a net. i spent my whole life believing that if i worked hard enough, planned carefully enough, thought three steps ahead of everyone else, i'd never lose control of anything important." his eyes searched hers. "then you happened." his throat tightened. "and suddenly i couldn't think straight. i couldn't predict anything. i couldn't tell where friendship ended and whatever this was began, and instead of being honest, i did what i always do. i buried it. i convinced myself that if i ignored it long enough, it'd go away." another mistake. one of many. "i love you." there it was. stripped bare. no qualifications. no escape route. "and i know that's probably the most unfair thing i could've said after making you carry this alone for months." his voice softened. "but i'm done pretending i don't." for a moment, his eyes flickered toward the boxes again before returning to her. "peyton, if there's even the smallest part of you that still wants this... then don't leave because you think i never loved you. don't leave because i was too much of a coward to say it when i should've."

[loredrops]

i love you. the words ricochet off every wall, wedge themselves beneath her ribs like a misplaced shard of mirror glass. thank god she'd put the box down, because if she hadn't she would have dropped it. outside, late summer rain begins to patter on the fire escape, that soft percussion underscoring the ache in her chest. her throat works around the taste of past apologies. “you don’t get to fix this with three words.” the sentence trembles, softer on the landing than she intended. she hates that softness; it feels like betrayal to every night she cried herself dry. “say it again.” slips out before she can catch it. a test, maybe. maybe a lifeline. the syllables hover, fragile as a sugar sculpture in july. she doesn’t move closer, but her chin tilts, a dare and a plea knotted together. across the fort of boxes, her ticket confirmation winks from the coffee table, an electronic exile she purchased for self preservation. her eyes glisten, but no tears fall; ballerinas know how to hold impossible poses. a tiny, involuntary step forward betrays her anyway — barely an inch, yet worlds. she notices, flushes, but doesn’t retreat. “i’m not promising i’ll stay,” she finishes, voice husky. “but…i’m listening.”

[oddctelier]

Daniela grinned as they rejected her proposal, figuring it to be a bit of a long shot anyways. Of course Nelly wasn't going to give her a video, but a girl can dream. "Don't think of it as blackmail, I like to think of it as a gift for me." She twisted a lock of hair around her finger, keeping her eyes locked on them as they shot down her request. Daniela's teeth sunk into the cushion of her bottom lip and she let out a small laugh before crossing her arms in front of her. "It's no different from the nude that you sent me," she pointed out. Regardless, Daniela had no intention of ever telling Maria about this. Of course Nelly does not know that and she would rather keep it that way, it makes things much more fun. "Well if you insist on not giving me a video then how about I make it worth your while?" Daniela made herself comfortable next to Nelly, fingers drumming against their thigh. "Since you showed me your nudes, how about I show you mine? Give you something to really be excited about."

[loredrops]

this was a game of nerves, of who would blink first, and nelly hated how close they were to blinking. they could feel the invisible chessboard between them, each smile of daniela’s a pawn nudged forward. “you show me yours,” they began, forcing a lopsided smile. “and then what? we call it even? no more leverage, no more threats?” it wasn’t just leverage. it was the spark that came from knowing someone wanted to look. they weren’t blind: daniela was gorgeous in that effortless, sun through blinds kind of way, heat slatted across cool shadows, impossible not to notice. knowing she held proof of her own beauty only sharpened the edges. daniela could weaponize desire, and both of them knew nelly was susceptible to that particular brand of gravity. so every time daniela teased another move—“show you mine,” “make it worth your while” they felt the tug in the gut, that low, traitorous hum. not because they trusted her, but because the idea of daniela’s bare confidence was, frankly, intoxicating. "fine. go ahead ... let's see it. unless your bark is louder than your bite."

[kvllerdreams]

this was evidently something that both of them would need to work on, putting the blame solely on skye was an easy way out and an even easier way to push them further apart. doesn't want to change her, so if those wild nights out are what she finds fun or a release then who cares? but marcus already knows her enough to see that there's little joy in it. "yeah, yeah a date night sounds good. we can take it in turns picking where we go or what we do?" a method to learn more about her, about who she was when things weren't spiralling and they were comfortable. gaze flits to the offending bushes and he has the strongest urge to stop the car then and there to yank some out by their thorny branches — but it's hardly the right time, nor would it technically count as their first date, him tearing his palms bloody in the middle of the night while she watches. "i think we should redo it, all of it. i can't even walk around in the garden with all those fucking ponds and statues." after their conversation he feels a shift, in both their dynamic and himself. he's exhausted trying to ensure his parents are happy when they never will be, so fuck the flowers and everything else about this gaudy place. car rolls slowly toward the curve in their driveway, gate gliding closed as he looks toward her with curiosity, "hm? yeah, i can stay up — don't worry about the meeting, my dad will probably talk the entire time." this is something much more important. it was just another meeting in which he'd be treated like furniture, so why should he sacrifice time with her for being dismissed? "but ramen? i mean do we even have that?" sliding out of the car his brows pinch as she struggles right herself. "hey hey just ... just wait a second." stepping around to her side his eyes dip to her bare feet, there's no fucking way she's walking barefoot outside. "okay i'm going to be a little blunt — you're still kinda fucked up and wearing no shoes, can i carry you to the front door? i don't want you hurting yourself." was it overstepping? marcus can't tell with the lines blurring between them and he finds it difficult to care when skye remains unsteady and leaning against his car.

[loredrops]

"so — sort of like a date night roulette ... i like that. maybe we pick three options — one outrageously bougie, one borderline illegal, one painfully wholesome. the other person picks blind.” a sideways glance .“deal?” she feels a flutter of relief at how light the idea sounds, like turning duty into a game they both get to win. if marriage had to be a contract, she wanted theirs scribbled in neon ink, full of dares and inside jokes. pride is a stiff collar around her throat, even now. but asphalt grit already needles her soles; the idea of hobbling across the long stone walkway while he watches feels absurdly melodramatic. maybe letting him help isn’t surrender. maybe it’s practice. “okay,” she murmurs, as if testing the shape of trust on her teeth. then, because humor is armor: “but if you drop me, davenport lawyers will end you.” a lopsided grin, mascara smeared and reckless, softens the threat. her heart thuds when his hands hover at her waist, warm, careful, nothing like the greedy fingerprints she’s collected tonight. up, weightless for a dizzy beat, then settled against his chest.

[materialistses]

Avantika stuns for L’OFFICIEL photographed by Emily Soto

[scftlightz]

   he’s  been  fractured,  mulling  over  if  the  possibility  of  their  relationship  being  in  unrecognizable  pieces  if  they  bent  the  boundary.  do  the  unspoken  that  would  aim  needle  point  first  into  the  fragile  bubble  of  the  unnatural  —  maverick  had  prolonged,  stalled,  tried  any  last  minute  desperate  attempt  to  recall  for  a  safe  end,  but  it  only  seared  the  edges  of  his  desire.  by  the  time  he  had  her  lips  stained  his  own,  she  ruined  his  receptors  for  anyone  else,  and  it  was  interpreted  differently  for  the  branch  of  vampirism.  he  would  be  knighted  as  a  follower  of  demi.  with  angelic  link  or  not.  he  had  gotten  to  know  the  mortal  femme,  denied  her  close  claims  but  internally  he  admired  her  persistent  call.  a  tug  in  personal  possession  since  the  gesture  of  the  pastry.  demi’s  ‘  good  ‘  sent  spatter  ricocheting  within  the  middle  of  his  chest.  god,  her  praises  matter.  he  brought  them  back  to  her  own  again  at  her  feathered  coaching.  top  row  of  non-sharp  teeth  had  sunk  into  his  own  bottom  lip,  tongue  darting  to  swipe  across.  his  jacket  had  been  discarded  when  her  fingers  made  their  decent  down  his  shirt,  lifting  it  above  his  head  with  a  simple  tug  then  left  in  the  past.  one  hand  found  the  side  o͟f͟ ͟ h͟e͟r͟ ͟ n͟e͟c͟k͟,  fingers  extending  in  territories  such  as  the  back  of  her  hair,  and  his  thumb  on  the  side  of  her  cheek.  her  jaw  and  pulse  in  the  pad  of  his  palm,  “  i  wouldn’t  have  it  any  other  way.  “  words  had  been  scratched  by  a  rough  swallow. lips  had  been  parted  to  dart  jagged  breaths  at  demi's  exploring  hands  —  his  appetite  ran  deep,  but  that  he  remained  loyal  to  the  slow  acts  of  chipping. fleeing  just  before  he  could  feel  the  thunderous  rolls  of  pressured  waves  been  sent  below  the  waistband  of  his  boxers,  the  constricting  of  fabric  started  over  his  hardening  arousal.  which  we’re  now  in  her  hand  instead  of  his  own,  thankful  that  the  nights  where  he  relives  himself  to  thoughts  of  ‘  what  ifs  ’  are  answered  and  made  a  reality.  he  had  given  her  a  catch  of  breath,  lids  had  been  closed  then  open  to  expose  the  shift  in  the  humanly  dark  pupils  to  a  reflective  unnatural  metallic.  then  her  proposal  —  head  had  been  pulled  back  slightly  to  view  her  entirely,  but  so  she  could  see  him  for  what  he  was.  adding  to  the  baggage  of  what  she’s  asking  of  him,  his  cupped  hand  stayed  at  their  station,  the  other  went  to  her  hip  with  a  gentle  hold  before  snaking  a  trail  upward  to  her  waist  by  only  using  two  fingers.  middle  and  ring  and  he  limited  himself.  then  a  spin  in  positions  ;  demi  against  the  counter  and  he  had  the  space  to  leave.  mav  parted  his  lips  for  the  soft  c͟l͟i͟c͟k͟  to  cue,  canines  within  the  top  row  of  his teeth  had  a few centimeters of an extension and been  sharpened  with  a  license  to  kill. orbs  of  silver  at  the  center  of  clouded  brandy  windowed  his  devoted  crave.  now  on display  to  demi.  “   are  you  sure?  “  the  careful  line  had  been  dusted  with  a  tantalizing  edge.  the  vampire  maverick,  he  hated  that  name  as  for  stage  presence  it  worked  in  his  favor  for  sales,  but  for  a  lover  —  he  feared.  fingers  had  been  sewn  into  the  back  of  her  hair,  prepared  to  support  her  final  claim  as  his  chest  pressed  against  her  silk  covered  frame.  lips  were  a  press  away  from  from  her  own,  “  i  would go home thinking  about  how  y͟o͟u͟ ͟ w͟o͟u͟l͟d͟ ͟ t͟a͟s͟t͟e͟ on my tongue .  .  . ”   his  susurration  was  drenched  in  carnal  thoughts.  lips  had  led  an  unsanctioned  faint  and  desperate  kiss  to  the  bottom  of  her  lip, leading a trail to the center petal.

[loredrops]

an angel’s blood is only half the story, that the real secret is the way the bite lights the angel from the inside, flooding every nerve with liquid dawn. they say the moment the fangs pierce, grace itself ripples outward, a shockwave of euphoria that feels like falling upward, like every hymn sung backward through the body until it shatters into star bright pleasure. some called it sacrilege, others called it communion; all agreed it was addictive. the thought flickers through her now — not as fear, but as a molten promise — so when maverick’s breath skates her throat she’s trembling less from dread than from the thrilling certainty that in the split second of his hunger, she will taste the universe too. yes, angels fall, but maybe some falls are simply flights in a different direction. "i’ve never been more sure of anything.” thumbs trace slow reassurance across the bones of his bare shoulders. watch me, he’d said. so she does, refuses to blink, refuses to let him carry this danger alone. she tilts her head, exposing the delicate slope where pulse flutters beneath translucent skin. tiny hairs along her nape lift; cool air sneaks beneath her blouse as his fingers weave through her hair, anchoring her gently. a shiver of anticipation ripples outward, pooling low and hot between her hips where his earlier hardness still brands her palm like a promise. "do it. please." she breathes, voice hitching when his lips graze the shell of her ear, the faintest scrape of fang chasing heat down her sternum. she lifted the silk blouse over her head in a whispered gesture that felt like shedding armor. the fabric slipped away, fluttering to the floor like a fallen feather, revealing the pale curve of her collarbone, delicate hollow where his lips might find sanctuary. her lashes drop, then lift again, still watching, always watching — meeting mercury eyes that flicker like distant lightning. she feels her heartbeat surge, deliberate, an offered drumbeat. “we do this together.” she murmurs, a vow more than a command. “i've wanted this longer than you know — i love you.” her fingers squeeze his nape, urging, inviting, daring. affection was a blessing to be bestowed wisely, that eternity warps when tethered to the wrong soul. vampires were the wrongest of all: echoing voids cursed to drink the living in order to mimic life. she remembers sermons about corrupted grace, remembers gold winged elders whisper shouting warnings of seraphim sickness and the hush that followed any tale ending in fangs. rules crumbled the night she noticed how his voice softened only for her name. her divinity was supposed to glow like a shield; instead it bent toward him, moth to midnight flame. the room contracts to that razor thin space between fang and skin, desire and destruction. whatever happens next, she thinks, eyes locked on the trembling line of his mouth, it will be honest. and honesty, no matter how sharp its teeth, is the only sanctuary she’s ever needed.

[blckmcgicxx]

the last thing she intended to do was to judge him. to her, she was just surprised that he was in fact her daughters teacher. growing up, her parents taught her to never judge a book by its cover. and she had lived by that rule for the most part too. "yeah, i'm surprised." she admitted, a part of her feeling bad already for judging him slightly. four years, that was good. to her, if he had only just started teaching, then that would make her nervous. sometimes, new teachers could be unpredictable. but someone who had been teaching for more than a year? she was okay with that. hearing his next sentence, she was silent for a moment. did he truly want to get to know her as a person? most of the time, she was like an open book to people. but yet, now? she was nervous. nervous around him. which was something that never happened. "well i um…i recently went through a messy divorce. hence why i'm new in town." god, she was usually good at this. but now? not so much. "i'm also in my fourth year of residency too." with three more years to go. it also meant her schedule could be a bit more busy too. but she almost always found time for her daughter. "my schedule may get busy sometimes, but i always do my best to make time for my daughter." that was the most important thing to her as well.

[loredrops]

no wonder her shoulders carry that earthquake tension. a recent divorce and a residency... he lets the silence breathe for a beat, long enough for the hum of the old amp in the corner to slip into the room’s quiet, then he slides a little closer, one hip propped against the lowest bookshelf so he’s not towering. “hey, busy isn’t a dirty word in here.” his fingers skim across the rim of a tiny paint splattered tambourine, setting off a muted jingle. “i’ve got students whose parents pull double shifts, graveyard rotations. we make it work. sometimes that means filming her practice, emailing you clips at 2 a.m." a shrug that loosens the tension in his own shoulders. “point is, your daughter won’t get lost in the shuffle.” a flash of curiosity bright enough to banish his usual stage ready nonchalance. he wants details — a part of him, the reckless drummer part, just wants to keep her talking so her voice keeps threading through the paper planet galaxy above their heads. “…so — i’m guessing new in town also means you don’t have many friends yet, or a place to really decompress?” the words leave before he can throttle them, so he rides the momentum. i’m only asking because i know a bar not too far. nothing fancy, but they book solid live music.” smooth move — parent/teacher boundary, anyone? she could report him, or worse, politely decline and ghost every conference after this. he schools his face into casual, leaves the decision purely hers ...

[zendeyas]

Zendaya wearing MATIERES – New York premiere of The Odyssey

[wintcrstcrfall]

It was vulnerable, the way she made her way closer to Beau and chose a place right in front of him, instead of her usual one in the far right corner of the bar. Usually, it was a strategic place - not too far to be considered dangerous for alone woman, but not in the center to draw each hungry attention she had no desire to foster. Now, placing her fingertips on the counter, Jo's lips twitched with a smile. "That's fine by me. My jokes are usually darker anyways." Then, with elbows firmly placed, the redhead leaned slightly forward, not noticing that unintentionally she'd mirrored his movements. "And I'm a good listener." His expression was hidden in a haze but Jo didn't make an attempt at squinting and clearing it away - she knew it would only cause the splitting headache to became unbearable. She was fine with not seeing him in sharp lines - in a weird sense it gave her a small comfort, which was enough to keep her in place and not sprinting for the door with a string of barely understandable apologies at her wake. But as her hands wrapped around the glass, his next words made her to freeze for a beat before numbly lifting the liquid to her pale lips.

His hands were what drew her attention when she lowered the glass, but the woman tried not to make it too obvious. She didn't want to assume too much just by a few words, but the way her nerves condensed, making her stomach to clench painfully, it almost made her regret staying. Yet his voice wasn't prodding or mocking or pitying and Johanna forced her shoulders to relax and shake off the scare from her shoulders. "Why is it hard to believe?", the words were softer than she'd wanted them to be. When lifting her dark gaze, eyes red rimmed and prickling, she wanted to finish off the remaining drink in one gulp but managed to stop herself. It was too much and she already had a glass behind her back. This was a bad idea. Coming. Staying. Talking. And yet... The woman could guess the unsaid lingering in the air, yet it wasn't the place to tell him that she had all the time in the world and nothing to do with it; that nothing made her happy now; that nothing had, for such a long time, even from before the attack. At least before she used to have her music as a steady companion, but ever since that fateful night, Johanna had tried and failed to pick up a violin. The instrument felt wrong into her hands, which seemed so strange considering that she didn't need her eyes for it. Their weakness now shouldn't have been an obstacle, yet it seemed to be another stone on her road to healing she had to learn to walk around. "Do you want a silent company or not? Because I don't mind either... though you might want to reconsider stopping the music then."

[loredrops]

why is it hard to believe? because she is the sort of beautiful that doesn’t usually wander into a place like this, beau thought, but he couldn’t just say that. beauty cheapens the moment you label it, especially the raw, unguarded kind she carries, the kind that seems surprised by its own effect. most nights his clientele are road worn truckers, biker lifers, locals nursing heartbreak in silence. faces cracked by sun and liquor; nail bitten hands trembling over pool cues. johanna isn’t that. even under the sickly bar neon her skin keeps its own, softer light, as though refusing to be dirtied by cheap bulbs and stale air. a woman carved for concert halls, summer verandas, somewhere people sip champagne instead of bottom shelf rye. and yet here she sits, elbows on scarred wood, glass sweating between her fingers—like a lost heirloom nobody realizes is priceless. “dusty biker bars at three in the morning usually draw a different crowd,” he says, voice low, almost amused. “let’s just say you don’t exactly fit the demographic.” a beat, long enough for her to read the subtext if she wants, short enough to pretend there isn’t any. the half smile returns, shy around the edges. “but i’m glad the statistics are off tonight.” he’d spent years pretending the late night quiet didn’t claw at him, but with her sitting here, eyes rimmed raw, posture coiled like something cornered, silence felt predatory. a thing with teeth. “nah silent company’s overrated ... and i like your voice." a truth, simply aired. beau reached beneath the bar, fished out a long neck lone star, popped the cap against the rail with a practiced flick. the hiss of released carbonation felt like permission to breathe. he planted one boot on the low cross beam of the stool opposite her. "i'll even give you control of the music. any song ... or turn it off if you want." he slid the phone across the lacquered wood until it came to rest beneath her fingers.

[chrrybabie]

" just once? " marisol replies, absolutely breathless as she pumps her fingers inside of her, her steady pace breaking as her hips rise to meet a phantom feeling that only he could provide her with. " what if i want more? hold your head exactly where i want it 'til you've got me shaking and sobbing and begging for you to just fuck me already. " at his words, she curls her fingers just so, a moan breaking out of her as her eyes squeeze shut, picturing his fingers doing the job. " so tight, " she breathes out in agreement, desperation seeping through every word. " i'm so close. you've got me so close. " his next words have her applying pressure to her clit with her thumb. it's not quite the picture he's painting, but it gets her through. " cyrus, " she cries out as she rides herself through the high. it's still not enough. " need you to come for me too, baby. can you do that for me? i want to hear you fall apart. "

[loredrops]

her plea—“need you to come for me too, baby." slipped through the speaker like warm liquor, coating the back of his throat. he swallowed hard, let the sound of her wet, unsteady breaths braid with the slick rhythm of his own hand. “keep talking,” he managed, voice a velvet rasp. “tell me how good it feels." his fist glided faster, base to swollen tip. he pictured her fingers, thighs quivering around nothing but her own hand, and the vision slammed into him like a wave. “marisol — ” the name broke on a groan, long and guttural. hips jerked off the mattress; pleasure spiked, sharp, unstoppable. “i’m ... ah, fuck— i’m there.” white static bursting behind his eyelids. release surged hot over his knuckles, stripes spattering across his stomach. he let the moan tear free, deep and unguarded, giving her every fractured note of it. muscles spasmed once, twice, then sagged; the room spun down to a slow pulse of aftershocks and the soft hiss of their breathing tangled together over the line. he swiped a languid thumb through the warmth on his skin, a dazed smile tugging at his lips. “next time — ” voice hoarse but steady. “there won’t be a phone between us. i’m going to taste every single sound you just made.”

[hcneyhushed]

closed for @loredrops !

this man infuriates her daily, pushing every single button with a smug, effortless precision that tests her limits and drives her completely insane. and yet, it is a sweet, toxic addiction that leyla knows she can't shake; anyone else would bore her to death, and she would honestly rather die than settle for anything less than his specific brand of chaos.

she certainly hadn't expected to get so wickedly hot and bothered over something so stupid, but seeing some girl at the bar have the absolute audacity to make eyes at cyrus like that had set her blood on fire. cyrus had just smiled and played it off, arguably innocent for once, but the sheer possessive drive that sparked inside leyla the moment they finally got back to the privacy of his apartment was completely overwhelming. she needed to reclaim the man she hadn't actually lost, her mouth literally watering for him as she dragged him through the door.

her cheeks were flushed a deep, rosy pink as she completely took charge, her usual sweet innocence giving way to that sharp, hidden bite that only ever came out to play when it was cyrus pushing her buttons. with a defiant little smirk, she sank slowly down to her knees on the plush rug, her eyes locking onto the prominent, heavy tent straining against the fabric of his pants.

a soft, breathless giggle bubbled past her lips as she leaned in, intentionally teasing him through his boxers, tracing the hard length with the tips of her fingers and the warm, damp press of her lips until he was growling out her name.

"impatient, are we?" she giggled innocently, looking up with a look of pure, smug pride before she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pulled the fabric down, letting him spring completely free. leyla held his gaze, her big eyes silently demanding undivided eye contact as she tilted her chin up. deliberately slowing down, she parted her lips and opened her mouth wide, watching his expression shatter as she leaned forward and took him halfway down her slick, wet throat.

[loredrops]

the way she took control, pressed that familiar brand of chaos right onto his skin, stirred something dangerously raw inside him. it wasn’t just desire. no — it was a need, tangled deep with something older, more possessive. he leaned back against the edge of the couch, one hand curling into the thick strands of her hair, fingers threading through with a mix of possessiveness and reverence. his chest rose and fell unevenly as his mind roared between surrender and control. “fuck leyla — ” voice rough, barely more than a breath that trembled with everything he was trying to hold back, the want, the hunger, the insane kind of worship twisted with his usual edge of recklessness. "are you really going to tease me like this?" his other hand brushed down the curve of her jaw, lingering just long enough to etch the moment into memory before trailing lower, fingers brushing against the bare skin of her neck, a slow, smoldering caress that promised no mercy. inside, his mind splintered between the burning heat of the moment and that relentless, possessive hunger. the moment her hands hooked into the waistband of his boxers, something inside him snapped, giving him barely any time to register the slow slide of fabric before she freed him completely. his cock sprang to full attention, thick and hard. it curved slightly, aching and impatient, made it impossible to resist the surge of want that tightened his gut. and just like she wanted, the glide of her mouth sent him over, unraveling every shred of control he’d pretended to hold. the way her tongue traced the slick heat, that slow drag setting him on fire like nothing else could. he swallowed hard, heat pooling so low, so dangerous, that it made his chest tighten tight enough to break. “leyla, baby … don’t slow down. don’t stop — fuck, don’t stop.”

[hcneyhushed]

noelle’s head was spinning, her thoughts completely scattered by the sheer, quiet surprise of how quickly their playful boundaries had shattered and escalated into this, her petite, slender frame molding perfectly beneath the heavy, solid warmth of apollo's chest pressing down on her. he was so much broader, all lean, powerful muscle and towering over her small frame, making her feel incredibly delicate yet entirely safe beneath him as his weight pinned her gently to the mattress. feeling the staggering, thick fullness of apollo slipping deep inside her, she arched her back instinctively, rocking her hips back into him in tight, desperate swirls to absorb every single inch of him. shellshocking how easy it was to welcome her best friend. her long, silky blonde hair spilled like spun gold across the dark sheets, catching on the friction of their skin and contrasting beautifully against his large hands. her own reached back, grasping tightly at his strong wrists and finding his fingers before sliding up the tense, defined muscles of his forearms to cling to the back of his neck, pulling him down close until she could feel the rapid, heavy thud of his heartbeat against her spine. turning her head to the side, her full cheeks flushed a deep, pretty pink, her plush, parted lips pressing against the sharp line of his jaw and trailing soft, breathless kisses up toward his ear. his skin was hot, radiating a feverish heat that made her melt further into the mattress. “you feel so good,” she let out, the words escaping her as a quiet, surprised moan that she couldn't have held back even if she tried. she squeezed her eyes shut, her tight, wet core wrapping around him in a slick, desperate hug as she turned her face fully into his neck, whispering, “i want more of you... apollo, please.”

[loredrops]

his mind was a cyclone of everything he'd thought, everything that had never been said. all the other girls had been loud, quick; noelle was nothing like them. she was the quiet tremor under every steady beat of his heart, the softness where his edges had long sharpened. the tenderness he’d skimmed before, now it was everything. he couldn’t stop, not when she was calling for more, when every nerve ending screamed to give, to sink deeper into her. his hands tightened slightly, steady but possessive, anchoring him, her —right here, where everything was charged and real. fingers slid, deliberate and gentle, caressing the warm plane of her back before threading into her hair, pulling slightly yet again before his hips shifted, pressing harder, deeper, until the slick heat of their bodies slammed together in a desperate rhythm. he could feel her muscles tighten around him, a wordless response that sent shivers racing down his spine. “is that what you want?” he whispered against her ear, breath warm and thick. “there you go, push back on me.” his hand slowly crept lower, fingertips grazing the silk of her thigh, the heat radiating beneath his touch making his pulse quicken. this was no longer just teasing, no longer just testing boundaries. this was him falling, inch by inch—and maybe, just maybe, hers too.

[hcneyhushed]

“did you really think i’d stay away?” luca asked with a slow smirk, stepping over the threshold with the casual, cocky ease of a man who owned the night. he caught the heavy door before it could shut, his palm flattening against the wood to trap her in his space while the expensive scent of vanilla and tobacco clung to his jacket. “and yet you still answered the door,” he murmured, his fingers brushing along her jawline to tilt her face up so she couldn’t hide the frantic pulse in her throat from his amused stare, letting her know he knew she recognized those two hard, rapid knocks. “lemme inside.”

[loredrops]

of course he's here again because she allows him to stay in spaces her husband never bothered to enter. “luca — ” slices the hush, sharper than she intended. “you can’t just appear whenever you want. what if the neighbors noticed?” palm lands on his chest, more a tremor than a shove. she can feel the faint thrum of his heartbeat under the cotton, steady and infuriatingly certain. if she truly meant to bar him, she’d press harder, but her fingers only rest there, half convinced, and clinging. why lie? she didn’t want the door to close. she craved the disruption, his particular gravity pulling the dull orbit of her evenings off course. “i answered because i don’t need you staging some grand drama on the porch,” she adds, softer now, the reprimand dissolving as quickly as it formed. the truth is simpler: she answered because she always will. she steps back, granting him the width of the threshold. muted lamplight spills across herringbone floors, catching on framed photos that feel like artifacts from a life soraya once meant to live. “why are you here?”

[loredrops]

TOON ME! /

TAGGED BY: @rennisaturate✨ TAGGING: whoever wants to do it honestly 💕

[buffygifs]

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER 2.02 | "Some Assembly Required"

[scftlightz]

@loredrops | ( demi & maverick ) ⋅♡𓂃

[ivygrcws]

finds delight ( even pleasure ) in making him suffer for her. cyrus says 'i know you want this to work' and charisse can't help but laugh, bubbly and melodious, as if it were the funniest thing she's ever heard. but it's all an act - - and she fears he can see it in her eyes. "or maybe i'm just toying with you until i find someone worthy of me," charisse suggests, ( not so innocently ) letting her fingers dance up under the hem of her dress for a brief moment, "a woman's got to have options, right? someone to satisfy her needs until she meets her prince charming." breath hitches when she feels his hands on her calves, strong and calloused - - just the way she likes them. her facade breaks ( just slightly ) and she curses herself for loving him. eyelids flutter closed as his lips ghost hers, and charisse can't help but sink her teeth into his lower lip. a reminder of who's in control. "don't let me down again, cyrus." a mischievous smirk dances on lips as she nears the passenger door, fingers tracing his lower abdomen. "you have a long night ahead of you," hums as she hops into the seat - - pointer finger resting beneath cyrus' chin as her eyes lock with his, "one of beautiful torture, all in the name of love."

[loredrops]

back in the car, she’s beside him, bare legs crossed, ankle swinging, a queen lounging on a burn-out throne. the smirk she wears—that razor sweet thing—makes him feel twelve and wicked all at once. why does she still get to me? because she knows exactly where to press, idiot. because every apology sticks to your tongue like salt and she licks it off for dessert. “beautiful torture,” voice hoarse, laughing, half pleading. “that sounds…fair.” fingers drum the wheel; he can’t quite keep them still. maybe worse is exactly what he deserved. or maybe worse is just another word for worth it. "are you going to tell me what this long night ahead of me will consist of?" he feels it now. an odd buoyancy in his chest, like ribs are balloon strings she might let go of. hands that could strong arm most people hover about her skin, awaiting silent permissions. his usual arsenal, charm, swagger, thin lipped threats, dulls to harmless toys in her presence. one arch of her brow and the algorithms that run his hustle short circuit. he'd do anything for her.

[hvzeful]

julia doesn't answer right away. she lets the silence breathe between them, eyes never leaving winnie's, because some things deserve more than a rushed reassurance. "maybe that's the part that terrifies you," she offers quietly. "not that the armor's cracking, but that you'll look underneath and find there's nothing there." she squeezes winnie's hand. "but i've known you long enough to know that's not true." she can't help the smile that pulls at the corner of her mouth. "you're not just the doctor that everyone leans on. you're stubborn, brilliant, and way too hard on yourself. you remember everyone's coffee orders, you stay late when you don't need to, and you carry people with you longer after they've left your care," she pauses, voice softening. "and i know being human sounds like a pretty lousy consolation prize right now. but i don't think the people who love you—people who really see you—love you because you're perfect. i think they love you because you're you. and if your armor does crack, winne... i promise you, you won't disappear. you don't have to earn your place in the world by saving everyone."

[loredrops]

for a breath too long, winnie only watches julia’s fingers tangled with hers—pale against the smear of dried ink on her own knuckles, small proof of how much of herself she keeps trying to erase. she pictures the morning chart still parked on her locker, the hollow checkbox where a signature should have gone. she pictures the patient’s shoes—tidy loafers placed beneath the gurney, as though he’d planned to walk out. and then she feels julia’s thumb trace the ridge of her knuckle, present, insistent, warm. winnie clears her throat, but the words come out hoarse anyway. “you make it sound so straightforward. just… let people in. what if the moment i loosen up, everything i’m holding back spills into your lap? it isn’t pretty inside my head, jules. and i don’t know how to ask someone else to mop it up.” heat crawls up her neck; she forces herself not to recoil. she hates that vulnerability feels so physical, like skin splitting in open air. yet julia feels like a stubborn miracle.