#💖💕💕💓💗💞💗💓💗💗💗

[startanew]

🏝️🤍💘💖💕❤️‍🔥💞🫀💓💝💗

[coffipool]

Hellooo there my sweet lil' Coffi cup!

This is your #1 bodyguard signing in. I hear some weirdos have been rb'ing our stuff, so I thought I'd swing in and give you a couple of kissies and some words.

First off, mwah mwah! Second, babe, we are too cute for those freaks and I'll protect you from them any day of the week. I'm always gonna be there for ya and... I'm just gonna say it: I'm in love with you. God, what you do to me, babe.

Anyways, hope your day gets a little better. And if you want, I could send you a lil' something later. I'm always gonna be your on-demand booty call. ;)

(... Did I ruin it? Yeah, I ruined it.)

Love ya, Wade ❤️

MY SCHMOOPY POO, MY HONEY BEE!! I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE! COME HOME SOON SO I CAN PUT YOU IN A HEADLOCK (LOVINGLY) 💘💖💗💓💞💕

[jevousenpriex]

𐔌 . ⋮ instagram post .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

(ੈ✩‧₊˚ @𝙏𝙔𝙂) // • pinky n’ the brain | hair by @roughryd 💕💗💖💞💓🎀

[fuzziiwuzzii]

It’s the 70s, Claudia and Madeleine are at the lesbian bar… I think they’re looking at you.

[miss-conjayniality]

YOU GUYS OHHHH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!! I AM FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. MY SEASON 1 AND SEASON 2 FAVS IN ONE SELCA TOGETHERRRRRR 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

FULFILLING MY DELUSIONS……THEY DID THIS FOR MEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! OMGOMGOMNGGGGGG

and the caption!?!???: "Yesterday, the day Thanos and Ali met personally again."

HOLD AWN!?!??? 🥺 SO YOU’RE TELLING ME THEY’VE MET BEFORE!?!??? 🥹🥹🥹 THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR MY HEART 🩷💖💗💕💓💞🩷💖💗💕💓💞🩷💖

[feralgodmothers]

“Come to my hotel,” he whispers his lips  pressed against yours his breaths soft. “Please.”

NO NEED TO ASK ME TWICE

He starts to take you like he means it, each thrust hitting a spot so deep inside it has you moaning until you can’t even think anymore. His lips find yours, kissing you through it, your whimpers vibrating against his mouth.

Out of Character

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin Butler is a regular at your coffee shop while filming in Chicago, and you go out of your way to treat him like any other customer, offering him a quiet escape from the spotlight. He notices you treat him like a regular guy and becomes very fond of your company. He eventually follows you to a poetry session, where the undeniable connection between you becomes something far more than what you expected from a celebrity.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut ❤️‍🔥 Austin in work mode • shared glances • mutual interests• craving connection • protective Austin • unexpected tenderness • Austin wants to walk with you • first kiss •intimacy • making out •clothes ripped off • praise kink • size kink •condom use • p in v• rough but careful • deep thrusts •begging • whimpering • orgasms •aftercare  🔗 Masterlist

📖 Proofreader @purejasmine 💕

Out of Character

The late afternoon sun slants through the wide windows of your cozy Chicago coffee shop.

The place is quiet, save for the soft hum of the espresso machine and the faint jazz playing through the speakers.

You’re behind the counter, wiping down the steamer when the bell above the door jingles, and your eyes light up as he walks in. 

Austin Butler.

He’s in his usual outfit, always a tee over blue jeans that hug his lean frame just right. An olive green jacket drapes over his shoulders, and as always, a trucker hat sits low on his head, shading his pretty blue eyes.

His full lips curve into a soft, almost shy smile as he strides in, hands tucked into his pockets.

He’s stupidly handsome, the kind of good-looking that makes your heart pound. But it’s his charm, easy and unassuming, that keeps you hooked.

There’s a spark behind his eyes, a quiet intensity that makes being near him feel so inviting and special.

“Hey, you,” he drawls, his voice low and warm as he grins leaning against the counter. His gaze flicks to the chalkboard menu, though you both know he doesn’t need it.

“Usual?” you ask, already reaching for a to-go cup. Oat milk latte, no sugar, no foam, simple, like he pretends to be.

“You know me too well,” he says, his lips twitching into a grin. His blue eyes catch yours, and for a second, you forget what you’re doing. He’s been coming here for weeks, ever since his latest movie, a gritty action thriller, started filming in the city.

Your coffee shop is his sanctuary, a place to escape the chaos of set life and run lines in peace. You’ve memorized his order, his habits, the way he slumps into the corner couch with a script, muttering to himself, his long fingers tracing the pages.

He never flaunts his fame, though the occasional patron will stare him down, whisper, and approach.

“Are you THE Austin Butler?” they’ll ask, and he’ll laugh, a soft, deep sound that makes your knees weak.

“Yeah, this happens all the time,” he’ll say, setting them at ease with a humility that feels genuine.

He’ll pose for a selfie, sign a piece of memorabilia, then sink back into his seat, looking worn but never unkind.

You admire his discretion, the way he trusts you to keep this place a haven. You’ve never pried, never asked for a photo, and he seems to notice. Sometimes, his gaze lingers a bit too long, and you wonder if he notices you too.

Tonight, though, it’s different, your coffee shop was requested to cater late-night shoots for his film in a cordoned-off parking lot downtown. Trailers and floodlights transform the space into a makeshift studio.

You’re serving espressos and pastries to bleary-eyed crew members, the air crisp, tinged with the scent of diesel from the trailers, and fresh coffee grounds from your equipment.

Fans cluster beyond the barricades, vying for a glimpse of the stars, but you’re too busy to care, juggling thermoses and paper cups, until you hear his familiar laugh.

Austin steps out of a trailer, side by side with his co-star, Jeremy Allen White. Austin’s in a dark gray T-shirt that clings to his broad chest, ripped-knee jeans, and scuffed workman’s boots. His signature trucker hat sits low over his face, but you’d recognize those lips and that jawline anywhere.

Jeremy’s louder, cracking jokes, his energy infectious as he waves to the crowd.

“All right, let’s do one big picture, yeah?” Jeremy calls, and the fans agree. Security gets to work ensuring both actors are safe as Jeremy ushers everyone in close and phones begin taking photos. Austin is smiling but reserved, letting his co-star take the lead.

Once the pictures are over, Jeremy thanks everyone, and Austin smiles but hardly speaks as he nods along with Jeremy’s sentiment.

They both walk back to a trailer together and you take a good long look at the way Austin’ strides, all confidence and effortless allure as security ushers the crowd away.

As the site shuts down and the crew begin to leave, you’re covering up the coffee station equipment when two guards approach, their faces stern.

“Ma’am, you need to clear out faster,” one says, gesturing at the permits clipped to your stand. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, because you’re already flustered. Beneath your apron, a black mini dress hugs your curves, paired with a leather jacket and knee high boots. You’re dressed  for the poetry open mic night you’re heading to after this.

“I’m trying,” you mutter, fumbling with a stack of cups. “It’s just—”

“Hey, easy on her guys,” a smooth voice cuts in, and it’s Austin, all six feet of him, his presence commanding without even trying.

The guards back off immediately.

“Sorry, man, just—it’s been a rough night,” one says, and they retreat.

You exhale, your shoulders loosening.

“Thanks,” you say, taking off your apron and smoothing down your dress. Austin’s gaze sweeps over you, slow and deliberate, and you catch the faintest quirk of his lips.

“You look really nice,” he says, his voice softer now, almost intimate. “Where you headed dressed like this?”

You laugh, a little nervous under the weight of his stare. “Poetry open mic night, a few blocks over, nothing fancy.”

His brows lift, and that spark in his eyes returns. “Poetry, huh? Mind if I walk with you? Make sure you get there safe?”

Your heart stumbles, he’s being sweet, protective even, and it’s so damn endearing you don’t even think to say no.

“Sure,” you say without hesitation, and as you start walking, he falls into step beside you, his long strides easy, his hands in his pockets.

The city is busy around you, car horns, distant laughter, but with him, it feels quieter, like you’re in your own little world together.

“So, poetry,” he says, glancing at you, tipping his hat up slightly as he tilts his head. “You reading tonight or just listening?”

“Just listening,” you admit. “I love the way words can… I don’t know, cut through the noise. You ever get into it?”

He chuckles, low and warm. “Yeah, I’m actually a really big fan of Rilke. ‘Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.’ That one sticks with me.” He grins, his voice honest, and you’re struck by how unguarded he seems, like he’s out of character from being the actor Austin Butler for a moment.

“Rilke?” you repeat, impressed. “Didn’t take you for a poet.”

He grins, his eyes flashing a hint of attraction as he tries to hide it.“I’m full of surprises.” He says. 

You reach the venue, a dimly lit bar with exposed brick walls and a small stage. He hesitates at the door, and you think he’s about to say goodnight. But then he says,

“Mind if I come in? Been a while since I did something… normal.”

You giggle, the sound bubbling out before you can stop it. “Sure, Austin, come be normal with me.” you tease.

Inside, you claim a space in the back corner, and he slides into the seat beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table.

The poets take the stage, some honest, some intense, and Austin listens passively, his hat pulled low over his eyes, his face half-shadowed. 

Every now and then, he leans in to whisper a comment, his words warm against your ear.

“That one’s got guts,” he says after a particularly visceral piece, and you nod smiling, your body heating up just from how close he is.

When the reading ends, you’re both reluctant to leave. The night air is cool as you step outside, and you walk slowly, side by side, the tension between you increasing with every step.

He’s quieter now, his eyes catching yours as you stop in the streetlight’s glow. 

“My place is that way…” you gesture, not wanting depart just yet. “So I guess I’ll see you at the café tomorrow?” you say gently, with a reluctant smile.

He nods, but it feels like he has more to say as he bites his bottom lip, and his brows knit slightly.

“I’m a few blocks that way,” he replies. “I have a shoot early in the morning, but I should be free around noon…” he says, but his voice is a little absent, like his mind’s on something else.

You both linger, the sounds of the city stretching out between you, cars passing, the distant pulse of music…and still, neither of you turn to leave the other.

You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly he’s closer, his hand grazing your arm. Then his body is pressing into yours, and he’s a warm, solid, wall, of muscle.

His thumb brushes your chin, and his eyes…God, his blue eyes…lock onto yours, and you’re drowning in them. He leans in, and his lips meet yours, gently at first, then passionately, his mouth fully claiming yours with a need that steals your breath.

You kiss him back, your hands pulling him closer, and as his tongue teases yours you whimper into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his heat.

“Come to my hotel,” he whispers his lips  pressed against yours his breaths soft. “Please.”

“Yes,” you breathe, the only answer you can think to say.

The walk to his hotel is just a few more blocks, and his hand is firm around yours, his thumb stroking your knuckles. In the elevator, he pulls you against him, kissing you again slow and deep. His body presses into yours and you can feel the hardness of him pushing between your legs, and it makes your core ache with want.

His suite is sleek, all glass windows and soft lighting, but you barely notice. He locks the door and turns to you, his hat already tossed aside, his hand tousling through his soft brown hair.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice gentle, his blue eyes searching yours, and you step closer, drawn to him like gravity as you pull him into another kiss.

His lips are on yours, soft and hungry, his mouth moving against yours with barely restrained need. Your hands slide up his chest, fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt, and his hands grip your waist, bringing you flush against him.

Clothes come off in a hurry, your dress slides to the floor, revealing the lacy black bra and panties you’re secretly rejoicing that you wore.

His shirt goes next, exposing his chiseled chest and abs flexing as he moves, and you trace the lines of his body, marveling at how strong he is.

His jeans follow, and when he steps out of his boxers, you suck in a breath. His cock is big…thick at the base, long enough to make your thighs clench, and he’s already hard with need.

He grabs a Magnum from his wallet, rolling it all the way on with practiced ease, and you can’t help but stare. Veins trail along the shaft, the flushed head slick and heavy, and your stomach flips at the thought of him inside you.

He lays you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, and his lips trail down your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. He unhooks your bra, his mouth closing over a nipple, and you arch, gasping.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his hands at your hips, peeling your panties off.

“Yes…” you gasp, and his fingers reach between your legs, finding you slick and wet as he groans, his cock sliding hard against your inner thigh seeking relief.

You tug at him, guiding him up, desperate to feel him, and he positions himself, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance.

“You don’t want me to please you first?” he asks, his voice hesitant.

You shake your head quickly. “I want you right now,” you answer your voice shaky.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, his eyes locked on yours, and then he pushes in slow and deep.

You gasp, the pressure intense, his size filling you until he’s so deep your walls throb around him. It’s overwhelming, a delicious ache, and you know you’ll be sore for days, but you love it.

He’s careful with the way he moves, his breath hitching as he nudges in at the depth of what you can take.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips as he starts to thrust, steady and deep. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer, your nails digging into his back. His body is a furnace, hard muscle and smooth skin,and you press yourself into him, chasing the pleasure he gives.

“Austin…please… more,” you beg, knowing he’s holding back.

“More?” he repeats to confirm, and you nod, eyes pleading.

He starts to take you like he means it, each thrust hitting a spot so deep inside it has you moaning until you can’t even think anymore. His lips find yours, kissing you through it, your whimpers vibrating against his mouth.

His chest rocks against yours, his hips pounding between your thighs with a stamina that steals your breath. You’re gasping with every thrust, and his mouth is on your neck, kissing softly, your body pinned beneath the weight of his rhythm.

You’re going listless from the intensity, the pressure in your core too tight, too overwhelming and the urge to let go crashes through you like a wave.

You come first, your walls clenching around him as you cry out, his thrusts snapping against you as a low, satisfied groans rise from his chest.

His lips part as he spills into the condom, his hips jerking against you, chasing the last pulses of pleasure until he stills, panting, breathless, dazed.

You’re panting too, completely undone beneath him, and he slowly pulls out, then lays beside you.

His mood is lighter, his smile warm, and he turns to you, placing his arm over your waist, his embrace grounding as you grin, your eyes fluttering shut.

Before you know it, you’ve fallen asleep, his arm slung over your waist, his breaths warm against your neck.

In the morning, your eyes snap open as you sit up. He’s gone, no note, no number, just the empty space where he was on the sheets and you realize he must already be early on set.

“Shit!” you exclaim, realizing you have work. You quickly throw everything on, your soreness slowing your stride as you dash out booking an uber in the lobby.

You arrive half an our late to the coffee shop, wrestling with the ache in your chest, telling yourself you’re grateful for the night with Austin…even if it was just that.

By the afternoon, you’re back in routine, steaming milk, lost in thought about how you’ll handle working late night on set again when the bell jingles.

Austin walks in, his trucker hat low, his smile brighter than the morning sun. You start his coffee order by habit, your heart pounding, and he leans over the counter beckoning you closer. 

He has a thin book in his hand, and as you approach he gives it to you.

Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet.

You smile fondly, tracing your finger over the letters before you look up at him.

“Thought you might like it,” he says, his blue eyes affectionate, his voice soft.

“And… maybe we could grab dinner tonight? If you don’t run off on me again,” he adds with a teasing smile.

“I had work,” you say, gesturing, the ache in your chest already blooming into something warm.

“Dinner then” he says, offering you his phone to input your number.

“Yeah,” you grin. “I’d like that.”

END 📖 ☕️

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me List

@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mani-pedro @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika @feralgodmothers @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @soft-mama-reads @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @unicoo @dunevitani @shockercoco @slowsweetlove @thejoywillburnoutthepain @psycheetamore @jessica987 @ughdontbeboring @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @minispice-1 @i5uckersblog @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2 @skulliecadaver-blog @jjubilee-fluff @laurenmcquilty @louisejoy86 @butlerrizz @pillowprincess-things @pookie3bear3000

[nonese-random]

Spongebob lovelypants <3

[wolfchans]

[wohyunz]

lee know & hyunjin moments for @loversmore 🤍

[ifispania]

Sending virtual hugs and kisses ❤️💜🩷💘💝💖💗💓💞💕♥️❣️❤️‍🔥

[peanutsoutofcontext]

Baby Snoopy of the Day 🥺💗

[sugarpasteltmnt]

Happy ‘The Neon Void’ 2nd Anniversary!!!

I’m a few days late (it was the 26th) but that’s because I’m currently traveling somewhere I’ve always wanted to go; Japan!! I’m having an amazing time and wished I could have prepared something a bit more special, but I’ll be honest— I’m so much happier and freer now thanks to TNV and all of the wonderful people in this fandom, and I feel like this trip is helping celebrate that.

Two years ago I wasn’t exactly feeling very cowabunga about a lot of things, but while writing TNV I was able to get through some tough times and even help make some important decisions that have significantly improved my life. And I could not be more thankful for everyone’s sweet words and excitement over my silly little fanfic— seriously, you all are so amazing and I am so so so lucky to be a part of such a fun fandom. Thank you all so so much.

So thank you all again for everything, happy 2nd anniversary, and remember to enjoy the cheesy pizza pies life gives you 🩵

[I’m still traveling with a tight schedule but I see all your wonderful asks and art and I’ll be able to catch up with you all soon!! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ ]

[reunitedinterlude]

phil finally getting his midriff out <3

[fromrory]

The Glitter Incident (Also Known as That One Date That Never Happened) !

POV: Fem!Reader Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff | Humor | Chaos | Domestic Softness Featuring: Glitter trauma, Damian being a concerned (and lowkey entertained) boyfriend, and Fem!Reader being Very Done™️ Word Count: ~2.6K Requested by: @simpingmyassoff more damimi reqs pls. . . Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) A/N: English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy! ! ! A/N 2: This is my frist time writing for Damian. . .l!! Hope y'all like it (don't crucify me pls) A/N 3: This happend once to me. . . when i was getting ready for my gymnastics competition. . .

The Getting-Ready Phase of Doom

There was something magical about preparing for a date.

Maybe it was the soft playlist you had on repeat (romantic pop, naturally). Maybe it was the way your lipstick matched your earrings. Or maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t blown up anything all day, which in Gotham, was basically a miracle.

You twirled once in the mirror. Soft shimmer on your eyelids, a gentle curl to your hair, the most perfect flowy dress you'd found after an hour of wardrobe warfare.

It was going to be perfect. Damian was picking you up at 7 sharp. You were ready.

Almost.

Until, of course, the Universe got involved.

The Glitterpocalypse Begins

While grabbing your phone from the dresser, your hip bumped a small table. A small, rickety, decorative table you kept meaning to fix or get rid of. On said table: a lone, forgotten glitter popper.

The plastic kind from a birthday party six months ago. The kind you meant to throw away. The kind that, right now, decided to fall and detonate on impact like a sparkly bomb from hell.

POP.

A deafening burst.

A mushroom cloud of metallic pink, blue, and gold.

“…No,” you whispered in horror.

It was too late.

Glitter rained down on you like cosmic punishment. It clung to your arms, your face, your curls, your LIPS—

Your dress was no longer elegant. It was a walking glitter nightmare.

Your makeup? Ruined. Your soul? Also ruined.

You looked like a disco ball had exploded on a very confused Disney princess.

Cue Damian.

Knock knock.

“(Y/N)?” Damian’s calm voice came from the hallway. “I’m here.”

You froze. Your hands mid-air. Your eyes wide. The glitter sparkled menacingly.

You opened the door in slow motion.

Damian stood there, freshly dressed in a soft button-up (black, obviously), hair slightly tousled from the wind, holding a single dark red rose like the romantic menace he was.

And then he saw you.

His brow furrowed slightly.

“…Are you… under attack?”

You just looked at him. “No.”

He blinked. “Did someone glitter bomb you? Was this Grayson? Brown?”

“No.”

A long pause.

“…Did you fight a craft store?”

You groaned, stepping aside and letting him in. “It’s worse.”

The Explanation (And the Panic)

Damian stared around the room. Glitter covered the floor, the furniture, the ceiling fan, even the cat (when did you get a cat?). You paced in front of him like a general who had lost the war.

“There was a popper,” you said, distressed, gesturing at the table. “It fell. It exploded. The glitter’s in my lip balm. Damian, I’m shiny. I’m a human mirror. I sparkle in low light. What if someone sees me and thinks I’m trying to join a boyband from 2008?”

Damian just watched you. “You do sparkle.”

“That’s not helping!”

He reached out and brushed a flake off your cheek. His touch was gentle, his smirk subtle.

“…You’re kind of cute, actually.”

You gasped. “Damian Wayne, this is a crisis.”

“An adorable one.”

Plan B (Glitter Recovery Mission)

Seeing your eyes start to water (and not just from glitter dust), Damian immediately switched gears.

“Alright,” he said, taking your hand. “New plan. No crowds. No candlelit restaurant. Just us, here.”

“But the reservation—”

“Screw the reservation. You need a glitter decontamination unit, not crème brûlée.”

“…That’s fair.”

“I’ll run the shower. You’ll rinse the glitter. I’ll start the laundry.” He sniffed dramatically. “Also, the air smells like sparkly trauma.”

You finally let out a laugh, slumping against him. “I wanted tonight to be perfect.”

He pulled you into a slow, comforting hug, ignoring the glitter sticking to his shirt. “It already is.”

Phase One: The Shower Battle

Twenty minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom in a bathrobe, hair damp, cheeks pink, smelling like vanilla and regret.

Damian sat cross-legged on the couch, now in sweats, with a vacuum cleaner nearby and a trash bag full of glittered paper towels.

“The floor’s safe,” he said. “Mostly. I think the couch is beyond saving.”

You eyed the spot next to him. “I’ll just sit on the floor.”

“No you won’t,” he said, pulling you down beside him with a grin. “We suffer together.”

You pouted dramatically. “I’m still glittery inside.”

He tilted his head. “...What does that mean?”

“I inhaled it. I can feel it in my soul.”

He nodded seriously. “We’ll get you a priest.”

Movie Night: Glitter Recovery Edition

You ended up curled on the couch, a blanket over your legs, watching an old black-and-white movie while you sipped cocoa through a glittery straw (the last indignity).

Damian pressed a kiss to your temple. “You okay now?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just embarrassed.”

“You shouldn’t be. You looked magical. Like a chaos faerie.”

You looked up at him. “I hate how weirdly nice that sounds.”

He shrugged. “It’s true.”

You sat in silence for a beat.

“…You’re still a little sparkly,” he added.

“I will fight you.”

Bonus: The Batfam Finds Out

BATPSYCHO'S!!! (oh and Damian's girlfriend)

Steph: [sends a blurry photo of your glitter-covered self from earlier] Steph: “WHAT HAPPENED. WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE A BEDAZZLED PIÑATA.”

Cass: “Pretty”

Jason: “Demon Spawn. Did you lose a glitter war.”

Damian: “She's fine. Do not come over.”

Tim: “So that’s a yes.”

Bruce: “No glitter in the Batcave.”

Damian: “It was ONE TIME.”

Alfred: “I’m making tea. Stay sparkly, Miss.” You: ''Thanks Alfred. . .''

The End (Probably. Unless More Glitter Happens.)

As the night wore on and the movie ended, you turned to Damian, sleepily curling into his side.

“…You really don’t mind the glitter?”

He kissed the top of your head. “Not even a little.”

“Even if it’s in your hair forever?”

“I’ll live.”

“You’re a good boyfriend.”

“You’re a sparkly menace,” he replied.

You smiled into his shoulder. “I’ll take it.”

[unhappy-sometimes]

hey so like. what does this mean.

[ohmyminsung]

WONWOO 💚 LALALI