#and I'm not exactly going to take that BACK-

[vxnillabxn]

Can I request headcanons for all 5 lads men reacting to his female s/o accidentally walk on him topless while changing clothes and immediately covered her eyes while apologising profusely please?

𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x fem!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ a tiny bit suggestive, fluff! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚main five! reacting to fem!reader walking in while they're shirtless. (note: this could also count as gn!reader, as no fem pronouns nor descriptions were used!)

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

he was changing in your shared bedroom, taking off his hoodie before his t-shirt lifted up too.

you happened to barge in casually, as you always did. you were holding an applesauce jar, struggling enough to seek his assistance.

“hey leb, would you—”

you looked up.

you froze.

there he stood, folding his t-shirt while glancing at you, giving you the attention you needed, casually, like it was no big deal. his whole chest was on display, —not for you, initially— along with his strong arms, his abdomen, and…

nope!

in a panic, you threw the jar towards the bed and turned around, eyes covered, face heated up. you blurted out thousands of apologies like a broken machine, over and over again.

“sorry! oh crap, truly, i am so sorry! i didn't—”

all you heard in response was a soft chuckle.

then, footsteps getting closer.

and closer.

until a pair of bare arms wrapped around you from behind.

“what are you hidin’ from, pips?”

he whispered close to your ear, pressing a kiss to the top of your head right after.

“there's nothin’ you haven't seen before. do you like my body that much to get like this, hm?”

he gently pried your hands away from your face and spun you around.

there was a smirk on his lips. he was enjoying this way too much for your liking.

and you knew he wouldn't let this go. not today, not tomorrow, never.

because for the rest of the day, even when handing you something or washing the dishes after dinner, he'd laugh and say:

“easy. don't want you gettin’ flustered just ‘cause i rolled my sleeves up, baby.”

smug dummy.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

you two came back home after one of his art exhibitions. you went to the bathroom to undress and freshen up a bit before bed, while rafayel stayed in your shared bedroom.

you found paint stains on your arm; probably because he decided it was a good idea to add some last-minute touch-ups to his paintings… while also clinging to your arm the entire night.

you walked toward the bedroom, a playful smile on your lips.

“hey raf! if i sold my arm with your paint on it, how much do you think—”

your face heated up instantly, and you slapped your hands over your eyes.

you didn't even register exactly what you saw, but you just knew he was changing.

“why would you sell your arm, my pearl?”

he asked, not noticing your panic at first, since his back was still to you. but when he turned around, and saw your flustered state…

he smirked.

very, very amused.

without a word, he stepped toward you and swiftly lifted you up.

you squealed, clinging to his shoulders for balance, which, of course, meant uncovering your eyes.

“raf—! wait, i'm sorry! i didn't mean to walk in—”

“why are you covering your eyes, cutie? i'm a sight for sore eyes. a masterpiece, if you will.”

he spun you around dramatically before sitting you on the bed, stepping between your legs with that signature glint in his gaze.

“rafayel…”

your eyes were still wide, and his were darker now, tinged with red. dangerous glint. mischief level: critical.

bad sign. abort mission!

“consider this a dynamic exhibition, just for you,” he whispered, taking your hands in his.

then, slowly, he guided your trembling hands to his bare torso.

“feel free to… touch the art, cutie.”

crap.

he was going to kill you one day. but you were not wasting this opportunity.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

it was late. almost 2 a.m.

you'd just woken up after the warm figure beside you left the bed. you stirred and rubbed your eyes, hearing footsteps outside the room. of course, you knew sylus was up; he always started his day pretty late.

you decided to follow. sleepy, groggy, still a bit tired.

your bare feet padded against the cold floor as you trailed after him. your hair was messy, your eyes mostly closed, but you already knew the path by heart, so you navigated it easily, even half-asleep.

he entered the bathroom, and a few seconds later, you followed on instinct.

by now, he knew you were behind him, but he found it endearing.

he started to undress, and it didn't register in your half-functioning brain until his shirt dropped at your feet. you looked down. then up.

you squealed.

“gosh! wait, i'm sorry!”

you were 100% awake now, eyes wide as you turned around to flee the bathroom.

his naked torso was now engraved in your brain. his slightly tanned skin, his defined muscles, his strong, inviting arms… it physically hurt to walk away, but you had to!

…or not.

he grabbed your wrist gently, of course.

you still covered your face with your free hand.

when he spun you around and took both wrists in his hands, he didn't say anything.

he just looked at you, one eyebrow arched, that familiar amused smirk playing on his lips.

he didn't need to talk.

you looked up at him, gulping softly, and recited the words he's told you before under similar circumstances:

“i shouldn't panic, because we're together… and this is a normal thing to happen.”

he hummed in approval, then leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“good. now, won't you join me, kitten?”

and join him, you did. because honestly… who were you to refuse showering with your boyfriend?

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

you were preparing cookies for a charity event.

“save the kittens!” or something along those lines. you read “kittens” and were in.

xavier, of course, wanted to participate too, just because he saw how enthusiastic you were, and because he would get to have kittens curled on his lap once you two went to the event hosted by the shelter.

he was helping… in his own way. having xavier near the kitchen is a fire hazard, so you had him crack the eggs, whisk the batter and, from time to time, use the cookie cutter.

however, he somehow managed to still cause a ruckus, as he preheated the oven a bit too much. when he opened it, a black cloud of smoke covered him.

he had to go change, naturally.

after a while, you decided to check up on him. poor xav, he just wanted to help!

as you step into the shared bedroom, you gasp and cover your face immediately.

he wasn't just shirtless. he was cleaning his pale, rosy skin with a wet cloth. under that comfy sweater laid an absolute sight to behold.

if it wasn't for the frown and the slight pout on his lips, you'd think he did this on purpose.

he looks up upon your clumsy entrance, and he tilts his head.

“is it that bad?”

he softly asks.

you look up automatically, shaking your head. you don't want him to get the wrong idea.

“no, xav! i just— i am sorry, i just forgot to knock first…”

he stares at you, before laughing gently.

“is that it? can't handle seeing your boyfriend naked, starlight? we've done worse thin—”

“xav!”

you soon exit the bedroom again in a rush.

“hurry, the event will start soon!”

and he chuckles.

though, the next time he enters the kitchen to help you pack everything, he's shirtless again.

he steps behind you, hugging you close —as he usually does when he's sleepy—, but this time, you know he has a different purpose.

and he absolutely adores seeing your rapid, nervous movements as his naked, warm chest presses against you.

"cute," he thinks.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

you visited him while he was working. your excuse? you brought lunch and homemade chocolate muffins!

you happily walk through the clean, white halls, greeting the nurses that already know you're here for your boyfriend, dr. zayne.

you step into his office, and he isn't there.

uh? weird.

you decide to check the connected room, where he usually rests, and…

you gasp. the lunch you brought falls to the floor, but thankfully, it was protected inside your leathery bag.

he looks up, raising one eyebrow.

your boyfriend. shirtless. no glasses on.

his white coat is carefully draped over a chair, and he has a black button-up shirt waiting to be put on.

his body is divine. it feels like a sin to be a witness of his god-chiseled features, especially when neither of you is really used to... such displays.

you quickly turn around to give him some privacy.

“uhm, well, i… i should've knocked. i'm truly sorry, zayne, if i knew you were changing, i swear i wouldn't have—”

but he sighs, softly turning you around by holding your shoulders. he looks down at you, and he seems unfazed.

but the tips of his ears are bright red.

“no need to apologize. i am merely changing clothes.”

he softly says.

“you… may look.”

and your face feels ten times hotter.

funnily enough, you obey.

and look you do.

you intently watch as he buttons up his black shirt, as he puts his coat on, as he slips his glasses back on.

“i was actually going out for lunch.”

he says, now stepping closer to you.

you remember your bag and quickly pick it up.

“no need! i brought you lunch and dessert too!”

and his lips curl up slightly. he pats your head gently, before leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose.

“good. after barging in, i expect you to hand-feed me.”

oh, and he means it.

you happily oblige though, following him back to his office to set everything up and have lunch with your hot boyfriend.

[chaepink]

Private lessons | sub!oikawa toru

wc: 2.8k+ words | masterlist

dom!gn!reader, student x teacher relationship, professor!reader, reader is in mid/late twenties and oikawa is early twenties, college au, dry humping, begging, hair pulling, praising, teasing, choking, slight edging, pet names, a few mentions of "miss" for reader however can be ignored since no body parts are mentioned

note: lets see if i can still write good

"Professor? Can you go back and repeat that?"

You sigh and without turning around to see who asked the question, you begin repeating what you've just said out loud again. After all, you know exactly who asked the stupid question: Oikawa Toru.

Sure you're fresh out of college and new to the job but you're perfectly capable of dealing with all of the situations and problems that come with teaching. Your first year teaching sub-disciplines of biology passed by perfectly normally, with you even becoming one of the favorite teachers among the students.

So you weren't concerned when your second year began and you were prepared for most of the things that you assumed would happen.

But what you weren't prepared for was to deal with Oikawa fucking Toru, a senior who you've heard from your fellow teacher friends tends to be a constant pain in the ass.

He's the typical bad student. He's always bullying kids he deems inferior to him, hangs out with the frat boys, throws parties every week if not every day, and gets into fights. All while having girls surrounding him.

Oh, and he interrupts your teaching every second he gets.

That bastard has been the main problem that has suddenly made your job unenjoyable. He's been pulling all sorts of shit like making you repeat things at least 5 times each class, whispering crude remarks about you to his friend—even though he sits in the front of the room and you can hear each one—, and throwing paper balls and airplanes around randomly just to annoy you. Overall, he's a real nuisance during class.

And you know damn well that he doesn't even need or care for the repeating from the way he smirks at you when you're done and from now he has failed most of the quizzes and tests that you've given to the class yet doesn't go to you for any help.

No matter how annoying he is in your class, you can't be bothered to report him to the head of the school, afraid it would tarnish your new reputation as a teacher. After all, you heard rumors about how he's gotten teachers fired, and knowing his parents are somewhat influential, you'd rather not find out firsthand if they're true or not. All you can do is complain about him to your friends as you wait for the school year to end. At least his class is always the last one of the day, right? Yeah right.

Now back to the present.

As you finish repeating most of the things you already went over, you ignore the gaze burning into your head and quickly post the classwork on your laptop. However, right as you open your mouth to continue teaching, the bell rings and you can't help but let your shoulders slump as you look up to the students with a forced smile.

"I just posted the homework for this lesson that's due next class so don't forget to complete it! The semester is coming to an end so final grades will be put in soon."

As they pack up and begin chatting, a few give you sympathetic smiles as they exit, knowing what you have to go through during this class.

You don't bother to pay attention to the last person in the room as they walk up to your desk, stopping right in front of you.

"Professor? I think I need more help understanding."

You pause your typing on your laptop and focus on sorting the papers on your desk instead, trying to look busy but you're just trying not to look Oikawa in the eyes.

"Yes, Oikawa? What exactly do you need help understanding? If it's something that will take a while to chat with me about then I'm afraid that it'll have to wait until tomorrow because I have a lot of work to grade."

You quickly glance up at him and see the grin on his face. It's one that you've gotten accustomed to as it usually means he has something up his sleeve.

"Well mainly about today's lesson. I don't quite get it. Perhaps I even need a private lesson, don't you think?"

Right, you forgot to mention the rather obvious flirting he does towards you. It's almost as if your first year teaching went too well that your second just had to be the exact opposite.

You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes as you answer back calmly without looking at him.

"If what I notice during class is right, you haven't been paying attention much. But I'm sure if you start doing so, you'll begin understanding the lessons better."

You hear him let out a huff at your lack of attention towards him before seeing two hands being placed on either side of your laptop. You frown as your eyes immediately look up at him.

He's closer now, leaning over your desk and the grin wider now.

"Oh come on professor, a private lesson can't hurt. You'll be able to teach me so much." Teach him how to behave perhaps. "And you can do it however you want, I'm not picky." The way he looks at you as he says the last part has you questioning if he meant it in another way. Knowing him, he most likely did.

You sigh before gathering your papers and you see Oikawa's grin falter slightly.

"Oikawa, I don't think a private lesson is necessary. Nor do I think it would benefit you in any way." You're so focused on the papers that you don't hear him walk around the desk to your side until he's right beside your chair.

"Please, professor?" You jump slightly in surprise before turning your chair to face him and you remember just how tall he is. He's right in front of you now and the way he said the word "please" has you tensing. He knows what he's doing and he knows that you know.

You suddenly realize the tension in the room and clear your throat. "This is inappropriate, Oikawa. I'm your professor."

He raises an eyebrow before stepping closer and smirking.

"Inappropriate? Just what are you assuming? I'm not doing anything inappropriate." He leans down slightly and you frown. Damn him and his good looks. No wonder you see him surrounded by girls on the daily.

You narrow your eyes at him. "You know what you're doing," you say sternly and his smirk widens. Oh, you want to slap that smirk off his face so badly.

You can't help but glance back at your laptop for a second before suddenly feeling a hot breath in your ear and a presence beside you.

"Please, professor?" A shiver runs down your spine. Before you can reply, you notice his tie dangling in front of you—one that's always untucked despite the uniform policy—and you can't help but grab it and pull it down sharply. He gasps at the sudden action as he stumbles and falls to his knees in front of you. His eyes immediately widen and a faint blush appears on his face.

You can't help but be in shock as well. If someone were to walk in at this moment, they would see the infamous Oikawa Toru on his knees, a blush on his face that's growing redder by the second, in front of one of the school's most popular teachers.

Oh, the rumors.

Even on his knees, he's still tall but you swear he looks smaller from the way he looks up at you in surprise.

You're still holding onto his tie and you realize, the way you're staring down at him, tie in hand while he's on his knees staring at you with widened—awaiting?— eyes; Oikawa kinda reminds you of… a dog?

Get your mind out of the gutter, [Name], you tell yourself, yet your grip on his tie only tightens and you notice him swallow hard.

You look at his neck and realize you must've accidentally tightened the tie somehow as well, pressing it right up against his Adam's apple.

"M-Miss?" You snap out of your thoughts, both the title and the stutter catching you by surprise. Looking at Oikawa, you see he's blushing harder, fists clenched on his thighs as he continues to look up at you with that look. Shit.

Then you realize he's not moving, not getting up, not pushing you away, or yelling at you. He's not protesting it. Rather, he's deciding to stay kneeling in front of you.

Does he want this?

You swallow hard as your eyes rake over Oikawa's body and you swear you see his body shiver slightly. You were always a sucker for pretty men anyways.

However, when your eyes finally reach his lower half, you realize why he's blushing so much, or why he's avoiding your gaze suddenly. He's hard, so obviously hard.

Oikawa looks so different from his normal persona that you almost want to laugh. The cocky, annoying senior that has always pestered you in class reduced to a blushing, speechless mess in front of you with a raging boner.

"I bet this is what you wanted, right? During a private lesson?" You see him tense up before lowering his head in front of you, muttering something quietly.

"Use your words properly." You notice him staying silent and wonder if you've misread him before he suddenly speaks- no, suddenly moves.

He slowly leans forward to lay his cheek on your thigh and your breath hitches at the sight.

"I'm sorry, miss." Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Despite how one side of your mind so desperately wants to put him in his place after everything he's done, the more rational part of your mind quickly reminds you that you're his professor and he's your student. Although you're only a few years older than him, this could get you fired or worse.

He must sense your hesitation because he then gently grasps your ankle and presses your shoe against his crotch, letting out a small whimper that makes the heat inside your stomach rise.

You curse under your breath before tugging his tie again and he gasps. Feeling him start to slowly rock against your shoe, you take it back and hear him whine pathetically.

"Was this your plan all along? To rile me up so I would snap and teach you a lesson?" You feel his crotch twitch slightly.

Oikawa swallows hard before lifting his head up and nodding. "Words."

"Yes, miss." You can't help the grin that spreads across your face.

"Well," you start and you see him looking up at you awaitedly. "Perhaps I will teach you a lesson, in my own way of course, since you said you weren't picky." He blushes, remembering his previous words. You have a feeling that although he wanted you to snap, he didn't expect it to go this way.

The pressure against his crotch snaps him out of his thoughts and before his mind can process it, his body already has and you see pre cum seeping through the material of his pants. He lets out a moan at the feeling of your shoe again.

"How about, I'll ask you questions about the class material" —you see his Adam's apple bobbing— "and depending on whether you answer correctly or not, I'll either pull back my shoe or help you cum."

His breath hitches at the idea and almost immediately nods. With his brain already foggy along with the realization that you may pleasure him, he fails to remember that he hasn't been paying the best attention in your class or learned the material well.

You already feel him slightly grinding on your shoe again but you keep it there, wanting to keep on looking down at his flushed face panting near your thighs.

"What is a similarity between transcription and DNA replication?"

His eyes immediately widen in surprise and you know you've stumped him already. Although you know the rest of your classes would be able to answer it easily, his mind is already too clouded with pleasure, it's almost funny.

He stutters out some sort of half-ass response that you know is definitely wrong before you feign a disappointed sigh and pull away your shoe. Immediately he whines out in protest but a stern look from you shuts him right up.

So now he follows your orders.

"What does the shape of a protein determine?" Groaning, he lays his head back on your thigh. His grip on your ankle tightens slightly as he pouts up at you, trying to convince you to do something else. With his hair right in front of you, you suddenly grab it before yanking his head back, emitting a rather loud cry of pain from him.

"Come on, Oikawa"—he lets out a whine at the way you say his name so sternly—"I thought you wanted this? So be a good boy and answer the question. Or perhaps I should just leave you here?"

He widens his eyes before shaking his head hesitantly. "N-No, miss." Oh, the thought of you just leaving him here has his cock throbbing. He's so hard, it hurts.

You stay silent and he realizes you're still awaiting an answer from him. You swear you see the cogwheels turning in his brain, the need to cum fueling it.

"The… function?"

It comes out as more of a question than an answer but you take it anyways. The second you grind your shoe back against his already stained crotch, he humps it like a dog in heat, his groans and whimpers filling the classroom.

You ask him another question and of course, he gets it wrong, mumbling some response that had nothing to do with what you asked. However, taking pity on him, you don't pull away your shoe and he takes it as a sign to speed up. Maybe he thought he actually got it right or maybe he realized that you felt bad for him.

Your hand grips his tie again, tugging it as he lets out a small groan, his eyes rolling back in his head slightly at the pressure against his throat. So he likes getting choked?

"You know, when you're making all sorts of loud noises like that, I wouldn't be surprised if someone were to come check up on his room."

You expected him to slow down, maybe even stop at the realization. But rather he speeds up.

"Maybe you would even like that, getting caught." His cock inside his pants twitches a lot, answering your suspicions so you continue. "Imagine what they would think, seeing a big bad senior like you on his knees for a teacher, rutting against their shoe like a fucking bitch in heat."

Your language catches him off guard, the total opposite of how you act when you teach. He can't help the blush that travels down his neck or the shock of pleasure that runs through his spine or the way his dick leaks more pre-cum, trickling through his pants and onto your shoe because holy shit was that hot.

But the whole situation wouldn't happen anyway. You know for a fact that this part of the college was practically empty, even more so after the last class. But Oikawa doesn't know that and the thought of getting caught turns him on more than he would like to admit.

"M-Miss, I'm close," he murmurs into your thigh, taking no action to slow down. You raise an eyebrow. Assuming that he hooks up with girls weekly, you thought it would take him longer to cum, or perhaps this whole situation is too much for him to process clearly that he just couldn't hold it in. It's cute.

Oikawa is quick to babble out pleas to cum, his voice rising in pitch as his absolutely sinful noises become louder. Some drool escapes from the corner of his mouth and his body feels hot, tears prickling the corners of his eyes from the intensity.

His eyes roll back again and you swear his brain short circuits when you press down on his crotch, his grip on your ankle tightening even more to keep you there. Oikawa can’t even think properly anymore, he just wants to cum. "Pleasepleaseplease-"

"Go on Oikawa, since you've been such a good boy during this lesson." The praise is what gets him. He throws his head back, revealing his neck that you want to grab so badly, and lets out a cry of pleasure. Immediately you feel the wetness on your shoe and you look down to see the wet stain on his pants growing even more.

Oikawa slumps back forward onto your thighs as his humping slows down before coming to a stop. Looking up at you, his eyes are glassy and glazed over and the sight makes your heart race.

He sighs before laying his cheek on your thigh and closing his eyes, murmuring something that you almost fail to hear.

"Thank you for the private lesson, miss."

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[chaes-tea]

── // feeling the dream .

// kpop demon hunters fic. // jinu x reader. // a/n: hi! i hadn't planned on expanding living the nightmare, but here you go! his pov: living the nightmare ⚠️!! WARNING: kpop demon hunters spoilers !!

Your eyes shoot open, your vision blurred by tears. Blinking them away, you grab your phone from your nightstand.

3:48 am.

You had that dream again. Well, not exactly again, but this is the only one that's recurring. These dreams specifically always seem to take place in the same time period, with the same people. A mother, a little girl, a young man, and... you? At least, that's the perspective these dreams always put you in.

Dressed in rags, surrounded by a variety of medicinal plants, you figured that 'you' were a low class physician. Glimpses of the noble class attire in other dreams suggested that all of these dreams take place in Joseon, Korea. Though no two dreams were ever the same, they always involved the same mother, little girl, and young man. Despite the muffled voices and the blurred faces, you couldn't help but feel that they were related to 'you'. The terms 'in-laws' and 'lover' comes to mind. Were they family? Were they 'your' family?

It's strange, you think. These dreams are starting to feel more and more familiar to you. Nostalgic, like you've experienced them before. A cold winter night, a scorching hot summer, a warm embrace, a kiss under the starry sky– all with that man.

You decided to tell Rumi about it the next night.

"I've had them for a while now," you said. "I don't really know how to explain it. It's almost like... they're my own memories? But not really. It feels like I'm living someone else's life."

"Have you talked to Celine about this?" You shake your head.

"No, though that probably isn't a bad idea."

"It wouldn't hurt to try, she might know a thing or two." She says. "So, you've had these dreams for how long and never told me?"

"Rumi, please-"

"Just kidding~"

You and Rumi have been friends since childhood, way before the formation of Huntr/x. With both of your mothers being a part of the Sunlight Sisters, it was inevitable that you two would stay friends.

The two of you chat about anything and everything else, until a wave of tiredness hits you.

"Okay, Roomba, I'm getting tired," you say, holding back a yawn, "I'm gonna head out now. Good night."

"Hehe, goodnight, [Name]."

You didn't end up telling her about your latest dream, though, which woke you up in tears. In the dream, 'you' reached a hand out to a person's back, large wooden palace doors closing behind them. The distress, the sadness, the pain, you felt it all. But this time, you got a name.

You drift off to sleep, thinking of the name from the dream.

"Jinu!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Is this place even credible, Zoey?" You ask, staring at the entrance suspiciously.

"Don't you ever listen to Bobby, [Name]? The internet. Never. Lies!"

It was the day after Rumi lost her voice. Zoey suggested to get tonics from a shady looking alleyway doctor.

"There's no way he's legit, Zoey." Mira replies.

"The reviews were so good though!"

Needless to say that that whole ordeal was an experience to be remembered. After losing the staring contest with Mira, the doctor gave Rumi a box of the tonics– or, as Mira calls it, 'voice juice'– and the four of you went off on your merry way.

"We got the tonics! Yay!" Zoey exclaims. "Once your voice is fixed, we can get back to the important stuff, like the fans!"

"What exactly is in this 'voice juice' anyways?" You ask, taking a peek into the box.

Before you could take a better look at the tonics, the four of you see shadows in front of you. Five young men turn the corner. Tall, photogenic, straight off the cover of a magazine. A few of them talked amongst themselves, some listening into the conversations. One of them, a man with black hair, trails behind them, lost in his own thoughts, until he directs his gaze forward, past the men in front of him, and he looks at you.

The moment he sees you, it's like something in his expression changes. Not visually, but the way he looks at you with his chocolate colored eyes feels like he knows you. Not in the way that a fan recognizes their favorite artist, but like he knows knows you. And you don't know why, but you also feel like you know him.

He looks away and gently pulls the cyan haired man closer to him, making space for your group to pass.

"Excuse us."

You can't say for sure, but you feel like you've heard that voice before.

Later that night, you have another dream about 'you' again. This time, it's dark, 'your' eyelids are heavy, about to fall asleep. The sound of crickets fill the night, and there's a gentle breeze in the air. A comforting touch tucks a strand of hair away. Your conscious knows it's the young man again. He presses a kiss to 'your' forehead before whispering.

"Good night."

[alohajix]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝

Description: when you need a date to your cousin’s wedding, your best friend Harry offers to play the part — fake boyfriend, doting companion, human shield against your ex. But one shared hotel room, a swirl of family expectations, and a few dangerously honest confessions blur every line between what’s pretend and what’s achingly, irreversibly real. One night turns into everything you were afraid to want, and neither of you can go back.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, mild alcohol use, and themes of emotional vulnerability and soft aftercare within a best friends-to-lovers, fake dating scenario.

Word count: 6,271

🌷 Main Masterlist

I'M BACKKK GUYS 🥹🥹 I missed you

***

Clothes were flying across your bedroom like a one-woman hurricane, hangers clattering against the hardwood, the floor strewn with silks, sequins, and broken hopes. A silky slip caught on the corner of the bedpost, swaying mockingly every time you moved, and the suitcase you'd hauled out sat half-open on the mattress, as if it, too, had decided to judge you.

"God, I cannot let him see me looking pathetic," you bit out under your breath, voice tight with a bitterness that scraped at your chest. You snatched a fitted emerald dress off a hanger, shaking it out, trying to picture how it might look under the harsh ballroom lights — if it would scream confidence or just look like a pitiful attempt at revenge. Nothing felt right, no matter how many times you held something up. You were overthinking every color, every cut, and hating yourself for caring so much.

Of course, that was exactly the moment Harry chose to appear, his presence as casual and natural as sunlight spilling through the window. He didn't even bother knocking — he never did — just strolled through the door like he'd been born to walk into your chaos, like your unraveling belonged to him, too.

"Jesus Christ," he drawled, taking in the apocalypse of fabrics littering the room, a grin breaking across his face. "Did the closet fight back, or are you just reenacting a reality show meltdown for my benefit?"

You shot him a glare that would have withered a lesser man, but Harry, infuriatingly unshaken, only grinned wider.

"Don't start with me, Harry," you warned, a shaky edge to your voice.

He raised both hands in theatrical surrender, the grin softening into something far gentler as his eyes moved over your face, reading all the anxiety you couldn't hide. "Hey," he said, voice dropping, warm and steady, "I come in peace, yeah?"

You clenched the emerald dress in your fists, the fabric wrinkling, your shoulders rigid. "It's just—" you struggled for the words, throat tight. "They're all going to stare, Harry. Everyone. Waiting for me to slip up, or fall apart, or—God, they'll look at me like I'm some broken charity case."

Harry's smile faded, the teasing dropping away like a mask, revealing something protective and sharp underneath. He moved closer, the shift so subtle you barely registered it until you could feel the heat of him crowding into your space. His hand came up to rest lightly on your shoulder, thumb stroking through the tense knot of muscle there, and it startled something dangerously tender inside you.

"You're not facing him alone, yeah?" he murmured, so close you could almost taste the mint on his breath.

You blinked, voice snagging on a half-laugh. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry's gaze was steady, calm, but there was a flicker of something deeper — something that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with nerves. "What if I went with you?" he asked, a casual confidence dripping from every word, though his hand on your shoulder held just the slightest tremor. "Played the doting boyfriend. I'd look great on your arm."

You let out a startled laugh, but it was brittle, cracking apart on the last syllable. "Harry, come on, that's... that's ridiculous." It felt safer to call it ridiculous than to admit how much you wanted to say yes.

He watched you, eyes dark and unflinching, and for a second you wondered if he could see right through the armor you'd spent years building. Then he leaned just a breath closer, voice lower, more intimate, the teasing barely holding together. "I'd rather it be me than some random prick, you know?"

The words landed like a spark in dry grass, lighting up something raw in your chest. You looked away, pulse pounding in your throat, because the idea of letting Harry stand beside you — hold you — was both the most terrifying and most comforting thing you could imagine.

His thumb brushed your shoulder again, gentle, like he was afraid you might break. "You deserve to have someone in your corner," he added, his voice going so soft it almost hurt. "I'm not going to let you do this alone."

***

The second you stepped through the hotel's glass doors, your stomach twisted into a hundred knots, your brain churning up every horrible scenario at once.

"God, they're all going to be here," you blurted, voice cracking with nerves. "My mom, my aunts, him — they're going to dissect everything I do, Harry. What if I cry? What if I freeze up? What if—"

A warm hand pressed firmly against your lower back, interrupting the spiral.

"Hey," Harry said quietly, steady, grounding. "I'm right here. You're not alone, remember?" His voice smoothed some of the chaos swirling in your head, just enough to let you breathe as you stepped up to the reception desk together. "Reservation under Y/L/N," Harry told the clerk, his tone so confident you felt a surge of gratitude.

The clerk tapped at the keyboard for a moment, then looked up with an apologetic smile. "Ah, sir, I'm terribly sorry — there's been a mix-up. The room only has one king bed."

Your breath caught, panic rising — a single bed, after everything? — but Harry didn't even flinch.

He glanced down at you, a small, private smirk curling his lips, then turned back to the clerk. "That's fine," he said easily, then lowered his voice for just you to hear. "It's okay. I promise."

You tried to match his casual shrug, but your cheeks were already hot, and your voice came out higher than you meant. "Yeah. Sure. One bed. No big deal."

He squeezed your shoulder gently, reassuring you again before leading you toward the elevator, his presence solid and protective the whole way.

The suite was huge, luxurious, with tall windows and a massive, impossibly inviting king-sized bed taking up the center of the room. One glance at it made your skin prickle.

Harry chuckled low in his throat when he saw your wary expression. "Don't look so terrified," he teased, dropping his bag on the dresser. "I told you — respectful fake boyfriend, remember?"

Before you could even snap back, he had grabbed a towel and disappeared into the bathroom.

You tried to steady yourself, unpacking your dress for the rehearsal dinner, but your mind was stuck on that stupid bed. The thought of Harry — your best friend, but also impossibly gorgeous — sleeping inches away from you all night sent a dangerous thrill through your veins.

A minute later, the bathroom door opened and steam rolled out, curling around Harry like he'd stepped out of a fantasy. He was in nothing but a towel, hair dripping, shoulders still flushed from the hot water. He looked obscene without even trying, every inch of him carved and damp, and he knew it. He stretched, exaggeratedly, and then flopped down right on the center of the bed, towel slipping scandalously low on his hips.

"Hey," he grinned, catching your shell-shocked stare, "I'm a very respectful fake boyfriend, promise."

Your mouth went dry. You forced a shaky laugh. "Yeah, super respectful, Harry. Real subtle."

"Just testing out the mattress," he teased, rolling onto his side, propping himself on an elbow so the towel gapped open just a hair more. "Gotta make sure it's good enough for you, princess."

You fought the urge to cover your face with your hands, snapping your attention back to the dinner dress instead. Trying to refocus, you struggled to zip the back of your dress, fingers fumbling. "Harry," you finally called, turning half-around, "can you help me?"

He was up in an instant, towel still clinging dangerously low as he moved behind you. His fingers were warm, steady, brushing the bare skin of your spine as he caught the zipper and slowly tugged it upward. Your breathing stuttered at the contact, every nerve screaming at the closeness, at the intimacy of letting him do something so small and so enormous at the same time. He paused halfway, fingers grazing your lower back, and you felt — more than heard — the quiet, unsteady inhale he took. The silence felt hot, heavy, stretching out forever.

Finally, he tugged the zipper the rest of the way, letting his fingertips linger a moment longer than strictly necessary. When you turned to face him, your faces were so close you could count the flecks of green in his eyes. Neither of you moved, neither of you breathed, the air between you so charged it felt like it might combust.

Harry swallowed, voice rough. "Ready?" You nodded, even though your heart was pounding. He gave you a lopsided grin, impossibly sweet. "I've got you tonight, too," he murmured. And somehow, you believed him.

The air outside the hotel felt sharper somehow, slicing through the warmth still coiled under your skin, the tension refusing to fade even as you stepped into the hallway. Harry trailed after you, close enough to brush against your shoulder, that steady calm rolling off him in waves. His voice, low and impossibly gentle, broke the charged hush that had formed around you both.

"You okay?" he asked, his tone almost tentative, searching your face for a sign you were still breathing.

You tried to swallow the mess of adrenaline still fizzing through you, managing a shaky nod, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. "Yeah. I'm okay."

Harry didn't push, just nodded back, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that might have been relief. You followed him down to the lobby, the silence clinging to your shoulders, heavy and complicated.

In the car, as the lights of the city blurred by, he spoke again, that warm, steady voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

"You look incredible." A pause, then a grin that made your pulse kick. "He's not going to know what hit him." Your stomach flipped, heat racing to your cheeks. You glanced away, voice shy.

"Thanks, Harry."

He didn't say anything else, but you could feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you, protective and soft, and it made the knot in your chest loosen just a little.

The rehearsal venue was buzzing with too many faces and too many questions, glittering chandeliers throwing reflections across a sea of chattering relatives. Harry's hand found its way to your waist the moment you stepped inside, steady and grounding, fingers warm through the thin fabric of your dress. The contact made your entire body tense, that memory of him in the hotel room — damp hair, towel, zipper — crashing into your mind so hard it made you dizzy. I can't think straight with him so close.

Before you could even settle into a breath, Aunt Margo swooped in, her grin practically devouring the air.

"So, when's the wedding, you two?!" she demanded, eyes bright and far too hopeful. You froze, panic rising into your throat, words bottlenecked behind your lips. Harry's fingers squeezed at your side, the smallest reassurance, before he turned to Margo with that easy, practiced smile.

"We're just enjoying the moment for now," he told her smoothly, as though he'd rehearsed it a hundred times. Your heart lurched at the way he made it sound so true.

It didn't stop there, because your family never knew how to let things go. "Oh, you have to let us know when you're planning," someone chirped. "Don't wait too long, you'd have gorgeous babies!" another voice joined in.

You tried to answer, tried to focus, but the words tripped over each other inside your head, tangled up with Harry's touch and the memory of that zipper, that towel, that almost unbearable closeness.

"So you living together yet?" an uncle boomed over the chatter. You blinked, startled, your brain hopelessly behind.

"Sorry, what?" you blurted, mortified, cheeks going hot as Harry let out a quiet chuckle at your side. He leaned in, voice pitched low, mouth so close to your ear you could feel the soft brush of breath.

"Sweetheart, want another drink?" he murmured, slipping the pet name in so naturally it stole the air from your lungs. You nodded, too flustered to answer properly, the word sweetheart thrumming through your veins like a shot of something dangerous.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before another presence sidled up, a woman with perfectly lined lips and a dress that did nothing to hide her curves. She had eyes like sharpened knives, and they fixed on Harry with unmistakable hunger.

"If you get bored," she purred, bold and shameless, "find me."

Your heart slammed against your ribs, a flash of something possessive and messy exploding in your chest before you could think. "He's...with me, okay?" you stammered, voice thin but full of a raw certainty you hadn't realized was there until you heard it aloud.

Harry stilled, something dark and warm blooming behind his eyes. Then he looked at the woman, calm and final.

"All hers tonight," he told her, a quiet steel in his tone, before leaning in and brushing his lips against your temple in a move so gentle, so protectively intimate, you could hardly stand upright. The woman retreated, rolling her eyes, but your pulse still crashed wildly in your ears.

The noise around you pressed in again, laughter, clinking glasses, more intrusive questions you couldn't track. Harry's thumb stroked lightly along your side, a silent signal that he saw you unraveling, and then his voice dipped close, as if the rest of the world had stopped existing.

"I needed you to myself for a second," he murmured, voice rough, edged with something you couldn't name. You couldn't breathe. You could only nod as he took your hand and steered you away, guiding you through the side doors and out onto the quiet of the terrace.

The night air was cool against your overheated skin, the gentle glow of string lights spilling across stone railings, casting Harry's face in soft shadows. Neither of you spoke, but everything unsaid pulsed between you, thick and dangerous. Harry's fingers tightened around yours, grounding and possessive, and you couldn't help but look up into his eyes, searching for the cracks in his easy mask.

"You know I meant it, right?" he asked, low and breathless, something painfully real bleeding through every word. "All of it."

Your chest squeezed so tight you thought you might fall apart. "Yeah," you managed, voice shaking, because somehow — impossibly — you did believe him.

***

You had never worn anything like this before — deep emerald green that clung to your skin like a secret, catching the light across subtle beading at the neckline, the back cut so low you almost felt naked, and a slit running high up your thigh that made each step a quiet dare. It was powerful, stunning, a little terrifying, and you weren't sure whether to stand taller in it or run for cover. As you tried to steady your breathing, smoothing your hands down the slippery fabric, you whispered to your reflection, voice shaking, "You can do this. Just act normal."

But there was nothing normal about how your heart was pounding, nothing normal about how you felt suddenly raw and exposed.

A soft knock startled you, pulling you back to the moment, and then Harry's voice slipped in through the half-open door, quiet, careful, threaded with something warm and grounding. "Hey... you ready?"

He stepped inside, and the world seemed to tilt around you. His eyes landed on the gown, and for the briefest moment, he looked like someone had knocked the air from his lungs. His mouth parted, jaw tightening, and he stood frozen before he managed a rough swallow, fingers scraping awkwardly across the back of his neck. Then, almost like it was torn out of him, he breathed, "You look unreal."

The rush of his words, raw and unfiltered, made your chest clench so tight you thought you might break. You didn't move, letting him see you, letting the heat of his gaze trace every line, even though it made your knees feel weak, because you wanted him to see, really see, who you were under all of it — scared and strong, bold and shaking all at once.

Harry took a slow, reverent step forward, like he was walking up to something holy, and lifted a hand toward your hair, brushing a loose strand behind your ear with a tenderness that made your breath catch in your throat. His fingers lingered, tracing lightly against your cheek, and the touch was so careful, so devastatingly gentle, that a shiver rolled through you without permission.

He saw it, of course he saw it, his eyes darkening, lips parting like he was fighting words he shouldn't say. His thumb kept moving in soft, hypnotic circles against your skin, and the tiniest grin curled at the edge of his mouth — but it couldn't hide the hunger simmering underneath. "Trying to kill me, sweetheart?" he murmured, voice thick and uneven, "walking out like that?"

It should have made you laugh, the teasing edge, but instead it landed hard and hot somewhere deep in your belly, because there was something so honest in his tone, so painfully real you didn't dare breathe too loudly in case you broke it. It was terrifying, the way he looked at you — like you were precious, like you were something worth protecting, worth wanting — and in that moment, you felt safe in his gaze, safe in the way he held himself back for you, as if you were a storm he wanted to brave but didn't dare yet. Your thoughts reeled as you tried to steady your heart, tried to remember you were just pretending, but something between you had shifted, locked in place so solidly you knew there was no going back from it. As he stepped back, eyes roaming over you one last time, you felt the tremor in your hands, because you couldn't deny it anymore: you didn't want to go back, and maybe neither did he.

You left the hotel together in a hush that was heavy but somehow stabilizing, each of them carrying the rawness of what had just passed between you like a spark too dangerous to name. Harry kept a gentle hand at the small of your back, steady, present, and grounding in a way that made you want to lean into him and never leave. He cracked a grin to break the tension, voice pitched soft, teasing, "If we stall any longer, they're going to send a search party, sweetheart."

It was enough to shake a little breathless laugh out of you, even as your mind stayed caught in the slipstream of his touch, his words, the way he'd looked at you in that green dress like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

The walk over felt dreamlike, the air tinged with that perfect early-evening gold, string lights already coming alive around the ceremony arch. Everywhere you turned, blossoms spilled color like something out of a fairytale — roses, peonies, climbing jasmine — and all of it wrapped around you with a perfume so heady it made your pulse stutter. You tried to focus on the aisle lined with flower petals, on the hush of the guests finding their seats, but every step felt unreal, Harry's hand resting low against your spine as a subtle, protective claim. Your brain buzzed, still replaying his compliment — "you look unreal" — and the gentle drag of his thumb against your cheek until you could hardly breathe.

When you caught sight of your ex standing near the rows of white chairs, the sting hit sharper than you'd expected. He looked polished, suit perfect, hair carefully styled, a smile too white and too wide that reeked of performance, the faint chemical sweetness of cheap cologne hitting you like a slap. Smug. That was the word for it, and the twist of arrogance on his lips made your stomach turn.

He clocked Harry's hold on you first, and for a brief, satisfying moment, his carefully curated smirk slipped. Then he rallied, letting out a slow, sticky laugh that made the hair on your arms stand on end. "Oh," he drawled, voice pitched for everyone within earshot, "you brought a date?"

Your spine stiffened, your heart trying to climb into your throat, but you stood a little taller, refusing to fold under his voice the way you had so many times before. Harry's hand pressed gently, support pulsing through that subtle pressure on your back, and he stepped forward just enough to shield you.

"I did," Harry answered smoothly, voice polite but carrying a razor-thin edge that set your pulse on fire, "and she looks incredible, doesn't she?"

A hush fell over the nearest guests, a few gasps breaking through the thick air. You could feel them eavesdropping without even turning to look, their curiosity pricking at your skin, but you refused to shrink, refused to cling.

Your ex scoffed, eyes darting between you both, the sneer back in place. "Well," he said, too loudly, "hope you two enjoy your little fairytale. Must be fun to pretend."

The words hit harder than you wanted them to, but before you could wobble, you steadied yourself, lifted your chin, and drew a shaky but clear breath. "No pretending," you managed, voice ringing with something fierce, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

That faltered him, just for a heartbeat, and Harry shifted closer, that hint of a threat bleeding through his warm tone as he followed up, "You heard her. So maybe focus on your own night, yeah?" Your ex opened his mouth like he might argue, but then snapped it shut, jaw ticking in frustration, and you caught a ripple of reactions around the guests, gasps blending into a ripple of awkward chatter as they pretended not to stare.

Your chest heaved, adrenaline still spiking, but a slow sense of pride began to anchor you — because you'd faced him, you'd stood there and not crumbled, and Harry was right there, steady, keeping you from drowning.

He leaned down, voice warm and low at your ear, a balm over every raw place inside you. "Breathe, sweetheart," he murmured, and you did, shaky but sure, pulling air all the way to the bottom of your lungs. Before you could thank him, he pulled you just slightly closer, arms wrapping you in a brief, solid hug, grounding and protective, his breath brushing against your hair. You melted into it for a second, a small moment of safety in the middle of the chaos, and when you pulled back, the way he looked at you — proud, careful, quietly protective — made your chest feel too tight to hold. Proud, you thought, heart hammering, I'm allowed to feel proud. And with Harry's palm still warm against your back, you felt like maybe — just maybe — you could survive whatever the night had left to throw at you.

***

The tented reception felt like stepping into another world, the ceiling laced with fairy lights that seemed to twinkle just for you, their soft gold glow pooling around candlelit tables dressed in rich burgundy linens and polished place settings that sparkled under the delicate shine. A string quartet tucked in one corner sent gentle notes through the warm dusk air, their melody wrapping around the space like a slow heartbeat. Laughter and the distant clink of glasses painted a comforting background, while a breeze threaded through the open tent walls, carrying with it the mingled scents of night-blooming jasmine and fresh-cut roses.

Your chest was still tight, shaky from the confrontation with your ex, adrenaline simmering in your veins like a warning drum, but Harry’s palm stayed firm at your back, guiding you through the swirl of guests as though you were the only person in the room. You drew courage from the weight of his touch, from the unspoken promise that he’d keep you upright if you started to crumble.

Couples began drifting onto the dance floor, their movements slow and unhurried as the quartet shifted to a familiar, timeless strain — something classic and achingly romantic, a song that felt like it belonged to the first spark of love, or maybe the last. You hesitated at the edge of the floor, your pulse hammering, afraid you might tremble right out of your own skin.

Harry turned to you, and the lights glimmered across the line of his jaw, catching the softness in his eyes. “Dance with me?” he asked, voice quiet, and for a second you couldn’t find the words, only nodded.

He pulled you in carefully, as if afraid you might break, one hand curling around your waist while the other found yours, anchoring you, claiming you, steadying you all at once. The first steps were awkward, your legs still fighting the aftershocks of your nerves, but then the music smoothed them out, carried you both into a gentle sway that felt like safety.

Harry dipped his head, the closeness of him sending a shiver straight through your chest, and he murmured low against your hair, “You did so good tonight, sweetheart.”

Your throat tightened, emotion crowding in. “I was terrified,” you confessed, voice almost lost in the music, but he heard it, you knew he did.

“I know,” he breathed, tightening his hold, “but you still stood up. I’m so damn proud of you.” The words landed with a soft, devastating weight, cracking something wide open in you, and you leaned into him, letting your forehead rest against his collar for one long, quiet second.

You danced that way for a while, letting the quartet’s sweeping chords and the faint rustle of the breeze carry you, until Harry shifted you both a little, guiding you toward a darker, quieter corner of the floor, where the lights blurred to gold in your periphery and no one seemed to be watching. His eyes found yours, steady and impossibly tender, and for a moment neither of you dared to breathe. You could feel the question thrumming between you, as loud as any shouted vow, could feel the impossible ache of how badly you wanted to close the distance. He dipped his head closer, noses brushing, breath mingling, and it was so easy to believe that this moment was yours, that the world would forgive you for wanting it. And then you both froze, fear rising at the same instant, a mirror image of each other’s panic that made you pull away before your lips could meet. The heartbreak of it was sharp, a clean, aching line right through your ribs, but you refused to look away, refused to hide from what you felt.

Harry’s eyes held yours, raw and unguarded, something almost broken shimmering there, and you matched it, letting him see every bit of your longing, even if it hurt.

When the song finally ended, he cleared his throat, voice rough. “We should…grab some water,” he offered, but didn’t let go of your hand. You nodded, breath shaky, and let him lead you off the floor. Before you stepped back into the brighter lights of the tent, he squeezed your hand, small and meaningful, a wordless reminder that you weren’t alone. That ember of hope glowed stubborn in your chest, refusing to die, even as you walked back into the noise of the night with your heart still aching for the kiss you didn’t quite get.

***

The ride back to the hotel felt like a single, drawn-out breath you couldn't quite exhale, your pulse still tripping over itself, skin buzzing from the dance floor and the weight of Harry's steady, unshakable presence. Neither of you spoke in the elevator, but the silence was thick — alive — thrumming with every charged second of tension that had been building from the moment he'd stepped into your life as something more than just your best friend.

When the door clicked shut behind you, the hush inside the hotel room seemed to swallow you whole, and you barely had time to register the soft golden spill of the bedside lamp before Harry's eyes locked on yours, hot and questioning.

"Baby," he murmured, voice protective and impossibly steady even though you could see the storm churning under his skin, "I need to know you really want this."

You didn't hesitate, didn't waver, not now. The answer rose up from somewhere deep, somewhere starved for him, as sure as the pounding of your heart. You took a breath, stepped forward, fingers curling around the dark silk of his tie, and tugged him down to you, your voice bold but shaking as you answered, "I want you."

It felt like something snapping, that final thread breaking in the space between you, and the next second his mouth was on yours, searing, desperate, starved. You kissed him back with everything you'd been trying to bury for far too long, pulling him closer by the knot of his tie until you were flush against the solid heat of him, dizzy from the taste of him, from how soft and hungry he felt all at once.

"I've wanted this for so long," he gasped against your lips, the confession tearing out of him raw and unfiltered, "God, I think I've loved you forever."

A small, helpless laugh broke free from you, a wet sound tangled up with the tears you didn't even know were gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Why did we wait so long?" you whispered, forehead pressed against his. He didn't answer, just shook his head, eyes burning with a mix of heat and something too soft to name, and then his hands were on your shoulders, sliding your dress down inch by inch, baring the black lace underneath in the dim lamplight.

He let out a broken sound, voice reverent, "Sweetheart, you're killing me." The words hit you like fire, and your breath faltered as you stood there in nothing but the thin stretch of lace, exposed but not scared, because the way he looked at you felt like worship.

His mouth was on yours again in a heartbeat, urgent, all-consuming, and you moved with him across the room, bumping into the wall with a soft thud before his hands splayed over your hips, dragging you closer, letting you feel every ounce of how hard he'd been trying to hold back. Your fingers fumbled at his shirt, popping buttons as you pushed it off his shoulders, wanting his skin against yours, wanting everything at once. You were bold, emboldened, running your palms over his chest, slipping lower until he hissed into your mouth, the sound shooting straight through your bones.

You didn't even make it to the bed at first, hands roaming, tangled in hair and fabric, until he had you pinned gently between his body and the cool hotel wall, kissing you like you were the only air left in the world. Then, as if remembering how delicate this was — how fragile — Harry slowed, drawing back to cradle your jaw in one big, steady palm. "Let me take care of you," he said, voice so soft and honest it nearly made you break in half.

You nodded, too full to speak, and let him guide you to the bed, the sheets cool and crisp under your skin. He lowered you down with almost painful tenderness, eyes roaming your body like a man starved, then climbed over you, kissing down the curve of your throat, across your collarbone, tracing the edge of your bra with a reverence that made your belly twist.

When he finally eased the lace away, you shivered, breath caught in your throat, but his praise was immediate and quiet, "Look at you...so fucking beautiful. So damn strong."

You reached for him, pulled him down again, refusing to be just passive in this, letting your hands thread into his hair and tug him closer, mouth clashing against his in a heat that left you both shaking. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him in until you could feel him right where you needed him, and for a second neither of you moved, just breathed each other in. The first push of him against you was slow, measured, but desperate all the same, like he was trying to memorize every single second of how it felt to be inside you, finally, after all the wanting. You choked on a cry, your hands fisting in the sheets, but Harry was there, holding your gaze, whispering, "I've got you."

Every motion after that felt like a prayer — his name on your tongue, his voice in your ear, the world collapsing down to the slick, perfect slide of your bodies finding each other. He was gentle and then rough, hungry and then slow, praising you through every shiver and gasp, calling you baby, sweetheart, so good for me, until your mind was nothing but him. When you finally broke apart together, it felt like a wave crashing over you, unstoppable, powerful, leaving you raw and wrung out in the best possible way. He gathered you close before you could even catch your breath, hands roaming over your shoulders, your sides, steady and anchoring, forehead pressed to yours.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, voice hoarse, and you believed him, letting that truth settle warm and unshakable inside your chest as you lay tangled up in each other, the city humming softly outside, the night stretching long and hopeful before you.

The room was hushed in the aftermath, the quiet settling around you like a soft blanket, only broken by the ragged sounds of your breathing and the faint hum of traffic outside. Harry was still holding you, his chest rising and falling against your cheek, his hands gentle, soothing, as they traced idle patterns over your back. You felt boneless, completely spent, every nerve left raw and sweet, but wrapped in something so comforting you could barely process it. He didn't rush to fill the silence, didn't pepper you with questions or push at the fragile space that had cracked wide open between you. Instead, he let his hands speak for him, warm and patient, grounding you in the safety of his touch. Every few moments, he'd shift to brush your hair out of your face, thumb sweeping across your temple with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself breathe him in — faint shampoo, his skin, the cotton of the hotel sheets — and the scent felt achingly familiar, like coming home. Your muscles, still trembling, began to unclench bit by bit, and you realized you'd never felt so safe.

Time blurred, neither of you moving except to adjust, to press closer, to bury your faces in the other like a promise. The night carried on outside your window, but the only world you could focus on was this one, small and perfect, right here between tangled sheets and quiet heartbeats. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with you both, dragging you down into a heavy, dreamless sleep, Harry's hand still curved protectively against your waist, his breath warm where it brushed the crown of your head.

You woke with the pale light of morning slipping through the blackout curtains, soft and watery and so gentle you barely realized your eyes were open. The first thing you felt was warmth — Harry, still tangled with you, legs a mess with yours, one arm slung over your middle, breathing even and steady. Your chest tightened, a swell of emotion nearly choking you, because there was no fear in waking up like this. There was no uncertainty, no flinch. Just Harry.

When you shifted, he stirred, groggy and sweet, eyes blinking open as a soft, lazy smile spread across his lips.

"Morning," he rasped, voice warm enough to melt you.

You smiled back, heart pounding in the best way. "Hi," you whispered.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, just looked, soaking each other in, as if trying to memorize what it felt like to wake up finally here, after so many missed chances. Then Harry's hand came up, brushing against your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip with a quiet reverence.

"I'm yours," he breathed, voice rough, truth cutting through every doubt you'd ever carried, "I always have been."

Your throat went tight, and you swallowed down the rush of tears that stung behind your eyes. You caught his hand, pressing it flat against your cheek, holding it there like an anchor.

"We'll figure this out," you promised him, a small laugh threading through the words because it was terrifying and thrilling all at once, "okay? We'll figure it out."

His answering smile was so open, so completely Harry, that it broke something inside you in the best way. He ducked forward, pressing a soft, unhurried kiss to your lips — nothing frantic, nothing hungry, just a quiet sealing of the vow you'd both made without ever really speaking it aloud. The world outside could wait. The questions, the what-ifs, the family, the stories you'd have to tell — all of it could wait. Right now, it was just him, just you, breathing the same slow air, curled together in a hotel bed that had somehow become the safest place on earth. And maybe, you thought as you tucked yourself closer to his heartbeat, you'd been right all along to believe in best friends. Because sometimes, best friends were the ones who could love you better than anyone.

current taglist: @cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk1990 @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee @pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music @harrysgirl2003 @harrystyleshotwife @secretands-blog @dutchtheatrelore @angeldavis777 @idkidcfuboh @maddiesalvatore1839 @triski73 @sarahinhersundaybest

[touchofhemlocktea]

Hope on a Foggy Night

Clawing screaming breaking bleeding fingers choking mud loud quiet screaming pain horn...

Jason

Dad abandoned why help hurts ticking clock hurt hurt hurt...

JASON!

Danny doesn't bother dodging the fist that flies at his face. It's easy enough to phase for the moments it takes the young Revenant to become aware of his surroundings. He holds him through the tears and unnecessary apologies. He pulses safety, protectiveness, MINE from his core.

The rest-diner (oh, you silly thing..), has moved again. He can feel the familiar pulse of curses and greetings. Gotham then. They always seemed to end up back in Gotham.

Jason is getting up, heading to get ready for the night ahead. Jason needs to run the kitchen today. Dennis and Danny will swap back and forth, running the counter.

....

It's a busy night. Ecto-hungry liminals wonder in and out, some restless spirits aided in crossing over. They never questioned the suddenly appearing diner. The news is average, but there's a tension in the liminals that's unmistakable. They are afraid of something.

No special orders yet.

....

Danny...

Dennis calls through the comm, from the (now existing) back entrance.

So that's why they needed to switch out early. A child and an injured Bill have been brought inside the backroom. The child is using an impressively extensive med kit to treat the unconscious henchman.

Hello?...What's your name child?

T-Tim. My name is Tim Drake.

Let me take care of that. Sit over here and drink this. They'll bring your food out shortly.

I didn't order...

Just relax. You've done enough. You're safe here.

Tim is quiet, half passed out, as Danny checks Bill over. The leg is the worst part, thoroughly splinted. There's a concerning head wound, but he'll live. A quick duplicate takes him out to get him back to the safety of the Goonien.

The kid eats his meal almost in silence, tears dripping down his face as the stress of the last months falls away. Danny leaves him in peace to finish the evening rush.

....

The kitchen kicks him out for Dennis. Jason doesn't like being in Gotham. Even with the diners comfortable energy, he's left restless and itching with a hunger he doesn't want to acknowledge. His blood calls out to hunt and repay.

He wonders if it'll ever go away.

With no customers to see to, restless legs have him pacing to the back...

Hey kid, you need anything?

Robin...? That's not possible. You're...

Dead? I got better.

Jason does not panic as the kid fully breaks down into sobbing. He is not lost as the kid (Tim, his name is Tim) clings to him like a constrictor, everything pouring out.

Tim, I-I can't come back.

B-but Batman needs-

I'll come back eventually, maybe. I'm not ready. What Batman does isn't your responsibility.

But-

No. If you must-

Jason hesitates. Dick wasn't exactly a warm presence to him, but if anyone could set Batman straight...

If you must do something-

The names, addresses, and numbers come back to him easily. Written in a shaky hand for a slowly brightening child.

Start with Barbie and Gordon. They'll take care of you if you insist on helping. Talk to Dickie-bird. If anyone can set the Bat straight, it's him....and little bird? Don't tell anyone you saw me. I'm not ready yet.

...

Danny sends a dupe to escort the kid home eventually. A part of Jason wants to keep him with them, but the diner itself disagrees.

They feel the shift as the Diner begins to drift again, onwards to wherever they are needed.

...

Perhaps Jason will leave the diner behind someday and let the hunt take him. Perhaps.

That day is not today.

Another DPxDC idea.

I love the ideas of Chef Danny and the AU's but what if Danny opens a small dinner/restaurant and sometimes people stop by for a quick bite but the thing is there is little to no real menu. Danny just comes out when he hears his doors open, greets them warmly, takes them to their table and asks for drinks gets them, before heading into the kitchen.

At first everyone is confused until a few minutes later Danny shows back up with food, food that is amazing and freshly made and HOW DOES IT TASTE LIKE MY -Insert childhood fav meal or preferred fav meal here- ?!?!?!

Danny's small place is at first very unknown but eventually blows up as a urban myth and when people try to find it, its very hard to find. Some people swear its outside of 'this' town, others say they found the place in 'this' city, others find it on long car rides in the middle of nowhere.

It changes location.

The only common real clues is you find it on foggy nights and the neon sign shining 'OPEN' is seen through the fog.

[neilsbeloved]

underneath the covers

summary: freshman year of college has you going insane. good thing clark has a knack for knowing exactly when to sweep you off your feet, way before any unwanted crashouts happen.

pairing: clark kent x fem!reader (same universe as the alchemy and so high school)

warnings: fluff then pure smut / established college relationship / penetration (f) / teasing / public stuff?? idk u do it with another person in the room / clark being a sweet (and horny) bf / dirty talk / foreplay / alludes to cockwarming

a/n: i’m bad at tagging warnings so forgive me if i missed anything else

A choir of relieved sighs—including yours—echoed throughout the auditorium-styled classroom.

You had already packed your stuff five minutes before the bell rang and so you literally dashed out of the classroom as soon as you could. You don't think you could spend another second in that wretched classroom without going insane.

You already spent an all-nighter last night trying to finish your research. Earlier this morning, you slept in. If it weren't for Chloe waking you up with a cup of coffee, you would have definitely slept through the day.

Walking through the halls of the building with a frown on your face until you reach the entrance door. Your phone rings the moment you stepped out. The ringing sound making you cringe as you put it close to your ear.

"Hello?"

Instantly, a voice you've been waiting for comes through. "Hey baby."

"Clark." You melt into the phone, sighing relievedly as you sit on the steps, running your hand through your hair. "I missed you."

"I missed you even more, sweetheart. How was your day?" Clark's tone softens even more, his voice bordering a mother's cooing.

You don't respond to him, simply shaking your head side-to-side as if Clark could see you do that. You're on the brink of going into a mental breakdown when you hear Clark speaking again. Only this time, not through the phone.

"I'm guessing it wasn't good, huh?"

An overly joyed yelp leaves your mouth as you lunge yourself at him. Clark's strong arms wrapping around your body as you nuzzle yourself close to him. Your eyes close, letting his scent infiltrate your senses as you forget about the world for a second.

"You couldn't even imagine," you groan, placing your hand on his chest.

"Good thing I have something planned for us," Clark smiles, placing a gentle hand on the back of your head before you pull your head away from his shoulder. "I'll take you back to your dorm, okay? I have DVDs in the truck, take-out, weighted blankets—everything. It'll be fun."

You look at him confusedly, "Sounds like the perfect night-in, Clark, don't you have classes tomorrow?"

"Well…" he trails off, glancing at your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. "I may have a free day tomorrow."

"You're kidding."

"And, I asked Chloe for your schedule—looks like I'm not the only one with a free day tomorrow," Clark's tone held a tinge of teasing to it. His hand pinching the naked skin of your hip affectionately. "So, what d'you say? You up for a movie night with take-out?"

"That's like asking me to marry you, Clark," you pause, narrowing your eyes. "Of course, I would!"

Clark grins, pulling you in for a sweet and longing kiss in front of all the students walking in and out of the building.

Clark's own definition of a movie night and take-out date is simply you and him, underneath the weighted blankets, eating chow mein while your favorite comedy movie plays in your laptop.

You had pretty much the same definition as well, the only difference is that Chloe's in your definition.

"I can't believe you invited Chloe," Clark says, snaking his arms around your stomach, resting them on your belly button while you leaned back comfortably on his chest. "Wasn't she busy interning?" He takes a glance at Chloe at the other bed—focused on the movie, busy eating a dumpling.

You crane your neck to look at him, meeting his eyes despite the lack of light in the room. "Clark, Chloe was the only reason I got up on time today. It's the least I could do after practically zombie-ing around the dorm.

Clark sighs, rolling his eyes as he went back to watching the movie.

You shifted quietly in your position, scooting up just a little bit so you could rest your head on his shoulder, the rest of your body nestled in between his legs. Clark clenches his jaw, moving his hands to rest on top of yours.

"You sure she doesn't have things to attend to?" Clark asks, still keeping his voice low as to not disturb a focused Chloe.

"Clark, I'm sure. She wouldn't agree to this if she had things to do, obviously," you reply back sassily, voice just as quiet.

Clark inhales sharply, thinking of a way he can continue his original plan now that there's one more extra character. A light bulb pops in his head, prompting him to lean down to your ear, his nose bumping with the shell of your ear.

Clark only notices now how engrossed you've gotten with the movie when you don't even move. The subtle crease in your forehead giving it away.

He removes one hand from yours, trailing it just an inch lower from your belly button before he begins to rub soft circles on the flesh. Clark kept his eyes glued on the wall, eyebrow arching ever so slightly the moment he felt your stomach tense.

"I've already asked Chloe if we could spend the night, though," Clark whispers in your ear. His neck stretched in a way that he can still watch the movie while keeping himself close to the open space by your neck.

You spare him a glance, a quick one that barely even lasted a second. "Clark, watch the movie."

Clark clenches his jaw, this time because of the way your body rubs on his lower region. Again. Like you didn't even notice his hand tightening its hold on yours, or the way blood starts rushing into his cock the more you keep the warmth of your back on it, completely unaware.

He inhales, licking his lips before pressing it softly on the side of your neck. "Fine."

You thought that'd be the end of it, that Clark would finally let the subject go and actually watch the movie with you. However, you quickly realized that he had other plans the moment you feel his free hand play with the garters of your pajama.

You swallow on nothing—clenching on nothing, trying to keep your breathing calm and steady as you did your best to focus on the movie.

"Clark, what're you doing?" You try to move your hands but the hold Clark had on it kept you from doing so. His other hand—the one by your pajamas—slipped underneath the fabric.

His eyebrows shoot up in sheer surprise when his hand is met with the soft skin of your pussy, bare and naked, seemingly waiting for him all this time.

"You're not wearing panties," Clark says, not as a question, but as an observation. The amusement evident in his tone as he keeps himself from chuckling loud enough for other ears to hear. "You planned this, didn't you?"

You ignore him, doing your best to focus on the movie despite his hand descending lower and lower.

He swipes a finger through your slit, smiling contentedly as the answer to his prior question comes in the form of your wetness. His eyes focus on the way your features twitched with the subtlest of movements, how your breathing slowly changes into labored breaths, and how your heart starts thumping even louder.

Clark pulls his hand out of your pants carefully, watching the way your shoulders relax as he did so. You keep yourself calm, still trying your best to wriggle out of his one-hand grip that's restricting you from using your hands.

"Can't believe you told me to focus on the movie when you didn't even bother wearing panties…" his voice drops, the deeper timbre of his voice has you squirming in place. "Are you giving me mixed signals or what?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say through gritted teeth. Never moving your eyes away from the projector.

Clark chuckles softly, licking the shell of your ear before he moves his hand underneath your pants. He wastes no time searching for your clit, rubbing soft circles on it the moment he does. "I think you do, baby."

You melt into his touch involuntarily. The pleasure he's giving you with just two fingers on your clit was enough to have you mewling like a cat in heat.

He lifts his fingers from your clit, sliding them down your slit once more to gather the wetness seeping from your hole. He moves back up, slathering it on your clit messily, this time rubbing figure 8s.

"Looks like you really got some stress in you, sweetheart," Clark says, picking up the pace while you drop your head weakly, his legs moving to rest on top of yours, keeping you wide and open for him. You look up at him, locking into his eyes when he smirks at you. "Let's take some of it off of your shoulders, yeah?"

The coil in your stomach tightens, lips falling open as quiet moans left your lips. Quiet enough that Clark only heard it through his superhuman hearing.

You turn your head to Chloe’s direction, watching her watch the movie in utter silence. Completely unaware of the absolute filth going on between two of her best friends.

Your eyes squeeze shut when you feel yourself release all of a sudden. The pleasure coming onto you in one strong wave, not even a warning before it snaps. Clark helps you ride it out as he slows down, whispering sweet nothings in your ear while leaving kisses on your neck.

Clark smiles proudly. Gathering your release from your hole before slipping his hand out of your pajamas and into his mouth. Your eyes round as you watch him suck it hard and hungrily, as if making sure to remember the taste of your sweet release until he gets his next fill.

"You're welcome," Clark whispers, releasing your hands from his grip.

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, Chloe lets out a loud groan, her bed creaking loudly. Both you and Clark turns your heads to the projector, noticing how the movie had gone static.

"Sorry guys, give me a sec, I'll fix it." Chloe, who had suggested the idea of a projector, felt burdened to fix the situation.

The exact second Chloe turns her back to the two of you, Clark's pulling you up, strong hands lifting you like you were nothing. You shake your head continuously at him, eyes widen and clearly nervous. Clark simply grins at you, contradicting your head shakes with a nod.

"It'll be fun." Was the only thing he says before he quickly moves up your bed. Once more reminding you of his superhuman speed as he has you on top of his hips, cock resting on your cunt, blanket covering both of you—all in record time.

Chloe turns around with a smile, one that says she successfully fixed the projector. You two return the gesture, though for very different reasons.

When the movie began again, picking up from where it left off, Clark's back to having his way with you.

"I already gave you one release, baby. This next one, you're gonna have to cooperate with me—so tell me, what do you want me to do?" Clark's heavy cock twitches in between your pussy lips, aching to be inside of you.

You sigh, the arousal clouding your brain. "Whatever you want, Clark, just…" he lifts his cock before letting it fall back down. The sound of it colliding with your cunt easily drowned out by the movie. You bite your lips, continuing, "Just make me fucking come, please."

A liquid substance then drips on top of your cunt, sliding down onto his length as it left a cooling sensation everywhere. You look to Clark with a question, while he only smiles at you reassuringly.

"I may have snatched a few things from your drawer."

Then, you feel his cock push into you. The liquid he poured a moment ago letting him slip through your walls with ease.

You gasp, hand slapping on your mouth to stop the sound from going into unwanted ears.

"Clark," you struggle to get out. "You're… It's so big."

Clark chuckles, shushing you with a kiss. "I know I am, baby. But you can take it, right?"

"Yes." You say breathlessly.

"Good girl," he thrusts up carefully, hearing your soft moans from underneath the hand on your mouth. "Because this is the only thing you're gonna get from me tonight. After all, it was you that wanted to invite Chloe, right?"

When you nod, head dizzy with his cock inside of you, with his fingers continuing their attacks on your clit, Clark already knows he's gotten you exactly where he wants you⎯underneath the covers.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! xoxo

[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ the diner . . . m.s

in which . . . you’re a waiter closing up the diner you work at late at night, only to find out your stalker is already watching you.

warnings . . . ghostface!stalker!matt, smut, unprotected sex, backshots, knife play, dirty talk, spanking, degradation, clit play.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #8

you're alone in the diner, the neon sign flickering against the dark night. you've just finished your shift, wiping down the countertops and stacking the last of the dishes. the silence is deafening, only broken by the distant hum of the refrigerator and your own heartbeat. you don't know it yet, but matt, ghostface himself, has been watching you all night. you knew you had a stalker though, he just never showed himself. and honestly, you wished he did. his voice over the phone whenever he mysteriously called was the most attractive thing ever.

the phone rings, piercing the silence. you hesitate before picking it up, your heart pounding in your chest. "hello?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly, but you knew exactly who it was. "we're closed right now."

"i just have one question," a voice, distorted and menacing, replies. it's matt, his words dripping with malice. "what's your favorite scary movie?" a chill runs down your spine. that was…a new question, different from what he usually asked. you don't want to answer, but something compels you to speak. "i... i don't really watch scary movies," you stammer, trying to keep your composure.

without another word, he hangs up. the dial tone echoes in your ear, and suddenly, the lights go out. you're plunged into darkness, your breath catching in your throat. you can hear footsteps, slow and deliberate, drawing closer.

matt's voice cuts through the darkness, low and taunting. "i think we both know why i'm here," he growls, his breath hot against your ear. he spins you around, bending you over the counter. your hands grasp at the edge, your body trembling with fear and anticipation. you can’t deny the fact that you’re enjoying this

he pulls down your pants, exposing your ass to the cold air. he slaps it once, twice, the sound echoing through the empty diner. "you like that, don't you?" he hisses, his fingers trailing down your spine. "you little slut."

he thrusts into you, hard and deep, his fingers digging into your hips. he fucks you mercilessly, each stroke sending waves of pleasure and pain through your body. his knife is pressed against your neck, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of his breath on your skin.

"tell me how much you love it," he demands, his voice dripping with cruelty. "tell me how much you want me to fuck you." you can't help but moan, your body betraying you. "i love it," you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper. "please, don't stop."

he chuckles darkly, his pace quickening. his fingers find your clit, rubbing circles around it as he continues to pound into you. your moans echo through the diner, mixing with the sound of flesh against flesh.

"you're going to cum for me," he growls, his knife pressing harder against your neck, but not enough to hurt you. your orgasm builds, your body trembling beneath him. with one final thrust, you topple over the edge, your cum soaking the countertop beneath you. "fuck!" you scream, your voice hoarse with pleasure and fear.

as the waves of your orgasm subside, he pulls out of you, tucking his knife back into his robe and speaks. “next time, i’d answer the question if i were you.” without another word, he leaves you there, bent over the counter, your body shaking and your mind reeling.

the neon sign that now says “CLOSED” continues to flicker, casting eerie shadows on the wall. you're left alone, the only sound your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. you know that this night will haunt you forever, bit in such a good way. a dark and twisted memory of the night ghostface made you his own, and honestly? you can’t wait until your phone rings again.

© delilahsturniolo

[bratbarzal]

Oh I would kill to see luke and his lover travelling europe idk :’)

I sort of have a ~vacation thing in the pipeline for them so I'm gonna bullet point some random thoughts on this while they're fresh in my brain bc I love the idea of them having a little european trip together and doing it the authentic way bc they're just two kids in love and exploring the world!! not super in depth bc like I said there's something else in the works but I am really enjoying doing these extended thoughts!!

luke is the ultimate airport boyfriend no one can change my mind!! like standing in the check in queue with his arm slung over your shoulders or you're in front of him and his chin is resting on your head as he watches the boards to figure out where your gate is!! and he's hauling both of your cases around even though you say you're fine to wheel them, but you like watching as he lifts them onto the belt, and you like eyeing up the way his sleeves cling to his muscles when he's leaning on the desk and going through all the information with the guy behind it!!

and obviously his first thought when you're through security is food, so you're walking hand in hand and he's pretending like he's giving you the choice but he's lowkey dragging you to wherever he wants to go, and you both end up getting burgers and he steals your fries when he's done with his, but you're used to his crappy distraction techniques by now so you just let him do it!! and the two of you have a whole thing where you're swapping parts of your burgers like he'll take your pickles and you'll take his tomato and you just do it without asking because you guys eat so often together that it's just normal!!

and he'll smell all the perfume testers with you in the duty free store!! and try on a bunch of sunglasses and you're taking a bunch of pictures of him in shades that make him look like a bug or an alien hahaha!! but he buys some unisex fragrance you can share and it's that thing where it's the only thing the two of you will spray while you're away so that it will always remind you of that vacation!! and it ends up being a cute tradition every time you leave the country!!

the only thing you'd let him splurge on for the whole trip is the extra leg room seats, and he just about convinces you that premium economy is the way to go, so he gets to stretch out his legs and you get to cuddle into his side with the arm rest raised and you share a set of earphones to watch some random movie on the flight together 🥺 like you don't even bother syncing screens you'll just lay your head on his shoulder and snuggle his bicep and probably fall asleep on him while he's watching conclave or smth

and the two of you aren't exactly hostel hopping but you really wanted a lowkey trip so the hotels you stay in are all super cosy and small, because you're spending most of your time out and exploring anyway, so when you're in your room you're constantly all up in each other's space, and he's always bumping into you and grabbing at you to move you out of the way, and it's all just super intimate and precious to you that you get to be a normal young couple doing normal things away from like him being recognised all the time back home, or not being entirely secure in such a random hotel - when you're away, it's a bit like the bubble you get at the lake house, where he's just Luke, your boyfriend, not Luke Hughes.

and he's been to Europe on tournaments before but he's never been able to properly explore, so you do all this touristy coupley stuff together!! and Luke very much gives goofball energy like if he was in a relationship I don't think he'd be all mr cool I think he'd embrace getting to do dorky shit so like he's eating food from street vendors with absolutely no etiquette, and he's making wishes throwing coins in fountains and taking pictures "resting on" the leaning tower of pisa or pinching at the Eiffel Tower - speaking of have you ever seen those videos of dua lipa and Callum turner dancing near the Eiffel Tower???? they give me Luke and lih!reader vibes all the time they're so cute!!

and Luke is the perfect victim of a tourist trap so he's getting his portrait done by those whacky artists who draw your mouth about half the size of your face and they make his curls all crazy and his neck super long lmao!! and he's getting suckered into buying you flowers all the time off of the ladies who say it's romantic - and yeah, even if the roses aren't real, it is romantic because he gets all blushy and bashful about it!! and he says you have to collect fridge magnets for everywhere you go as a memento because you're not bulking up your luggage but it's cute to have something back home that reminds you of being away together!! and he's super serious about his fridge magnet criteria so you let him have the last say even if they're going on your fridge.

also he's clinging onto you for dear life everywhere you go. your hand doesn't leave his in public, and he's cuddling you in the back of taxis, and standing behind you with his arms draped over you in museums, you're tangling legs under the tables in restaurants, and falling asleep on his shoulder on trains!! bc physical touch Luke is the realest thing to me!!

and one more thing bc I love this concept is he's obviously way quicker at getting ready than you so he'll always sit by you while you're getting ready and just watch and talk to you like you curling your hair is the most interesting thing in the world!! and he's weirdly intimidated by a curling iron but one time he offers to do it for you and he doesn't burn you by some miracle so he's always doing the back of your head while he yaps lmao!! he's always zipping the back of your dresses, and untying your shoes when you finally get back to the hotel room!! and he's watching you put on moisturiser before bed and he always likes when you spread the excess onto his skin 😭😭 he's such a little obsessed lover boy I adore him!!

[st3f13ily]

Father-Daughter Dance & Protective Dad Mode

Gojo panics when his little girl gets asked to dance by a boy. "You're too young for this!"

(Years later, at a school event where Gojo learns his biggest challenge isn't curses—it's letting go.)

Masterlist

The gym was decorated in soft fairy lights, the music gentle, the kids excitedly running around in their little dress shoes and fancy outfits. You stood near the punch table, chatting with one of the other parents, while Gojo Satoru hovered in the corner, arms crossed, watching the dance floor like a hawk.

Specifically, watching his daughter.

Satomi—now seven years old and looking way too grown up in her light blue dress and sparkly hair clips—was spinning in circles with her twin brother, Satoshi. Her giggles were louder than the music, her silver hair bouncing as she twirled like a ballerina.

Gojo had taken one (1) photo and then immediately gone into full-blown overprotective dad mode.

"She's having fun." you said gently, nudging his side.

"She's being watched," he muttered, narrowing his eyes at a little boy walking toward her. "By him."

You looked and smiled. "That's Daichi, Toru. They sit next to each other in class."

"Exactly. Too close. Too much proximity."

"Don't start."

But Gojo had already stepped forward a little, squinting like Daichi had personally insulted his bloodline.

You placed a hand on his arm. "Toru, he's seven."

"She's my daughter!"

Meanwhile, on the dance floor, little Daichi had just asked Satomi if she wanted to dance. Her eyes lit up with delight as she nodded, handing her juice box to Satoshi before walking off with Daichi to the center of the floor.

Gojo gasped. "No. Nope. Unacceptable."

You barely managed to hold him back as he took a step forward. "Don't embarrass her."

"She's a literal baby!" he whisper-yelled. "She was just born yesterday!"

"She's seven."

"She still sleeps with that stuffed bear I gave her! She can't be out here slow dancing like some—some—"

"Relax. It's a school dance. They're just doing the Macarena."

Gojo watched, pouting like the sky had fallen. "She didn't even ask me to dance first…"

You softened, brushing his arm. "Then ask her now. You'll always be her first dance, you know."

He hesitated. Then sighed. "…Fine. But if that boy even thinks about holding her hand, I'm teleporting him to Siberia."

You rolled your eyes, laughing.

Later that evening, after Satomi had danced with her classmates, Gojo approached her, kneeling slightly and offering his hand.

"Can I steal a dance, princess?" he asked, smiling—his usual cocky grin replaced by something gentler, warmer.

Satomi lit up, hugging him first before taking his hand. "You're late, Papa!"

"I had to make sure no evil boys were lurking." he said dramatically, spinning her around. "But you look just like your mama tonight, so I forgive you."

Satoshi watched from the side, sipping juice and murmuring, "Papa's crying."

"I am not!" Gojo sniffled mid-spin.

You just smiled, snapping a photo of your husband and daughter dancing under fairy lights, her little feet on top of his shoes, his hand securely holding hers.

The strongest sorcerer in the world was helpless.

And the only curse he couldn’t dispel...

Was watching his little twins grow up.

@joohyunrene @lixisoul99

[yoiisa]

hi there, can u write a fic (college au/no blue lock) where reader & isagi are in a relationship, but his roommates slash friends don't know bcs reader always comes over whenever isagi says that his friends (bachira, kunigami, & chigiri) aren't at their apartment, but then get caught one day when his friends went back home early?

ive only stumbled upon ur account recently and i love ur fics/writing!!

omg love!! idk how colleges in japan work, so im just going to model this based on american colleges :D

all characters aged up (20+)! Tags: slightly suggestive and making out!!

➜ you knew isagi yoichi for around 6 months before the two of you started dating, but you'd been eyeing him for all of that time ➜ he was exactly your type- quiet, but the sweetest and most considerate person ever. ➜ he had beautiful blue eyes, was taller than you, and played soccer for the school. holy hell, talk about your personal kryptonite ➜ he was always too shy to ask you out though, so you had to take initiative on that front

You're sitting under a tree with Isagi in the school's courtyard. People are passing you by, heading to their respective classes. All you can think of in this moment though is how nice this is. The summer breeze is brushing his hair perfectly and the sun is making his eyes look like tiny sapphires. He looks like a prince. "Um, [name]?" he asks looking down at you. "Are you okay? You've been really quiet." You blink a few times, snapping out of your trance. You look down at your lap, staying silent for a little while. "Hey, Isagi?" you start. He leans forward and you feel like your heart is a car that someone just revved. "Umm, you don't have a girlfriend right?" "N-no," he stammers, taken aback. "Why?" "Do you," you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. You meet his gaze and give him a tiny smile as you force the words out of your throat. "Do you wanna go out with me?" Your heart stops as he physically flinches back. "Nevermind!" you quickly say, holding your hands up in defense. "I'm so sorry, just forget all of that-" "N-no! That's not it, I- I do like you," he insists, "I just didn't expect you to ask me out." He lets out a deep breath and chuckles. "I was actually going to try and ask you out. My friends were giving me all this advice on how to do it. You just caught me off guard though. Beat me to the punch, huh?" He takes your hand in his and squeezes it. "But to answer your question, yes. I would like to go out with you."

➜ and that was that! the two of you were a couple. only one thing though- you'd never met those illusive friends ➜ whenever you went over to his dorm- a quad with two bunk beds and four desks, as well as a quite beautiful view of the whole campus through the window- there was no one else there but the two of you ➜ six months went by and not a single glimpse of them! you asked isagi about it once and he gave you a few excuses

"Well Bachira's really close to his mom, so he leaves campus a lot to hang out with her every now and then. She doesn't live too far from here anyways," Isagi explains as he rests his head in your lap. "And then Chigiri has a part time job at a physical therapist's office. He used to go there for himself since he messed up his leg once in an accident a while ago." You nod, running your finger through his hair. "And what about Kunigami?" "Also has a part time job as a kiddie's soccer coach," he says. "Hmm," you smirk and tickle your boyfriend's neck. He flinches and you giggle, "So you're the only one unemployed, huh?" He stiffens and gives you a look out of the corner of his eyes. "No. Bachira doesn't have a job too."

➜ when you finally meet Isagi's roommates . . . it's a mess ➜ after not seeing them enough times, you grew relatively comfortable with the idea that you never would in the dorms, and so did he ➜ he would have you over pretty often, and to be completely honest, sometimes things got a little spicy! ➜ so here you were, sitting on his desk and his standing between your legs. your lips locked in a heady kiss that was making you lightheaded. your tongues lapped hungrily at one another and your teeth clacking ➜ and then the door opened.

"Yoichi~" you gasp as he pulls back from your mouth. He starts to trail kisses along your jaw and neck, sucking small bruises into your collarbone and neck. "Mmm, you're so sweet," he groans, inhaling your scent. He feels like getting drunk off of it. His hot hands trail under your shirt, tracing around your curves. You giggle, but then both of your bodies freeze as you hear the door clicking. Isagi, in a moment of pure panic, tightens his grip on your waist and fucking shoves you off the desk and onto the floor. He was trying to hide you underneath the desk, not wanting his roommates to catch you both in this position, but all he does is just accidentally make you kneel in front of him. Right in front of him. Honestly, it helped enough because now your back is to his roommates, who are no doubt staring at you both as if they just walked in on a porno. Isagi stares at the trio. Bachira looks scandalized, Kunigami looks shocked, and Chigiri looks annoyed. "You couldn't bother locking the door when you have a hookup over?" the pink haired boy asks. "What. The. Hell. Is. This," Bachira says, looking two seconds from passing out. "Bachira, breathe," Chigiri grumbles, walking inside. "At least get her off her knees," Kunigami says, following Chigiri. He comes up behind you and taps you on your shoulder. "Miss-" You, in your panic and fear and shame, cannot think to say literally anything else other than, "I'm his girlfriend, not a hookup." Everyone stops breathing. "His GIRLFRIEND?!" Bachira roars, lunging at you. He grabs you by your shoulders, whirls you around and pulls you up to your feet. Kunigami hits him on the back of his head, "Don't handle a girl like that!" "I-It's fine," you say, waving Kunigami off with a small smile. "I'm so sorry about this. It's just, whenever I've been over, none of you are ever here, so I guess we got a little . . . careless." "You've been here before?" Bachira asks. A thud sounds from behind you and you whirl around. Bachira and Kunigami peek over your shoulder. Chigiri walks up to an Isagi whose cherry red. The embarrassment was just too much for his brain to handle anymore it seems. "Yoichi!" you shout, kneeling next to him. "I'll get him water," Chigiri says, walking to the dorm's mini fridge.

➜ the two of you never live this first impression down. not even at your wedding.

[thehatboxwitch]

to anon 1: i can't believe i made your whole day, that's high praise 🥹 i'm so glad you enjoyed! to anon 2: i'm really happy that people out there are enjoying my phai characterisation because i will be so frank i haven't played the latest update :" fem!reader, TW // nsfw.

mydei

phainon hauls you up easily by your thighs, his cock buried inside you, your back against his chest. your face is flushed to high heavens, not because of the temperature of the room, but the pair of yellow lion's eyes fixed on your face.

you whimper wordlessly, nails scraping uselessly at phainon's arms as he thrusts into you for the millionth time that night, melting you into another puddle of nerves and messy fluids. you're cumming in no time - and another surge catches you off guard before your first one can fully die down, your voice hoarse as mydei leans forward and laps up the arousal you spray everywhere, suckling on your clit and letting you ride out your high.

anaxagoras

"maybe professor anaxa will have something more to teach me," was what phainon had said to you, trying to convince you to agree to his grand plan.

currently, with your mouth stuffed full of the professor's dick, and phainon filling you up from the back, it didn't seem like he needed much more teaching. in fact, it was probably you who needed it the most, seeing as your eyes filled with tears every time he rolled his hips up into your mouth, nudging against the back of your throat.

you mumble helplessly around him in pleasure as phainon slides in and out slowly. anaxa cups your face, guiding you up and down, slipping his dick a little deeper into your throat each time, trying to coax you into taking him fully.

aglaea

you can barely breathe, but you can't really tell if it's the weight of phainon bearing down on you - or aglaea's misty green eyes pinning you in place.

tiny gasps escape you as phainon grinds his tip against your cervix. your back is arched as far as it'll go, pressing you into him, but also pushing you into aglaea's deft, soft fingers, rolling your nipple, pinching and twisting until you're thrashing against phainon. she seems to know exactly where to touch where it feels best; probably because she does, what with her golden threads and all.

a hatbox summer event | discord server (18+) if you enjoy my work, reblogs help the most! ⭐️

[sourpeachpit]

adding to this that ballet is Very white. there are obviously ballet dancers of color, but they're relatively few compared to other specialty performing arts fields like opera, broadway-style dance, etc.

so combine this with the immense stress of dancing professionally (a single injury can fuck your whole career over like you're a racehorse, as can a pregnancy or scare, your hormones doing anything weird to your weight or appearance, etc.) where these very young, often white, women are being heavily pressured in such a way where their body is everything, where their value is a 1:1 with how they look and how they can physically perform. they know it's not fair. they know it's cruel. but ballet dancers don't go into it for money or fame, they do it because they Gotta dance or they'll just die.

"how does that connect to whiteness though," you might wonder. and that's where it starts getting really rancid, because the (very real) unfairness of the professional dance world leads to some very ugly complexes surrounding not only looks but also "I have to grab onto what I love as if it's the last one in the world, the last there'll ever be." everything they are (on a personal level) cannot be taken as good enough. and surrounded by others like them, they're not seeing the privilege that allows them to be considered the "default" that's obvious from the outside. so in all-too-common WW fashion they see the marginalized celebrate themselves and each other and take that to mean "AHAAAAAA, so THEY get to be loved and celebrated, but what about ME?? what about the work I do??"

which is myopic as shit. but going nose to grindstone on one thing 24/7 from literal early childhood well into early adulthood is going to breed that exact myopia. both sheltered by whiteness and wealth and left out to dry by the brutality of the field, they're primed to be DESPERATELY attached to the first man they fall in love with.

and the kind of men who like to date ballerinas are, too often, the types who know exactly how neurotic the job makes them. they're all too happy to hold their love up as a carrot with a stick in the other hand. and their (the ballerina's) whiteness makes them an even more appealing trophy wife for racists who want a pet woman to crank out white babies for them. ballet is a great career for the tradwife because it's inherently temporary. and once it's over he's got her full time and she has little else to fall back on because to excel in ballet often necessitates neglecting other things. and because ballerinas have to have ambition or they can't survive, really it's no wonder the side hustle of "influencer" holds temptation, especially because it allows them to soothe the fears of "what if I get ugly or fat or old and my husband leaves me for his secretary" by showing an audience of thousands "that's right I'm #goals, I'm hot and competent, because I work." every hand-sewn egg apron or homemade sourdough or weird raw milk recipe is a chance to prove that competence and sense of class, beauty, and fitting into the role that ballet, such as it currently is, forces them to fill.

the ballerina to tradwife pipeline must be studied

[anbaisai]

ok i don’t really talk much about irl stuff here BUT my boss at work right now is the most legendary Wife Guy i’ve ever met and i have to share

he just came back from a trip visiting his wife who lives in another country currently and keeps showing everyone photos, like:

Exhibit A:

Him: did i show you the photos Coworker: what photos Him: you know the only thing i take photos of, my wife

Exhibit B:

Him, while showing photos: you know how i take pics of my wife sometimes because i like her Customer: wow you have a very nice one there Him: yeah out of my league right

people know about his trip and ask him when he’s going back next, and he replied “20 weeks- well more like 19 weeks and 2 days but who’s counting down the days right”

has a framed wedding photo on his desk but also just. has his entire wedding photo album open to the first page just sitting there on the side of his desk too

his phone lock screen has exactly 2 clock widgets on it and one is the local time while the other one is his wife’s time zone, nothing else is on the screen

he keeps joking to people that i'm probably sick of hearing him yap about his wife already but honestly its pretty cute 😭😭 also i'm totally not stealing inspiration from him

[shares-a-vest]

@spectrum-spectre your glorious tags inspired me hehe (it isn't exactly Eddie intentionally flirting, but Steve won't take his word for it. Idiot4Idiot Steddie, my beloved)

Eddie barely sets down his six-pack of beer before Steve is siding up to him, crowding him in the corner of the Harrington's kitchen. It would be the start of one of his dirtier fantasies, but Steve is frowning and they are both fully clothed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Steve demands, exasperated.

"I'm helping your Mom with the groceries."

He looks over Steve's shoulder to find Mrs Harrington carrying a bottle of wine. Eddie sighs. She's so cool.

Steve must sense his mother's presence because he backs off a little and feigns a smile, silent as he waits for her to head back out to the garage.

Eddie points to the opened doorway Steve's mom just disappeared through, "I should really go help her with –"

"I'll help her," Steve interrupts.

"No, really, I'm fine, Steve. My leg is –"

"I know your leg is just peachy," Steve rolls his eyes before looking him up and down. Yep, definitely not a porno situation happening here anytime soon, "You've been bouncing around for months now."

"Steve, what's –"

"Stop flirting with my mother," Steve says flatly.

Eddie raises a hand to his chest, scandalised (if a little grossed out by the thought), "I am doing no such thing!"

Steve places his hands on his hips. Oh shit, he means business!

"Stop it!"

"I'm not, I swear," he insists, hand on his heart, "We ran into each other at Melvad's and then –"

"Oh, I heard all about how you two went to the liquor store," Steve scoffs.

"We were both headed there anyway."

"She doesn't take me there!"

Eddie's grin widens. Ah, so that's what has his Levi's in a twist.

"Jealous, Stevie Bear?" he leans forward into Steve's orbit, close enough he can smell his aftershave.

He's so pretty, all grumpy like this.

"Nope," Steve says, folding his arms and creating a regrettable amount of space between them, "By the way, the whole 'I'll carry your groceries'-routine is a dud move. Doesn't work."

Eddie pouts and feigns a whimper, "You wound me, Steven. I'm using better material than that."

Steve glares, "Shut up." There's a silence as he mulls over Eddie's words, his frown gradually softening, "... Can I at least have a beer?"

"Of course, pumpkin."

Eddie leans in to give him a wet, smacking kiss on the cheek. He then spins on his heel to swiftly maneuver around Steve while he's still a little dazed.

"Anyway, who are you to talk?" he calls over his shoulder, "I've seen you flirting with Wayne."

"I have not!"

[shadycrowengineer]

I don't normally write commentary for the fics I read, but I will make an exception.

-This is my raw opinion after reading, if you don't like it, too bad. (I do care, please don't harass me about it. It is just something I want to talk about.)

-Also, probably will delete this in the morning. I'm writing this at 2am and I feel the need to be insufferable about the soup that's slipping around in the noggin

This series is honestly tragic. I've read a lot of fictions, and this series handles Dead Doves in a tasteful way. It really isn't like others that I have seen where it romanticizes and shows a very... "Rose colored glasses" version. This gets into the grit and rot that lies in these topics. Its difficult to write about certain topics as is, but to frame it in a way that still shows it in the deserving light and not in a romanticized way is a talent.

Now onto the Reader's role as the victim and how it is portrayed. Chefs kiss, no notes. Beautiful and Tragic.

It is so nice to see T.S. get his karma and to watch as R untangles themself from the strings that he had wrapped around them. I often find it difficult to read stories where our view point is that of the abused due to my own history, I wasn't abused by any means, but I was groomed in my younger years during a difficult time by people I thought I could trust. I have been taken advantage of by people older than me when I was just too young to understand what was happening. So to see a character go through something similar and feel things similar to myself is in some odd way validating.

Back to the note about untangling strings, the way things unravelled honestly made that moment of when they decided to leave so much more impactful. Them having second thoughts because they in some ways believe that there is still room for change in T.S. I mean the sheer amount of lovebombing (and yes, I would consider some of those moments, especially in Ch. 5, lovebombing.) from someone that was essentially supposed to play a guiding role in their life. I mean, Father is the wrong word, but for someone that just swooped in and took them, deceiving them kindness, and then once he knew he had her, started down the horrible path, THAT AS AN ADULT he should have never taken. The idea that, "well he's back to the way he was when I was younger, before he got addicted, " is so hugely hinted at through the entire chapter. Seeing them detach themselves from him more and more, and then the moment they catch their chance to leave, they suddenly wonder that maybe, just maybe, he is turning around and being better. Which of course outside reasoning makes them take the step to leave. Which is damn near exactly what happens in life.

I honestly believe most people deserve second chances, but in some cases, the crime committed doesn't warrant a second chance. In this case the crime committed could never be paid back.

Even though this is fiction, I can't help but relate to some of the things that R is put through. It portrays real life issues in a masterful way. I honestly enjoyed reading this. I loved how much thought was put into the character's relationships and how it correlates to the storyline. The story takes time to view how the events affect each character.

Anyways I am gonna cut this here. I don't expect anyone to read this before I remember to delete it.

Remember, this is just soup that I decided I had to spit out onto a post so I would quit thinking about it, it's not meant to be insightful, it's really just for me to talk about how I feel.

── STANDING NEXT TO YOU ; dazai osamu x fem!reader

synopsis ;

╰─▸ ❝ he is someone you should truly stay away from because every smile of his drips with danger, every laugh is coated with mystery and every touch has tragedy lingering yet that's the only thing you can't bring yourself to do -- staying away from him. especially when he seeks you out himself. ( 51.8k wc). ❞

warnings ;

╰─▸ racer!zai. age gap. dazai is twenty two while reader is barely in early twenties, nineteen to be exact. angst. romance. tragedy. illegal racing and illegal activities. port mafia is in here too. dazai has smoking addiction. drug addiction. toxic workplace. reader works at a club. sexual harassment. abuse. prostitution though it's mentioned lightly. uses of whore, slut etc in a derogatory way. pedophilic behaviour and pedophilia, rape, mentions of grooming.

sincerely.

01. i push up on this funk, give me miracles 5.5k wc

02. all night long we rock to this 9.07k wc

03. it's deeper then the pain 12.1k wc

04. something they can't take away 14.2k wc

05. standing next to you 10.6k wc

[ceyanabbiolo]

PHOTOGRAPH // M.S [16]

Summary: Daphne Denoire, a 21-year-old, returns to Boston after 3 years—but working for her brother’s best friend, Matthew Sturniolo, wasn’t part of the plan. He’s a 26-year-old multimillionaire. She’s the girl he was never supposed to feel this way about. With secrets between them and boundaries set, how far will they go for a love they never saw coming?

Warnings: angst

wc: 5172

Chapter 16: I love you, I'm sorry

“Matt, look this way!”

I turned my head slightly to the left, jaw clenched. The camera clicked three times in rapid succession.

“No—less intense. Soften your eyes. Tilt your chin. Can we get a more natural smile? Something warmer.”

I exhaled slowly through my nose. More natural? I wasn’t a damn mannequin.

The lights were too bright, the air too stuffy, and the photographer—some young, overly eager guy with a scarf and too much cologne—had been barking instructions for the past twenty minutes like I was a puppet on strings.

“Can you arch your back a little more? Maybe cross your arms? Looks like you’re brooding, but approachable?”

My patience was wearing thin. I’d been doing this long enough to know how to pose, and whatever this guy was trying to pull felt more like a high school film project than a fashion campaign.

“Matt, relax your shoulders, please. Right now you’re giving… CEO on trial.”

I blinked slowly. “I am a CEO.”

The guy laughed like it was charming. “Right, right—but less… intimidating. We want Matt Sturniolo, the man, not the empire.”

I was about to tell him exactly where to stick his ‘creative vision’ when I felt a soft hand touch my forearm.

I glanced over.

Daphne stood there, watching me. Her expression was calm, but I could see it—she noticed the tension in my jaw, the way my shoulders were locked. She knew me better than anyone. She could tell I was done.

She leaned closer, her voice low so only I could hear. “Should I help?”

I met her eyes, that familiar calm already steadying my pulse. I gave a small nod.

She smiled sweetly, then turned toward the photographer. 

“Hey,” she said kindly, “I think Matt just needs a second. He’s been shooting all morning. Can we reset the energy a little?”

The guy blinked, surprised by her tone—gentle but firm. “Oh uh, yeah. Of course.”

Daphne looked back at me, reaching up to fix a stray piece of hair near my temple, her fingertips lingering a second longer than necessary.

“You good?” she whispered.

I nodded slowly. “

Daphne gave me a quick peck before stepping fully into the space between the camera and me. Her demeanor changed like she belonged. 

“Let’s try something a little more relaxed,” she said gently, addressing the photographer and his assistant. “Matt looks best when he’s not over-posed. Maybe have him sit, lean back a little, and see natural lighting from the side?”

The assistant nodded, flipping through a clipboard of notes. The photographer looked uncertain, but curious.

Daphne turned back to me, already picturing the shot. “Take off the jacket,” she said softly. “And sit on the stool—yeah, just like that. One leg up, elbow resting on your knee. Look down for a second. Breathe.”

I followed her instructions, and for the first time since the shoot started, I didn’t feel like I was performing—I just felt like myself.

“Now look up at me,” she said.

I did.

The camera clicked.

The photographer blinked, then checked the screen. “Wait… that looks—hold on—this is good.”

Daphne stepped aside so he could keep shooting, but she stayed close, occasionally suggesting slight shifts in my angle, hands, and posture. Her voice was soft but certain, never overwhelming. She knew what she was doing, and everyone in the room could see it.

Within minutes, the entire tone of the shoot shifted. The energy settled. People were nodding along with her ideas, checking previews on the monitors, and whispering things like “this feels more high-end” and “the lighting works better here.” 

I caught her watching me between shots, her lips tilted into a knowing smile. 

The shoot wrapped quicker than expected after that. With Daphne's subtle direction and calm energy, everything flowed naturally. No more forced smiles, no more awkward poses—just good lighting, good angles, and a team that finally stopped micromanaging.

By the time we were done, the photographer was practically singing her praises.

“You’ve got a great eye,” he told her, packing up his lenses. “Have you ever thought about directing?”

Daphne smiled. “Not really. I just know what works for him.”

He nodded. “Well, it shows.”

I watched the interaction quietly, pride swelling in my chest. It didn’t surprise me—she had always seen me. But watching everyone else finally recognize what I already knew? That was something else.

We stepped out into the cool afternoon air. The sky was fading into soft golds and pale blues, the breeze tugging at Daphne’s hair as we approached the curb where my motorcycle was parked.

“Nice job,” I said, tossing her my extra helmet. It was hers at this point. 

She caught it with a grin. “Nice job to you, Mr. CEO-model hybrid.”

I smirked as I swung my leg over the bike. “You directing me is dangerous. You know I’d do anything you say.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” she said, pulling the helmet on. “That’s why I try not to abuse the power.”

I reached over and tugged her gently toward me by the waist, helping her onto the seat behind me. Her arms wrapped around me as she settled in, close and warm.

“You good?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

I felt her nod. 

We rode through the city with golden light spilling between the buildings. Simple. Right. 

The ride through the city was smooth, the kind of quiet that came when words weren’t needed—just the wind, the hum of the engine, and the feeling of Daphne’s arms around me. By the time we pulled into the garage beneath my apartment building, the sun had started to dip low, casting golden streaks across the concrete.

We took the elevator up in comfortable silence. Daphne leaned her head against my shoulder, helmet in hand, clearly drained from the day. She hadn’t complained once, but I could tell she was tired.

As soon as I unlocked the front door, she made a beeline straight for the living room.

With a dramatic sigh, she dropped her bag by the side table, kicked off her shoes, and ran and collapsed onto the couch. 

“I’m never moving again.”

I shut the door behind us, amused. “Tired?”

“Exhausted,” she said into the cushions. “You were hot, the lighting was hot, the photographer was a lot…and this couch is so comfortable.”

I chuckled, setting our helmets down on the kitchen island. “Glad my furniture gets a 10 out of 10.”

Without another word, I slid down next to her, stretching out until we were chest to chest. The second I got comfortable, she shifted instinctively, curling into me like we were made to fit this way. My arm slipped under her neck, the other wrapping around her waist as I pulled her closer.

“Mm,” she hummed sleepily, pressing her forehead against my collarbone. “You’re warm.”

“Good,” I mumbled into her hair, my own eyes beginning to close. “’Cause I’m not moving either.”

She giggled softly, breath tickling my neck. 

Our noses bumped slightly, her leg still tangled with mine, and before I could say anything else, she leaned forward and kissed me, soft and slow. 

I kissed her back, just as lazily, my fingers sliding gently into her hair.

Half-awake and half-dreaming, we stayed like that—wrapped in each other, mouths meeting in slow, warm presses. Not rushed, not heated. Just love in its simplest form. Her hand slid across my chest, resting above my heart as we kissed between sleepy murmurs and quiet smiles.

“I could stay like this forever,” she whispered.

I tucked her closer, our foreheads resting together.

The afternoon slipped away quietly as Daphne and I dozed on the couch, tangled up in each other’s arms. Two hours must have passed, maybe more.

Then, suddenly, the doorbell rang. 

I groaned softly and glanced down at Daphne, who stirred beside me, eyes fluttering open in confusion.

“Are you expecting someone?” Daphne mumbled, her voice thick with sleep as she shifted beside me.

I shook my head, pushing myself up from the couch. “No.”

The sudden weight of the unexpected knock pressed on me as I walked toward the door. My hand hovered over the handle, then I paused, peering through the peephole.

Fuck.

The familiar figure of Noah stared back at me from the other side.

Another firm knock sounded.

“Daphne,” I called softly, trying to keep my voice calm but low. “It’s Noah…”

She bolted upright instantly, eyes wide and alert. 

“Noah?” Her voice trembled. “He’s not supposed to be here till next week.”

I didn’t know what to say. 

“What do we say?” Panic laced her words.

“We could just tell him,” I offered gently, hoping to bridge the gap.

“Matt…” she whined, dread thick in her tone.

“Sweetheart, it’s been six months. He deserves to know,” I said quietly, trying to sound reasonable but firm.

“No, Matt. Not today,” she pleaded.

I felt the tension in the room tighten around us, the exhaustion from the day already pulling at my patience. I didn’t want to fight.

“Alright,” I sighed, conceding. “Just… go to my room, lock the door, okay?”

She nodded quickly and slipped away down the hallway.

I turned back to the door, about to open it, when my eyes caught the scattered evidence—her bag tossed by the chair, shoes kicked off near the doorway, hoodies draped over the back of the couch, and—gosh—her bra lying carelessly on the coffee table.

This wasn’t just a visit anymore. This was my life, tangled with hers in a way that couldn’t stay hidden forever.

Without wasting a second, I began gathering her things, stuffing them hurriedly into the closet. The familiar scent of her clothes mixed with the adrenaline in my veins.

As I shoved the last hoodie inside, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out—Noah’s name flashing across the screen.

Heart pounding, I swiped to answer.

“Wassup, man,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. “Yeah, I’m here.”

I took a breath, then unlocked the door and opened it.

There he was—Noah Deniore. 

Her older brother. 

My best friend.

I was completely confused—he wasn’t supposed to be back so soon. He had just come and gone last month, after the cottage trip Daphne and I went on in March.

He stood in a hoodie and jeans, backpack slung over one shoulder, brows raised in that easy way he always had. “Took you long enough,” he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Yeah,” I replied, moving out of the way, trying to sound casual. “Was just—half asleep.”

He walked in, glancing around. “Place looks... lived-in.”

I gave a tight smile, watching him survey the room like he always did when he visited. I stood near the couch, subtly blocking the hallway that led to my room.

He didn’t notice.

Not yet.

Noah dropped his bag on the side chair and looked back at me.

“You’re back?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as I leaned against the counter. “Again?”

Noah chuckled, shrugging out of his jacket. “Yeah. Decided to drop by for the weekend—figured it was time for a surprise visit.”

I gave a small nod, my expression careful. “Didn’t know you were planning that.”

He tossed his jacket onto the arm of the couch, casually looking around again. “I figured Daphne would be at home, but no one answered the door. I thought maybe she was out running errands or something, so I just headed here instead.”

My stomach twisted.

I forced a small smile. “Yeah, maybe. She’s been in and out a lot.”

Noah wandered to the window, glancing out at the skyline. “I haven’t talked to her in a while. Feels weird not knowing what she’s been up to lately. You’d think my sister would shoot me a text.”

I swallowed hard, then offered weakly, “She’s been… keeping busy.”

He turned back toward me, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You know what’s weird, though?”

Here it comes.

“What?”

He gestured around the apartment. “Your place smells like her.”

My jaw clenched.

The scent of that clean Jo Malone lily perfume. 

I laughed it off—awkward, stiff. 

“Yeah, she’s probably left some stuff around. She’s been over to help with some shoots, you know?”

Noah nodded slowly, but not calling me out yet either.

I glanced at the hallway. That walking lily was only a few meters away. 

“Want a drink?” I asked again, this time more pointed.

Noah gave me a look, but followed me toward the kitchen anyway.

I pulled two glasses from the cabinet, trying to act normal as I filled them with water. My hands moved steadily, but my mind was racing.

Noah leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed as he watched me closely.

“So…” he started, voice casual—but that kind of calm-before-the-storm casual I knew too well. “How’s your relationship with Daphne these days?”

I paused—just for a split second—but I made it feel like I was just thinking.

“What relationship?” I replied coolly, sliding his glass across the counter to him.

He smirked, lifting the glass but not drinking from it. “You know what I mean.”

I gave a little shrug, sipping from mine. “I mean, we work together. She’s been doing shoots for me—photography stuff.”

“Yeah. For like… what? Eight months now?” He raised a brow. “That’s a long time to be working so closely with someone.”

“Not that long,” I deflected.

He tilted his head. “Come on, man. She barely answers my texts, but she responds to yours in seconds. And she trusts you with everything. She used to only talk to me, and now she’s out doing shoots, coming out of her shell, working late hours—with you.”

I tried to keep my face neutral, but I felt the tension coil in my chest.

“She’s just… grown a lot,” I said simply. “That’s not all me.”

Noah gave a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, Matt. I’m just trying to figure out… stuff.”

My mouth opened slightly, then closed again. For once, I didn’t have a clean answer. Because the truth sat just under my skin, and it wasn’t simple.

He wasn’t wrong.

But I couldn’t give it to him. Not yet.

Not like this.

I exhaled, trying to play it cool. “What are you trying to say, man?”

He looked up, tone gentler now. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, eyes steady. “But… are you seeing my sister?”

There it was. Direct. No dancing around it. 

I blinked once, then let out a short breath of a laugh. 

“No, Noah,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I’m not seeing Daphne.”

It was technically true. At least by his definition.

He studied me, but he didn’t push—just gave a slow nod, like he was still weighing whether or not to believe me. I kept my expression unreadable.

“I guess I just notice things,” he murmured. “She talks about you more than anyone else. She trusts you. And I’ve never seen her like that with anyone—not even the guy she dated back in London.”

I shrugged casually. “We work together a lot. She’s easy to be around.”

Another beat of silence passed, then Noah nodded again and clapped me on the shoulder. “Alright. Sorry if that was weird. Just…you know.”

I gave a quick nod back. “I get it.”

Noah didn’t leave right away.

After our little back-and-forth, he dropped onto the couch like he owned the place, stretching his arms over the backrest with a sigh.

“You got anything stronger than water?” he asked with a lopsided grin.

I huffed a laugh, already heading toward the kitchen. “Yeah. You still good with whiskey?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

I pulled out two glasses and grabbed the bottle from the cabinet. My hands were steadier now, but the lie—or half-truth—I told him was still echoing in my head. I poured the drinks and handed him one, watching him take a long sip like he’d needed it all day.

We fell into easy conversation, like we always did.. The familiar banter helped settle some of the tension in my chest. For a second, it almost felt normal.

Almost.

I just kept sipping my drink, giving short answers, laughing when I needed to.

Noah didn't push anymore, but I could see the gears still turning behind his eyes.

Around the third glass, he kicked his feet up on the coffee table and smirked. “You know, you’re the only person I trust to look out for her.”

I looked up slowly, that ache in my chest twisting just a bit tighter.

“Yeah?” I said, voice low.

He nodded, a little more serious now. “I know I doubted you, but to be fair, I know you’d never go there.” 

I looked away slowly. I had already gone there. 

“I know she’s grown, but… I still see that twelve-year-old kid sometimes.” he continued. 

I swallowed hard, setting my glass down. “She’s not that kid anymore, bro.”

“I know,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch. “But she’s still my kid, in some ways.”

I nodded, I got it. In some ways I do remember Noah sacrificing a lot for her after their parents died. 

Noah was quiet for a moment, twirling his now-empty glass in his hand before speaking up again.

“So… you wanna go out tonight?” he asked casually. “I know a bar not far from here. Girls, drinks, good music—the usual.”

I leaned back on the couch, already shaking my head. “Can’t tonight.”

“Oh, come on,” he groaned. “Since when do you pass up a night out?”

I smirked a little, trying to keep it light. “Since I started having actual work to do, man.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Work? It’s Friday.”

“Still counts,” I said, standing to collect our glasses.

Noah tilted his head like he was studying me. “Or…” he dragged out the word, eyes gleaming now, “you’re not coming out because you’re already occupied.”

I let out a laugh, forcing it. “Yeah, alright.”

“I’m serious,” he grinned. “You’re acting different.”

“I’m always acting differently, apparently.”

He stood to stretch, wandering toward the hallway, and that’s when I saw it—

My stomach plummeted.

Right there.

In the corner of the living room.

Draped halfway behind the leg of the side table—

Her bra.

Fuck. Fuck.

Before I could even move, Noah spotted it.

“What the hell is—” He reached down, and before I could stop him, he was already holding it up by one strap, dangling it in the air with a bark of laughter.

“Bro,” he laughed. “No wonder you didn’t want to go out tonight.”

My heart was hammering so loud in my chest I couldn’t hear anything else.

He swung it playfully in the air, the pale strap slipping around his fingers. “Damn, this is like—what—double D? Triple? Jesus.”

I didn’t move.

I just stood as he held it, completely unaware that he was joking about his sister’s bra. Teasing me about the size of her chest. Laughing like it was all some game.

I didn’t know what to do. 

“Relax,” he chuckled, turning to toss it toward the couch. “Not judging. You’ve clearly had a good night.”

I walked forward quickly, scooping it off the cushion before he could touch it again. I shoved it into the closet silently, my pulse still racing, ears ringing.

Noah let out one last amused chuckle as he grabbed his jacket off the couch.

“You don’t have to be so uptight about it, man,” he said, still shaking his head. “We’re both adults. You’re a grown-ass man. If you’ve got someone keeping your nights busy—good for you.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. 

I was still gripping the closet door handle, trying to regulate my breathing.

Noah didn’t notice.

He slung the jacket over his shoulder and headed toward the door. 

“Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it. Clearly, I walked in on something… mid-romantic.”

I gave a forced scoff, but it barely passed my lips.

He opened the door, then turned back one last time, grinning like a fool.

“Have a fun night,” he added, backing out into the hallway. “I’m gonna go see if Daphne’s home yet.”

My stomach dropped straight to hell.

The second I shut the door and heard his footsteps fade down the hallway, I turned around and ran a hand down my face, trying to calm myself.

But I couldn’t.

Not after that.

I stormed down the hallway, each step getting heavier as I reached the bedroom door. I pushed it open without knocking.

Daphne was sitting on the edge of my bed, legs tucked under her, chewing her thumbnail nervously.

Her eyes met mine the second I stepped inside.

“Well?” she asked quickly, voice tight. “What did he say? Why was he here?”

I shut the door behind me, leaned against it, arms crossed over my chest.

“He was just checking in. Said he wanted to visit for the weekend. Surprise everyone.”

She nodded slowly, her shoulders still tense. “Did he ask about me?”

I nodded. “He said he didn’t see you when he got to his apartment, said he figured you were out. So he came here.”

I paused.

“And then,” I added through gritted teeth, “he found your bra. On the floor.”

Her face went pale. “Matt–what.”

“Yeah,” I said with a bitter laugh. “Picked it up. Swung it around. Talked about the size.”

Her hand flew to her face.

I stepped forward. “Daphne, do you know how messed up that was? Do you know how sick I felt watching him laugh like that—not knowing—that he was holding something that belonged to his sister?”

She was silent. Her eyes welled up. But she didn’t say anything.

And I couldn’t take it anymore.

“We can’t keep doing this,” I said, my voice rising now. “We can’t keep sneaking around like this, acting like it’s nothing when it’s everything.”

She looked at me, shaken. “Matt—”

“No,” I said, sharper now. “He’s my best friend. You’re his sister. We’ve been together for six months, Daphne. Six months. You stay here more than your own place. Your things are everywhere. He’s not stupid.”

Her hands were shaking. “I know—but he’ll hate me. Matt, if we tell him like this—he’ll think I betrayed him.”

My hands went to my hair, tugging slightly in frustration.

“I’m tired, Daphne,” I said, voice cracking slightly. “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of hiding how much I love you—like it’s some kind of shame.”

She looked like she wanted to say something—then didn’t.

“I’m not mad at you,” I said again, my voice low but tight. “But I’m getting to a place where I can feel it building… the resentment.”

Her eyes lifted to mine, uncertain.

“I can’t keep pretending I’m just your boss, your friend. I sit across from him and talk like nothing’s going on, like I’m not in love with you, like I didn’t sleep next to you last night,” I said. “You know how that feels?”

She looked down, silent.

“This is what—his fifth visit since we got together?” I continued, my voice sharpening. “And he still doesn’t know.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but I didn’t let her.

“Five visits, sweetheart. Five, and every time, I have to scramble to hide your clothes, act like I don’t know where you are, and smile when he talks about you.”

“Matt…” she said, barely a whisper.

“No,” I cut in, a little louder now. “I need to know—what are we waiting for??”

She swallowed hard. 

“Because I’m not ready,” she said. “Because I know Noah. He’s not just going to be shocked, he’s going to explode. You know how he is.”

I shook my head, backing up a step. “So what? We just keep pretending forever?”

“No—just… not now,” she insisted.

“Then when?” I snapped. “When we move in together? When he finds an engagement ring in your bag?”

She flinched.

The silence between us felt thick. Suffocating.

I exhaled, gripping the back of my neck. “I love you, Daphne. But I’m starting to feel like I’m being hidden. Like I’m something to be ashamed of.”

“No, Matt—” she stepped forward, reaching for me, but I pulled slightly back.

“Then why?” I asked, my voice breaking slightly. “Why are you still so scared to tell him? Do you not think we’re real?”

Her eyes filled with tears, her lips parted, but she didn’t answer right away.

I stared at her, chest rising and falling, waiting. 

I let out a breath through my nose, the air in the room feeling like it thickened with every second.

“You keep saying you’re not ready,” I said, my voice tight. “You’ve been saying that for months now, Daphne. How long do I have to wait until you are?”

Her mouth parted, her eyes wide—but she didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought,” I muttered, stepping back. “You keep asking me to be patient, to just wait—but you don’t get how it feels to be treated like some kind of secret. Like I’m something you’re ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed of you!” she shot back, louder now.

“Then why?” I snapped, voice rising. “Why is it so damn hard to just tell him?”

“Do you just not trust me or something?” 

She looked at me, lips trembling, her voice barely holding.

“I do trust you,” she said. 

I let out a dry laugh, bitter and quiet. “No. You say that. But every time you pull away. You don’t let me in—”

“I told you about Carter, Matt,” she snapped, voice sharp with emotion. “Don’t stand there and tell me I don’t trust you.”

I shook my head, my voice low. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Yes, it is!” she shouted. “You’re making it sound like I’ve just been lying to you this whole time—like I don’t care about you enough to be honest.”

I exhaled through my nose, trying to hold myself together. “Daphne, I know you care about me. I know that. But this? This thing with Noah—it’s not just about you anymore. It’s about us.”

She turned away, pacing now. “And I’ve told you—I’m not ready.”

My fists clenched at my sides. “But when will you be?”

“I don’t know, okay?!” she snapped, spinning to face me again. “It’s not some switch I can flip!”

I stared at her, the frustration spilling out. “So what, I just keep being your secret until you feel safe enough to admit we exist?”

The air between us felt volatile.

Tense. Fragile.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I said, pacing in front of her. “I’m exhausted, Daphne. I feel like I’m putting everything into this, and you’re just—hiding behind excuses.”

She flinched but didn’t speak.

And that silence lit something in me I wasn’t proud of.

“You know what it feels like?” I snapped. “It feels like I’m dating someone who only knows how to love when it’s convenient. When no one’s watching. It’s manipulating”

Her face shattered. 

“What did you just say?” she whispered.

I swallowed hard, chest hollow. “Daph—”

“You think I’m manipulating you?”

She was barely holding herself together. Her whole body shook as tears welled in her eyes, full and silent.

“I let you see everything,” she choked out. “All my pain and you think that was some kind of strategy? That I was using you?”

“No, that’s not—”

“You think what happened to me made me some kind of broken girl who just clings onto whoever’s closest?”

“No—”

“You think I’m acting this way on purpose?” Her voice cracked violently, her cheeks now soaked. “That I want to be scared? That I like not being able to face my own brother and tell him I’m happy?”

I tried to speak, but no words came. I felt frozen. Like I’d just burned the only bridge I ever cared about crossing.

She turned away, wiping her face with the sleeve of her hoodie. “I can’t believe I let you see me.”

She headed for the door, and this time—she wasn’t walking. 

She was speeding.

“Daphne,” I said quickly, chasing after her. “Please—I didn’t mean it like that, I swear, I just—I was angry—”

She was at the door already, shoving her shoes on through shaky hands, breathing so fast it scared me.

“Daphne—”

“Don’t,” she said, voice sharp and choked. “Don’t you dare follow me.”

"I messed up. I know I did. Just let me explain—"

But she was already moving, walking away down the long hallway toward the elevator. I hesitated, afraid to reach out and touch her—afraid of making things worse.

Still, without thinking, I followed, matching her pace. She hadn’t even made it halfway from my door when I reached out and caught her arm.

This time, I grabbed her hand, pulling her gently but firmly until her back pressed against my chest.

“Let go,” she whispered, voice trembling, heartbreak still raw in her words.

But I didn’t. Instead, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into me.

She struggled, pushing against me softly, tears streaming down her face, a desperate mix of pain and confusion.

“Please,” I murmured into her hair. “I love you, I'm sorry.”

Her soft gasps trembled against my chest.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I whispered, voice thick with regret. “That came out all wrong—so, so wrong.”

She trembled in my arms as I continued, “You’re not manipulating me. I don’t know why the hell I said that.”

Her voice was barely audible as she whispered back, “But… you think it, don’t you?”

Panic surged through me. “No, no, no,” I said urgently, tightening my hold. “Please, stop crying. I love you. I love you—all of you. I don’t think that, sweetheart.” 

Her eyes searched mine, filled with tears and something I couldn’t quite reach.

 “Matt… I just need some space.”

Panic surged through me like a wave crashing hard against a fragile shore. 

“Space? why—please, I can fix this.”

She shook her head, voice trembling. “It’s not about fixing anything right now. I need to think.”

“No,” I said, voice cracking. 

“We don’t have to tell Noah.” I said, compromising. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Just don’t push me away like this.”

She flinched at my words, as if my desperation cut her deeper.

“Matt,” she whispered, “I’m not pushing you away. I’m trying to keep myself together.”

My chest tightened, breath catching in my throat.

“I love you,” I begged, voice raw. “Space is what people say when they break up.”

Tears spilled freely down her cheeks as she turned her face away.

“I love you too,” she added softly, “I just… I have to go home right now. I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

I hesitated, torn between holding her close and letting her go. Reluctantly, I nodded.

She took a small step back, wiping her tears, and without looking back, stepped into the elevator as the doors began to close. 

I stood there, heart pounding, watching the doors slide shut between us. 

I don’t know what I fear more now. 

Losing the woman I love, or telling her brother about us.

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[a/n: I warned you all about the angst. womp womp. Like, comment, and reblog! i love you, mwah] –ceyana

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