#the eyes are so sparkly ✨✨✨ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoshifighting · 7 months ago

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✨🎧 god of the music!woozi x fairy of the music!reader

— SYNOPSIS: after a moment of lost creativity, the god of music accidentally evokes a beautiful music fairy who is willing to help him.

— WC: 6.400

— WARNINGS: winx musa!reader, fantasy + smut, reader have a size of a polly pocket at first (she goes human-sized after), reference to when captain america picks up thor's hammer, shiny cum, he can stimulate reader with his voice + other powers, mind reading, penetrative sex, oral (f. receiving), reader is referred as: little fairy/pretty fairy/pixie, woozi referred as: woozi/god woozi/god boy, sub!reader x dom! woozi.

this god, sitting there with his head in his hand like the weight of the whole damn universe was gonna break his neck. the throne he sat on was ridiculous, all sharp edges and glowing veins of gold, like someone tried to make it scream power but forgot comfort was a thing. his other hand held this pen—this otherworldly thing, like it was plucked from the cosmos. the handle was black obsidian, smooth as sin, and at the top, a sparkly feather. shimmering, iridescent, like it could hum if you got close enough. it wasn’t just a tool; it was him. his power. and now it clattered against his marble table like it wasn’t worth shit.

he groaned, deep and low, running his fingers through his hair, messing it up like that would fix anything. “fuck’s sake,” he muttered, voice heavy like a bassline that shook your chest. “who the hell’s supposed to help me? i’m the god of this shit. who can i even turn to?”

you almost tripped over the sharp corner of an s etched onto his scroll. the lyrics sprawled out beneath your boots, some half-written, some already glowing like they’d been sung into existence. your little red boots—thank god for those, you weren’t about to ruin your feet for a god’s hissy fit—crunched against the shimmering ink, leaving tiny sparkles in your wake. your wings fluttered behind you, catching the light like shattered glass, but you kept your head down, pushing on. he didn’t need to know you were here.

but then you heard it: the hitch in his voice, that broken sigh that made you stop dead in your tracks. you glanced up, your aura glowing faint blue, like the soft hum of a melody in a quiet room. his eyes were still closed, lashes stupidly long for someone so divine. his face, though—sharp jaw, lips pressed into a thin line like he was biting back every curse he wanted to throw at the universe. your chest tightened.

“oi!” you shouted, your voice barely carrying over the expanse of the table. no response. figures. you huffed, stomping on the o of “hope” like it owed you rent. “oi! big guy! you gonna sit there and sulk, or are you gonna pick that fancy-ass pen up and get back to work?”

his eyes snapped open, golden irises swirling like they held every song ever written. for a second, he looked confused, head tilting like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. fair enough, you thought, wings giving a little buzz. it wasn’t every day a music fairy decided to trespass on godly property.

“what the…?” his voice rumbled, like thunder tuning itself into a melody. he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at you. “you’re... tiny.”

you crossed your arms, boots planted firmly on the glowing e under your feet. “and you’re a fucking drama queen. what’s your point?”

his lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but didn’t know how. “who the hell are you?”

“musa,” you said, wings fluttering behind you. “fairy of music. and you, mr. god-of-all-sounds, look like you’re about to throw a tantrum ‘cause your pen won’t do the work for you.”

he blinked, then sat back again, rubbing his temple. “i don’t need a fairy.”

“clearly, you do.” you pointed at the lyrics, your sparkles spreading like wildfire with every step you took. “this shit? half-assed. what’s got you so pressed you can’t even finish your own damn song?”

“and you think you can help me?” he scoffs, his golden eyebrows lifting under his perfect blonde hair. you gasp, loud and dramatic, arms stretching out like you’re about to deliver some life-changing monologue. instead, you just sulk, feet stomping on his paper with tiny smacks, your boots crunching the shimmering ink. “don’t be a dick!” you huff, fists clenched as you glare up at him, wings flickering behind you.

he leans back in his throne, clearly amused, that godly smirk pulling at his lips. “oh, i’m the dick? you’re the one stomping on my lyrics like they’re trash.”

“they are trash,” you snap, spinning on your heel to fly toward his pen. the damn thing is practically glowing with untapped power, bigger than your whole body. you hook your tiny arms around it, wings buzzing like crazy, trying to lift it. nothing. the pen doesn’t even budge. “ugh, come on,” you groan, digging your heels into the paper for leverage. still nothing.

his laugh fills the air, the vibration of his voice making your wings shake. “you’re gonna hurt yourself, pixie. maybe stick to critiquing from the sidelines.”

“shut up,” you snap, giving him the nastiest side-eye you can muster. he smirks down at you, all smug and insufferable, like he already knows he’s won.

but then you close your eyes. you pull every ounce of energy you’ve got, feeling your aura pulse, faint blue and purple light spilling over the pen. it moves. barely—like, not even a full inch—but it fucking moves.

his smirk drops instantly, replaced by a sharp inhale. his eyes narrow, gold swirling serious, or even worried. “wait. you—” he doesn’t finish, watching like a hawk as you strain, wings fluttering so fast they’re almost a blur. but the pen won’t go further. you let out a shaky breath, hands dropping from the cool obsidian.

he exhales too, shoulders slumping. “thank fuck,” he mutters under his breath, glancing at the pen like it betrayed him for even considering you.

you shoot him a glare, crossing your arms. “what’s the matter, god-boy? scared a little fairy might show you up?”

he snorts, leaning forward now, elbows on his knees. “hardly. but you still haven’t explained how you plan to help me, pixie.”

“for the last time, it’s fairy!” with a frustrated huff, you fly straight up until you’re level with his face. his nose twitches the second your sparkles hit him, and before you can even deliver some sharp retort, he sneezes.

“ACHOO!”

the force of it makes you tumble mid-air, wings flapping wildly to steady yourself. “seriously?!” you yell, zipping back to his eye level.

he blinks at you, nose crinkled. “what the—why are you so sparkly? it’s like breathing glitter.” he rubs his nose, voice muffled. “couldn’t you warn me or something?”

“maybe next time don’t breathe through your nose when a fairy is trying to help you, genius.” you roll your eyes, but before he can argue, you press a hand to his forehead. the touch makes your body vibrate until you fade, and suddenly, a beam of light shoots from your palm into his pineal gland.

“what the fuck—” he freezes as the light connects, his body rigid, eyes wide.

“relax,” you mutter, your voice now echoing inside his mind. “just making a little connection, no big deal.”

“no big—get out of my head,” he growls, the words coming out half-stuttered as he smacks his hand on his temple.

“can’t help you if I’m not in here, dumbass,” you snap, floating deeper into his consciousness. the light around you pulses, shifting into a kaleidoscope of melodies and half-formed ideas. it’s chaotic, but there’s brilliance buried in the mess. “wow,” you mutter. “your brain’s a disaster.”

“gee, thanks,” he grits out, rubbing his temples. “and why the hell are you shaking my head?”

“because this part sucks.” you jab at a sour note in the melody, the whole space vibrating as you try to shift it into something better. his head jerks like he’s been hit, hands gripping his throne as he steadies himself.

“stop doing that!” he barks, glaring at the empty space in front of him.

“then stop writing garbage,” you fire back. but as you dig deeper, tweaking and smoothing out the rough edges of his thoughts, something starts to click.

his fingers twitch, reaching for the pen again. this time, it flows. lyrics spill from the tip, glowing with every stroke. your light pulses in time with his writing, the melody building, making him close his eyes and even languidly let his head follow the melody with lessen shakes.

by the time you pull your hand away, the song is complete. he sits back, staring at the paper, chest rising and falling like he just ran a cross-kingdom race.

“holy shit,” he mutters, golden eyes flicking to you. “you actually… helped.”

you smirk, brushing imaginary dust off your boots. “told you so.”

you watch him from the edge of his ridiculous throne, eyes narrowing as you spot the heavy energy clinging to his shoulders. two globes of black aura hover there, fuzzing and sparking like they’re actively pissed off that you’re even in the room. “no wonder you’re all hunched over,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “music’s not supposed to make you look like you’re carrying the world’s worst hangover.”

he tilts his head at you, golden eyes narrowing, lips quirking into this half-smirk. “easy for you to say. you’re tiny. flying around like a bug with no problems.”

your wings snap open indignantly, your hands flying to your hips. “excuse me? are you mocking my size?”

“mocking?” he echoes. he crosses his arms dramatically, shoulders hunching as he shakes them to mimic your movements. “oh no, look at me, i’m a tiny little fairy, fluttering around, telling gods how to do their job!”

“ha! real original,” you scoff, stomping over to the middle of the papers and plopping yourself down. the glowing ink beneath you sparkles faintly as you lean back on your hands, wings flicking. “if I were you, i’d focus more on fixing those depressing-ass vibes on your shoulders than making fun of me.”

he leans forward now, his stupidly perfect face breaking into a smile. “you’re so small,” he muses, holding his hand out like he’s measuring you against his fingers. “look, you’re barely the size of my thumb.”

“don’t you dare,” you warn, already catching the glint in his eyes.

too late. his hand moves faster than your wings, scooping you up like you’re some kind of doll. “put me down!” you yell, thrashing against his fingers. his grip is annoyingly gentle, like he’s toying with you.

“what are you gonna do?” he teases, bringing you closer to his face, eyes gleaming. “punch me? you’d break your hand.”

you don’t think, you just bite. your teeth sink into the side of his palm, and he bursts into laughter, the sound shaking his chest. “that tickles!” he laughs, pulling his hand away and shaking it gently like you actually did any damage. “are you always this rude to gods?”

“maybe!” you say, wings buzzing angrily. “you deserved it.”

he quirks an eyebrow, still grinning. “you’re lucky I’m nice. I’ve got more powers than just writing lyrics, you know.”

“like what?” you challenge, arms crossed as you hover in the air.

his smirk deepens. he snaps his fingers, and in a blink, you’re no longer floating midair. you’re human-sized, sitting right on the edge of his desk, as you swing your legs. your wings twitch behind you, still shimmering under the golden light of his realm, but the sudden weight of your body makes you gasp.

“what the fuck?” you sputter, looking down at yourself. your tiny red boots now fit your feet perfectly, and your skirt—shit, it’s so short now that your pussy is almost on his face. you clamp your legs shut instinctively, cheeks burning as you notice his eyes briefly flicker there before darting away.

“see?” he leans back in his throne, folding his arms behind his head. “now I can actually see you properly without all the sparkles.”

“oh, how generous,” you deadpan, tugging at your skirt. your top doesn’t help much either; it’s cropped just high enough to show the underside of your boobs, and his gaze catches there for a second too long. “did you have to make my clothes stay this small? perv!”

his grin widens, unabashed. “not my fault you dressed like that, fairy. besides, you should be thanking me. now you can really help me without me worrying about sneezing you into oblivion.”

“oh, please.” you roll your eyes, crossing one leg over the other, the movement causing your skirt to ride up even higher. “this is just an excuse to stop me from calling you out for being a stressed-out mess.”

his eyes linger on your face now, taking in the pout that’s settled there. “still, I’ll admit you look… different like this.”

“different how?”

“you’re…” he hesitates, tapping his chin. “less annoying when I’m not worried about stepping on you.”

you flick one of your boots at him, the sole clacking against the throne. “and you’re just as annoying no matter the size difference.”

he laughs again, this time softer, his eyes trailing over you as you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

you glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying to be sneaky about it. his golden hair moves faintly, like the gravity in this room doesn’t quite work the way it should. his clothes are black, gauzy enough to show the hints of muscle underneath, way buffer than any of the little elves from your village. his fingers tap a melody on the arm of his throne, a quiet rhythm that seems effortless.

do the big guys do it better?

the thought comes unbidden, making your head tilt slightly as you wonder.

like, are they… bigger everywhere?

his fingers stop mid-tap, and he raises an eyebrow. he straightens in his seat, narrowing his eyes. “you know I can hear you, right?”

your eyes widen, your wings stiffening.

“huh?! no, you can’t!”

he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the sound sharp and mocking. “oh, I definitely can. clear as day.”

you feel the color drain from your face. before you can even try to stop it, it’s like a floodgate bursts open, and every single intrusive thought you’ve been trying to suppress spills out.

his hands are so big… i bet they’d feel insane running down my tits.

oh my gods, imagine those fingers. fuck, they’d probably ruin me.

i wonder what his tongue tastes like. would it feel hot? does he even—

no, no, stop it, but like… what if he just pinned me down on that table and—

holy shit, i want him to eat me out.

like, bad.

you slap both hands over your mouth, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts. in fact, it’s like your brain takes the panic as a challenge and just doubles down.

that stupid smirk. i’d kill to bite that lip.

i bet he moans. like, right in your ear. shit, he’d—

“wow...” he interrupts, his voice dry. his head tilts slightly as his golden eyes bore into youe. “you’re… a lot. i don’t even know where to start unpacking all of that.”

you yank your hands away from your mouth, pointing at him accusingly. “you’re lying! there’s no way you can hear—”

“what were you expecting? i’m a god after all,” he says, his tone so smug it practically drips off his words. his golden eyes twinkle with fun, and he leans back in his throne, arms casually draped like he has all the time in the world to gloat.

you glare at him, wings twitching behind you as your indignation bubbles over. “oh, yeah, sure, big scary god who writes music and apparently spies on everyone’s thoughts and turns fairies into—”

his laughter cuts you off, rich enough to make you shiver. “if you keep talking, you’re going to spend your whole life here,” he says, grinning as your words falter.

your mouth opens and closes a few times, but nothing coherent comes out. instead, you huff and turn your head away, arms crossing as you sulk. “whatever. it’s not like i wanted to be here in the first place.”

he doesn’t miss the flush creeping up your neck, though. “do you know what else i can do?” he asks, his voice dropping just enough to make the air around you feel heavier.

you blink, still facing away, trying to ignore the way his tone slides over your skin like silk. “what…?” you mumble, sneaking a glance back at him.

he straightens in his seat, clearing his throat with a soft “ah-ah~.” the sound is nothing but a casual warm-up, but the second it leaves his lips, the vibrations seem to travel directly to your pussy, buzzing against your clit making you jump, gasping.

“h-haah…!” the sound escapes you involuntarily, and you slap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with shock. your thighs press together instinctively, one hand darting to your lap to cover yourself as your skirt shifts dangerously high, leaving you feeling far too exposed.

his eyes sharpen, a grin tugging at his lips as he watches you squirm. “something wrong, fairy?” he asks innocently, though his gaze is anything but.

you shake your head quickly, refusing to meet his eyes as your legs shift restlessly. the vibrations haven’t stopped; in fact, every hum he makes, everytime he talks, seems to resonate deeper, sending little shoves of pleasure that make it impossible to sit still.

“hmm~,” he hums again, dragging the sound out, and you feel the ripple of it like a physical touch.

“nghh—!” you bite your lip, a sharp gasp escaping before you can catch it. your hips twitch forward involuntarily, and you grip the edge of the desk with one hand, the other still futilely trying to shield yourself.

“oh?” he says, tilting his head as his smirk broadens. “is that all it takes to get you worked up?”

“s-shut up!” you snap, though your voice comes out breathy and weak. your thighs part just a fraction, almost without your permission, and the vibrations seem to grow stronger in response, buzzing relentlessly against your clit. “stop—ahh—stop doing that!”

“but why?” he leans forward. “you seem to be enjoying it.”

“i—mmh…!” your hips roll forward unconsciously, your wings tremble behind you, your grip on the desk tightening as your body betrays you further, your legs parting even more in front of him.

“tsk, tsk,” he murmurs mockery. “such a shameless little fairy. look at you, moaning like that. do you even realize what you’re doing right now?”

your cheeks burn, and you shake your head, trying to stifle the whimper that escapes as his voice seems to play with your clit with more strenght “ahh—s-stop…!”

but he doesn’t stop. instead, he leans back again, one hand lazily tracing patterns on the armrest of his throne as he hums another note, watching with fascination as your body reacts helplessly.

the vibrations feel relentless now, your clit throbbing with every sound he makes. your legs spread wider, your hand no longer able to fully cover yourself, and your hips rock forward in a rhythm you can’t control.

“nnngh-fuck!—a-ah…!” you moan, head tilting back as your grip on the desk tightens.

“tell me, fairy—how much more can you take?”

your arms tremble, not able to hold your weight. you gasp, your body betraying you, and before you realize it, you’re slowly sinking back onto his desk, the cool surface pressing against your wings. your back arches instinctively, hips canting forward as if begging for more, your legs spreading wider until you’re completely uncovered. the realization burns you with embarrassment, but your body refuses to obey your mind’s frantic protests.

you can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you feel his gaze, heavy, raking over every inch of you. “oh,” he hums, “even your cum sparkles. everything about you shines, doesn’t it?”

a pitiful whimper escapes your lips as you try to close your legs, mortified at how vulnerable you are. but his hands are quick and strong, smoothing over the delicate skin of your inner thighs with a touch that makes you shiver. he presses gently, coaxing your legs apart again as he clicks his tongue.

“don’t hide from me now~” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin of your thighs as if to emphasize his point. “not when you’re this pretty, dripping like that for me.”

“p-please…” your voice is a soft whine, but you don’t even know what you’re begging for. the words die in your throat as his gaze drops lower.

“ah... look at this..” he says, almost to himself, as his eyes trail over the mess between your thighs, glistening and utterly shameless. his fingers ghost along your cunt. “you’re already soaking through my papers, little fairy. how do you expect me to concentrate on anything else when you’re like this?”

your head tilts back, a soft moan escaping as you squirm beneath his touch. “i—I can’t…” you manage, though even you’re not sure what you’re trying to say.

“you can’t what?” he asks as his fingers press just a little firmer, enough to make you gasp. “speak up, sweetheart. i want to hear you.”

“i can’t… ahh—s-stop—!” the words spill out in a breathy rush, your hips roll toward his hand betrays your real feelings.

“stop?” he echoes, tilting his head as his smirk grows. “but you don’t really want me to stop, do you?”

you whimper again, heat flooding your cheeks as your body arches helplessly under his gaze. his hands shift, one sliding down to trace the edge of your slick folds, and the lightest touch has your legs twitching.

“you’re so soft, so wet. i bet you taste just as sweet as you look.”

“ah-ah!” your breath catches, and your hips jerk involuntarily as he leans down, his golden hair brushing your thighs.

he pauses, his lips ghosting over your skin as his breath fans against you. “tell me,” he says, “do you want me to taste you? or should i keep teasing until you can’t even think straight anymore?”

“p-please,” you manage to choke out, your voice trembling and high-pitched. your hands clutch at the edge of the table, knuckles white as you feel yourself twisting further. “please—don’t tease…”

he hums, his lips press against you, leaving a wet mouth-opened kiss, the first swipe of his tongue is slow, too slow, collecting all of your juices insidethe little bowl formed inside his tongue.

your head tilts back, a broken moan spilling from your lips as your thighs tremble. his hands keep you in place, thumbs pressing gently against your skin, holding you open for him.

“you taste even better than i imagined.” he murmurs against you, his tongue diving back in to lap up every bit of you.

your back arches again, your wings fluttering uselessly against the desk as the pleasure builds, white-hot and enormous. “ahh—p-please… i can’t—!”

“yes, you can,” he whispers, his voice sending another vibration under the little hood of your clitoris as his lips and tongue work tirelessly. “you’re doing so well, little fairy. let me have all of you.”

your body tightens, every nerve aflame, your legs shake, your hands scrambling for purchase as you feel the coil deep in your belly snap, the pleasure tearing over you, leaving you crying out his name, your body trembling in his hold.

his tongue and lips coaxing you through every aftershock, kissing your cunt messily, until you’re left out of breath and boneless on his desk, weary. his golden eyes meet yours as he finally pulls back, his lips glistening as he sneers.

when his lips part again, and the first syllable of his voice goes straight to your puffy clit. you cry out, the overstimulation dragging you further into desperation.

“ahh—please, stop!” you manage, your voice cracking.

“stop?” he drawls, his voice honey-smooth and deadly, the vibrations coursing straight to your clit again, making your body arch. “but you’re so sensitive, little fairy. wouldn’t it be cruel to stop now?”

your hands scramble to the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists as your head tilts back, wings fluttering erratically. “nngh—s-so much—ahh…!” the sounds tumbling from you are broken, whiny, your chest heaving.

and then, as if sensing your limit, he stops. not just the words, but the power behind them—the vibrations cut off like a switch, leaving you gasping for air, your body twitching in the sudden silence.

“better?” he rises from his throne with an unhurried grace, and your breath catches as his presence looms over you.

he’s massive. not just his height, though he towers over you, but the sheer weight of his aura, his power pressing down on you like gravity itself. his hair gleams in the low light, his black, nearly sheer garments clinging to his broad shoulders and lean frame. his muscles shift, and your eyes flicker down to his hands, strong as they rest on either side of the desk, caging you in.

“what are you thinking about, hm?” he asks, almost coaxing, though his smirk tells you he already knows the answer.

your fingers fidget with the hem of your skirt, tugging at it as if it could somehow shield you from his gaze. but his eyes are relentless, sharp and knowing, and you feel the heat crawling up your neck as his question hangs in the air.

“n-nothing,” you stammer, though the word rings hollow even to your own ears.

his smile widens. “nothing, is it?” he murmurs. “then why do you look like you’re about to combust just from me standing here?”

your cheeks burn hotter, and you force yourself to look away, but it’s no use. his hand lifts, brushing your chin with the barest touch, guiding your gaze back to his.

“let me guess,” he says, leaning in close enough that his breath ghosts over your skin. “you’re curious, aren’t you?”

you blink up at him, heart pounding, unsure how to answer.

“curious about what’s been under your nose this whole time,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, richer. his hand trails downward, stopping at the waistband of his sheer pants. “you didn’t notice, did you? too distracted by everything else.”

your breath catches as he pulls the fabric down, just enough to free himself, and your eyes widen as the truth hits you. it had been there the whole time, half-hidden in his lap, slightly concealed by the translucent material. but now, with nothing obscuring it, you can’t look away.

he’s huge, his cock thick, long and flushed, curving upward with an intimidating weight that makes your thighs clench instinctively. veins trail along the length, pulsing faintly, and the sheer size of him makes your head spin.

“is this what you’ve been thinking about?”

you swallow hard, unable to speak, your hands clutching at the desk as your wings flutter weakly behind you.

“well?” he presses, leaning closer until his golden hair brushes your cheek. “go on, little fairy. say it.”

your voice trembles as you finally manage to whisper, “y-you’re… so big…”

he chuckles, the sound vibrating through your body in a way that makes your thighs squeeze together again. “and you’re so small,” he replies mockingly, though there’s an undeniable thirst in his eyes now.

he shifts closer, his hand reaching for you, his fingers brushing against your thigh. “are you afraid?”

you shake your head quickly, though your heart is racing, your body trembling as you lean back against the desk. “n-no…” you whisper.

“good.” he murmurs, his smile softening just slightly as his hand moves higher, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin just below your skirt.

woozi hears it—feels it—the relentless pulse of your arousal like a drumbeat in his head. It’s maddening.

his cock twitches, an almost painful throb that draws a frustrated sigh from his lips. he slides his thumb over his slit, smearing the beads of precum that gather there. It’s meant to offer some relief, but it only makes the ache sharper, the sight of you sprawled on his desk only fanning the flames.

and then he feels it—a gentle spark, tiny but potent, that dances across his wrist. his gaze snaps down, and there you are, your hand hardly covering a fraction of his skin, glowing faintly with your unique magic. the pulse of it travels through him like a ripple, and for a moment, he stills, captivated by the delicate power in your touch.

“god woozi,” you murmur, he tilts his head, watching you as your fingers curl slightly against his wrist.

“yes?”

you swallow, your cheeks flushing as you meet his gaze. “please, let me… help you.”

his brows lift, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as his hand shifts, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your fingers. “help me?” he repeats. “and what exactly do you think you can do for me?”

your eyes flicker down, catching the way his thumb strokes himself again, and you bite your lip. the sight makes your thighs clench, and you force yourself to look back up at him.

“you’re suffering too, aren’t you?” you say softly, your voice gaining a hint of confidence as you lean closer. “i can feel it.”

his smirk falters, but he doesn’t respond, his silence almost daring you to continue.

you take a shaky breath, your hand sliding up his wrist, leaving a faint trail of glowing sparks in its wake. “you’ve done so much for me already,” you say. “let me return the favor, god woozi.”

“you’re awfully bold for someone whos used to be so small,” he murmurs. “but boldness doesn’t always mean you’re ready for the consequences.”

“then show me,” you challenge softly, your fingers brushing against his palm, his skin impossibly warm under your touch.

a chuckle escapes him, and he shakes his head, his golden hair catching the light. “you really don’t know what you’re asking for, do you?” he says, though there’s no malice in his tone—just a quiet, almost entertained resignation.

before you can respond, his free hand moves, sliding beneath your chin to tilt your face up to his. “if you’re going to offer yourself to a god,” he says, “you’d better be ready to handle what comes with it.”

you nod, swallowing hard. “i am,” you whisper, the weight of your own voice surprising you.

his smirk returns, and he leans closer, his breath ghosting over your lips. “then let’s see how much you can take, little fairy.”

before you can process his words, he shifts, his cock pressing against your thigh, the heat of him searing even through the thin barrier of your skin. your breath hitches, your wings fluttering erratically as his hand slides down, guiding himself between your legs.

the first press is slow, and you gasp, your fingers clutching at his wrist as your body adjusts to the sheer size of him. “oh—god…!” the sound spills from your lips, high and breathless, and you feel him watching you.

“taking me so well.”

your cheeks burn, but the fire pooling in your belly only grows as he moves, his hips rolling, his tip kissing your cervix in insistent careful rubs. your hands grasp at his forearms, your shiny nails digging in as you whimper, your wings trembling against the desk.

“does it feel good, pretty fairy?” he asks. “tell me.”

“y-yes—ahh, yes god woozi!” you cry, your voice breaking as he thrusts deeper.

his smirk widens, and he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. “then take it,” he growls softly. “all of it. every inch.”

your wings flutter wildly, your cries filling the room as he takes you higher and higher, his name spilling from your lips, echoing like a beautiful song note.

his hands trace the curve of your waist, teasing the sensitive skin there before they slide upward, brushing just under the hem of your top. his fingers ghost over your underboobs, the touch featherlight, then, with a slow motion, he pushes your top higher, revealing more of your flushe body.

when your breasts spill free, he watches, entranced, as they bounce with each sharp thrust he delivers. his cock moves each slide drenched in the testimony of your past orgasm. the wet, slick sounds fill the air between your whimpering cries, blending with his low groans.

“you’re a mess,” he says, his thumbs come up to circle your nipples, brushing them with a maddeningly soft touch before pinching, tugging just enough to draw a strangled moan from your throat.

your back arches off the desk,your body trembling under his hands. “ahh—fuck, woozi—!” you cry, your voice breaking on the edges.

he smirks, his eyes half-lidded, drinking in the sight of you. every twitch of your body, every gasp and whine, seems to spur him on. his head tilts slightly, his blonde hair falling into his face as he leans closer, his lips parting just slightly. And then he blows.

a soft, glowing aura escapes his lips as he exhales, a warm, golden light that drifts down, guided by some unseen magic. it swirls in lazy circles, a hypnotic dance as it floats lower and lower, until it reaches the swollen, sensitive bud at the apex of your thighs.

the moment it touches you, you swear the world tilts. the aura massages your clit in circles, the warmth of it spreading through you like liquid fire. your breath hitches, your eyes rolling back as a fresh orgasm crashes over you, your thighs trembling.

“oh—oh my god—ahh!” you cry, your voice pitching higher, your hands clawing at the desk for some kind of anchor, but it’s no use. you’re lost, spiraling further into the haze as his magic works over you.

his thumbs continue their torment on your nipples, pinching and rolling the sensitive buds, your chest heaves as your head lolls back, your lips parted in a silent scream as the pleasure mounts, agonizing and perfect all at once.

“that’s it,” he growls softly, his eyes closing briefly as he listens to the melody of your cries, each note sinking into him like a drug. “sing for me, little fairy. let me hear everything.”

your voice breaks as you sob his name, your body convulsing under the force of your orgasm. the magic at your clit seems to pulse in time with your release, dragging the pleasure out, making it endless.

“fuck, you’re beautiful. beautiful my pretty fairy...”

his hips stutter as the tight heat of you squeezes around him, pulling him closer to his own edge. his hands never leave you, his touch grounding you as you fall apart.

his hands squeeze your breasts firmly, jolting you back from the fog of pleasure you’re lost in. your eyes flutter open weakly, your breath hitching as the sight of him comes into focus. his head is tipped back slightly, blonde hair sticking to his damp forehead, and the throaty sounds he makes vibrate through the room. it’s deeper than before, louder, and you can feel the his release as the pulse of it fills you.

the space around you seems to shift, the room vibrating with his climax as a warn, a golden glow radiates from his body. the black auras that clung to his shoulders earlier unravel in an explosion of furious, dissonant notes, fading into silence as woozi finally lets himself go. his hips press into you one last time, burying himself so deep you swear you feel every inch, and then you feel it—the hot, heavy rush of his cum spreading inside you.

his forehead drops forward to rest near yours. “you... you’ve ruined me, little fairy.”

you feel it too—the way his cum fills you, a glowing sensation blooming in your belly. you glance down weakly, and your eyes widen at the faint shimmer under your skin, like your body is glowing with the power of him.

“you’re... shining,” you whisper.

his chest rises and falls against yours, his hands still cradling your body like he’s afraid to let go. he lifts his head to meet your gaze. “so are you,” he says quietly, his voice tender. “you’re radiant.”

your lips part, but no words come out. he leans down, brushing his nose against yours before capturing your lips in a kiss. this kiss feels like gratitude, like reverence, like something divine, his tongue for sure tastes different by the way.

when he pulls back, his eyes scan your face, taking in every detail. “you’ve done more for me than you realize,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “i’ve carried that weight for so long... those damn shadows. but you—” he pauses, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “you’ve made them disappear.”

you blink up at him, your heart pounding as his words sink in. “i didn’t... i mean, i wasn’t trying to—”

he cuts you off with a small laugh, leaning back slightly as he runs a hand through his tousled hair. “you didn’t even know you could, did you?” he teases, his smirk returning. “typical. little fairy, barging in, turning my world upside down without a clue.”

you pout, your cheeks heating up as you cross your arms weakly over your chest. “you’re welcome, by the way,” you mumble.

his laughter deepens. “oh, i owe you more thanks than i can ever give,” he says, his tone softening as he looks at you again. “but i think we’re past formalities, don’t you?”

you shrug, trying to play it cool, but the heat in your cheeks gives you away. “yeah, well, i guess saving a god’s sanity makes us even or something.”

his smirk widens, and he leans down to press another kiss to your lips, softer this time. “even?” he murmurs against your mouth. “not even close, little fairy. you’ve given me clarity, peace... and, frankly, the best fucking inspiration i’ve had in centuries.”

you can’t help but giggle at that, the sound light and breathless. “glad i could help.”

he grins, his eyes glinting. “you’ve done more than help. you’ve changed everything.” he leans back, his hands brushing over your thighs as he straightens, his expression growing thoughtful. “now,” he says, his voice turning playful again, “how do you feel about sticking around? i think i could use a muse like you.”

you blink, taken aback by his words, but before you can respond, he adds, “oh, and i promise—no more turning you human-sized without warning. unless, of course,” his smirk returns, too devilish for a god, “you’re into that.”

you smack his chest weakly, your laugh echoing through the room in funny notes.

inspired by this request/drabble

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rafesteddy · 5 months ago

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𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬? | 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐔 & 𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙰𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

✨💕 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝟜𝕜! 💕✨

c/w - swearing, smut, oral male receiving, cum play, jealousy, possessive!rafe, ownership kink, pet names

Reader’s POV:

"How much time do we have, Mr. Cameron?"

"Before next class, princess? Not a lot..." Rafe chuckles sinfully. “Fuck Jack. That kid’s gettin’ an F.”

“Stop,” you giggle.

“Make me,” he chuckles. “Literally give me a reason to stop thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause I'm this close—”

“To what?” You whisper against his lips.

“From killin’ someone, honestly.”

"Let me suck your cock, baby. You like that…” You smile innocently, your words contradicting your tone.

“Like it?” He chuckles as he pulls you in a little closer, smiling against your lip. “I love it.” You brush your fingers against his bulge, already growing hard in his slacks.

Rafe tugs at the buttons of your satin shirt, slipping it off your shoulders onto the floor as you work on his. He looks down at you hungrily as you stand before him in your pretty little bra and skirt. Rafe leans down for a kiss, nose nuzzling against yours.

“I love feeling you on my tongue—”

"Oh yeah? That's what you want?" The man hums against your lips.

"That's all I want."

"Fuck, baby. Please." He whispers between little kisses. Rafe wraps his big arms around you tighter, kissing you deeply. His tongue slips between your lips, swirling with yours. You claim his lips one last time, moving to his jaw, a little further to his neck, leaving a trail of sparkly pink lipgloss in your wake. Your professor’s beautiful blue eyes follow the markings, lowering with you, eyeing you as you drop to your knees, looking up at him through your lashes.

Slipping your fingers under the bra straps, you slide them off your shoulders, gazing at the beautiful man towering above you. You drift your hands up to your cleavage, delicately drawing them over the top. Reaching your nipples, you trace small circles over the fabric, teasing the man further. "So fucking perfect, baby… Holy shit," he mumbles. Taking his cock in your hand, you pump slowly, your other hand massaging your breast.

"You looked too good today, baby," Rafe breathes as you slide your fingers under the lace of your bra slowly, toying with your nipple. Rafe's mesmerized, watching you play with the both of you at the same time. His eyes float slowly between the two of you. "Drives me crazy how those boys in class look at you. Hate that they don't know you're mine.”

"I don't care about them, baby. You know that," you breathe against his dick as he shuts his eyes, focused more on your touch than the words coming from your lips.

"Sweetheart. Oh my god," he moans. "They can flirt all they want. You're mine-"

"I'm yours, baby.”

“If they only knew," he smiles as he throws his head back. “If they only knew what you were doin’ right now... Maybe they’d know who you belong to.”

“You think that would help, baby?” You ask coyly as you stroke his fat cock, looking up at the older man from your knees.

“God… No. Not with you lookin’ like this. Just more of a reason for them to want you all for themselves…”

Your hand retreats, moving to your back, unclasping your bra with a single hand. The lacey material falls to his feet, pulling his full focus to you again. You continue to touch your chest as you stroke his cock, pressing your cleavage together, twisting your nipple. His breathing increases with each passing second as he watches you. "This cock is mine too," you whisper against his hard flesh, making goosebumps flare across his tanned skin.

"My cock is all yours, baby. Shittt... N'this mouth is mine." His breath catches in his chest as you brush your tongue from side to side on his tip, Rafe, looking at you through half-lidded eyes, trying his best to keep them open.

"All yours, Daddy."

"Ugh, that's it," he breathes as you swirl your tongue around his tip, collecting his precum, showing him the mess before slapping his fat cock against your lips. "Goddamn..." A deep moan rumbles in Rafe's chest as you wrap your lips around his dick, taking him to the back of your throat, drawing off slowly, squeezing your lips, leaving little lip gloss rings behind. "Just beautiful, pretty," he sighs, eyeing the mess. "Been thinkin' about that for hours. Such a fuckin’ slut f'me, huh?”

“Mhmm… Mmm,” you moan around his dick, making him grip the edge of his desk, his toes curling in his dress shoes.

You bob back and forth slowly and sloppily, using your hand to stroke where your mouth can't reach. Your other hand gropes his skin, tracing up his body. Hollowing your cheeks causes his abs to flex under your hand as you increase your suction. You can tell he's about to lose control. Pulling off slowly, you wrap your fingers around his cock. You stroke quickly, breasts bouncing with each thrust of the hand.

"Fuck, baby. Mpfhh… You look so damn good. Shit. I'm gonna cum," he groans.

"Yeah?" You whisper. "You gonna cum for me, Daddy?"

"Shittt… Yeah, princess. I'm gonna cum all over you..." You return your lips to his cock, throating him like only you can, gagging when you take as much of him as you can get. Rafe's brows pinch together, thighs clenching. You feel his cock swell and twitch on your tongue. "Ugh... Fuck," He moans, huskily. You pull him out of your mouth fast, pumping rapidly. Rafe's mouth falls open, eyes rolling back.

He cums on your tits, ropes of pearlescent white landing on your breasts. He watches carefully as you milk the last bits of pleasure from him. He lets out a satisfied sigh—a wide smile settles on his lips as he tilts his head up to the ceiling again.

"God, I fucking love you," he groans.

"I love you too, baby."

Rafe helps you to your feet— his lips pressing against yours, kissing you breathlessly. "Come over tonight, yeah?" He hums, the satisfaction dripping in his tone. Rafe brushes your hair off your face, cupping your cheeks, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips.

His rough thumb brushes across your nipple, gathering some of his sticky spent before lifting it to your mouth. Rafe rubs your pillowy lips before stuffing it inside, urging you to suck him clean.

You release him from your mouth with a pop. “Still a little messy, baby,” Rafe mumbles through a smirk. “Too bad we’re not at home.” He reaches over, snagging out his pocket square from his plaid blazer, cleaning off the rest before helping you back into your button-down. “We could take a shower. Hell, I coulda licked that shit up… spit it in that perfect little mouth of yours,” he mumbles, lips ghosting over the top of yours while he pinches your cheeks in his big hand, pressing a kiss on your lips instead.

“Tonight, please,” you smile.

“All night.” Rafe reaches for his black button-down, glossy marks still littered on his chest and abs. His cock still a tad bit messy as well.

"Aren't you gonna clean up," you giggle breathily as you brush his toned skin with your manicured finger, thumbing over a sticky kiss mark.

"These?" He asks, as he follows the stains with a smile. "Not a chance."

#rafe #rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader #professor!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #older!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #rafe blurb 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#my library ᝰ.ᐟ #⋆.°🧸๋ྀི࣭⭑ office hours

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cloudyluun · 3 months ago

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𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑶𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝑮𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒐𝒐… | (𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔!𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒙 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

Summary: It’s Y/N’s first real award season, and tonight she’s headed to the Oscars—nominated for Best Actress (!!) and all dolled up like an actual goddess. With Harry Styles as her boyfriend and #1 hype man, the night should be magical… and it is, especially when she wins. But while the cameras capture joy, champagne, and golden statues, the internet tells a different story. Insecure and hurting, Y/N finds herself drowning in criticism—until Harry reminds her why none of that matters. This is a soft, emotional comfort fic with forehead kisses, whispered affirmations, and a very sparkly dress.

A/N: This fic is based on the cutest request from @dipmeinhoneyh (thank you, angel!!). I saw the ask and immediately went full ✨Oscar glam✨ in my head. It’s soft, it’s sparkly, it’s got just the right amount of angst, and of course… our boy Harry being the most supportive, sweet, temple-kissing, back-rubbing dreamboat of a boyfriend ever.

That said… I don’t actually think this is my best writing 😭 I’ve been in my head a bit and totally overthinking every sentence—like does this metaphor even make sense? and is this dramatic or just cringe?? But I still love the heart of it. So if you’re in the mood for something sweet, sad, and healing, I hope it brings you comfort. I promise the next one will be even better. Plus I haven’t really proofread since I didn’t really like it all that much; so if there are any mistakes lemme know!❤️‍🩹

Word Count: 10k

Warnings:

Soft Angst (emotional hurt/comfort)

Public scrutiny / social media hate

Insecurity and imposter syndrome

Supportive partner Harry Styles

Kisses, cuddles, and affirmations

Glittering dresses and red carpet glamor

Mention of alcohol/champagne (mild)

Mild swearing

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The sun rose with a gentle persistence over Los Angeles, casting a soft, golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their home in the Hollywood Hills. It was still early—barely 7 a.m.—but the energy in the house was already quietly humming. Today wasn’t just any Sunday. It was the Sunday. The Oscars.

Y/N stirred in bed, tucked deep beneath the plush white duvet, reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth and quiet that had settled around her during the night. Despite the buzzing anticipation that had followed her into sleep, she’d managed to rest—though now, with the day officially begun, her nerves were waking up right along with her.

The door creaked open softly.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Harry’s voice came, gentle and low, already laced with amusement. The smell of coffee preceded him—rich, freshly brewed, and perfectly timed.

She cracked one eye open to see him leaning in the doorway, a tray balanced in one hand: her favorite oat milk latte, a small bowl of strawberries and cream, and a folded linen napkin. He wore one of his silk robes loosely tied at the waist, his curls still slightly damp from a shower.

“Big day, darling,” he murmured, walking over and placing the tray on the bedside table. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

Y/N groaned softly, pulling the covers over her head. “Why does it feel like a big day already? It’s barely even light out.”

Harry chuckled, slipping into bed beside her, careful not to spill the coffee. “Because you’re about to knock every single person dead on that red carpet. And maybe win an Oscar while you’re at it.”

She peeked out from under the duvet, eyes still sleepy but soft. “You’re too confident in me.”

“No such thing,” he replied, passing her the latte. “Drink up. You’ve got a team of glam fairies arriving in thirty minutes.”

From there, the day began in earnest.

Y/N sat in a tall makeup chair in the sun-drenched guest room that had been converted into a makeshift dressing suite. Mirrors lined one wall, surrounded by globe lights. Racks of gowns in garment bags stood nearby, and a team of stylists, makeup artists, and assistants bustled quietly, respectful of the sacred, slightly frantic energy of the morning.

A playlist pulsed low in the background—early Beyoncé, a touch of Fleetwood Mac, something mellow to keep the mood steady.

Her stylist, Lena, was crouched beside a hanging gown: an ethereal floor-length number in deep emerald satin with a plunging neckline and a daring backless silhouette. The kind of dress that whispered elegance but screamed power when worn with the right attitude. The kind of dress that required exactly the kind of confidence Y/N was still trying to summon.

Meanwhile, her hair was being sectioned off and curled by a stylist named Ramon, who moved with the ease of someone who’d done a thousand of these before. Every so often, he’d step back and tilt his head, studying her like a sculpture in progress.

“You’re going classic tonight, babe,” he said. “Hollywood waves, little volume at the crown. Timeless. You’ll look like you walked off a 1950s movie poster.”

She gave a half-smile, eyes flicking toward the reflection in the mirror. “Just make sure I don’t look like I’m in costume.”

Ramon met her eyes in the mirror. “Trust me. You’re not going to look like anything other than the main event.”

As the hours slipped by, there were brief interludes. Harry, dressed down in a crisp white T-shirt and grey sweatpants, would peek in between tasks—whether it was a meeting with his own team or finalizing details about their arrival time. Every time, without fail, he brought her something: a bottle of water, a calming lavender mist spray, a slice of toast she forgot she asked for. Or sometimes, he brought nothing but himself—a quiet hand resting on her shoulder, a whispered, “How are you doing?” pressed into her ear.

Once, while Lena zipped her into the gown for the final fitting, Harry wandered in, paused, and let out a slow exhale.

“You’re joking,” he said under his breath, his eyes raking over her. “You’re absolutely joking.”

Y/N blushed but stood tall, arms slightly outstretched as Lena adjusted the hem. “Good joking or bad joking?”

Harry walked over, placed his hands on her hips gently, and kissed her bare shoulder. “Devastating joking. I can’t let you out of the house like this.”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “You’ll be in a tux. You’ll survive.”

“I’ll barely survive,” he said dramatically, then leaned in to kiss her again—this time, on the lips. “You’re stunning, Y/N.”

By late afternoon, the house was empty again except for the two of them. The glam team had left, Lena was already at the venue making sure everything was set for their arrival, and all that remained was the car outside, waiting to take them to the Dolby Theatre.

The SUV’s interior was sleek and black, the windows deeply tinted to block out the chaos of paparazzi that had already begun to gather on the outskirts of the route. Y/N sat stiffly, trying not to wrinkle the delicate folds of her dress, but her nerves had returned—stronger than they’d been in the morning.

She bounced her knee unconsciously, fingers fidgeting in her lap. Harry, seated beside her in a perfectly tailored black tux with a velvet lapel and a custom silver pin on the lapel—something small and symbolic just for her—reached over and covered her hand with his.

“Hey,” he said softly, grounding her. “You’re good.”

She turned to look at him. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

He squeezed her hand, thumb brushing across her knuckles. “That’s how you know it matters.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath and leaned her head back against the seat. “What if I trip getting out of the car? What if I say something dumb in an interview? What if—”

“Then I’ll laugh, and everyone else will laugh, and you’ll still be the most brilliant person on that carpet,” he said, eyes never leaving hers.

She studied him for a moment, the way his calm energy seemed to bleed into hers just by proximity. “How do you always know what to say?”

“Because I know you,” he replied. “And because I believe in you more than anyone else on this planet.”

The car turned a corner, and they caught their first glimpse of the towering Oscars signage outside the theater. Flashes from cameras sparked like a distant lightning storm. The energy in the air shifted again—thicker, more electric.

Y/N took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Harry smiled, brushing a stray hair from her cheek. “Let’s go make some history.”

Y/N could feel the thrum of energy through the car door.

She didn’t move yet. Her fingers curled tighter around Harry’s hand, her eyes scanning the flashes beyond the glass like they were lightning bolts about to strike.

Harry glanced at her. “Ready?”

“No.”

He smiled, turning slightly in his seat. “Good. That means you're present. And present means powerful.”

She shot him a look. “Did you just come up with that?”

“Maybe.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against her cheek. “Let them see what I see. You don’t need to try anything. Just exist. They’ll fall in love.”

Y/N laughed under her breath, nervous and grateful all at once. “God, you’re annoying when you’re poetic.”

The door opened.

A handler appeared on her side, extending a hand to help her step out. As she emerged, the first wave of camera flashes hit like a tidal surge—rapid-fire strobes accompanied by a sudden swell of shouting.

“Y/N! Over here!”

“Look left! Y/N, to your left!”

“Harry! Y/N and Harry, can we get one together?”

Her heels hit the carpet with a soft click, the weight of the dress trailing behind her in elegant folds. The emerald green gown shimmered under the lights, catching the lenses at just the right angle. Her posture snapped into place like a reflex—shoulders back, chin slightly tilted, lips parting in that calm, camera-ready smile she’d practiced but never quite perfected.

Harry stepped out right behind her, tall and confident in his tux, the subtle gleam of his shoes catching under the lights. As soon as he was beside her, his hand found the small of her back. He leaned in to say something that didn’t carry over the noise.

Y/N gave a small laugh, genuine and involuntary, and the cameras clicked even faster.

They moved slowly along the carpet, pausing when called, posing at marked spots where publicists and assistants gently guided them with earpieces and hand gestures. Harry kept one hand loosely entwined with hers, the other occasionally adjusting the train of her dress when it caught on the carpet. It didn’t matter how many stylists had prepped it—once she started walking, the real test began.

She glanced down, saw it bunched slightly at her heel, and before she could bend down, Harry was already there, crouching gracefully to sweep it back into place.

“Got it,” he said, brushing invisible lint off her hip with practiced ease.

“You’re like a well-dressed stagehand,” she joked under her breath.

“Happy to be your personal crew.”

Another camera flash. Another shout. Another round of her name echoing across the fan barricade. She heard her name interspersed with his—sometimes chanted together, sometimes in waves.

“Harry! Y/N! We love you!”

Someone screamed, “Y/N, you look stunning!”

And someone else, “Marry him already!”

They both laughed at that one.

He leaned toward her and said, “I mean, it is good advice.”

She rolled her eyes and whispered back, “Focus. This is your Oscar-wife-in-the-making’s moment.”

He raised his eyebrows in mock awe. “Oscar-wife. I like that. Very regal.”

They paused before the press line, where the velvet ropes gave way to a gauntlet of microphones, cameras, and media crews from around the world. It was the most intense stretch of the carpet—the part where charm, poise, and grace mattered more than the couture itself. One wrong answer, and you'd trend for all the wrong reasons.

Y/N took a breath, nerves coiling again.

Harry felt it.

He turned to her, gently tugging her hand so she’d face him fully.

She looked up at him.

“Hey,” he said, barely audible over the buzz. “Look at me.”

She did.

“You’ve got this.”

She blinked, her eyes shining just slightly. Not from tears—yet—but from the sheer pressure of everything. From the weight of the moment. The stakes. The past months of award season, interviews, photo shoots, critics, dresses, rehearsed speeches, and that one role that had changed everything.

He didn’t need to say anything more. He just squeezed her hand—once, firmly.

That was all. I’m here. I believe in you. You’ve already won, whatever happens.

And she nodded. Just once. That was all she needed too.

A reporter from Entertainment Weekly waved them over, her laminated credentials swinging around her neck and a microphone already raised. Her eyes sparkled with recognition and excitement.

“Y/N! Harry! You both look incredible tonight. Can I steal you for a quick one?”

They stepped up, the camera behind the reporter going live.

Y/N smiled, adjusted her stance, and waited for the question she knew was coming.

“So Y/N,” the reporter began, cheerful and polished, “congratulations on your nomination. This is your first Oscar night—and you’re up for Best Actress. How does it feel to be here right now?”

There was a half-second pause.

Y/N’s mouth opened slightly. The question was expected, but somehow her mind still spun. The noise behind them, the adrenaline, the surreal glow of it all. She blinked, trying to find the perfect response, something articulate and meaningful—

But Harry stepped in, smoothly and warmly.

“She’s incredible,” he said, not stealing the spotlight, just grounding it. “No matter what happens tonight, she’s already won in my book. What she did in that role—what she poured into it—it changed people. And I’ve seen firsthand how hard she worked. How much heart she gave. This nomination’s just catching up to what the rest of us already know.”

Y/N turned to look at him, caught off guard by the depth in his voice, the sincerity. It wasn’t a sound bite. He wasn’t performing. He meant every word.

The reporter lit up. “Oh my god. Are you two trying to end us on this carpet?”

Y/N laughed softly, cheeks warm. “I swear I didn’t pay him to say that.”

Harry gave her a look, playfully serious. “You can, though. I’m open to bribery.”

The moment was perfect—genuine and golden. The camera caught the laugh, the subtle glance between them, the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the crowd.

And the fans ate it up. Social media would have the clip trending before the show even started.

As they wrapped the interview, they moved toward the entrance of the theater. The crowd was even thicker near the doors, the press giving way to fans, seat fillers, and the final frenzy of arrivals.

Security held the gates, and the calls of their names grew louder, more impassioned.

A girl near the barricade waved a sign: Y/N DESERVES THE OSCAR.

Another had painted her nails with tiny pictures of the film’s poster.

Y/N turned, smiled, and waved. Harry nudged her gently, nodding toward one young fan in the front who was visibly trembling, holding a poster with her face on it.

Y/N walked over.

Security parted just enough for her to sign the poster, say a quick thank you, and take a selfie. The fan gasped, crying before Y/N even stepped back.

As they rejoined the path toward the theater doors, Harry looked over. “You just made her whole year.”

Y/N exhaled, her eyes misty now. “This is wild.”

“You earned it.”

They paused at the top of the short staircase leading into the venue. One last look back at the storm of lights and color. One more deep breath.

Then they stepped inside.

Y/N sat beside Harry, both of them just left of center in the third row. Prime placement. Visible. Important. Close enough to the stage that the nerves felt like heat waves.

As the show began, hosts made their jokes, montages played, musical numbers dazzled. But for Y/N, everything was blurry around the edges. Every laugh, every applause line, every standing ovation—it all felt like static until her category approached. Until that moment came.

The show was nearly two hours in when it happened.

The presenter for Best Actress in a Leading Role was introduced. A hush rippled through the room—not silence, exactly, but a collective holding of breath. Y/N’s stomach twisted into a slow, tight knot.

The presenter—a respected actress with decades of gravitas in her voice—stepped up to the microphone with a glint of joy in her eyes. She held the envelope delicately, as if it contained a spell.

Y/N could feel her pulse in her throat.

Harry’s hand tightened around hers. She glanced at him. He didn’t look nervous—he looked steady. Focused. He leaned slightly toward her, their shoulders brushing. His thumb moved slowly over the back of her hand in the rhythm they both knew well. Comfort. Presence. I’m here.

She wanted to breathe, but her chest felt too full.

The camera panned to the nominees. She caught the shift of the lens in the corner of her eye as the image was cast live to millions of screens around the world. Her face—composed but pale—flashed on screen. She gave the tight, polite smile expected of a nominee, but her fingers clung to Harry’s like she was gripping a lifeline.

“And the nominees for Best Actress are…”

The presenter began listing them, one by one, and Y/N heard the first name like it was underwater. Applause. Another name. Louder applause. Then hers.

“Y/N Y/L/N, for The Last Garden.”

The room responded with a round of strong, respectful clapping. The sound struck her ears like a wave but didn’t quite reach her. All she could hear was her heart. All she could feel was Harry’s thumb, steady on her hand, anchoring her to the moment.

She blinked slowly, trying to commit the feeling to memory. This was it. This was the peak she’d dreamed about as a teenager watching old Oscar clips on YouTube, half-believing this kind of thing was for other people. Famous people. Not her. Not really.

She caught her breath, realizing she hadn’t even been listening to the rest of the names.

Then the envelope.

The presenter smiled. There was that little pause. The iconic pause. The weight of anticipation, curated over decades of cinematic tradition.

She unfolded the envelope with deliberate care.

“And the Oscar goes to…”

Everything went still. Y/N’s vision tunneled. Her ears rang.

Harry’s grip tightened, just slightly.

In the silence, she swore she heard her own name before it was even said. A strange premonition. A gut scream. But maybe it was just hope masquerading as instinct.

Then—

Let’s rewind a little.

Even before the envelope was opened, the weight of the entire journey was pressing down on her shoulders. She remembered the first table read for The Last Garden. The gritty rehearsal room in downtown L.A., the dim yellow lighting, the folding chairs. She remembered sitting with the script in her lap, dog-eared and covered in notes, fingers trembling as she read her lines for the first time. She remembered how she doubted herself at first—wondered if the role was too heavy for her, too exposed.

And then the shoot—months in cold weather, brutal emotional scenes, sixteen-hour days, moments when she thought she was completely spent only to find more inside her. Moments she didn’t think the camera could possibly capture. But it had. It had captured everything.

Harry had been there through it all. In every phone call. Every wrap-day. Every night when she came home exhausted, unsure of whether she was enough.

And now she was here.

She glanced sideways at him again.

He wasn’t looking at the stage. He was looking at her.

Like he was taking a mental photograph of this moment, this version of her—nervous, radiant, right on the edge of history.

He smiled slightly. Nothing big. Just for her.

It grounded her more than any deep breath could have.

Around them, the theater shifted in micro-expressions. Cameras zoomed in. Other nominees sat poised. Their loved ones gripped their hands. Publicists prayed behind curtains. Somewhere, the world paused.

The presenter cleared her throat slightly, unfolding the card, her eyes scanning the name.

Harry squeezed Y/N’s hand again.

She didn’t look at him this time.

She couldn’t.

She was trying to hold herself together in that two-second eternity between the words “And the Oscar goes to…” and the name that would follow.

Her entire body felt electrified. Her palms were cold, but her face burned. The air seemed too thick to swallow.

She was inside the moment—and floating just above it.

The presenter inhaled.

Y/N braced.

The card was lifted. The envelope unfolded. The air inside the Dolby Theatre was thick with anticipation. Even the orchestra seemed to pause mid-breath, violins poised, trumpets silenced. The presenter’s voice carried clearly, impossibly loud in the stillness:

“And the Oscar goes to… Y/N Y/L/N!”

For one full second, there was no reaction.

Not from her.

Not because she didn’t hear it—she did.

But her brain simply refused to compute it.

It was like her name echoed down a long corridor, bouncing between disbelief and dream. Her hands flew to her mouth instinctively, fingers trembling as they pressed against her lips. Her eyes widened, glassy with shock, and her breath caught in her throat like it didn’t know where to go.

She didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Then the room erupted.

Applause thundered around her. Cheering, clapping, laughter, the swell of people rising to their feet. The orchestra hit a triumphant chord and she blinked hard, trying to keep her vision clear as her name flashed across the massive screen behind the stage.

Y/N Y/L/N – Best Actress

Harry was already on his feet, hands raised in celebration. His face lit up with joy—not surprise, not pride, not even awe. Just pure, visceral joy. Like every molecule in his body was exhaling at once.

He turned to her, pulled her up, wrapping her in a fierce hug.

Her hands still covered her mouth as she collapsed against his chest, overwhelmed, trembling.

He pressed his lips to her ear. “Go get what’s yours, my love.”

She nodded blindly against his shoulder.

A producer was already motioning from the aisle. People around her were smiling, clapping her back, congratulating her in a blur she couldn’t fully absorb. She stepped into the aisle on shaky legs, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the music. The hem of her dress caught under her heel and she nearly stumbled, but caught herself just in time.

Harry’s voice followed gently from behind: “Take your time. Own it.”

She did.

It was the longest, shortest walk of her life.

The aisle stretched before her, flanked by rows of glittering nominees and movie royalty. The stage felt impossibly far away and somehow already beneath her feet. Every step was a battle against the tears threatening to spill over.

She passed familiar faces—fellow actors, directors, crew—some of whom had hugged her backstage earlier in the season, win or lose. Some of whom she admired from afar. All of them were on their feet.

She didn’t look at any of them.

Her eyes were locked on the podium. On the golden statue waiting patiently for her. The symbol of everything she’d fought for.

Her heart pounded.

She could feel her pulse in her wrists, in her ribs, behind her eyes.

She reached the stairs.

Someone offered a hand—she wasn’t even sure who, maybe a stage manager or the presenter. She took it blindly, half-aware, as she climbed the steps in her heels, praying her legs wouldn’t give out beneath her.

Then she was there.

Standing in front of the microphone.

The applause was still going. The house was still on its feet. The lights blinded her slightly—hot and white, isolating her from the crowd but also making her the sole focus. The Oscar was placed in her hands. It was heavier than she’d imagined. Cold and solid and real.

She looked down at it for a moment, stunned.

Then she looked out at the audience.

And for the first time since her name was called, she exhaled.

It was happening.

This was real.

The applause began to die down slowly, people settling into their seats, the room hushed once more. The orchestra faded.

She stepped to the mic.

She opened her mouth—and for a second, nothing came out.

She laughed, just once, breathless and disbelieving.

“I—wow,” she said, voice shaking. “I… I don’t even know where to start.”

Laughter echoed softly through the room, warm and encouraging.

She swallowed hard, gripping the Oscar with both hands.

“I’ve dreamed about this moment since I was a teenager, watching from my couch with my mom, hoping—praying—that maybe, someday, somehow, this could be me. And now I’m standing here… and I still don’t believe it.”

Her voice cracked slightly. She took a moment, blinking fast. The prompter was blank—this part wasn’t rehearsed. This was all instinct.

“I want to thank the Academy… my fellow nominees, who I admire so deeply… and my incredible director, who trusted me with this role before I even trusted myself. You believed in what I could bring to this character, and you never stopped pushing me to go deeper.”

Applause.

She shifted slightly, breath catching.

“To my cast—thank you for your generosity, your brilliance, your friendship. You made every day on set something special. To our crew, who worked harder than anyone ever saw—this is yours too.”

She paused. Her fingers curled around the statue, knuckles white.

“And to my family,” she said, voice quieter now, thick with emotion. “You were the first ones to believe I had something. Even when it was small, and scared, and messy. You told me to go for it. You never let me quit.”

A pause.

Then she looked out into the crowd.

Her eyes found Harry, like magnets locking.

He was standing now, hands clasped in front of him, a quiet smile on his lips, eyes shining with pride and something deeper. Something unshakable.

She took a breath.

“And to my Harry…” she said softly.

The room seemed to still again, leaning in.

“…who has been my anchor through this all. Who saw this version of me—this strong, brave, relentless version—before I ever did. You’ve held me up through every doubt, every hard day, every ‘I can’t do this.’ You reminded me I could. And I did.”

A pause. Her lip quivered, but she smiled through it.

“Thank you for believing in me, even when I didn’t.”

The camera cut to Harry.

And his face—his face—said it all.

He wasn’t just proud. He wasn’t just emotional.

He was in awe. Looking at her like she had hung the stars in the sky and lit each one with her bare hands. His expression was soft and unguarded, as if he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

A beat.

She looked back at the mic.

“And lastly—thank you to everyone who’s ever dared to tell their story. This role changed me, and I hope it reaches someone out there who needs to know they’re not alone.”

More applause.

The orchestra swelled again, gently this time—cueing her to wrap up, but respectfully, giving her a few more seconds to breathe.

She nodded once more, eyes wet but clear, voice stronger now.

“This means everything. Thank you.”

She turned to exit, holding the statue close to her chest. Backstage staff welcomed her with congratulations, flashbulbs from press flickering again—but it was all a blur.

She just wanted to get back to him.

And when she stepped off the stage and rounded the corner, there he was.

Harry, waiting just past the curtain.

Before she could say anything, he wrapped her in his arms, lifting her slightly off the ground in a crushing hug.

“You did it,” he murmured into her hair. “You fucking did it.”

She held on tight, burying her face into his shoulder.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered.

“I can,” he said simply. “I never doubted it for a second.”

They stood like that for a while. Her award between them, clutched awkwardly between the fabric of her dress and the lapel of his tux, but neither one caring.

Just the two of them, suspended in a perfect, golden moment.

She could barely make it two steps before someone stopped her with wide arms and a glass of champagne, cheeks flushed with joy or alcohol or both. Someone else pulled her in for a hug. A famous director whose movies she grew up worshiping leaned in to say how stunning her performance was. A fellow actress, nominated in a different category, clinked glasses with her, grinning, eyes shining. There was confetti somewhere. Music swelling from a DJ booth set up by the balcony. The night was alive and on fire, and she was at the center of it.

And yet, none of it felt quite real. The noise, the faces, the cameras clicking in staccato bursts. Everyone saying her name—her name—with that reverent kind of awe like it belonged to a myth now. She could barely hold onto a thought. Everything felt like a dream, hazy and lit from behind, like an old film reel playing too fast.

But Harry was real. His hand was real, warm and grounding in hers. Every time she looked at him, she was brought back down to earth. He never let her go far. Not for long. Even when she got pulled into conversations or introduced to people she’d only ever seen on screens, he stayed within reach, close enough to lock eyes with her when she needed a moment to breathe. Every time she looked overwhelmed, he caught her gaze and gave her that little nod—the same one he gave her in the car before they arrived, the same one he gave her right before her name was called. You’ve got this.

At some point, someone tugged the Oscar out of her hands to set it down for safekeeping—someone on her team, smiling gently, promising it would be watched like a crown jewel. She let it go without protest, her arms immediately finding their way back around Harry’s waist.

A photographer called their names from across the room, gesturing toward the backdrop. They obliged, standing side by side as flashes lit up around them. She was still beaming, cheeks sore from smiling, but it didn’t stop. She leaned her head on Harry’s shoulder for a few shots, and he kissed the top of her head in another. One photo caught her looking up at him, totally lost in him, while he looked right at the camera like he knew exactly how good he had it.

“Do you want to sneak away for a second?” he murmured near her ear when the photographer finally lowered the camera.

She nodded instantly.

They weaved their way out of the ballroom and down a quiet hallway lined with closed doors, the party still a low thump behind them. The air here was cooler. Quieter. She leaned against the wall, catching her breath, finally able to hear her own thoughts. Harry stepped in front of her, one hand braced on the wall beside her head, the other resting on her hip.

He looked at her like he didn’t quite believe her. Like he was still processing what had just happened. “Oscar-winning actress,” he said softly, almost to himself.

She laughed, the sound light, delighted, bubbling up without control. “Don’t start with that.”

“Oh, I’m going to be insufferable,” he said, leaning in, pressing a kiss just below her jaw. “I’ve been sitting on this line all night.”

She arched a brow, breath catching. “What line?”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, his grin slow and crooked. “I always knew I was dating an Oscar winner. I’m honestly kind of surprised it took the Academy this long to catch up.”

She snorted, smacking his chest. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you’re incredible.” His voice shifted then—less teasing, more tender. “You were so beautiful up there. Brave. You held it together like a pro.”

“I almost tripped.”

“You didn’t, though. You floated.”

She shook her head, overwhelmed again, and his hand moved up to her cheek, thumb brushing beneath her eye. She didn’t realize she was tearing up until then.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer, crowding her gently against the wall, “look at me.”

She did.

His eyes searched hers, tender and sure.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. So, so proud.”

She swallowed hard, nodded, resting her forehead against his. “I don’t know how to come down from this.”

“You don’t have to. Just ride it for a little while.”

Then he kissed her.

Slow. Deep. Like the world had stopped again, like time bent just for them. His hand curled around her waist and her fingers slipped into the curls at the nape of his neck. It wasn’t a rushed kiss, or one for show, or even one born of adrenaline. It was something else—steady, grounding. Like a reset. Like home.

When they pulled apart, she blinked slowly, dazed.

“That helped,” she whispered.

He smiled, brushing his nose against hers. “Good.”

They stayed in that quiet hallway a little longer, just the two of them. No cameras. No crowds. Just quiet breath, soft smiles, a moment to recalibrate.

Eventually, the party pulled them back. The night wasn’t done celebrating her yet.

More glasses were raised. More toasts. A few actors she idolized gave her hugs that lingered, offering real praise. A veteran screenwriter told her she’d made him cry. She tried to keep up, tried to stay in every moment, but it was hard to grasp the edges of something so surreal. Every time she needed to recenter, Harry was there. A hand on her back. A whisper in her ear. A smirk from across the room that made her bite back a grin.

They danced for a while, the two of them swaying in the middle of a crowd that couldn’t stop buzzing. Someone had switched the playlist to a retro mix—Fleetwood Mac, Queen, a little Bowie. She had her arms around Harry’s neck, his hands at her waist, the hem of her dress brushing his shoes.

“I can’t feel my feet,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’ll carry you home.”

She laughed. “I believe you would.”

“Course I would.” He pulled back just enough to look at her again. “I’d carry you to the ends of the earth if you asked.”

“You really do like the Oscar-winner lines, huh?”

“Can’t help it. You make me dramatic.”

She kissed him again, this time quick and giddy, a burst of affection she couldn’t contain. He tasted like champagne. She probably did too.

Eventually, the party began to thin. The most chaotic of the press disappeared, and even the most energetic guests started slipping out. But she stayed until the end, still barefoot by then, heels dangling from one hand, Harry’s jacket draped over her shoulders. The Oscar was back in her grasp, solid and surreal.

It was sometime around four in the morning when they finally left, stepping out into the cool early air. The streets outside were quiet. The night had shifted, a slow descent from euphoria into something softer. Calmer.

They slipped into the back of a black SUV, the Oscar carefully nestled between them. Her head dropped onto Harry’s shoulder, and he laced their fingers together, resting their hands in her lap.

“I’m scared this is all a dream,” she murmured.

“If it is,” he said, kissing the top of her head, “we’re having the same one.”

She smiled against his jacket. Her lashes fluttered. Her limbs ached. Her chest was full.

Everything shimmered.

Everything felt impossibly light.

And even though something unnamed hovered just on the edge—some strange weight she couldn’t place yet—she didn’t reach for it. Not yet.

Not tonight.

Tonight, she had the gold in her hands, the man she loved beside her, and a sky full of stars blinking down in quiet approval.

The city was quieter now. Even in the early-morning buzz of LA, there was a strange hush, like the world itself had fallen asleep while they kept dreaming. The SUV moved through the near-empty streets with a steady hum, headlights painting soft gold across pavement and palm trees. Her head was still resting on Harry’s shoulder, his fingers drawing slow, absent-minded circles on her hand. She could hear his heartbeat. Could feel the steady rhythm of his breath.

She hadn’t wanted the night to end. Not really. But exhaustion had started to crawl in, soft and slow, the way it does after the adrenaline wears off. Her body ached in places she didn’t expect—from the heels, the tightness of the gown, the constant tension of smiling, posing, holding herself together. Still, beneath the tiredness, she felt full. Like she was carrying something sacred.

The Oscar sat on the seat between them, catching the faintest bit of light every now and then, flashing gold like it was winking at her. Every time she looked at it, she half-expected it to disappear.

She didn’t remember pulling her phone out—just that, at some point, her fingers had found their way to her clutch. Maybe it was habit. Maybe she just wanted to see the love. The posts from friends. Her team. Maybe even some fan edits or Tweets with her name in all caps, exclamation marks trailing like confetti. She wasn’t looking for anything specific—just something to hold onto. Something to make the moment last a little longer.

But the second the screen lit up, the illusion cracked.

At first, it was what she expected—photos of her on the carpet, snippets of her acceptance speech, her name trending at the top. But then she scrolled. And scrolled. And there it was.

“She didn’t deserve it.”

“She just cried and looked pretty.”

“Should’ve gone to [insert other nominee].”

“She was fine, but not Oscar-worthy.”

“Nepotism at its finest.”

The words were sharp and cold, almost clinical in how efficiently they cut through her. There were dozens. Hundreds. Her stomach dropped like a stone. Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone. The air in the car seemed thinner suddenly, the buzz in her ears louder.

She blinked. Read them again. As if they might change the second time.

They didn’t.

She tried to pull back, to remind herself that it didn’t matter. That people were always going to have opinions. That this was part of it. But those thoughts were flimsy armor. The words still slipped through.

The high of the night didn’t just fade—it crashed, hard and fast, like a glass falling off a shelf and shattering on tile. She could still hear the echoes of applause in her head, but now it felt like a mockery. Her speech replayed in flashes—her shaking voice, the tears in her eyes—and now all she could think about was how many people were sitting behind screens, tearing it apart.

She didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at her screen, the scrolling continuing on autopilot even though every swipe made it worse.

Harry noticed the shift almost immediately. He always did.

“Hey,” he said softly, “what’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer at first. Didn’t know how to. Her throat felt tight.

He gently tugged the phone out of her hands, and she didn’t stop him.

He looked at the screen. Scrolled once. Twice. His expression didn’t change much, but his jaw tensed.

“Babe,” he said, “don’t read this shit.”

She stared out the window. “I didn’t mean to. I was just—checking. Seeing what people were saying.”

Harry sighed and slid her phone into his coat pocket. “People are always going to talk. Doesn’t mean they’re right.”

She nodded. But it didn’t help.

Because she knew, logically, that online hate was inevitable. Especially now. Especially at this level. She’d seen it happen to others. Seen people torn apart over performances, over speeches, over dresses and facial expressions and literally anything. She wasn’t naive. But it was different when it was you.

It was different when you’d just had the biggest night of your life and now, here you were, staring at a comment that casually dismissed your entire career like it was nothing. Like it was handed to you.

The SUV pulled up to their place and she got out slowly, the air even colder now. Her dress dragged slightly as she walked, and Harry had to remind her not to forget the Oscar in the backseat. She carried it in with both hands, but it felt heavier now.

Inside, the silence was thicker. Their place was dark, still. The quiet was usually comforting. Tonight it just made the buzz in her head louder.

She set the statue down on the kitchen counter, stared at it for a long moment.

“I shouldn’t have looked,” she said finally.

Harry walked up behind her, slid his arms around her waist, rested his chin on her shoulder. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s just—” She paused, then turned in his arms so she could see his face. “They’re saying I didn’t deserve it. That I only got it because of who I’m dating or who my mom is or whatever bullshit they think matters more than the work.”

Harry didn’t look away. “You do deserve it.”

“But what if they’re right?”

“They’re not.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can,” he said, voice low but firm. “Because I watched you build this. Brick by brick. I saw you bust your ass for that role. I saw the nights you didn’t sleep, the days you pushed through when you were ready to quit. I saw what it cost you. I know what it took.”

She felt the tears building again, slow and helpless. She hated that she was crying. Hated that people she didn’t even know could get under her skin like this.

Harry cupped her face. “Baby, this doesn’t change anything. Those people on the internet? They didn’t watch you become her. They didn’t see the work. They just want something to be mad about. Don’t let them take this from you.”

She leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“I just wanted to feel proud,” she whispered. “Even if just for a night.”

“You can be proud. You should be.”

He pulled her in then, held her tight against him, his arms wrapped around her like armor. She let herself sink into him, eyes burning, chest aching.

“I know it’s hard,” he murmured. “I know it hurts. But you can’t let strangers dim what you’ve done. Not after tonight. Not ever.”

She didn’t respond, just let herself be held.

Eventually, they moved to the couch. She curled up beside him, his hoodie now draped over her, the TV on low but ignored. Her phone stayed where he left it—out of sight. She didn’t ask for it again.

The Oscar stayed on the counter, catching the first hints of morning light.

And somewhere, beneath all the noise, she knew he was right.

She just couldn’t feel it yet.

It lingered in her bones—something invisible and heavy, dulling the edges of everything. No matter how many times Harry told her she deserved it, no matter how many friends texted congratulations or sent voice notes filled with giddy excitement, the comments still lived just beneath the surface of her thoughts. And when the sun finally rose, burning through the fog of the sleepless night, she felt like she hadn’t won anything at all.

They had booked a hotel suite for the night of the ceremony, a quiet place tucked above the city skyline with blackout curtains and room service. It had seemed luxurious yesterday—something special, celebratory. Now, it felt sterile. A holding cell between the high of last night and whatever came next.

She hadn’t even changed out of her dress.

The sequins that had once felt like magic now clung to her like armor she couldn’t peel off. Her hair was half undone, pins slipping loose. Her makeup was smeared, but she hadn’t looked in the mirror to check how bad. She didn’t want to see herself.

She sat on the edge of the bed, knees tucked up, her bare feet curled beneath her. Her phone glowed in the dim room, casting harsh light across her face. She scrolled.

And scrolled.

It wasn’t all bad. That was the hardest part—there was love in there. Kindness. Genuine joy. Fans posting her speech with heart emojis. A little girl in a homemade dress pretending to accept an Oscar “just like Y/N.” Colleagues praising her performance. Friends defending her in threads already riddled with hate. There were bright spots, but they were few and far between the barbed wire.

She kept tapping.

“She’s mid.”

“Can’t believe she cried like that—so performative.”

“She got it because she’s pretty.”

“This is why the Oscars don’t matter anymore.”

Every comment was a little pinprick, barely noticeable on its own, but bleeding her dry in slow drops. Her breath started to catch. She told herself to stop. To just stop. But the part of her that needed to see the worst—so she could maybe stop fearing it—kept scrolling anyway.

It was like digging your nails into a bruise.

When the tears came, they were sudden and angry. She didn’t even realize she was crying until her vision blurred and a hot tear rolled down the curve of her cheek, dropping onto her phone screen. She blinked hard, wiped her face, only for more to follow.

She set the phone down.

Then she picked it up again.

Locked it. Unlocked it.

Read the same comment for the third time just to be sure it stung as bad.

And then she threw it.

Not violently. Not dramatically. Just enough to get it away from her. The phone skidded across the bedspread and landed with a dull thud on the floor.

She sat there, hands trembling in her lap, chest tight, as the sobs built behind her teeth like a tidal wave waiting to crash. She didn’t want Harry to see her like this. Not after last night. Not after everything he’d said. He was still asleep, or so she thought—curled up in the other room, letting her have space. He’d offered to stay, to talk, but she’d told him she was fine. Lied through her teeth because it felt like the only way to not fall apart in front of him.

But now the tears wouldn’t stop.

Now her shoulders were shaking and her breaths came out in broken little gasps and she couldn’t tell if she was upset because of the comments, or because she believed them. Maybe both.

Because what if they were right?

What if she hadn’t been the best?

What if the role wasn’t as impressive as they’d made it seem? What if she’d just been lucky, caught in the swell of good PR and timing and a famous boyfriend by her side?

The gold statue felt a million miles away now, like it belonged to someone else.

Her hands came up to cover her face as the sob broke through her throat, loud and ugly and desperate. And that’s when she heard the door open.

“Y/N?”

Harry’s voice, groggy and low but instantly alert.

She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

She felt the bed shift as he crossed the room, footsteps fast but quiet. He crouched in front of her without asking, his hands already reaching for hers, gently pulling them down from her face.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered. His thumb brushed under her eyes, catching a tear. “No. What happened?”

She tried to speak. Shook her head instead.

But he could see it—see the truth in the way her body was curled in on itself, the way her face was crumpled, eyes swollen and red. He glanced down and saw the phone on the floor.

“Is this about the comments?”

She nodded once, miserably.

“Fuck.” He sighed, ran a hand through his curls. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with that damn thing.”

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, voice raw and paper-thin.

He looked up, startled. “What the hell are you sorry for?”

“I just… I should be happy. I want to be. But I can’t stop thinking that maybe they’re right.”

“Stop.”

She looked up at him, eyes blurry.

“I mean it,” he said, voice firmer now. “Stop. You’re allowed to have feelings, but don’t you dare say they’re right. Not about this. Not about you.”

She sniffled. “You don’t get it—”

“Then make me get it. Talk to me.”

She tried. She tried to form the words. To make sense of the mess in her head. But all that came out was a broken whisper: “I feel like a fraud.”

His heart cracked at the sound of it. He cupped her cheeks, holding her steady, grounding her.

“You’re not a fraud. You’re the realest thing in this whole fucking industry. I’ve watched you doubt yourself, question every move, pour your whole heart into every scene. You didn’t get lucky. You got good.”

She swallowed hard, tears still spilling.

“I don’t know how to believe that right now.”

“I’ll believe it for both of us, then.”

His hands moved to her back, guiding her into his chest. She folded into him, clinging like he was the only solid thing left. And maybe he was. He didn’t speak right away, just held her while her shoulders heaved with the force of her grief. Let her sob into his shirt, into the quiet.

When her breathing finally slowed, when her tears ran dry, he kissed her temple and said, “We’re going to get through this, yeah? One comment, one panic spiral, one deep breath at a time.”

She didn’t answer, but she nodded. And for now, that was enough.

They stayed like that for a long time, the sun crawling higher behind the curtains. The dress still clung to her, uncomfortable and stiff, but she didn’t have the energy to take it off. Not yet.

Eventually, Harry shifted, his voice gentler now. “Let me run you a bath.”

She hesitated, then nodded again. He kissed her forehead and disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the space soon after. She leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed, trying to remember how the night had felt when everything was still perfect.

She still didn’t feel it.

But maybe she would. Eventually.

Maybe this was just the fall before the rise.

Maybe, in time, she’d find her way back to the version of herself who stood on that stage, gold in hand, voice shaking but steady, thanking the man she loved and the person she was becoming.

But right now, she let herself be small. Let herself be held. Let herself fall apart.

Because tomorrow was another day.

And she’d need all her strength to begin again.

She stayed curled in the safety of his arms, the room dim around them, muted and quiet except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the occasional creak of old floorboards settling. She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. Her body said everything. The tightness in her shoulders, the exhaustion radiating off her in waves. Harry felt it the second she walked in, her face crumpling the moment the door closed behind her. He didn’t need an explanation. He already knew.

He said nothing, just opened his arms and waited. She stepped into him like muscle memory, like this was the only place in the world that made sense right now. And when her body gave out—when her knees buckled from the weight of it all—he caught her without hesitation. No questions, no demands. Just held her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapping tight around her waist, anchoring her.

“Don’t do this, baby,” he whispered, voice low and rough, lips close to her temple. “Don’t let them take this from you.”

She shook her head, barely. A few stray tears clung to her lashes before falling, soaking into the collar of his shirt. Harry didn’t flinch. Just kept holding her like she was something sacred, something that couldn’t break as long as he had her.

His fingers moved in slow, soothing circles across her back. Sometimes he pressed a kiss to her forehead, other times he just breathed her in, grounding her in his steady presence. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that—minutes, maybe longer. Time bent weirdly when pain was involved.

“They weren’t there,” he said quietly, when her breathing started to even out. “Not when you spent months pouring yourself into this role. Not for the late nights, the rejections, the silence between auditions that made you question everything. They weren’t there for the nights you couldn’t sleep because your mind wouldn’t stop picking apart every scene you did. But I was. And I saw every second of it.”

Her grip on his shirt tightened. Her voice cracked as she whispered, “I just… I thought I’d feel different. I thought winning would make it all worth it.”

Harry leaned back just enough to see her face. She avoided his eyes at first, but he gently tilted her chin up until she had no choice.

“It is worth it,” he said, firm but tender. “You just have to believe it.”

She blinked, and another tear slipped down her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb, slow and soft.

“I don’t know how to believe that,” she said. “Not when everything still feels so—empty.”

He nodded like he understood. Because he did.

“You’ve been running on fumes for months,” he said. “Running so fast you didn’t stop to feel anything. Now it’s over and you finally have a second to breathe, and all of it—the stress, the pressure, the fear—it's crashing down. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. It just means you're human.”

She pressed her forehead to his. Closed her eyes. Let herself stay there.

“You didn’t do this for the validation,” he murmured. “Not really. You did it because it mattered to you. Because you had something to say and this was your way of saying it. And you did. You did.”

Her lips quivered, but she stayed silent.

“And maybe right now it doesn’t feel like enough. That’s okay. You don’t have to feel grateful or proud tonight. You just have to let yourself feel whatever the hell this is.”

He paused, then added, quieter, “Just don’t let them convince you it wasn’t real.”

She opened her eyes. Met his gaze. There was no judgment there. Just love. Steady and quiet and patient.

“I don’t want to be this person,” she said. “The one who breaks down after everything goes right.”

Harry gave a soft laugh—not mocking, just real.

“Babe, if you didn’t break down after all that, I’d be worried. You’ve been holding it all in for so long. Letting go doesn’t make you weak. It means you're still here. Still trying.”

Her breath hitched again. But this time, it wasn’t a sob. It was something closer to relief.

“Remember when you almost quit last year?” he asked.

She nodded, slowly.

“You told me, ‘If I walk away now, I’ll regret it forever.’ And you were right. You didn’t walk away. You stayed. You fought. And you fucking won.”

His voice cracked just slightly on that last word. Like he was feeling it too.

She laughed through a tear. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

“Good,” he said, kissing her forehead again. “You need it.”

For a moment, they just sat there—her curled against him, his hand in her hair, their breaths syncing up in the quiet. It was the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled. The kind that said: I’ve got you.

She shifted, not away from him, just enough to rest her head on his shoulder.

“Sometimes I feel like they’re waiting for me to mess up,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

“They probably are,” he said honestly. “That’s what people do. They build you up, then wait for you to fall. But screw them. You don’t owe anyone your peace.”

She nodded slowly, like she was letting the words settle somewhere deeper than her mind.

“You’re not a product,” he continued. “You’re not a headline or a photo op or whatever bullshit story they’re trying to spin. You’re a person. An artist. You don’t have to carry their expectations.”

“I want to enjoy this,” she said. “I want to be proud without second-guessing everything.”

“And you will,” he said. “Not tonight, maybe. But soon.”

They fell quiet again, the weight between them not gone but easier to hold now that it was shared. Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look at him, really look.

“I don’t say it enough,” she said.

“You don’t have to,” he replied.

“No, I do.” She took a breath. “Thank you. For always seeing me. Even when I can’t see myself.”

Harry didn’t say anything at first. Just reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, his eyes soft.

“Always,” he said simply. “I’ve got you. No matter what.”

She leaned in, resting her forehead against his again.

“I think I just need tonight to fall apart,” she said.

“Then fall,” he whispered. “I’ll catch you.”

And she did.

No performance, no poise, no pressure to be anything other than exactly who she was in that moment. Messy. Tired. Raw.

He held her through it all.

And when her breathing finally slowed, when the sobs turned to sighs and her muscles stopped shaking, he didn’t let go. Just sat there with her in the dark, rubbing slow circles on her back, anchoring her to the here and now.

Because tomorrow, she’d get up again.

Tomorrow, she’d face it all with the strength she’d rebuilt in his arms tonight.

But tonight—tonight was hers to fall apart.

And his to hold her together.

Tomorrow, she’d face it all with the strength she’d rebuilt in his arms tonight.

But tonight—tonight was hers to fall apart.

And his to hold her together.

And she’d need all her strength to begin again.

She stayed pressed against him, the rise and fall of his chest steady under her cheek. The storm inside her had softened—not gone, not yet, but no longer spinning out of control. Just quiet enough to think. To breathe.

She let out a slow, shaky breath. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as she nodded once, against the warmth of him.

Harry didn’t rush her. Just kissed the top of her head and said softly, “C’mon. Let’s get you out of this dress and into something comfy.”

She managed a small hum of agreement, the words too heavy to speak just yet. Her limbs were sluggish as she moved, like wading through the aftermath of a tidal wave. He helped her to her feet with quiet care, hands on her waist steadying her as she stood.

The dress felt heavier now, weighed down by everything it had come to represent—expectation, perfection, performance. She peeled it off slowly, letting it slip to the floor in a pool of satin and silence. And when Harry handed her one of his oversized shirts, she didn’t hesitate.

It smelled like him. Safe. Familiar. Like home.

She tugged it over her head and sank onto the edge of the bed, her bare legs curled up beneath her. The award sat on the nightstand where Harry had placed it earlier. Her name gleamed on the plaque, etched into gold, definitive and real.

She stared at it for a long moment. Then, without really thinking, reached out and ran her fingers over the engraving.

Her name.

Not a character’s. Not a role. Hers.

A breath caught in her throat—not from pain, but something quieter. Something close to pride.

It didn’t crash over her all at once. It came in fragments. The way the room had gone still when they’d called her name. The walk to the stage she barely remembered. The weight of the statue in her hand. The applause that had felt both thunderous and far away. And the silence afterward, when the noise faded and doubt tried to creep in.

But now, in this quiet, with the weight of the moment behind her and the warmth of him beside her, something shifted.

She let herself smile. Just a little. Just enough.

Harry crawled into bed behind her, pulling the covers up and wrapping himself around her. One arm slid around her waist, his hand finding hers. He laced their fingers together like he always did when he needed her to know she wasn’t alone.

“You deserved this,” he whispered. “And nothing they say can change that.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just let the words sink into her. Not like before, when she heard them but couldn’t feel them. This time, they landed differently. This time, they stayed.

“I know,” she whispered back, surprised by how much she meant it.

It wasn’t total belief yet. Not full, not unwavering. But it was a start. A crack of light in a door she’d kept locked for too long.

Harry kissed the back of her shoulder, soft and lingering. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

She smiled again, this time a little fuller. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

She turned her head, just enough to look at him over her shoulder. His eyes were half-lidded, tired but still full of that same quiet conviction. The kind that never asked her to be anything more than exactly who she was.

“Thanks for staying,” she said.

“I always will.”

They didn’t need to say more. He pulled her closer, and she let him. Their bodies molded together under the covers, legs tangled, his breath brushing the back of her neck.

Outside, the city kept buzzing. Somewhere out there, people were already dissecting the night. The speeches, the dresses, the wins, the losses. Her name would be in headlines tomorrow—already was, probably. But that noise felt far away now. Muted.

In here, in this room, there was only warmth. Only quiet.

Her eyes flicked to the award one last time. The way the light caught on its edges. The way it stood there—solid and still and real.

She’d earned it.

No matter what anyone said. No matter how loud the voices got.

She closed her eyes with a slow breath.

And for the first time that night, she let herself believe it.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

taglist: @oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london @zbaby @harryscherries28 @michellekstyles @alohajix

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles one shot

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ghelullu · 2 months ago

Text

Okay so Frankfurt skeletour ritual!!

I probably forgot a lot, because it WAS a lot. Tldr: fucking amazing. They're all so good. The long version is under the cut

The bass was on 90000, felt in your entire body

No Swiss (and no, papa didn't mention it at all)

Peacefieeeeeeeeeld 😭😭😭😭🤌🏽 it's SO so so so good live with the added synths

papa sounds absolutely fucking amazing

During spirit he lasciviously rubbed up his thigh while looking me into the eye and I perished

We got Faith again (instead of Pinnacle) and he said Dummkopf

He got rid of the teleprompter, which makes total sense - he wasn't looking at it ever because he's way too busy interacting with his crowd (aka killing us)

Majesty got replaced this time by CMLS (Swiss vocals were missed a lot here)

Germans were germanly clapping and he channeled his inner Terzo and gave me a tiny stamp of approval for clapping correctly (years of playing jazz on the saxophone finally paid off, my teacher would be so proud)

He thanked us for our patience after the post cmls change, very polite man

Rain is an excellent bass player and he's getting more and more sassy

At one point papa ran behind the stage and seemed to stumble over the drum stage thingy step, bless him

He wanted us to not be gentle but rough with him despite being new again, slut

No jacket for TFIAL, only the silky shirt, I died again

The mitre with the wings seemed more stable, I guess they fixed it to the mask or something

Holding eye contact with him when he bends over with the red light in his face during a Hell Satan is FINE

The backdrop Deflation worked mostly fine this time, only a bit got stuck on the edge. No close calls for any ghoulettes

Speaking of ghoulettes: at one point aurora and the new one joined dew at his side of the stage and it was very cute

Dew was hobbling around with his big boot, poor guy, but he did well!! Got a big shout out from papa before squammer

He also didn't seem to lose his pants as much, but jesus christ are they tailored to the crotch (not a complaint)

When umbra started no one visibly knew the song but me in the area and he looked into my eyes and, while starting singing, fixed his collar and I died yet again (if you know the song already, then you understand even more why)

With no Swiss there, new ghoulette was playing the cowbell

The guitar/keyboard bit in umbra is so incredibly sexy

He fucking ciriced Jesus (a cosplayer in a jesus costume, not their stage manager) at least it looked like that from where I was standing, please correct me if you were near there and I'm wrong. Also the sparkly mask is SO sparkly

Mummy dust. He did the Copia butt grab thing and stuck his tongue out (slut), choked himself with the ascot (slut) and for the thrusting bit put a leg on a box and went low for some very biblical hip movement (slut)

The mummy dust amount and coverage was... Not very good, mightve been bc of the odd shape of the venue (I think they usually have more cannons)

Bouncy papa in KTGG. Also his shirt rode all the way up, full stomach.

Made a not bad face at our singing participation esp during dathoml but we did fail the ch ch ch but badly, tbf

He seemed less smiley than in Manchester and what others described during the last few rituals. Not sure if that's bc of the ✨things✨ or because he's trying to keep himself from grinning the whole time (sometimes he squeezes his lips together in a way that looks like he's doing that), was more smiley during the encore though

He mentioned ghost. Like. As the name of the band. On stage??? I was shook bc I've never heard him do that in character!!?

For the anon who asked if cirrus does her sexy solo thing in monstrance clock: yes she does, everyone bow to the queen

After monstrance clock the Germans germaned again and shouted zugabe, zugabe, Which he pretended not to understand upon returning to the stage

"Do you think we are cheesy? Do you like cheese(y)?? (loud German cheer because we do love cheese) Then we are the right band for you, I give you Käse!!!"

Papa also said that he doesn't know much German, only a little bit "ungefähr" he always knows the most random words

Bouncy papa for Dance Macabre again. No wobble wobble though, sad.

Papa and phantom twirl!!!! Also papa twirling at the front of the stage and the behind the stage walking area

Squammer rocks always

Phantom is an absolutely amazing guitar player, it can't be said enough, and he's also becoming more and more of an entertainer too

One of rains picks bounced off my forehead and someone picked it up and kept it :((( (I didn't see it incoming bc of dude in front of me and his hat)

Other notes

Security was good (at least what I saw), especially ghosts own security crew is excellent, very fun and friendly, handing out water, joking around with fans, a+++ guys

The vip items are an insult there's no other words for this lmao

The org for leaving the venue was bad with a stream of people walking to their jackets crossing the stream of people leaving, it took forever

I had an amazing spot in the 3rd/4th row and everytime you make eye contact with Papa you die, it's like a superpower of his

Eye contact with the ghouls is extremely cool due to their mask making their eyes only barely visible

If you are wearing a big hat to a concert and don't take it off during the concert you're a fucking asshole and deserve to be punched in your face 5 times

The whole stage setup is still so cool. As far as I could tell the THE spotlight situation got mostly solved, at least I didn't encounter it (if you know you know). The lights from the big grucifix lighting rig are incredibly bright if they hit you in the face though, like I was so close to putting on my sunglasses at one point 😂but they're never on like this for long!

Edit: added thoughts that I forgot previously

He didn't miss the start of dathoml this time

Still doesn't know lyrics to faith and many other songs (I say lovingly, bc same)

They soundchecked nocturnal me (I didn't hear much and only realised it was that after someone posted this) and if they play this and I don't get any recordings of that I will die (according to twitter they also soundchecked depth of Satan's eyes!)

Phantom mvp, again.

Germans germaning vs the poor ghoulbangers lady; most of us FLEE when there's an interview person, but luckily there's always a Rampensau (affectionate) ready to save the rest of us

His vocals are so good, god.

Papa is really going through it during satanized, protecting his head and crouching down suffering on the stairs during the guitar solp

Peeeaaacefieeeeld

#The band ghost #Ghost #Skeletour #Frankfurt 2025 #Papa v #Lus ghravel fun #Skeletour recap #Ritual recap

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silly1billy · 1 month ago

Note

Hii! Can I please request the skz boys when the reader drags them into a pampering night? With colorful facemasks, matching hairbands, nail painting and a lot of fluffiness?

~Stray Kids Pampering Night Headcanons~

pairing: Skz x f!reader

genre: fluff

word count: Around 780

warnings: none

Hii! Absolutely, that sounds adorable

🐺 Bang Chan

He pretends to act surprised like, “Wait, you want me to do this?” but he’s already wearing the fluffy wolf headband you gave him.

Tries to be helpful and starts reading the instructions on every product like it's a mission.

Genuinely enjoys how calming it is. His favorite part? When you gently apply the face mask for him.

“We should do this every week,” he murmurs, snuggled up next to you under a blanket, skin glowing and nails pastel blue.

🐱 Lee Know

Sassy. Judgy. But in his seat five seconds after you say “matching facemasks.”

“Why does mine look lopsided? Yours is symmetrical.” Secretly very into it.

Picks out a sleek black nail polish and acts nonchalant while showing off his hands afterward. “Cats need claws, you know.”

His Leebit headband matches yours, and even though he rolls his eyes, he adjusts it carefully so the ears sit perfectly.

🐖 Changbin

Loudly dramatic about it. “Y/N, are you trying to turn me into a beauty guru?!” as he settles in with a bright green facemask.

Laughs the entire time but keeps asking if his skin looks better every five minutes.

Lets you paint his nails glittery purple and tells you their his “manly sparkle.”

Insists Dwaekki gets a little mini facial too. You both end up doing it on a plushie with verrrrry much seriousness.

🦙 Hyunjin

He lives for this. Already had a Pinterest board ready.

Brought his own floral-scented masks and fancy rose gold nail polish. Treats the whole thing like a sacred ritual.

“Skin is art, Y/N. Let me transform you.” Applies your mask with a brush like he's painting a masterpiece.

Wears his headband with pride, and he absolutely documents the night with a Instagram story.

🐿 Han

Makes ten jokes a minute, especially when the cold mask touches his face. “Is this what frogs feel like?” (goofy ahh🥀)

Picks a rainbow of colors for his nails and insists they represent his complex emotions.

Constantly wiggles his fingers while you’re trying to paint them. “Oops. My instincts took over. 👅”

His favorite part is getting to just hang out with you.

🐥 Felix

So excited. His voice drops into that deep warm tone as he gushes, “I’ve never done this before but it looks so fun!”

Picks glittery pink masks and sunflower yellow polish to match you.

Treats it like a spa retreat. Lights a candle, puts on calming music, and keeps checking in to make sure you’re relaxed too.

Puts his BbokAri headband on you first, then himself. “Now we match 💛✨”

🐶 Seungmin

Dry sarcasm🥀💔. “This is my dream night,” he says, deadpan, while letting you stick a strawberry-scented sheet mask on his face.

Protests when you go for pastel pink nails—“Why not black?”—but leaves them on for days.

Surprisingly focussed when doing your nails. Holds your hand carefully, brows furrowed in concentration.

Wears the headband low over his eyes, pretending it’s for privacy, but he’s secretly enjoying every second.

🦊 I.N

Blushes immediately. “We’re doing what?” But the moment he sees your excited expression, he’s in.

Tries to act tough at first—“I don’t need skincare”—but is the most dramatic when his mask feels cold. “I’M FREEZING.”

Picks sparkly sky blue for his nails and insists he gets to paint one of yours too. Concentrates so hard, he sticks his tongue out while working. 👅

Can’t stop giggling when you show him how cute he looks in his FoxI.Ny headband. “Don’t post that—actually… send it to me first.”

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lyn31 · 2 months ago

Note

My baby serena is truly the cutest 🥹 and a jealous daddy zayne! Now imagine if serena announced that she wants to marry uncle greyson 🤣 all hell will break lose and zayne is ready to have a meltdown while mc is just cackling in the back enjoying the drama and she definitely would’ve to console a very upset zayne after 🤣

Right??? Gosh she doesn't know the power she weilded yet ahahahahaha Oh no, I can imagine it now ahahahahaha ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emergency Matchmaker

Summary

When a cartoon wedding sparks Serena’s curiosity, an innocent question spirals into a surprise proposal—sending Zayne into full dad-mode panic over her choice of future groom: Greyson.

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Pure fluff and silly. I was not expecting to write this actually, I was just like "oh this is cute, let me write down their dialogue, make it a cute little drabble." Big mistake. Now it's a one shot instead ahahahaha Well big mistake or a blessing? 😂 This is quite random but hopefully y'all enjoy it!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Serena is stacking her blocks in that careful, concentrated way of hers, half-distracted by the cartoon playing on the TV. Every so often, she glances at the screen and then at you, pointing at something that just happened, waiting for your commentary. You give her simple answers—most of it is about friendship and kindness, nothing too complicated.

But then, the cartoon shifts into a dramatic wedding scene, complete with sparkly outfits and a flower arch. The characters are declaring their love, holding hands as music swells.

Serena looks at you again, this time with a question already forming behind her eyes.

You smile. “That’s a marriage ceremony,” you explain gently, shifting closer to sit beside her. “It’s one of the ways people show they love each other and want to spend their whole lives together.”

She blinks slowly, absorbing the idea.

“Like how Mommy and Daddy got married. And Aunty Rose and Uncle Caleb too.”

She tilts her head. “Do I need to get married too?”

“Only if you want to, sweetie. You don’t have to. There’s lots of ways to tell someone you love them and want to stay with them forever.”

Serena nods thoughtfully. As she stacks her blocks, she starts asking more general questions about marriage. Then, after a while, she starts listing things off like she’s building a checklist for her future.

“So... you marry someone you want to spend more time with?”

“Yes.”

“They’re usually kind or cool so you want to know them better?”

“Yes?”

“You only do it if you want to. And if you or the other person asks.”

“...Yes,” you say again, smiling, while her question is not wrong but it's not quite right either.

She frowns, deep in thought. “Do I have to marry Mommy and Daddy?”

You chuckle. “No, baby. We’re already family. One of the things marriage does is make you family with someone. But you’re already ours.”

Something about that answer seems to click in her head. She nods solemnly, then returns to her blocks. A moment later, Zayne steps into the room, tea mug in hand, the scent of jasmine following him as he lowers himself onto the sofa.

He’s just taken his first sip when Serena perks up and declares, “I’ll ask Uncle Greyson to marry me then!”

Zayne freezes mid-sip. If he had been drinking just a second longer, you’re sure the tea would’ve gone flying. He lowers the mug and coughs once.

“You’re too young for that, sweetheart,” he says, voice as calm as ever, though the slight wideness in his eyes betrays him.

Serena just blinks at him, gives a little shrug, and turns back to her blocks as if it’s no big deal. Just a passing thought. Zayne turns his gaze to you slowly, wordlessly, What does that even mean?

You burst out laughing.

Serena doesn’t even flinch. By now, your sudden laughter doesn’t faze her.

Meanwhile, Zayne is pulling his phone out of his pocket, frowning slightly as he unlocks it.

You watch him, still smiling. “Are you... calling someone?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but as he lifts the phone to his ear, he glances at you with that same neutral expression. “We need to find you a wife,” he says into the phone, like he’s making a very rational decision.

You blink. You can’t hear the other side, but you can sense the confusion through the static silence.

Then it hits you.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, watching your very serious husband continue his very serious call.

“Don’t you always complain about it?” Zayne adds. “This is a good time.”

You shake your head in disbelief, biting your lip to keep from laughing again. “No—but if you’re busy, I can call Caleb for you instead. Listen—”

That’s your cue. You pluck the phone from his hand before things get worse, as much as you’d love to see him rope Caleb into this very serious plan, you’d rather not bother Greyson too much. Zayne’s brows furrow as he watches you place the phone to your ear—one hand on your waist, the other curled loosely around your wrist.

“Hey, Greyson, sorry,” you say, still smiling. “Just a mild dad panic moment, no big deal.”

“Huh?” Greyson sounds genuinely baffled. “What did I do?”

“Oh, nothing. Serena just announced she wants to marry you, that’s all.”

There’s a beat before Greyson laughs, genuinely amused.

Zayne scowls. His arm slips around your waist, tugging you closer as he glances at Serena—still stacking her blocks like the future of the universe depends on it.

“That’s hilarious,” Greyson says through the speaker.

“It really is,” you reply, running your fingers through Zayne’s hair, which only makes him pout. Well, not really, but close enough.

“Anyway, sorry for the surprise proposal. Have a good day, okay?” You exchange a few quick goodbyes before handing the phone back to Zayne.

He takes it with visible reluctance, muttering, “I was handling it.”

“Of course you were, darling,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head before settling beside him on the couch.

He shifts slightly and then leans in, resting his head against your neck. You laugh softly, fingers carding through his hair again.

“It’s still a long way off,” you whisper, “but we’ll be fine.”

He just hums. Serena hums too, softly mimicking the tune from her cartoon, and the room settles into that peaceful rhythm that belongs only to your little family.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

You know the drill at this point 😂 Just me getting carried away like usual. Alright! Starting now, no more distraction! 🫡😂

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨

Although if you missed the Newlyweds series! Here How it all happen And also the Pregnancy series, starting with Try For Baby

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yokumirumerafan · 2 months ago

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How would the hashira’s react to child reader calling them mama/papa

🔥 Kyojuro Rengoku – “Papa?? :D”

He turns around SO FAST his hair almost whips a bird.

“You… called me Papa?” Sparkly anime eyes ACTIVATE. He immediately picks you up and twirls you around in the air, yelling: “YES YES OF COURSE, MY FLAME SPROUT!! I ACCEPT THIS TITLE WITH HONOR!” He carries you on his shoulders everywhere after that. Calls you “My Little Ember.” Mentally already planning a Bento lunch with little carrot flames in your rice.

🌊 Giyuu Tomioka – “Papa…”

Internal.exe has stopped working His eyes go wide. You tug his sleeve, repeat it softer:

“Papa…?” He pauses. Then kneels, rests a hand on your head gently. “…If that’s what you want to call me… then I’ll do my best to deserve it.” 🥺 Soft papa mode: activated. He’s a quiet protector now. Will destroy anyone who makes you cry.

🐍 Obanai Iguro – “Papa!”

Cue a coughing fit. He’s SO FLUSTERED. Kaburamaru is like 🐍: “oh?? 👀” He looks away, blushing, and says:

“Tch… don’t say weird things, brat…” But he starts buying you sweets. And sewing you a scarf to match his. And letting you sit in his lap. And when he thinks you’re asleep? “...I’d die for you, you know that?” (You weren’t asleep. You were just fake sleeping like 😳💖)

🪨 Gyomei Himejima – “Papa~!”

He starts crying. Immediately. Big soft tears. He kneels down and holds your little hands.

“I… I am honored… little one…” You call him Papa again and he hugs you like a warm, safe boulder. He carves you wooden toys with his bare hands and lets you braid flowers into his hair.

🌸 Mitsuri Kanroji – “Mamaaa~!!”

She gasps, sparkles explode around her.

“EEEEHHH??!? MAMA?! OMG YOU’RE SO CUTE I’M GONNA CRY—!!!” Hugs you SO tight and spins you around. Immediately calls herself your Mama everywhere. “That’s my sweet baby!! Isn’t she the cutest?? Mama’s so proud of you!!” Bakes you cookies with little hearts on them.

🌪️ Sanemi Shinazugawa – “Papa!”

He chokes on his own spit.

“HUH?? PAPA?! WHO’S—?! I’M NOT—” But you giggle and hug his leg. He goes silent. Stares at you. Then mutters: “…Damn brat…” But he covers you with his coat when you nap. Brings you your favorite food. Glares at anyone who looks at you funny. Totally your Papa now.

☁️ Muichiro Tokito – “Papa.”

He blinks like: huh?

“That’s… me?” You nod and hold his hand. He gets SO thoughtful about it. You notice he starts walking slower so your little legs can keep up. Later, he mumbles: “Being called Papa doesn’t feel bad…” He lets you put little cloud clips in his hair and scribble drawings in his journal. 🥺

💎 Tengen Uzui – “Papa!!! ✨”

You run up, arms wide, and yell,

“PAPA!!!”

Tengen drops whatever the hell he was holding—

“W-WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!?”

His three wives turn like 👀👀👀

He freezes, eyes wide, sparkles swirling around him like he just got blessed by a god. He gasps SO LOUD. Hand over his heart. Dramatic anime gasp™.

“You… You have chosen me to be your flamboyant father figure?!” “HOW UTTERLY DIVINE!!”

SCOOPS YOU UP LIKE A PRINCE. Twirls you around. Poses with you like:

“LOOK AT US! SO GLORIOUS!! SO POWERFUL!! THIS IS MY CHILD NOW!!”

Calls you “Little Gem” or “Shiny Sprout” from that point on. Gets you a whole wardrobe of flashy little outfits (yes there’s glitter). Insists on teaching you ninja moves that are very extra.

Also super protective:

“Anyone lays a finger on my kid? I make ‘em unrecognizable in 3 seconds.”

His wives adore you too. Suma sobs dramatically with him. Makio calls you “Mini Tengen.” Hinatsuru makes you snacks and tucks you in with a kiss on the forehead.

You’re a part of the Uzui clan now. There’s no going back.

#demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba #kny x y/n #kny x you #kny x reader #hashira x reader #merafan

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aesthetspaghet · 2 months ago

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🩷🖤 Devilishly Cute 🖤🩷

Realised I never shared this here! This custom was a commission for someone over on Instagram that I did last summer.

The lighting in my room sucks so the photos don't do them justice at all. Their eyes are so much more sparkly and mesmerising in person ✨

#furby #furbies #furby baby #furby 1999 #custom furby #furby fandom #furby community #furblr #safe furby #all furby #furby love

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sofiatarot · 30 days ago

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PICK A CARD: Which Sabrina Carpenter song are you?

This is not just a vibe check—this is a cosmic pop girl revelation💋

Taking a quick break from the emotionally intense tarot reads to bring you: ✨Sabrina Carpenter song vibes✨. (Yes I’m obsessed, no I’m not sorry.)

This is just a cute, fun, don’t-take-it-too-seriously kinda read — all about what song you embody right now and why.

This is a fun lil tarot read for entertainment purposes only… unless it’s accurate. Then it’s fate.

PAID READINGS - FREE READINGS - TIP JAR

1//2

3//4

GROUP 1

Cards: 5 of wands, 6 of cups, 3 of swords, the high priestess

Your song: Feather

Babes… I’m getting warrior in heels with a soft heart energy. You’ve been through it. This group has serious “I didn’t ask for drama but somehow I’m always the main character” energy. The 5 of Wands says people love competing with you—even if you’re just chilling. Maybe you have that Scorpio rising or Leo moon magnetic energy that makes others project their insecurities on you??

And the 6 of Cups? I’m sorry but... someone from the past still stalks your stories. They think you don’t know… but you do.

That 3 of swords? Yeah, it hurt. But now you’re in your High Priestess era: knowing everything, saying nothing, looking hot.

You’re literally Feather. You cut the dead weight, you’re glowing, and now you walk into places feeling lighter—like ✂ “you’re gone, so I’m good.”

You give mysterious angel energy with a “don’t mess with me” edge.

Signs that might’ve picked this: Scorpio, Cancer, Aries, Capricorn moons, or anyone with strong 8th house / Pluto energy.

GROUP 2

Cards: Page of cups, 4 of cups, the empress, queen of cups

Your Song: Nonsense

Omg. This is giving ✨chaotic fairy princess✨ energy. You’re romantic, creative, and so unknowingly adorable that people literally blush when they talk to you. But here’s the tea: you’re also the Empress. Like yes, you might seem shy, but you’re quietly running the show.

The 4 of cups says you’re kinda over the bare minimum—bless, but no thanks. You need depth, connection, real romance.

With the queen of cups and page of cups… girl you feel EVERYTHING. You probably write poems or playlists for people you have 2-day crushes on. And you flirt without realizing it. Like, people fall in love with you while you’re just vibing and eating grapes or something.

This is Nonsense because it’s playful, dreamy, and lowkey seductive in the most unserious way. Like you’ll say something completely unhinged and still have people wrapped around your finger.

Astro influences: Pisces, libra, taurus, cancer suns or risings, or literally anyone with Venus in the 1st house. It’s giving soft glam chaos(?

GROUP 3

Cards: 9 of cups Rx, the sun Rx, the moon, page of cups

Your Song: Emails I Can’t Send

Babe… are you journaling with tears in your eyes again? This group is the definition of ✨emotional depth in a sparkly dress✨.

You’ve been putting on a brave face (Sun Rx) but inside? Whew. Your inner world is SO rich and poetic, and sometimes kinda messy, but like… in an aesthetic way.

The moon here is giving intuition, confusion, and late-night overthinking. You feel like your expectations have been disappointed lately (9 of cups Rx), but you’re still trying to be that girl who believes in love.

This is 100% emails I can’t Send because there’s pain, there’s healing, and there’s drama—but make it gorgeous. You’re the friend who writes full-blown prose about a two-week situationship and makes it sound like a Lana Del Rey album.

Also, page of cups? You still believe in romance. And I love that for you. You’re vulnerable, brave, and you turn heartbreak into art.

Astro notes: pisces, scorpio, virgo, or gemini with water moons. Also 12th house stelliums and Neptune aspects giving ✨daydreamer heartbreak princess✨.

GROUP 4

Cards: The world, ace of wands Rx, 10 of wands Rx, 6 of wands Rx, aka: a major cycle closing, burnout central, emotional baggage, and people not clapping when you win. Yikes.

Sooo your Sabrina Carpenter song?

“Because I Liked a Boy.”

Like, obviously.

This group feels like you went through something big — maybe a breakup, maybe a situationship that didn’t situation, or maybe people turned on you when all you did was have feelings?? And now you're left carrying all the weight, all the stares, all the side-eyes… and you're like: excuse me??

It’s giving fire sign energy (leo, aries, sag) that got dimmed. Maybe you were once the “it girl” in a certain context, and now you're feeling lowkey invisible or judged for just… existing and vibing. (Classic 6 of wands reversed drama.) Also very scorpio/pisces coded: people think they know your story, but they actually don’t have a clue what you’ve been through.

“Now I’m a homewrecker, I’m a slut…” — I mean. The song literally embodies the frustration of being misread and overexposed, while inside you're like: I was just trying to love someone?

The world here shows you’re closing the chapter on that version of yourself — or at least trying to — but the reversed wands say the emotional hangover is still real. You’re tired, but you’re also powerful as hell.

Let people talk. You know your truth. And you're so allowed to rest, recover, and then come back 10x hotter.

This is your “I’m soft but I’m not stupid” era.

And your rebirth? Yeah, it’s gonna be iconic.

-Xoxo💋✨️

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rosesnbooks · 11 months ago

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✨Leo placements✨

disclaimer: i am not a professional and i write these posts for fun, so keep that in mind love

☀️sun in leo - these people have big hearts and they love, love attention. however, i have noticed that even though some like attention most of the time, others prefer it in an environment they can control, such as on stage, where they have rehearsed and know about the possible outcomes. they like to take care of themselves and enjoy life. they also love to spoil those they love, and their love is bright and warm. most of them are very creative and especially talented in one domain that they pursue bravely, such as cooking or writing. people notice them wherever they go, and they seem approachable and a little intense. what i mean by that is they seem excited and loud, which is lovely but too much for some people. this isn't true for all of them though; some can be shy to a certain degree when you meet them. they love talking and making people laugh, and this fuels them. they need people in their lives and cannot spend too much time alone. some time is needed for retrospect, which they usually use. they hate failing because it impacts them greatly, but many of them try to process this and continue like nothing happened. unless it is regarding matters of the heart, then it takes more time to get over someone

🌝moon in leo - they like to see the best in people, and sadly many of them get disappointed with time, but there's a part of them that never gives up on people. they are very sensitive deep down and can get hurt easily. their ego truly is an issue, but if they recognize this and work on it, they can develop healthy relationships with others and themselves. they are very creative, and when they focus on their tasks and things they love, they can excel at them and don't stop until what they're working on is up to their standards. they are curious about many things, which is why they may start a hobby and then disregard it with time if their heart wasn't really in it. when they are angry, they can be really harsh and impulsive, similarly to aries, but i feel like they feel sorry about it more than aries because whatever they said to you remains ingrained in their memory. some of them tend to be selfish because their own happiness and worries are their main priority, which isn't bad per se, but it can get out of hand. they hate to waste time and feel like their life has no purpose or impact. i noticed that they have a competitive nature, even when playing games...they just love winning.

🌼ascendant/rising in leo - vibrant, brave, optimistic, and a bit intense people at first glance. they have a strong hunger for happiness and passion. people mostly like them, but some have mixed opinions since some can feel overwhelmed by their energy and self-love. nevertheless, many appreciate their lively nature, and they are easily noticed wherever they go. even if you don't see them momentarily, you'll hear them because they are often loud and like to talk. they might have issues with overindulging in things like binge eating or spending too much money. they can have a strong desire to lead, and if not, they still want to contribute greatly to something and see their influence. they put effort into their looks if they have the time and money because they want to present themselves in the best light (for themselves and others). people usually notice them by their hair, and i'd also like to add that their eyes are very sparkly and focused, and that they may have really quick mannerisms.

🌻mercury in leo - quite expressive when they talk! humor is important to many of them, and they love people who can make them laugh. many tend to speak fast as well. their comedic timing is really good. if underdeveloped, they can be bad listeners and only want to focus on themselves and when it's their turn to talk. they also tend to have a smile on their face most of the time when speaking, just my personal observation. people are charmed by the way they communicate; they cannot help but feel warm. this placement is really passionate about various topics, and it is interesting to listen to them. they often like telling stories, and it feels like you're watching a movie play out because they are really into it and dramatic. there's a lot of passion in their speech, and while it can be over-the-top for some, many enjoy it. honestly, they are so cute. a downside could be their stubborn nature, which may limit their worldviews or general views on some things. they may seem carefree, but they are not, so approach them with kindness and respect.

⭐venus in leo - they love romance and are very loyal and dedicated partners. they need lots of excitement and adoration in their relationship to remain happy. being with someone who takes life too seriously, doesn't praise them enough, and is not really active as a person is a big no for this placement. they love praising people and giving them thoughtful gifts and watching your face light up when you open them. you'll feel super special with them if they think highly of you. they can get crushes from time to time, but if they love you and want to commit, it is harmless. they are very loving toward their friends and are loud about their affections. basically, they adore all love languages, but primarily quality time, words of affirmation, and physical touch would be their top three (in my humble opinion). they also love going places with their loved ones because they have lots of energy and curiosity, and it's really fun to do anything with them. i'd also add that besides leo risings, i've found that leo venus also have curly or generally luscious hair.

♌mars in leo-very bold and a bit stubborn. they need to be active and pursue what they love in order to remain healthy and happy. they are go-getters and they love to spread their positive energy. their stamina is very good. despite their impulsive nature, they are very focused on their goals and try their best to be great. they often get what they want and might really dislike when things don't go their way, but they never give up. may be too stuck in their own ways without seeing the big picture or other perspectives, so they need to be more open-minded because this will help them achieve their goals and form healthier relationships. they are immensely proud of their achievements and especially of the things their loved ones achieved. they can get carried away by their passions, no matter how hard they try not to. their sweetness shines in this placement as well because they truly want to be friends with everyone. lastly, if you're their person, they will be extremely loyal to you

⚡saturn in leo—they may struggle with being more optimistic, putting themselves first, and taking leading roles in any area of their life. they can care too much about what people think or might think about them, so they need to snap out of it. they can be very strict with themselves and quit before even trying things out. just do it, hun; the only way out is through (sadly, but yeah). they are very capable people who already have everything they need within themselves, so trying things out even when scared can bring them lots of luck and, honestly, a better life. putting yourself out there doesn’t mean being vain, pathetic, or needy if you’re not hurting anyone in the process. this placement wants recognition deep down, but they remove themselves from such situations. i'm here to tell you that you’ll survive this and that you won’t lose your individuality in the process. you’ll gain confidence and naturally attract the people who are right for you. on the bonus side, they are often careful and responsible.

🏆jupiter in leo—people with this placement shine brightly when they are in the spotlight. they want to enjoy life and pursue their passions, and the happiness they feel during these moments is contagious. they are generous and inspiring, so many people admire them and feel influenced by them. their generosity is also admirable and fulfilling for them. they can thrive in creative environments and in those where they can express themselves. they are also often good with kids and expressing their childlike nature, which helps them enjoy life and see things more positively. basically, focusing on themselves and others is what brings them luck and joy. they have leadership potential, and at the end of the day, they want someone to recognize their efforts, kindness, and talent, and give them lots of love.

thank you for reading!💛🧡

©rosesnbooks

#astrology #leo zodiac #leo placements #leo astrology #rosesnbooks #this wasn't easy to write cause it turns out i don't know many leo placements so this took work #even soo i hope you like it !! tried my best <33 #dividers by saradika-graphics #p.s. i have recently read that some people noticed leo risings are actually shy at first which was interesting. Idk what to tell you #i had different experiences but i see how it is possible!

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lordprettyflackotara · 8 months ago

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kehlani || mattheo riddle

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. i have no tw’e for this besides the fact this is meant to be like a ✨mystery✨ so happy kinktober detectives!

Mattheo Riddle did not care for relationships.

His father had taught him long ago romantic entanglements were a waste of time. Even with his mother being his father’s right hand in war, he saw her nothing more than just another soldier. Mattheo adored his mother, resulting him deciding it wouldn’t be suitable for him to treat a witch like that. So as he attended Hogwarts University, he focused on his studies instead. The expectation of reviving his father was on his shoulders, the death eaters lurking in the shadows eagerly awaiting Mattheo’s next move. Truthfully Mattheo was a bit behind on his responsibility of being the dark lords son.

Besides stirring up generic chaos in classroom settings with his posse, Mattheo wasn’t living up to the expectations everyone had placed upon him. If anything him and his mates were enjoying having a break from assisting in world domination. Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy were his right hand men, both pure bloods and death eaters themselves. To pass time besides creating entertaining mischief, they found themselves doing what most wizards were doing at their age: partying until the motherfucking sun came up.

Slytherin’s had always been known to throw the most exciting parties, but the outrageous substances at these parties only escalated once they were all in University. With the war over and many Slytherin’s sent to azkaban, the remaining sought to get high or drunk to find a way to cope with their sorrow. Whether or not they believed in Voldermort’s plan was irrelevant, many just coping with the evil stereotype placed upon them. Or in Draco and Theodore’s case, their parents being sent to azkaban for life. In Mattheo’s case, both his parents were dead. The expectation was exhausting if he were being honest, something he only was with Draco and Theo after a good blunt.

It was another one of those kind of nights, the Slytherin common room crowded with party attendees. Not many other houses had the courage to attend Slytherin parties and when they did, they dressed in neutral clothing to blend in. Mattheo could always spot another house member from a mile away though. Gryffindors were often too rowdy, Ravenclaws too reserved, Hufflepuffs too eager to try anything and everything put in front of them. They might as well have written their house on their forehead if you asked Mattheo. He watched the party over the rim of his red solo cup, a custom that Theo had shamelessly stolen from muggle culture. After the war Theodore Nott had been sentenced to community services to assist the muggles. The council assumed it would help them abolish his stigmatization. Unfortunately all it really did was introduce him to the world of muggle drugs.

Draco stood beside Mattheo, inhaling the freshly rolled blunt. If there was anything the three of them thought muggles were good for, it was their drugs. Strobe lights and blaring music helped Mattheo drown out any sort of coherent thoughts, his body living in the now. Theo elbowed him from the other side, cocking his head to the left. “Hey, who the hell is that? I can’t figure out what house she’s in,” Theo asked. He gestured to you, Mattheo’s eyes lighting up at the sight of you. You looked like a breath of fresh air. He had never seen you before, but merlin were you stunning. You wore a black sparkly dress as you talked to what looked to be a Ravenclaw. “Couldn’t tell ya. But she’s not Slytherin so therefore she’s most certainly not pure,” Draco chimed in. Theo and Draco were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Theo would fuck anything with two breasts, while Draco only sought out purebloods. Mattheo feared the pureblood ideology had seeped a little too deep into the blondes head, but he’d never mention it.

“Huh. She doesn’t look like any of them honestly,” Mattheo muttered. Finishing his drink he carelessly tossed the red solo cup away, wiping his upper lip with his sleeve. Curiosity was beginning to nag at Mattheo as he watched you laugh. “I think i’ll go find out,” He announced, confidently strolling over to you. The moment he arrived to your conversation the Ravenclaw boy took a hint, disappearing into the never ending sea of swaying bodies. Your eyes met Mattheo’s, the brunette digging in his pocket and taking out a box of cigarettes. “Cig?” He offered, handing it out to you. You politely declined, watching him place a cigarette between his lips. “Who doesn’t smoke these days?” He asked, lighting the cigarette with the end of his wand. You awkwardly shrugged. “I guess me,” You answered. Mattheo couldn’t quite understand why he was even talking to you, putting aside the morbid curiosity. “So what house are you in?” Mattheo asked. He figured once you answered he’d lose interest, as he did most things.

“Hufflepuff.”

Your answer surprised him, considering how confident you were standing. “Thats shocking,” Mattheo answered honestly. You seemed confused, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? Why is that shocking?” You asked. Mattheo chuckled as he inhaled his cigarette, relishing in the feeling of the tobacco swirling around his lungs before he exhaled. “Well, usually Hufflepuff’s piss themselves when I try to talk to them,” Mattheo explained. He found the situation odd. He had been around the block many of times and was always able to stop the micro movements that belonged to each house. Yet you shockingly displayed none of them. “Huh. You don’t seem so scary to me,” You quipped. Mattheo found himself entertained, chuckling again. “Do you know who I am?” He asked. It was impossible that you didn’t know who he was if you were a student here. “Of course I do. You just aren’t that scary to me,” You replied. The brunette was at a loss for words, the tension between the two of you growing awkward. Mattheo glanced at his friends, who were observing the two of you chat from a far. He figured he should return to them, having the answer to the question they wanted to know.

Just as he was about to walk away, your voice interrupted him, “Wanna dance?”

Your question had taken him aback. No one had ever asked him to dance before. Doing so took a lot of courage, a strangely Gryffindor trait for such a confident Hufflepuff. “Sorry sweetheart I don’t dance,” Mattheo declined, a sly smirk crawling up his lips. You laughed at his remark, grabbing his arm. “Sure you do,” You replied, dragging him onto the self designated dance floor. Mattheo didn’t recognize whatever song was playing, the bass loud and borderline overbearing if he was sober. The only dancing he had ever done was traditional ballroom style, the kind you’d do at the Yule ball for example. He wasn’t quite sure what to do as you swayed your hips in front of him, your eyes gleaming up at him as you patiently waited for him to join. He nervously finished his cigarette, tossing it aside and exhaling through his nose. It wasn’t often Mattheo felt nervous, but your confidence compared to his reluctance definitely made him feel so. You grabbed his hands, your touch warm and soft as you placed them on your hips. You pressed your body against his, Mattheo’s cheeks growing hot. “I’m not quite sure you wanna do that sweetheart, i’m not gentle,” He purred.

Mattheo wasn’t a virgin or anything, having experimented plenty in his teen years. He knew he was rough when it came to sex. He had been on the straight and narrow for a couple of years now, focusing on world domination or whatever his father wanted. But your hips were tempting. Your confidence made it all of the better, your long eyelashes batting up at him. “I didn’t ask if you were. Who knows? Maybe I like it a bit rougher,” You hummed. You turned around, your ass placed against his crotch. Mattheo readjusted his grip on your hips, squeezing the flesh harshly even with your dress providing some form of protection. Mattheo’s hips involuntarily grinded against yours, your body shamelessly dancing to the music. “You’re playing in the snake den princess, wouldn’t want you to get bit,” Mattheo grumbled into your ear, his breath deliciously hot against your skin. You grinned at the sensation, soaking in the attention. “You don’t scare me Riddle,” You replied, pushing your ass against him. He felt himself growing hard under your touch, having not felt someone this close to him in a long time.

Hearing his name fall off of your tongue was music to his ears, the green strobe lights dancing off of your body. Mattheo glanced over at Draco and Theodore, who were cheering him on from a far. Draco was intoxicated enough to put aside his pureblood bigotry and was giving Mattheo two thumbs up. Theo on the other hand was plastered, fresh flakes of cocaine still decorating his upper lip. He was mouthing the words ‘fuck her!’ as he childishly humped the air. Mattheo rolled his eyes, before returning his gaze back to you. Mattheo began having an internal debate, wondering if he should give in to his urges. Could he really allow you to be treated like his mother long term if he followed in his father’s footsteps? He bit his bottom lip as he admired your ass. Maybe he wouldn’t be too terrible of a person if he let you seduce him. Just for a night anyways. “Hey you wanna get out of here?” Mattheo asked, his lips a millimeter away from your earlobe. You grinned as you turned around, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Lead the way.”

Mattheo had a lot of questions about you. You were so mysterious, eagerly following him down to the lower level dungeons where the forms were. He shared a dorm with Theodore and Draco, who would know the room was being more than occupied. His questions arose even further when your lips clashed with his before he could barely shut the door. You were eager and desperate to have him, which puzzled him endlessly. Mattheo was a walking threat to any other witch and wizard, yet a supposed Hufflepuff was nibbling at his bottom lip. Mattheo found himself just as desperate to match your energy, not having any relief from pent up stress in Merlin knows how long. He pressed you against the door, kissing down the side of your neck. His large hands cupped your waist, itching to pull up your dress. “Never would’ve thought the devil would be as eager as me,” You teased, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access.

The time for thinking was over, his hormones and desires in full control as he unzipped your undress. “Never seen a Hufflepuff so slutty,” Mattheo countered, his voice husk as watched your dress fall. Goosebumps rose across your skin as he admired your frame, licking his lips. “You’re looking at me like a virgin Riddle,” You teased, causing Mattheo to chuckle. As he lowered himself to his knees he looped his fingers with your lacey black panties, pulling them down before tucking them into his pocket for safe keeping. His mind wondered to your witty comment, making a mental note how Ravenclaw like it sounded. Your glistening cunt was the perfect distraction from his thoughts, your legs slowly spreading open. Like a starved man Mattheo dived into your folds, lapping at your cunt as if he was dying of thirst. “Fucking shit, Riddle-” You moaned, tilting your head back against the door. Your fingers raked through his chocolate curls, pulling at them as he sucked on your clit. Mattheo wrapped his arms around your plush thighs, pulling them closer to him.

You were so cute like this, so desperate and horny. “Feel good princess?” He mumbled into your slick, watching you fall apart against his door. You were bucking your hips against his face, the knot in your stomach tightening. Your thighs squeezed around his head, before a wave of euphoria crashed down over you. Your heart pounded as you danced with stars, your breath shallow as you tried to catch it. You looked down at a cocky Mattheo Riddle, your juices coating his chin and lips as he grinned up at you. “I’m that good huh?” He asked sarcastically. You reached down and grabbed his emerald tie, yanking him to his feet. Mattheo followed your lead, guiding you to his bed. Your tongues danced for dominance as your juices coated your own taste buds. Mattheo fell back onto the bed, watching you eagerly paw at his belt. He put his hands behind his head, attempting to enjoy the experience as obnoxious questions circled his mind. “So uh, how come i’ve never seen you around before?” He asked suddenly. His questioning didn’t faze you though, his belt clinking as you pulled down his trousers.

“I’m a transfer student,” You answered automatically. You palmed Mattheo through his boxers, attempting to get him to focus on the matter at hand. Mattheo found your attempt to be dominant quite brave, causing him to prop himself up on his elbows. “We take transfer students?” He asked. You glared up at him, taking his hard cock out of his boxers. “Quite obviously since i’m here, now do you want me to suck your dick or not?” You quipped, tired of the interrogation. Mattheo verbalized agreement, laying back and closing his eyes as you took him into your mouth. You were hot and everything, but all of your traits were contradicting. It was like you were all of the houses at once. He tried to enjoy the way you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. The way you picked the underside of his shaft and kitten licked the tip to tease him. Yet his mind poked and prodded at him, causing him to prop himself up on his elbows once more. “Yeah sorry just one more question, how did you get sorted if you transferred-” He began, the dorm door opening causing him to stop mid sentence.

Draco and Theo stood in the doorway, covering each others eyes. “I told you he was going to be in here!” Theo hissed, cringing in disgust. Your face was flushed with embarrassment as you scrambled to cover yourself, while Mattheo instantly went to pull his pants back up. “Fuck this,” You grumbled, pulling down your dress. Mattheo scrambled to follow you, managing to button up his pants before trailing behind you.

“Hey wait! I didn’t even catch your name!”

“It’s Kehlani,” You hissed coldly, before shoving past Draco and Theodore and storming out of the room.