#fan fiction trope

[justadearie]

“I mark the hours, every one,

Nor have I yet outrun the Sun.

My use and value, unto you,

Are gauged by what you have to do.”

Art inspired by the very classic time turner trope!

[the-bar-sinister]

Obsessed with villainous displays of affection.

violence on their beloved's behalf.

deranged compliments and praising bad deeds.

stealing nice things for their beloved.

jealousy and possessiveness.

encouraging their beloved to be worse.

crimes together.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Reblog if you’d love for people to ask you about your current WIPs

[baronessvonglitter]

Holiday Heat

Joel Miller x f!Reader | WC: 2.3K

Summary: Sharing a hotel room with a grumpy (and handsome) stranger while a storm makes travel inaccessible. What could possibly go wrong?

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Only one bed/forced proximity trope (with a dash of sunshine x grumpy because we love a cantankerous Joel). Age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel's in his 50s). Strangers to lovers. Oral (f receiving). Sleeping together to stay warm. Unprotected p in v. Fingering. Reader has very little description apart from having hair long enough to get in her eyes. No use of y/n. Please lmk if I've forgotten anything!

Author's note: It was my pleasure to step in to gift this fic to @frannyzooey for the @pedrostories Secret Santa exchange! I hope you had a great holiday and have a wonderful new year, hon! ❤️Also, huge shoutout to @pedrorascal who so generously created the ✨gorgeous✨ banner for this story!

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

Wind and snow roar outside as the taxi pulls up to the last motel for the next hundred miles. The driver doesn't dare to drive any further in the snowstorm, and offers to bring you to a place where you and your fellow passenger, a gruff, unsmiling man named Joel, to stay warm and have a roof over your head.

"This place is a shithole," he grumbles as you're pulled to a stop.

"It's quaint," you say, refusing to let his sour attitude ruin what's left of your holidays.

You're both heading home for the holidays: you're returning from your senior year at college and he reluctantly admitted he's returning home as well from an extended trip north to visit his brother.

Despite the fact that you're both Austin citizens just trying to get back to your loved ones, Joel remains a total grinch. You've had to endure this man the entire drive from DFW airport. He sat in the aisle across from you on the flight down from Nashville, sighing and making exasperated grunts every time a baby cried or a young person took a selfie. His legs jittered with impatience. You took pity on him and offered him a CBD gummy, hoping to ease whatever stress he was under but he brushed you off with an annoyed groan.

When you found out there were no connecting flights to Austin, you and Joel were the last in line for a car rental. And of course, the last one was rented out to a couple in line ahead of you.

You saw this as an opportunity to help your fellow man, especially as it was the holidays. But all Joel did was shrug when you offered to split a taxi to whichever hotel was closest.

"It's not the Hilton, but it'll do for tonight," you tell him, persisting in your sunny outlook, hoping it will catch on.

The bored-looking eighty-year-old man in the motel office tells you that due to high demand and the inclement weather, there's only one room left, with a single bed.

"We'll take it," you bounce on the chance, much to Joel's chagrin, offering your credit card. Your surly traveling companion offers to split the room, but not without complaint.

"No way in hell am I sleeping on the floor," he says as soon as he steps into the room. There's a stale stench of cigarettes that the cinnamon air freshener on the small round table can't mask.

"Of course you're not. We'll just.. divide the bed. I'm good at staying on my side."

"You'd better be. I don't need you grabbin' onto me in the middle of the night 'cause you're havin' a nightmare or somethin'."

"You wish." It's the only thing you tell him that has some sting behind it.

"Just don't steal all the blankets, sweetheart. Gonna need 'em with this deep freeze comin' through."

"I'm gonna shower first if that's all right with you. I need to warm up." You grab your pajamas from your bag.

"Don't use up all the hot water," he calls out before you close the bathroom door.

"If there's no hot water to spare we could shower together." You glance behind your shoulder, eager to see his reaction.

The look on Joel's face is priceless as he nearly chokes on his next breath. "What? Are you out of your mind? There's no way I'm showerin' with you!"

You grin. "Gotcha."

You step out, hair still damp, towel wrapped around you, shyly going back into the room. "I forgot my panties," you say softly, going to your bag.

Joel tries not to stare too much, but it's a challenge.

"Turn around," you tell him so you can have privacy.

"Go change in the bathroom."

"I had a hot shower, it's still humid. I can't get dressed in there. Just close your eyes."

He grunts but accedes to your request, leaning back against the headboard as he puts his hands over his eyes. His heart is pumping madly, listening to the rustle of clothes as you get changed. He tries to distract himself with other thoughts instead of wondering what the shape of your body looks like.

Relief is a brief respite before he sees what you're wearing to sleep. He thought you'd wear something comfortable and decent, like those fuzzy plaid pajamas girls your age like to wear during the holidays, but instead you're in an oversized t-shirt, the hem down to the middle of your thighs, revealing your bare legs. He puts a pillow on his lap to hide his growing erection.

You get onto your side of the bed. "The shower's free if you want it."

Joel swallows hard before he forces himself to think about something other than you in the bed with him. "Yeah, uh, thanks," he says gruffly, his voice strained. He quickly gets up, trying to hide his aroused state, and gathers his pajamas before he goes into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. For good measure he locks it.

"Get it together, Miller," he tells himself, splashing some cold water on his face. He can't deny the effect you have on him, but he also knows it's impossible to act on it. He barely knows you. You could have a boyfriend or a husband for all he knows, though there's no ring on your finger.

He showers, hoping to stay in as long as he can to avoid you. But it's a shitty motel after all, and soon he runs out of hot water and has to rinse the shampoo from his hair under the icy cold spray.

Dried off and clothed he steps back into the room and finds you on the bed, rubbing lotion onto your arms and legs. The sight nearly takes his breath away. He tries to look away but his eyes are drawn to your glistening skin.

"Good shower?" you ask, catching a whiff of his body wash, something fresh and woodsy. From lowered lashes you check out how he looks in his sweatpants.

"Yeah," he replies. "Outta hot water though. Since you used it all up."

You roll your eyes and go back to applying your lotion.

"Smells nice," he says, sitting close to you.

"Thanks. It's coconut."

The sweet scent hangs in the air as he watches you spread the white lotion across your skin, giving rise to lewd thoughts about what other thick white substances would go well on you. The coconut aroma, the sight of you touching yourself, the forced proximity and having to share a bed.. it's all sensory overload.

"I like coconut," his voice is thick with restraint.

Your hands stop and you hand him the bottle, your eyes meeting his in a silent understanding. "Will you help me?"

He takes the lotion from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours a moment. "Where do you want me to start?"

"My legs," you tell him, spreading them slightly as you lean back.

Heat pools in Joel's groin and he bites his lip to stifle a groan. He squeezes out some lotion onto his palm and kneads it into your shin and calf, his touch gentle but firm, lightly massaging. He spreads it up to your knee, brushing against the tickly spot right beneath and smirking when you try to stifle a sound.

"Feels nice," you eke out.

"Your skin is so smooth," he murmurs, eyes drinking in the sight of you looking both relaxed and wanting. His hands move over your thighs as they part and he realizes you're not wearing panties after all. His brain goes haywire for a moment, unsure if he should call attention to your undressed state or not.

The scent of your arousal reaches him, and he dares a glance between your thighs. His dick pulses when he sees the telltale sheen at the apex of your inner thighs. His eyes meet yours and there's a charge, a current that passes between you.

"You have no idea how much I want you right now," he rasps, his voice thick with desire.

It's too much, too fast, but the part of you that doesn't care wins out, falling for his low, silky remark.

"Joel.. put your mouth on me," you whisper, legs parting further, an open invitation.

His eyes darken to nearly black, all semblance of restraint breaks as he leans forward, his lips hovering just above your skin, his breath warm on your inner thighs. "As you wish, sugar," he rumbles, placing a soft kiss on your soft flesh. His kisses move higher and higher up, and he gently moves your legs over his shoulders as his kisses get more persistent.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as his hands find their way under your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your belly and the mounds of your breasts, your nipples hard in anticipation. Willfully trapped beneath him, you're at his mercy when he finally buries his face in your cunt, gripping your thighs to hold you in place.

His tongue runs over your soft, saturated folds, tasting you and listening to the sounds of your moans and gasps. He laps at your softly, then adding more pressure, dipping his tongue inside and swiping at your clit, teasing you just enough to get you screaming for more. A strange sense of tenderness surfaces among the lust of the moment as he brings you to life. There's no denying there's something inherently sweet and affectionate about the lascivious act.

Joel can't get enough of your taste, your smell, the way you feel against his mouth as you desperately grind against him. He's lost in the moment, his every sense consumed by you. Hearing you panting his name he hums against you, the vibrations adding to your pleasure, and he gladly licks up the nectar you gush out.

"Oh! Joel! Keep doing that!" you gasp, tugging at his greying locks. His mouth is hot against your pussy, tongue stiff and pointed, soft and wet. The pleasure seems neverending. Just when you think you know the pattern, he switches it up, licking harder or softer, tracing shapes with the tip of his tongue. "Please.. don't stop.. I'm gonna.."

Pleasure blossoms from within, too big to keep in, and you come apart beneath him.

There's a feeling of ownership, something dominant and masculine and protective in Joel as he works you through another one, his hips rutting against the bed in need of his own release. At last he moves over you, bodies pressed close as he kisses you for the first time. It's sweet and soft, the taste of you still on his tongue, tangy and sweet.

"Thank you," you sigh, your foreheads touching, breath mingling.

"No need to thank me, sweetheart," he says quietly, brushing loose strands of hair from your forehead.

You're still feeling the lingering traces of pleasure, but even you can feel the cold seeping into the room. "Get under the covers with me," you tell him, and giggle at the speed with which he pulled both of you under the western-themed duvet.

Clothes fly off, thrown over the sides of the bed, landing in haphazard piles. Joel slots himself between your legs again. Desire grows bright in him, making him feel like he's burning from the inside out, starving for the taste and feel of you.

Your body is a perfect fit for him, the glorious slide of his flesh into yours causing you both to cry out. He's completely sheathed within you, surrounded by your perfect, tight, wet heat. Thrusting slow at first, he watches your expressions, planting little kisses on your cheeks and eyelids, drinking up your moans as his tongue slips between your lips.

"More," you whisper as his lips graze your neck, gently biting your ear lobe, and you're rewarded with a more forceful pace as he spreads you open, angling your hips up to get in deeper, finding that sacred spot within that makes you see God. He plants one hand on the headboard above you for leverage as his other hand kneads your breast, tweaking your nipple as your own hands grip his sides, digging your nails in as you blissfully curse with each push of his hips.

"That's the spot, ain't it?" he grunts above you. "Right.. here."

Stars collide behind your eyes as he gently glides over your G-spot. His lips curve into a smile when you clench around him, but he slips out before he can come, replacing himself with three fingers. "Come on them, sweetheart. Come on my fingers then you can have my cock again."

You're lost in bliss as he glides his fingers in, curving to get that spongy spot, eager to make you scream. You bring your own fingers to your clit, gently pinching and rubbing until you feel your climax begin in your extremities, gathering pressure within until it's released, your orgasm shattering you with Joel's name on your lips.

He gives you a moment to come back before he lays down, letting you straddle him. Though he was just inside you, it's still a stretch to fit around him, and you slide down slowly before you're comfortable enough to start riding.

"There you go, darlin'," he murmurs, large hands on your hips. "Do what you need to do to come on my cock, baby."

In a delicious haze of pleasure you ride him, switching up the pace, going slow and deep before slamming down on him, making him groan as he tries to hold back. Your slick is pooling on his groin, coating his balls. Holding your hips steady he rams up into you, eager for you to come all over him again.

You're positively feral at this point, shaking and crying out as you come harder than any other time before, and Joel follows soon after, spilling inside of you, his dick twitching.

Hours later you're curled up together under the thick blankets, sharing and savoring what warmth you've generated.

"Thank god for this storm," Joel murmurs, holding your back close to his chest as he spoons you.

"That's the first positive outlook you've had all day," you smirk, snuggling against him.

dividers by @cafekitsune 👑

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Writing advice #?: When it comes to characterization, obligation > love.

What I mean by this: love is basically universal. It offers little variability. Almost everyone has a friend, sibling, etc for whom they'd do anything. Allegedly even Hitler loved his apocryphal dog, John Wilkes Booth was a good brother, yadda yadda so forth.

So if you want to have a story that makes us like your character Liv, and establishes interesting tension that will draw out who Liv is as a person... don't write about her rescuing her beloved mother. Write about what happens when someone she dislikes is in danger.

Two great examples I've read recently:

In The Drift by C.J. Tudor, Meg is trapped in a broken-down cable car with five other people and no way to call for help. She risks her life, performing a heroic physical feat that causes herself serious injury - to save a woman who accused her of murder, suggested leaving her to die, and generally treated her like dirt all week. Meg is heroic as hell.

In Dungeon Crawler Carl, the eponymous Carl ends up in the adventure because he ran outside in boxers in -10°F weather to save his ex-girlfriend's obnoxious, misanthropic cat. Carl might be a shlub, but he's a rock solid dude.

I could go on - would Shiloh saving Jeb be nearly as powerful if Jeb wasn't such an asshole? - but the point remains. Meg sacrificing so much to save her partner would be just what's expected. Carl rescuing a cat he chose to adopt is a non-event. Obligation is where the rubber hits the road. Where the ordinary people get sorted from the awesome ones. Where the character-defining moments occur. Over 99.9% of humans ever researched would sacrifice a stranger to save a loved one; a rare form of brain damage that causes people to value strangers and family the same is considered extremely aberrant.

I mention all of this because fan fiction is chock full of examples of characters dying (or killing, or walking through fire, or...) to save their best friends and their sisters and their fiancés. And if you want to write a story about Dean Winchester killing orphans or going to hell or destroying his car to save Sam Winchester, awesome. But there's not a ton of room for characterization in there.

If you want us to learn something about who this person Liv really is, show her forced to choose between rescuing a dog who just bit her and making it to a job interview on time. Let her see her loud neighbor with the bass-boosted music about to get a ticket for an expired meter. Give her a choice between saving 10 strangers or saving her wife. Have her walk by her sexist coworker and realize the guy is quietly sobbing. Literally anything she does next will be interesting, and say a lot about her as a person. If she's just choosing between her wife's life and her own, or her wife's life and the sexist coworker, then the scene might be poignant or sad - but it won't be surprising or tense or revelatory about Liv as a person. The big moments of heroism aren't driven by love, but by obligation.

[feli-artblog]

Etsy

[natalievoncatte]

Spoilers for Arcane Season 2. Ending Spoilers.

The tables had turned, and now Vi was the one waiting. She was so tired, so utterly absolutely tired of being the one to helplessly watch. As she waited she flexed her fingers and tugged at her wraps, sometimes rolled her shoulder as if, suddenly, there was something she could do with all her strength. Her knuckles were still sore from punching the wall in Jinx’s cell.

It had all happened so fast. How long had it been? The sun had set, but she’d lost track of time. She wasn’t leaving this room, no matter what.

Part of her had almost run. When she lurched down from the hexgate, limping and dragging one depowered gauntlet with the other, spotting Caitlyn alive had made her heart sing, a bright spot that kept the hollow in her chest from collapsing in on itself and pulling her on with it. She had someone. She had a reason.

Cait saw her, took two steps, and collapsed in a heap, bleeding profusely from her left eye, her uniform soaked in blood from a gash on her flank.

Vi didn’t think she had it in her to run that fast. She’d ignored her own injuries. Nothing mattered but keeping Cait safe. Picking her up and carrying her left Vi herself covered in blood. There was so much, but somehow Cait was still breathing.

She lay in her own bed, chest softly rising and falling. She looked like she was merely asleep, unbothered even though the left side of her face was a mass of bandages and there was a bottle of fluids feeding into her arm.

Vi felt the silent presence in the room and glanced towards the door.

Tobias.

The last thing she remembered him saying in her presence was “what is she still doing here?”

He hadn’t said a word to her, even though she stood by for hours while he and the other doctors had worked on Caitlyn. Barely even looked at her. He wasn’t even the one who handed her a cloth mask to wear over her face and he said nothing to her of Cait’s condition or her prognosis.

It was the same when he came to stand by the bed. An awkward pall fell over the palatial bedroom and Vi couldn’t look at him. The man has already lost his wife and his daughter lay maimed in her bed and might not wake up. What was there to say?

He shuffled awkwardly and Vi noticed he was carrying something. He put the bundle on the bed.

“Clean yourself up. You’re filthy.”

Vi blinked. She’d discarded the jacket of her uniform, but the blood had soaked through to her undershirt, and she was battered and bloodied herself. She’d almost broken her arm and her right shoulder was screaming. Her clothes were crusted with dirt and other people’s blood.

He was not wrong.

“I brought you these, they’re mine. I don’t think anything of Caitlyn’s will fit you.”

Vi muttered a soft, confused “thank you” and took the bundle of clothes, briefly wondering where she should go, before she remembered that Cait had her own bathroom.

As Vi walked inside, she felt a cold rush on her skin. She still couldn’t comprehend that she was allowed here, among all this marble and brass. Cait’s bathroom was big enough to live in. The shower alone was as big as the hovel she’d been living in between bouts and binges.

As she began to undress she realized how tired she was. Every movement was stiff. As she peeled herself out of the uniform she unwrapped bruise after bruise, bloodstain after bloodstain, a road map of agony from head to toe.

The water was a revelation, almost unbearably hot. Old blood and grime sluiced between her toes as the water scorched her back and soaked her hair, the remaining dye sluicing in dark tendrils down her skin.

I don’t deserve this, she thought. I failed everyone. Vander is gone. Jinx is gone. I thought I could be free if I could let Jinx go, but am I free or just empty.

It should have been her.

Even Caitlyn’s towels were luxurious. She’d never felt anything so soft in her life. The heat had loosened her up a little but she still felt creaky and her joints ached. She picked up the shirt Tobias had brought her; she thought it was meant to sleep in. The fabric was even softer, and it felt alien on her skin. It hung too low thanks to Tobias’ height, but it was big enough for her save where her arms and shoulders strained the fabric.

Once she was dressed, Vi returned to the bedroom. She hoped desperately to step out and see Cait sitting up and talking but she was still just lying there, steady but shallow breaths and all, Tobias seated on the edge of the bed and fussing over her.

Vi took the same chair and sighed softly, feeling not much better, just cleaner.

“Let me look at you.”

His voice startled her so much that she simply meekly complied and let him examine the florid bruises on her hand where her knuckles had crashed into the cell wall, even when he gently cupped her chin and turned her head this way and that, staring individually into each eye.

“I know you must hate me.”

His hand fell away. He would no longer look at her. He stood up and turned around, peering through a gap in the curtains.

“I did at first. At first I was so angry. Her whole life, Caitlyn has been obsessed with these notions of justice and progress, with making the Enforcers honorable and just and helping the Undercity, making amends and rebuilding. She’s always had such a kind heart. Then this happened. The Undercity killed my wife, and to me you were the Undercity. Not to mention that every single time you bring her home she’s hurt, and worse than the last time.”

A cold ball clenched in Vi’s gut. He was right. How many more times could this happen before Vi was bringing him back a body and not his daughter?

She was the jinx, wasn’t she?

Tobias’ shoulders hitched and Vi realized he was crying softly.

“I lost one of the two people I live for in an instant… and then began watching the other slip away, piece by piece. Caitlyn became harsh and cold while you were gone. She barely spoke to me, instead spending all her time with that Noxian bitch and her pet whispering poison into her ear. I thought I’d lost her.”

He turned. “Then she brought you in her half dead and begged me to save you and she was just my little girl again, just for a moment.”

Vi’s head snapped up and their gazes briefly met before he broke away.

“Is she going to be okay?” Vi asked softly.

“Okay?” said Tobias. “Okay? I had to remove her eye, Violet. She’s lucky the dagger didn’t pierce her gut or she’d die of sepsis. Now you ask me if-“

He froze, giving Vi a shocked look before his face fell.

“I don’t know what things will ever be between the two of us, but we have her in common, I can see that. Yes, I think she will. My daughter is stronger than you think.”

“I know.”

He turned to leave, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll return in an hour to look in on her. I know what you’re thinking. It’s safe.”

After he left, Vi had to ponder what he meant by that, then it struck her.

Carefully, Vi climbed on the bed, settling beside Cait, nervously settling her weight into the impossibly soft mattress. The bed was so enormous that she had plenty of room.

All she wanted was for Cait to wake up, to hold her again. She had to settle for reaching across the bed and curling her aching fingers around Cait’s limp hand.

She was so tired. Fatigue pressed down on her like a weight and sank her into the bed. Before long, her eyelids grew heavy and she began drifting off despite wrestling to stay awake.

She woke in full dark, the lights doused. Someone had thrown a blanket on her and the bottle of drugs hanging beside Caitlyn had been replaced. Vi sighed, starting to pull her hand free of Cait’s.

She found she couldn’t. Cait’s grip was alarmingly strong weak but her fingers had curled around Vi’s palm and held fast. Her good eye was open, glittering brilliant blue in the dark.

“Violet?” Cait murmured, her voice small and parched.

“That’s my name,” said Vi. Her voice was thick and she choked up a little. “I’m here, Caitlyn.”

“Good,” Cait sighed. “If you’d died I’d kill you.”

Vi snorted.

“I didn’t say this before. I was afraid of what might happen if I did,” Cait rasped. “I love you.”

She squeezed Vi’s palm, not very hard but enough.

“You’re in love with an angry oil slick?”

“My angry oil slick.”

They were quiet for a moment. Cait turned and looked at the ceiling.

“I would understand if… if you feel differently after everything I did to you. I’m sorry, Vi. I’m sorry I hit you, I’m sorry I did those awful things.”

“Cait.”

“I was so angry, I couldn’t-“

“Cait,” Vi insisted. “I love you, too.”

Cait closes her eyes -eye- and smiled softly.

“So you’re in love with an unhinged mongoose?”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

Cait laced her fingers through Vi’s and squeezed, hard.

“No. I am not letting go.”

[questions-about-blorbos]

Trigger warning: rape/non-con

Every poll on this blog is about fictional characters only. This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Valentine's Day | Sebastian Sallow x OC

Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day friends ❤️ I’ve been working on this in preparation and didn’t manage to get it done for the big day (was a little busy myself….) but a few hours late isn’t so bad right??? I hope y’all enjoy!!

Words: ~6,500

Tags: Smut, Size Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff, Chonky Seb Supremacy

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Sebastian blinked the sleep from his eyes as he reached for his coat, yawning as he slung it over his shoulders. It had been a long week—longer still considering how little sleep he and Evangeline had been getting.

Not for the usual reasons, no.

At nearly eight months pregnant, Evie’s discomfort had reached an all-time high, and between the endless tossing and turning, the nighttime cravings, and the occasional sharp jab of their child’s ever-growing limbs, neither of them were getting much rest.

Sebastian didn’t mind, though. If anyone had a right to be miserable, it was his wife.

Still, he hated leaving her in the mornings, knowing she hardly got a moment’s peace.

As he turned back toward the bedroom, he found her exactly where he’d left her—curled on her side beneath their blankets, the soft glow of the morning light making her long dark hair shimmer against the pillow. She stirred slightly when he leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Mm, you’re warm,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep as she nestled deeper into the sheets.

He chuckled. “Don’t tempt me, love. I have to go.”

Evangeline cracked one eye open, squinting at him. “But it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Sebastian smirked. “And?”

“And,” she said, stretching, “I had this wild hope you’d stay in bed with me all day.”

The thought alone sent a pleasant warmth through him, but he shook his head with a sigh. “If only. We both know that’s not happening.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. “I’ll pick up dinner on the way home, yeah? We’ll have a quiet night in.”

It wasn’t much. Not by his usual standards. But nowadays, Evangeline could barely sit through a meal without shifting uncomfortably, and the idea of forcing her into a dress or making her endure a busy restaurant felt cruel.

Evangeline only hummed, eyes fluttering shut again. “Mhm. Quiet night.”

Sebastian took her hand, pressing a lingering kiss to her palm before squeezing it gently. “Get some rest, love.”

With one last glance at her, he pulled away and stepped out of the room, completely unaware of the wicked little smirk she wore as soon as he was gone.

Tonight would be anything but quiet.

The moment Sebastian was out the door, Evangeline threw off the blankets and swung her legs over the side of the bed—only to immediately regret it.

“Merlin’s bloody beard,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her belly as their child made their displeasure known with an insistent kick against her ribs.

Right. Moving quickly was no longer an option.

With a sigh, she carefully pushed herself upright, resting a hand against the small of her back as she stood. The house was quiet in his absence, but that wouldn’t last for long—not with what she had planned.

She had one goal today—to remind Sebastian that she was still his wife, not just the mother of his unborn child. Not that he had ever made her feel otherwise, but between the exhaustion, the swollen ankles, and the ever-growing weight pressing on her spine, she hadn’t felt particularly desirable in months.

Tonight, she was going to change that.

And the first order of business? A long, hot soak in the bath.

She drew the water until it was steaming, infusing it with a touch of lavender and chamomile, hoping to ease some of the tension in her back. As she lowered herself in—slowly, carefully—she let out a long sigh, resting a hand over her belly as warmth seeped into her aching limbs.

“Now, you behave,” she murmured to the tiny troublemaker in her womb, who had been shifting and stretching all morning. “Let Mummy enjoy this, just for a little while.”

For once, their child seemed to cooperate, and she took full advantage of the moment, soaking until her fingers pruned and the haze of exhaustion lifted. By the time she emerged, she felt almost like herself again.

From there, it was a matter of putting her plan into motion.

Step One: Sweets.

Sebastian had been indulging all of her strange cravings for months—pickled plums at midnight, treacle tart with extra clotted cream, and that regrettable week where she insisted that everything had to be spicy. He never complained, never refused her, but his favorites had been sorely neglected in the process.

She intended to make up for that tonight.

It had been ages since she’d last baked—standing for too long made her back ache, and even with magic, there were limits to what she could manage. But today, she was determined.

Sebastian deserved something special, and if that meant pushing through a little discomfort, so be it.

With a flick of her wand, the kitchen came to life. Flour sifted itself into a bowl, eggs cracked mid-air, and the rich scent of melted chocolate soon filled the room.

Evangeline propped herself on a stool, watching carefully as the ingredients mixed. It wasn’t quite the same as doing it by hand, but she supposed she could allow a little magic to help her along.

After all, she had plenty more to prepare before her husband got home.

Step Two: The Bedroom.

Sebastian would have a heart attack if he knew she’d been moving around so much. He was protective to the point of hovering, constantly insisting she rest, that she take it easy, that he could handle everything. And while she appreciated it (mostly), tonight need to be perfect.

So, she ignored the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like his, telling her to sit down, and instead focused on tidying their bedroom.

Freshly washed sheets were a must—their usual ones were soft, well-loved, but she wanted something crisp, something luxurious against her skin. With slow, careful movements, she stripped the bed and replaced everything with the set she’d picked out days ago in a rich, deep shade of red,

Then came the lighting.

A flick of her wand sent enchanted candles floating into place around the room, their flames flickering softly, casting a golden glow that made the space feel impossibly warm, impossibly intimate.

She paused, surveying the room as she rubbed slow circles over the curve of her belly. Almost there.

The pillows were next. She propped them just so, ensuring she’d be comfortable later, because if she had her way, she wasn’t leaving this bed for the rest of the night. Sebastian could protest all he wanted, but she knew him well enough to know that once he was sufficiently distracted, he’d forget all about lecturing her.

By the time she finished, she took a step back, admiring her work. The sheets were smooth, the lighting was perfect, and the air held the traces of chocolate and cinnamon from the sweets cooling in the kitchen.

A satisfied hum escaped her lips.

Step Three: Herself.

Evangeline sat at the vanity, regarding herself in the mirror as she brushed through her hair. The candlelight cast a warm glow over her features—softer now, rounder. Pregnancy had reshaped her body in ways she was still adjusting to, filling out her curves even more, her face slightly fuller, her skin more luminous.

Sebastian never said anything negative—never. If anything, he looked at her with something like awe, as though he couldn't quite believe she was real. But she knew him. She saw the quiet concern in his gaze when she struggled to stand, the way he watched her at night when she winced from an ache or a sharp jab from their baby.

She understood. He worried. He always worried. But she missed the way he used to look at her with heat in his gaze and unguarded hunger. The way he used to drag her into his lap at the end of a long day without thinking twice.

Tonight, she was going to remind him.

Her fingers trailed over the scattered makeup pots on the vanity, her mind drifting to the most recent Gladrags catalog that had arrived by owl post. The latest Parisian fashion had captured her attention—women with darkened eyes, deep red lips, a striking, elegant boldness that made her want to try something new.

She reached for the small pot of eyeliner first, dipping a careful brush inside before sweeping the dark pigment across her lids, elongating her lashes and sharpening the shape of her eyes. It was bold. Dramatic. Almost too much—until she imagined Sebastian’s reaction.

A smile curled at her lips as she reached for the next touch: lipstick, deep crimson, almost too rich against her pale skin. It made her lips look fuller, plusher.

He wouldn’t be able to look away.

The thought sent a shiver through her as she leaned back, admiring her reflection. Good. Perfect.

From the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, she pulled out the package she’d hidden days ago—lingerie, soft and lacy, designed specifically for her new figure. It wasn’t something she would have ever considered wearing before, but when she’d caught sight of it during a shopping trip with Poppy, something about it had called to her.

And now, she understood why.

Sebastian had been patient. Sweet. Careful. He treated her as if she were delicate, precious—like glass, ready to shatter at the slightest misstep. And while she loved him for it, respected him for it, she was tired of careful.

Evangeline changed slowly, fingers skimming over the sheer fabric as she adjusted it around her belly. The material fluttered over her skin, accentuating every curve, every soft swell that had once made her self-conscious but that Sebastian had always adored.

Her pulse thrummed with anticipation as she settled onto the bed, propped up by pillows, waiting.

Sebastian wasn’t expecting this, but she knew he wouldn’t complain.

Sebastian rolled his shoulders as he stepped up to their front door, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. It had been another long day—paperwork, training drills, the usual Ministry nonsense—but at least it was over now.

And he wasn’t arriving home empty-handed.

In one hand, he balanced a takeaway bag filled with their dinner—roast lamb and buttered potatoes from Evangeline’s favorite bistro, along with an extra slice of treacle tart because he knew she’d been craving it lately. In the other, a bouquet of roses, their petals a deep, velvety red that shimmered faintly in the light.

It wasn’t much. It would have been more in different circumstances.

Before pregnancy, he would’ve planned something grander—a candlelit dinner at some overpriced restaurant, maybe even a weekend away. But that wasn’t an option now, not with Evangeline so far along. She could barely sit through a meal without shifting uncomfortably, and he refused to make her suffer through an evening of forced romance just because of some arbitrary holiday.

No, a quiet night was best.

Sebastian exhaled, adjusting his grip on the bouquet before nudging the door open with his foot.

“Evie?” he called, stepping inside, shaking the lingering cold from his coat. “I’ve got dinner, love. And before you say anything, yes, I got extra dessert.”

Silence.

His brow furrowed. Usually, she was curled up on the sofa by now, dozing in the warm glow of the fireplace, waiting for him with some book half-finished in her lap. But the house was still. Too still.

Something flickered in his chest—not worry, exactly, but something close to it as he stepped deeper into the house.

A faint, sweet scent lingered in the air, a mis of vanilla, chocolate, and cinnamon.

Sebastian stepped into the kitchen, takeout bag in one hand, bouquet still clutched in the other, only to stop short at the sight before him.

The countertop was covered in sweets.

Cookies shaped like hearts, delicate pastries drizzled in chocolate, tiny tarts dusted with powdered sugar—all neatly arranged on red and pink doilies, as if plucked straight from the window of a high-end bakery.

His brows lifted, surveying the sheer effort that had gone into it all.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

Evangeline hadn’t baked in weeks—not since standing for too long had started making her back ache, not since she’d taken to spending more time on the sofa, exhaustion settling deeper with each passing day. He hadn’t minded, of course. If anyone deserved to put her feet up and be doted on, it was her.

Which made this all the more baffling.

Sebastian exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he stuffed the takeout into the fridge.

Of course she had gone and done this. Baking all of this for him when he would have been perfectly content with a quiet night curled up beside her, rubbing slow circles over her belly while she drifted off in his arms. But no—Evangeline never did things halfway.

His gaze flicked toward the faint glow spilling out from beneath their bedroom door own the hall.

She was probably already asleep, candles still flickering, too exhausted to even blow them out after all the effort she’d put in today. Merlin, he really needed to talk to her about that—what if she set something on fire?

Sebastian sighed, stuffing a bite of cookie into his mouth, his heart tugging as he imagined her curled up in bed, fast asleep, the scent of flour and vanilla still clinging to her skin as she waited for him to join her.

His chest ached with something warm, something fond, something so wholly his that it sent a rush of warmth up his throat.

Still chewing, he padded quietly down the hall, roses in hand, intent on pressing a kiss to her temple, whispering his thanks against her skin before wrapping himself around her for the night.

But when he pushed the door open—

The half-esten cookie nearly fell out of his hand.

Because Evangeline was not asleep.

No, she was very much awake, sitting up against a pile of pillows, watching him with a smirk.

The dim glow of the candles cast a golden halo over her bare shoulders, over the sheer lace that clung to her body, over her winged eyeliner, the deep red of her lips.

Sebastian froze. His brain simply stopped functioning.

His jaw tightened, his pulse roared in his ears, and he barely managed to chew the last bit of cookie before swallowing it down in one dry gulp.

Evangeline’s lips twitched.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

Sebastian said nothing.

He was too busy trying to breathe. Too busy staring at her, the way the sheer fabric draped over the swell of her belly, the way it hugged her curves, the way she looked—

Sweet Salazar.

The bloody cookies were irrelevant now. He was about to have a new favorite dessert.

His grip on the bouquet tightened. “Evie,” he rasped. “What—”

“What?” she interrupted, feigning innocence. “Did you think I’d be asleep?”

Sebastian blinked. “Yes,” he said honestly.

She laughed, soft and lilting, before beckoning him closer with a crook of her finger.

Sebastian obeyed before he even realized he was moving.

His feet carried him forward on instinct, the roses slipping from his grasp onto the nearby dresser as his hands twitched at his sides, aching to touch her.

“Merlin,” he breathed, eyes dragging over her, drinking her in like a dying man crawling toward water. The dark liner around her eyes made her gaze sharper, smoldering. The red of her lips—Merlin’s bloody beard, her lips—was so rich, so inviting, that he nearly lost himself in the thought of kissing her senseless then and there.

And the lace. The damned lace.

It clung to her in ways that made his throat go dry, sheer fabric stretched over the heavy curve of her stomach, teasing at the edges of her thighs, her breasts, her hips. He had seen Evangeline in every state imaginable—soaked in rain, smeared in dirt, draped in fine silks and ballgowns, tangled in his sheets with nothing at all. But this?

This was going to be the death of him.

“Do you like it?” she asked, tilting her head.

Sebastian let out a laugh, but it was breathless, strangled, a little desperate.

“Like it?” His jaw clenched as he reached out, fingers tracing over the lace at her hip before pressing his palm to the swell of her belly as if reminding himself of everything she had given him—was still giving him.

“You—” His voice cracked, rough, raw. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Evangeline hummed, the corner of her lips tugging up in amusement. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Liar,” he murmured, his hand finding her thigh, smoothing over soft, warm skin.

She gasped, barely a breath of sound, but he heard it, and hell, if that didn’t set his blood on fire.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he murmured, his lips hovering just above hers. “You know I love you exactly as you are.”

“I know,” she whispered, her hand rising to cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer. “But I needed this.”

Sebastian let out a low groan, his forehead dropping against hers as his restraint wavered—thin, threadbare, fraying by the second.

"How badly?" He asked, his voice low.

Her nails scraped gently against the back of his neck as she tilted her head, letting her lips barely ghost against his own.

“Very badly.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips—just enough to make his hand press firmer against her thigh—she whispered, “More than you can imagine.”

Sebastian let out a ragged breath, his jaw tightening as he felt her—warm, soft, pliant beneath his touch, the sheer lace doing absolutely nothing to shield him from the heat of her.

“You’re not too tired?” he asked, because even now, even now, some part of him was still desperate to make sure she was comfortable, that she wasn’t straining herself, that she meant this.

Evangeline huffed, her hands gripping the front of his shirt. “Sebastian Sallow,” she murmured, “if you don’t fuck me into oblivion, you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Sebastian choked on a breath, his entire body going taut as a smirk curled at the corner of her lips. Smug. Teasing.

Wicked, wicked woman.

His woman.

Sebastian kissed her—properly, thoroughly, with every ounce of pent-up desperation that had been simmering beneath his skin for weeks. Evangeline gasped against his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, devoured it.

He groaned against her mouth, shifting to cage her in, the sheer fabric of her lingerie teasing against his knuckles as he let his hands roam—from the soft curve of her thigh, up to the generous swell of her belly, then higher still, tracing the edges of lace and silk and sin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You are unfair.”

Evangeline only smirked, breathless, her lips deliciously red and kiss-bruised already. “And you,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, “are wearing far too many clothes.”

Sebastian let out a rough, ragged sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You know,” he mused, as his hands found her hips, “I should be lecturing you right now.”

She arched a brow. “Oh?”

“For exhausting yourself,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “For standing on your feet too long, for making all of that.” His eyes flicked toward the door, toward the kitchen filled with sweets, before dragging his gaze back to her. “And this?” His fingers skimmed along the lace barely covering her swollen breasts, his thumb grazing her nipples just enough to have her breath hitch. “This is just cruel, love.”

Evangeline hummed, tilting her head, utterly unfazed. “Mmm. I think you like it.”

He huffed out a laugh, pressing his forehead against hers. She was right. He was hopeless, absolutely bloody hopeless for her.

He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, savoring the way she sighed into him, the way her hands traced over his shoulders, moving to working at the buttons of his shirt.

Sebastian let her push the fabric aside inch by inch until her hands met bare skin.

Her nails dragged lightly down his abdomen, tracing the softer flesh there. He hadn’t looked quite the same since they’d gotten married. Somewhere between settling into their life together and indulging in Evangeline’s baking (when she wasn’t too exhausted to stand), he’d grown thicker, broader. His shoulders had filled out more, his arms stronger, his stomach softer,

And it had only gotten more apparent.

It felt as though her pregnancy had started rubbing off on him, as if all those late-night cravings and extra servings had settled into his frame just as much as hers.

And Merlin, the way she looked at him now. She was completely feral for him like this.

He had figured it out months ago when that old green flannel refused to button properly. He had stood in front of the mirror, frowning, tugging at the fabric like it was the shirt’s fault, like he could will it to fit the way it once had.

He’d hated it.

Until Evangeline had looked at him, taken him apart with nothing but a slow sweep of her gaze and proceeded to ride him within an inch of his life, whispering absolute filth against his lips about how good he looked, how much she loved him like this, how unfair it was that he could gain weight and only get stronger, thicker, better.

So now, when her hands slid over the bare plane of his stomach, when her thumbs smoothed along his waist with something bordering on reverence, he let her.

Evangeline hummed in approval, her eyes dragging over him, drinking him in. "Fuck," she muttered, shaking her head as she trailed her fingers lower, pushing his shirt off his shoulders completely. "Look at you."

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on her hip. “You act like you don’t see me every day.”

She lifted her gaze to meet his, smirking. “Not like this. You’ve grown, Sebastian.”

He let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a scoff and a groan. “What, like I’m the one carrying a bloody child?”

Evangeline laughed, shameless as ever, her eyes dark with something heated, something hungry. “Doesn’t matter. You’re—fuck.” Her hands slid down to his waist, gripping him with a possessiveness that sent heat rushing through his veins.

Sebastian swallowed thickly, his jaw clenching as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over her lips. “You like it,” he murmured, smirking when her fingers flexed, digging into his sides. “You really like it.”

Her lips curved. “Obsessed, actually.”

Her fingers skimmed lower, curling at the waistband of his pants, her gaze dark and hooded as she took him in—half clothed, flushed, breath coming in uneven gasps as he hovered above her.

Sebastian huffed, his hands tightening at her hips, fingers pressing into the softness there. "You’re looking at me like you want to eat me alive."

Evangeline smiled. “And what if I do?”

Sebastian pulled back just enough to look at her, his gaze molten, heavy-lidded. “You sure you can handle this, love?”

She huffed a breathless laugh. “You’re the one who should be worried about keeping up.”

He groaned at the way she rolled her hips up, seeking friction, seeking him.

“Bloody hell, Evie.

She was insistent now, pupils blown wide, her hands tugging at the buckle of his belt like it was the only thing standing between her and salvation. “You’re still too dressed,” she whined.

Sebastian let out a ragged breath and grabbed her wrists, stilling her frantic movements. “Easy, love,” he murmured, voice hoarse, teasing. “You’re going to tear it at this rate.”

Evangeline huffed, her chest rising and falling with each desperate, panting breath. “Then help me,” she demanded, squirming beneath him.

Sebastian swore under his breath, his hands flying to his belt to help her. If she kept whining like that, he was going to lose what little restraint he had left.

"You have no idea what it’s like," Evangeline continued, her voice half a whimper, half a plea. "You can reach yourself whenever you need to. You don’t have a bloody beach ball in the way stopping you—” She let out a sharp, frustrated sound. “You have no bloody idea, Sebastian."

Sebastian stilled, his blood running hot, his cock twitching at her words, at the pure, unfiltered need in her voice.

She hadn’t been able to touch herself. Hadn’t been able to soothe the ache, to take the edge off. Had been suffering with no relief

And yet, fuck, if that wasn’t the single hottest thing he’d ever heard, because she needed him.

“Jesus Christ, Evie,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against hers as his belt hit the floor, careless, forgotten, clinking against the hardwood as he let her pull at his trousers, dragging them down as far as she could before he kicked them off himself.

Evangeline let out the most obscene little moan as her hands found the bare skin of his waist, gripping, pulling, claiming.

Sebastian nearly lost his mind.

“You’re killing me,” he rasped.

“Good,” she whispered, breathless, her fingers already tugging at his briefs.

His hands moved to help her, fingers curling over hers as they tugged at the fabric, working together in frantic, needy little tugs until the fabric wa s gone, kicked somewhere onto the floor, utterly forgotten.

A sharp inhale left Evangeline’s lips, her gaze dropping, her eyes darkening at the sight him. Her thighs trembled, her fingers flexing against his waist like she was fighting the urge to drag him down, to take him without a second thought.

He gritted his teeth, exhaling through his nose as he pulled back just enough, just barely, enough to see her properly, enough to take her in. And sweet Salazar, she was—

Splayed out beneath him, curves plush, full, sheer lace draped over her body in a way that made his chest ache with something more than just need.

Her belly rose and fell with each shallow breath, her thighs pressing together like she was trying, failing, to soothe the ache between them on her own.

Sebastian clenched his jaw, dragging his fingers up her thigh, spreading her open. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Laid out so pretty for me.”

Evangeline whimpered, her hands fisting the sheets.

Sebastian dipped his head to press slow, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down her throat, across the tops of herbreasts.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her skin, dragging the lace between his teeth. “Every single fucking inch of you—mine.”

“Sebastian,” she gasped, voice breathy, trembling.

He lifted his head, locking eyes with her, his lips curling as he braced himself above her, his hand smoothing over the curve of her belly, reverent and possessive.

“How do you want it, love?”

"Hard," she begged, hands fisting against his shoulders, nails dragging down the bare muscle of his back. "Fast—Sebastian, I need—"

The way she looked at him—flushed, desperate, completely at his mercy—sent heat flooding through his veins, scorching, unbearable.

"You're insatiable," he murmured, voice thick with amusement, even as his own self-control frayed, his cock twitching at the way her thighs trembled for him.

Evangeline whimpered, her hands tightening around him, pulling, pleading. "You have no idea."

Sebastian growled, dipping his head, pressing his mouth to the curve of her belly, to her ribs, to her breasts, dragging higher until they found the sensitibe , flushed skin of her throat. "Oh, I know, love," he murmured, his tongue flicking over her pulse "You’ve been waiting for this all day, haven’t you?"

She moaned, her back arching, her thighs spreading wider, offering.

"Impatient thing," he murmured, voice full of praise, adoration, his lips ghosting over hers as he lined himself up over her thong, teasing her, drawing it out. "You need me that badly?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"Bend over for me, then."

Evangeline let out a soft, desperate little sound, her fingers clawing at his shoulders. "Sebastian—"

He smirked, pressing a kiss to her throat. "Come on, love," he murmured. "You wanted it hard and fast—wanted me to ruin you, yeah?"

She gazed at him through half lidded eyes, her head tipping back as she nodded, her hands tightening in his hair.

"Alright, on your knees for me, then."

Evangeline whimpered as he helped her roll over, shifting her hips, pressing her chest against the mattress, her hands curling into the sheets.

Sebastian ran a reverent hand down the length of her spine, his fingers splaying wide, possessive, before dragging down to the soft, plush curve of her ass.

“Good girl,” he praised, his hands tightening over her hips as he settled behind her, his cock straining, aching, twitching.

Evangeline shivered, letting out a soft, needy moan. “Sebastian, please—”

"Shh, love," he murmured, his hand trailing lower, fingers pressing into the plush, thick curves of her thighs before teasing over the damp lace between them, his breath catching when he felt her, warm and soaked and waiting for him.

“Fuck, Evie,” he groaned. “You’re dripping for me.”

He slid his fingers beneath the lace, dragging his knuckles against her clit, watching the way her body jerked, the way her lips parted in a strangled cry.

Sebastian's cock twitched at the sight. He wanted to tease, wanted to drag this out, to worship her properly, but—fuck, she was so gone, so desperate for him, and who was he to deny her what she needed?

He pulled back just enough to tear the lace from her body, tossing the ruined fabric aside without a second thought.

“Sebastian—”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he muttered, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder before tightening his grip on her, lining himself up again, pressing his cock against the slick entrance of her.

“Alright, now deep breath, love,” he murmured, voice thick and dark with promise.

She nodded against the mattress, humming in response, and then, finally, finally—

He rolled his hips forward in one slow, thorough stroke.

Evangeline shattered beneath him, her breath catching in little, broken gasps as she felt him—deep, stretching her, filling every aching, empty part of her.

His hands roamed, feeling and worshipping every inch of her as he buried himself to the hilt, seating himself deep inside her, stretching her in the way only he could.

She was so tight, and wet, velvet-soft, and fuck—he was barely keeping himself in check.

But he had to.

She was pregnant, swollen, full with his child, and as much as his instincts screamed at him to move, to take her, he needed to make sure she was comfortable, that she relaxed, adjusted—

Evangeline let out a frustrated little sound, "Move," she demanded, er hips rolling back against him, trying to force him deeper.

"Easy, love," he tried, voice rough, wrecked. "Need to make sure you're—"

Evangeline snapped.

“Sebastian fucking Sallow, if you don’t start moving, I swear I will—"

He hips flicked forward.

Evangeline moaned, her body jolting, her back arching as he filled her, as he gave her exactly what she was begging for.

Sebastian growled, his hands steadying her, holding her, making sure she had nowhere to go, nothing to do but take him.

"That what you need, love?" he managed, his voice breathy, dark and dangerous.

Evangeline let out a wrecked little whimper,her ass pushing back against him. "More," she gasped. "More—"

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers digging into her waist as he rolled his hips into hers again, this time harder, this time sharper, enough to pull another sweet, perfect moan from her lips.

The rhythm he set was devastating, pulling out just enough to feel the tight, wet drag of her before pushing back in, seating himself all the way inside her, making sure she felt every thick, aching inch of him.

“You’re taking me so well, love,” he breathed. “So fucking tight for me.”

Evangelin groaned as his fingers slipped beneath her belly, feeling the soft, round swell of it, the warmth of their child nestled between them. And Sebastian felt it—the way she was melting beneath him, surrendering, letting him take everything she had to give.

"Doing so well, love," he murmured, dragging his hand lower, his fingers finding the most sensitive part of her and rubbing tight circles.

“Sebastian—" she sobbed, "fuck I'm—"

“Come for me, Evie,” he whispered, his fingers pressing harder against her clit. “Come for me, love.”

And like the good girl she was, Evangeline fell apart.

Her whole body shook, her thighs trembling as her climax crashed over her, pleasure wracking her in sharp, overwhelming waves. She gasped, choking on a sob as her fingers clawed at the sheets, her back arching, her body clenching down around him, dragging him deeper, holding him tight.

Sebastian swore, his grip on her bruising, his own control snapping like a frayed wire.

"Fuck, that's it," he groaned, his voice rough, reverent, ruined. "That's my girl—

Evangeline moaned, her breath catching in little, shaky gasps as he kept moving, rolling his hips into hers, working her through it, drawing every last bit of pleasure from her until she was nothing but a boneless, shaking mess beneath him.

Sebastian was right there, hanging on the edge, teetering, his whole body taut as he chased his own end, lost in the heat of her, the feel of her.

"Evie," he ground out, his fingers sliding up her belly, his palm splaying wide over the curve of it—

Fuck.

With a deep, shuddering groan, he followed her over the edge, his vision blurring, his body shaking as pleasure crashed through him, hot and overwhelming as he spilled inside her, filling her in the way he knew she loved.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, the aftershocks rippling through them both as Evangeline melted onto her side, warm and sated.

He followed her into the sheets, his arms wrapped securely around her, pulling her against his chest, and Evangeline sighed a soft, contented sound

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love," Sebastjan murmured against her skin, pressing the softest kiss to her shoulder.

Evangeline let out a breathy little laugh, tilting her head just enough to catch his lips with hers in a slow, sweet kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Sebastian grinned against her mouth, nipping at her lower lip before pulling back. His hand smoothed over the swell of her belly, fingers tracing slow, reverent circles over her skin, feeling the warmth of her, the weight of them, of the little life growing between them.

His.

His Evangeline. His wife. His home. The mother of his child. His everything.

"You doing alright?" he murmured, voice thick and lazy.

Evangeline hummed, her body melting further into his. “Mmm. More than alright.”

Sebastian chuckled, pressing another kiss to her neck. "Good. Because you're not moving for a while. You've done enough today."

She huffed a laugh, threading her fingers through his where they rested over her middle. “You act like I could, even if I wanted to.”

Sebastian grinned, utterly wrecked in the best way possible.

They stayed like that for a long moment—warm, tangled, utterly content, until—

Her stomach let out a loud, insistent growl.

Sebastian snorted, burying his face in her hair, his chest shaking with laughter.

Evangeline groaned. “Oh, fuck off,” she muttered, pouting as she tucked herself further into the pillows.

Sebastian grinned, pressing a teasing kiss to her shoulder before rolling away, dragging his briefs back on and padding toward the kitchen.

"Stay put, love," he called over his shoulder, smirking as he went back for the takeout bag he'd abandoned earlier. "I've got dinner—and extra dessert."

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Amazing fan fic trope idea:

‘Character A has healing powers but they only work with a kiss on the lips and Character B needs healing.’

[imfinereallyy]

I don’t know why, but there is something so deeply special about the “you know I’m in love with you? Right?” trope to me. It’s the only miscommunication trope I genuinely enjoy. There is just something about the way a character just stares at their love interest in exasperation or confusion and points out the blatantly obvious thing between them. Whether they scream it out in frustration, or say it in a deadpan manner or even with a little laugh and tilt of the head. Just looking at someone, realizing what do I have to lose at this point? And just saying “Dude, you have to know I’m in love with you, right?” My heart does a little flutter every time.

[the-bar-sinister]

Villain monologue? Excuse me I am infodumping to you about my special interest and my special interest is death traps, machinations, and machiavellian plans.

You'll find that if you've paid enough attention to my interests, you'll be able to escape your inevitable death at my nefarious hands, and we can start building a relationship out of this.

[thingsthatcometomymindwheniwrite]

[unabashegirl]

Fragments 2 — one shot

Harry runs into Y/N in Japan. She is his ex and she is seeking closure.

Author's note: Hello everyone! I've been holding the final part bc I feel like you are all going to hate me or love me for the ending and I am scared! Please don't hate me! I hope you enjoy!

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all chapters, various one shots like The Cover and much more :)

Please note that everything that is both underlined and italicized is from the past—they are flashbacks!

word count: 3.9K

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

The kitchen filled with the gentle sound of slicing knives and the rhythmic motions of rice being pressed into nori. The chef’s voice was calm and patient as he guided them through the process, but Y/N and Harry remained mostly silent, their focus turned inward as they worked. The only other sound was the soft, traditional music playing in the background, adding to the atmosphere of quiet reflection.

Y/N carefully rolled the sushi, her movements precise as she tried to concentrate on the task at hand. She could feel Harry’s presence beside her, his silent focus mirroring her own. They moved in tandem, following the chef’s instructions, but there was a tension in the air, a heaviness that neither could ignore.

When the last roll was finally placed on the bamboo mat, the chef stepped back with a satisfied smile. “Very well done,” he praised, nodding to both of them. “You have a natural talent for this.”

Y/N gave a small, polite smile in return, glancing at Harry who nodded in agreement, though his eyes seemed distant. The chef clapped his hands together lightly, signaling the end of the lesson.

“I will leave you both to enjoy the fruits of your labor,” the chef said warmly. “Please, take your time. It has been an honor to teach you.”

With that, he bowed and quietly excused himself from the room, leaving them alone with their carefully crafted sushi rolls.

Y/N stood there for a moment, her eyes lingering on the perfectly arranged sushi before them. The silence that followed the chef’s departure felt louder, more suffocating. She could feel the weight of unsaid words pressing down on her, but she wasn’t sure how to break through the barrier that had formed between them.

Harry was the first to move, picking up a pair of chopsticks and carefully selecting a piece of sushi. He looked at her then, his gaze searching, as if trying to find something in her expression. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice soft but carrying an undertone of uncertainty.

Y/N nodded, reaching for her own chopsticks, but her hands trembled slightly as she did. She felt his eyes on her, watching, waiting for something—maybe for her to say the words that neither of them had yet found the courage to speak.

They ate in silence, the sushi as perfect as the chef had promised, but it was difficult to enjoy it with the thick tension in the air. The music played on, soothing and distant, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

The silence between them grew unbearable, stretching out like an unspoken challenge neither of them wanted to confront. Harry set down his chopsticks, the clatter against the plate louder than it should have been in the quiet room. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers rubbing at his temples as if trying to ease away the tension that had built up over the course of the afternoon.

Y/N noticed his sudden stillness, her heart rate quickening as she sensed the shift in the atmosphere. She watched him, her chopsticks frozen in mid-air, her breath catching as she waited for him to speak. There was something in his eyes—something dark, conflicted—that made her stomach churn with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Harry finally met her gaze, his eyes filled with a depth of sorrow that she hadn’t seen before. His voice, when he spoke, was strained, as if the words were being torn from somewhere deep inside him. “I guess it’s time to tell you”

She blinked, her chest tightening at the seriousness in his tone. “What is it?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

He hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as they rested on the table. “The reason I distanced myself,” he began, his voice cracking with the weight of what he was about to confess, “was because I… I did something.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her mind racing as she tried to comprehend what he was saying. “What do you mean?” she whispered, dread settling in her stomach.

Harry looked away, his jaw clenched as if he could barely bring himself to continue. “I cheated on you,” he finally admitted, his words laced with a deep, agonizing guilt. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. And when I realized what I’d done… I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t look you in the eyes knowing how much I’d hurt you.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath Y/N’s feet, the shock of his confession hitting her like a physical blow. Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces, each one cutting deeper than the last as she struggled to process his words. She could barely breathe, the pain in her chest so intense that she thought it might suffocate her.

“You… you cheated on me?” she repeated, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and raw, searing hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you just pushed me away?”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you more than I already had,” Harry confessed, his voice heavy with regret. “I thought if I distanced myself, if I just… distanced myself, it would be easier for you. That maybe you could hate me and move on, without having to see my face and be reminded of what I did.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, blurring her vision as the reality of his betrayal settled in. “So instead of being honest with me, you let me believe it was something else—something I did wrong?” she asked, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “You let me think I wasn’t enough for you?”

Harry winced, the guilt in his eyes deepening as he heard the pain in her voice. “I know I messed up, Y/N. I know I made it worse by not telling you. But I was scared. I was a coward.”

Y/N’s hands shook as she wiped away the tears that had started to fall, her heart breaking all over again as she realized how deeply he had hurt her. “You should have told me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You should have let me decide how to feel, how to move on. Instead, you just… left me in the dark.”

She walked through the living room, her steps light and tentative as if trying not to disturb the heavy silence that hung between her and Harry. He was seated on the large, plush sofa, a thick blanket draped over his legs as he stared intently at the flickering screen of his laptop. His eyes were focused, but his posture was rigid, every line of his body radiating a cold detachment that Y/N found hard to ignore.

“H,” she began softly, her voice breaking the silence like a tentative knock on a closed door. “I was thinking of making some hot cocoa. Do you want some?”

Harry didn’t look up from his laptop, his fingers tapping away at the keyboard. “No, thanks,” he replied curtly, his voice devoid of warmth. “I’m busy.”

Y/N’s heart sank at his response, but she tried to keep her tone upbeat, forcing a small smile as she turned towards the kitchen. “Okay, Just let me know if you change your mind.”

She busied herself with the cocoa, the rhythmic sound of the milk heating and the clinking of the spoon against the mug providing a small, soothing distraction. She could hear Harry’s muffled voice as he spoke into his phone, his words barely audible over the hum of the appliances. The conversation was brief, and when he hung up, he remained seated, his focus returning to the laptop.

As Y/N walked back into the living room with her steaming mug, she hesitated for a moment before taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa. She tried to find a comfortable position, but the distance between them felt insurmountable.

Harry,” she said after a few minutes, her voice trembling slightly as she attempted to bridge the gap. “Can we talk? I feel like we haven’t really spent any time together lately. So, I was planning perhaps we could spend the weekend at my parents cabin outside of the city. I’ve already asked for the keys”.

He glanced at her briefly, his expression impassive. “I can’t this weekend,” he said, his tone clipped. “I’ve got a lot on my plate. Maybe later.”

Y/N’s smile faltered, but she nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. “Alright”.

She took a sip of her cocoa, the warmth of the drink contrasting sharply with the chill she felt in the room. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the soft clacking of Harry’s keyboard and the occasional rustle of his papers. Y/N watched him from across the room, her heart aching as she saw the man she loved becoming more and more distant.

Time passed slowly, each minute dragging as Y/N tried to fill the silence with small, meaningless activities—flipping through a magazine, tidying up the living room, adjusting the throw pillows on the sofa. She would glance at Harry every now and then, hoping to catch his eye, to see a sign of the warmth they once shared. But each time, she was met with a cold, unfeeling stare.

Eventually, she stood up, unable to bear the distance any longer. She walked to the window, looking out at the city lights that seemed so distant and unreachable. Her reflection in the glass was a stark reminder of how far apart they had grown, and the sight of her own lonely figure only deepened her sense of isolation.

Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “Harry,” she said softly, her voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. “I know things have been hard lately, but I miss us”.

Harry’s eyes opened slowly, and he looked at her with a mixture of fatigue and frustration. “I don’t know if we can fix this,” he said quietly.

The sadness in his voice cut through Y/N like a knife, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. “But I’m willing to try. For us”.

Harry looked at her, and for a moment, she got a glimpse of his old self. But then, he closed his eyes and pulled away slightly, the emotional distance between them reasserting itself. “I don’t know if I can,” he said softly.

“I know,” Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. “I was wrong, and I’m so sorry. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But I need you to know that it meant nothing. It was a mistake—a stupid, drunken mistake—and it never changed how much I loved you.”

Y/N shook her head, the ache in her chest almost unbearable. “But it did change things, Harry. It changed everything. You broke us… and you broke me.”

Harry’s eyes filled with tears, the sight of her in so much pain almost too much for him to bear. He reached out, wanting to comfort her, but Y/N flinched away, the hurt too fresh, too raw.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she pulled back. “You don’t get to touch me, not after this.”

The rejection hit Harry like a punch to the gut, but he knew he deserved it. He had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he repeated, his voice barely holding together. “I wish I could take it back. I wish I could undo everything and go back to the way things were.”

But Y/N could only shake her head, the tears streaming down her face as the reality of their situation sank in. The man she had loved so deeply, the man she had trusted with her heart, had betrayed her in the worst possible way. And now, there was nothing left but the broken pieces of what they once had.

Y/N sat there, tears streaming down her face as she tried to come to terms with the bombshell Harry had just dropped on her. Every part of her wanted to scream, to throw the pain back in his face, to make him feel even a fraction of the hurt he had caused her. But all she could do was sit there, numb and hollow, as the man she once loved shattered everything she thought she knew about their relationship.

Harry’s own tears were falling now, silent and slow, as he watched her break before his eyes. He had expected anger, yelling, even hatred—but this quiet devastation was worse. It was the kind of pain that didn’t have an outlet, that didn’t have a voice. It just lingered, suffocating them both in its grip.

“Say something,” Harry finally whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. “Please, Y/N… anything.”

But what was there to say? What words could possibly convey the depth of the betrayal she felt? Y/N looked at him, really looked at him, and saw a man who was just as broken as she was. The realization hit her like a tidal wave—he was drowning in his own regret, but that didn’t make what he did any less unforgivable.

“You want me to say something?” she finally replied, her voice eerily calm despite the chaos inside her. “Fine. I loved you, Harry. More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life. I would have done anything for you, given you everything. And you threw it all away for… what? For a night of wild sex?”

Harry flinched at her words, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. “It wasn’t worth it,” he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know that now. But at the time, I was just… lost. I was struggling with the pressure, the expectations, and I messed up. And I hate myself for it every single day.”

“Good,” Y/N said sharply, her eyes blazing with the anger she had been holding back. “You should hate yourself. Because you didn’t just hurt me—you destroyed me. You made me question everything, made me question if you ever loved me”.

Her words sliced through Harry like a knife, each one cutting deeper than the last. “I loved you.” he whispered desperately. “I love you. I was the one who wasn’t enough. I was weak, and I let my insecurities and fears ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Y/N’s tears fell faster now, the anger and heartbreak swirling together in a storm she couldn’t control. “You should have come to me,” she cried, her voice breaking. “You should have trusted me, talked to me, instead of turning to someone else. We could have figured it out together, Harry. But you made that impossible.”

“I know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I hate myself for that, too. But I can’t change what happened, no matter how much I want to. All I can do now is tell you the truth, no matter how much it hurts, and hope that someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart splintering with each word he spoke. “Forgive you?” she repeated, her voice hollow. “How am I supposed to forgive you when you’ve taken everything from me? You were my safe place, my home… and now, I don’t even know who you are.”

She glanced around the small entryway, her eyes lingering on the few personal items she had packed—clothes, a few cherished mementos, and the essentials she needed to start a new chapter.

The decision had been a long time coming, but today, she had reached her breaking point. She had given everything she had to make their relationship work, to bridge the emotional chasm that had grown between them, but Harry’s coldness and distance had eroded her hope. She was tired of fighting alone, tired of trying to hold onto something that felt like it was slipping through her fingers.

She had just finished dragging her suitcase down the stairs when she heard the familiar sound of the front door opening. Her heart sank as she realized that Harry had returned from the studio earlier than expected. The footsteps grew louder, and she braced herself for the confrontation she had been dreading.

Harry stepped into the hallway, his face lighting up with a mixture of relief and exhaustion as he saw her. “Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of surprise. “Going on a trip?”

The sight of him, looking worn out from a long day at the studio, only served to amplify the emotional storm inside her. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her shaking hands. "I'm leaving.”

Harry’s expression shifted from confusion to alarm. “Leaving? What do you mean? Where are you going?”

Y/N reached for her suitcase and gave it a resolute tug. “I’m leaving. I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of fighting, tired of trying to make things work when it feels like I’m the only one putting in any effort.”

Harry’s face fell, his exhaustion giving way to a wave of panic. “Y/N, wait. Can we talk about this? Please?”

She shook her head, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. “I’ve tried, Harry. I’ve tried to make us work, to be the person you need. But I’m exhausted. I deserve to be loved, to be with someone who truly wants to be with me”.

Harry’s eyes widened with hurt and confusion. “Please, just give me a chance to explain.”

Y/N took a step back, the weight of her decision pressing heavily on her shoulders. “I’ve heard all the explanations I need,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “The truth is, I’m done trying to fix something that feels broken beyond repair. I’ve given everything I have, and I just… I can’t keep doing this.”

She reached for the handle of her suitcase, her hands trembling slightly. “I just want to be loved, Harry. I want to be with someone who sees me and values me for who I am. And right now, that isn’t you.”

Harry’s face contorted with anguish, the pain of her words cutting deeply. “Y/N, please don’t do this,” he pleaded, stepping closer but stopping when he saw the resolute look in her eyes.

Y/N took a deep breath, her resolved unwavering. “I can’t stay here and keep hoping for something that may never change.”

She turned to leave, but Harry reached out, grabbing her arm gently. “Just give me one more chance,” he begged, his voice filled with desperation.

Y/N looked at him, her heart breaking at the sight of his tear-streaked face and the raw emotion in his eyes. “I deserve more” .

With that, she pulled her arm free, her heart aching as she walked out of the apartment and down the stairs. Every step felt like a small victory and a deep loss at the same time. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she took one last look at the building, at the life she was leaving behind, and then stepped out into the evening air.

The room fell into a suffocating silence, the air thick with the unspoken question hanging between them. Y/N could see the desperation in Harry’s eyes, the plea for a second chance, but all she could feel was the overwhelming ache in her chest, the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to hold herself together. “I don’t know if I can ever look at you and not resent you for it”.

Harry’s face crumpled at her words, the pain in his eyes almost too much to bear. “I understand,” he said softly, his voice filled with sorrow. “I won’t ask you to make any decisions. I just needed you to know the truth. I’ll accept it even if it means letting you go again.”

The finality of his words hung in the air, a bitter reminder of how far they had fallen from the love they once shared. Y/N looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer, the tears blurring her vision as the reality of their situation crashed down around her.

In that moment, the sushi on the table, the music playing softly in the background, the cozy warmth of the restaurant—none of it mattered. All that existed was the chasm between them, the deep, irreparable wound that no amount of apologies or regret could ever heal.

She stood up from the table, her movements slow and deliberate as she gathered her things. Harry stood up as well, his face pale and stricken with anguish. “I know that I am supposed to let you go. But please don’t go” he begged, his voice cracking. “I can’t lose you again”. Harry had hoped that this time around things would’ve ended different than that day at the apartment. However, it seemed like he was reliving it.

Y/N took a deep breath, the finality of her decision weighing heavily on her. “I can’t” her voice cracked as tears streamed down her face. “I can’t keep doing this to myself. You have to let me go”. She walked towards the restaurant’s exit, her heart heavy with the sadness of the parting. As she reached the door, she turned to look back at Harry one last time, her eyes filled with sorrow and a lingering love that could never be fully extinguished. “Bye H”

Harry watched her, his own tears falling freely now. The pain of her leaving was evident in every line of his face, but he made no move to stop her, knowing deep down that he had lost her.

Y/N stepped out into the cool night air, the city lights casting a gentle glow that only served to highlight the deep darkness she felt within. She paused for a moment, looking back at the restaurant where they had just shared their final, heart-wrenching conversation. Despite the sadness that still clung to her, a part of her felt unexpectedly lighter.

The weight of the past seemed to lift from her shoulders, replaced by a newfound clarity. She realized, with painful but liberating honesty, that her worth was never in question—it was never about her. She had finally found the closure she had so desperately sought. As she walked away, she felt a quiet confidence settle within her. She knew now that she deserved to be loved deeply and genuinely, and that there was someone out there who would truly appreciate her for who she was.

As she disappeared into the horizon, Harry stood alone in the doorway, the ache of her absence a stark reminder of the love that had slipped through his fingers. Of the only person that loved him with honesty.

part 1

[eratos-girlfriend]

“The end of separation is the end of desire”

I love herrr <3

[justlemmeadoreyou]

boyfriend!harry headcanons

-> Every day starts with Harry's sleepy face pressed into your neck, his breath tickling your ear as he mutters "good mornin', lovie." He steals kisses between yawns, his warm hand tracing patterns on your back until you're both giggling, tangled in the sheets.

-> He knows your perfect cup of coffee, the one that makes you smile like sunshine. He surprises you with it in bed, accompanied by a plate of fluffy pancakes or French toast, shaped into hearts, of course.

-> He pretends to scoff when you put on a chick flick, but you catch him stealing glances at the screen, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile. He hums along to the cheesy soundtrack, his voice husky and low, sending shivers down your spine.

-> One minute you're planning grocery shopping, the next he's whisking you away to a hidden beach for a sunset picnic, complete with a spontaneous bonfire and stargazing. He lives for creating memories that make your heart skip a beat.

-> He believes in you more than you believe in yourself. He cheers you on at work, celebrates your victories (big or small), and holds you tight when you doubt yourself. He whispers encouragement in your ear, his voice laced with unwavering faith.

-> He leaves little love notes tucked in your purse, on the fridge, even in the pages of your favorite book. He hides tiny trinkets for you to find – a seashell from your first beach trip, a vintage postcard with a romantic quote, a single, perfect rose.

-> He pulls out your chair at restaurants, opens doors, and insists on carrying your groceries. He walks on the outside of the sidewalk to shield you from the rain, and offers his jacket when you're cold. It's the little things that make your heart melt.

-> His hands wander under your shirt, sending goosebumps erupting on your skin. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, promises of forever and endless love. He makes you feel like the only person in the world, cherished and adored.

-> He strums your favorite song on his guitar, his voice husky and soulful, just for you. He pulls you close, swaying to the rhythm, his gaze never leaving yours. He turns any room into a dance floor, his laughter echoing as you spin, lost in your own little world.

-> He's your rock, your confidant, your safe harbor. He listens without judgment, offers advice without pushing, and celebrates your individuality. He loves you for who you are, flaws and all, and that's the most beautiful love story of all.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

jealous!harry headcanons

let me know if you like this! you can tip me here!

please like and reblog, it may seem stupid but it actually helps a lot! ♡

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

taglist:@freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge @mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @daphnesutton