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cloudyluun · 3 days ago

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Serendipity & Stumbles

Summary: Based on this request. You never expected to keep bumping into Harry Styles, single dad and bookstore owner, but fate—and your kids—had other plans. From coffee shop disasters to rainy-night rescues, your lives keep tangling together, no matter how much you try to resist. But when two very determined little matchmakers step in, running might not be an option anymore.

Slow-burn, single-parent chaos, meddling kids, and Harry in full-on dad mode? Yeah, you’re in trouble.

A/N: I dragged this slow burn out on purpose. I made you suffer. And honestly? I’d do it again. Thanks for sticking around, even when you wanted to scream at them to just kiss already. This isn't proofread, sorryyy

Word Count: 8,4k

Warnings:

Single parent struggles (exhaustion, self-doubt, balancing work & motherhood)

Mentions of past unhealthy relationships (nothing graphic, but allusions to emotional difficulty & fear of attachment)

Slow-burn romance (painfully slow at times, because I like to make you suffer before the payoff 😌)

Lots of angst, mutual pining, and missed opportunities before they actually get their shit together

Fluff so sweet it might rot your teeth

Smut!!

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you the moment you stepped inside the bookstore café, the warmth of it a stark contrast to the biting chill outside. You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, guiding Lily toward an empty table near the window, where golden afternoon light streamed in.

She clutched her book to her chest, her small fingers curling around the edges of the worn cover like it was something precious. “Can I get a hot chocolate, Mummy?” she asked, peering up at you with wide eyes.

You smiled, smoothing down the flyaway curls at her temple. “Of course, love. Let’s get settled first, yeah?”

Balancing motherhood and work had turned you into an expert multitasker—or at least someone who tried very hard to be. You pulled out your laptop as Lily slid into the chair opposite you, already flipping through the pages of her book. The café was busy but cozy, the low hum of conversations blending with the clinking of mugs and the occasional flutter of a turned page.

This bookstore had quickly become your sanctuary—somewhere Lily could sink into stories while you answered emails or proofread articles. It was one of the few places where you could steal a moment of peace.

At least, until peace became a fleeting thing.

One second, Lily was happily stirring her hot chocolate, her lips moving as she silently read. The next, her elbow knocked against the cup, and the dark liquid sloshed over the rim, spilling onto her dress.

She froze.

You saw the panic flicker across her face before the wobble in her lip began.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay,” you soothed, immediately reaching for the napkins. “We’ll clean it up.”

But her breath hitched, and her eyes grew glassy, the embarrassment of it all outweighing any comfort you could offer. You could see it coming—the slow build to a meltdown in the middle of a crowded café.

And then, a voice—warm, steady.

“Need some help?”

You looked up.

The man standing beside your table held out a stack of napkins, his green eyes bright with amusement but softened by something kinder. His dark curls were pushed back from his face, a few strands stubbornly falling forward. There was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself, dressed in a sweater that hugged his frame just right, sleeves pushed up to reveal inked skin.

Lily sniffled, her tiny hands twisting in the fabric of her stained dress.

Harry Styles.

You knew of him, in the way that people who lived in the same neighborhood knew of each other. The bookstore café was his, after all. You’d seen him before, in passing—restocking shelves, chatting with customers, sometimes with a little boy by his side. But you’d never spoken beyond polite nods and murmured thank-yous.

You hesitated before taking the napkins, flashing a quick, grateful smile. “Thank you. She’s just—”

“Having a rough go of it,” he finished, nodding. “Understandable. Hot chocolate tragedies are serious business.”

Lily blinked up at him, her lip still wobbling but her sniffles slowing.

Harry crouched beside her, a small smile playing at his lips. “I’ve got a spare jumper in the back—belongs to my son. I can grab it for you, if you’d like.”

Lily glanced at you for reassurance. You squeezed her small hand before nodding. “That’s very kind of you.”

“No trouble at all,” he said before disappearing into the back of the shop.

Lily fidgeted in her chair, picking at the hem of her dress. “I didn’t mean to spill,” she murmured.

“I know, sweetheart,” you said softly. “It was just an accident.”

Before you could say more, Harry returned, holding out a navy-blue sweater. It was slightly oversized, well-loved, the sleeves a little worn at the cuffs.

“Here we go,” he said, handing it to Lily. “Theo—my son—outgrows things faster than I can keep up with, so we always have extras.”

Lily took it, her small fingers brushing against the soft fabric. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Harry smiled, standing back up to his full height. His eyes flicked to you, something unreadable in his gaze. “No need to give it back. Consider it a gift from one hot chocolate lover to another.”

A beat of quiet passed between you, something unspoken lingering in the air.

You cleared your throat, breaking the moment. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Part of the job.”

Lily tugged the sweater over her dress, the sleeves hanging past her fingers. You expected her to protest, but instead, she let out a small giggle, wiggling her arms. “It’s soft.”

Harry grinned. “Glad you approve.”

You exhaled, finally allowing the tension in your shoulders to ease. “Well, thank you again. We really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he said, giving a small nod before turning back toward the counter.

You watched him go, your fingers absently tapping against your coffee cup.

You weren’t sure why, but something about the moment stuck with you longer than it should have.

Maybe it was the ease of it, the way Harry had stepped in without hesitation, like it was second nature for him to help. Maybe it was the way he spoke to Lily—not as if she were just a child, but like her feelings mattered. Or maybe it was the simple fact that for the first time in a long while, someone had made your chaotic day feel just a little bit lighter.

You thought about it again a few days later as you sat on a bench at the park, the cool afternoon air crisp against your skin. Lily was somewhere nearby, her laughter carrying on the breeze, but your eyes were glued to the screen of your laptop, fingers tapping against the keyboard as you proofread an article on deadline.

“Just five more minutes, baby,” you murmured absently, knowing she probably wasn’t even listening.

It was one of those afternoons where time felt both endless and fleeting. The playground was buzzing with energy—kids climbing, running, the occasional squeal of excitement cutting through the air. You weren’t really paying attention, though, too caught up in work, too focused on making sure the words in front of you made sense.

A few benches away, Harry was doing much of the same.

Phone in hand, he paced a few steps back and forth, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the mobile to his ear. His brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together in that concentrated way people had when they were trying to remain patient on a frustrating call.

Neither of you noticed at first.

Neither of you saw them.

Lily and Theo.

Two tiny forces of nature, colliding without you even realizing it.

It wasn’t until a burst of laughter pulled your focus that you finally looked up.

Your gaze landed on Lily first, standing in the middle of the grass, her hands on her hips, head tilted back in giggles. Across from her, a little boy—a year or so older, dark curls peeking out from beneath a beanie—was laughing just as hard.

They were playing together.

You blinked, momentarily thrown, scanning the area for whoever the child belonged to.

Harry’s voice was still a low murmur as he spoke into the phone, but his eyes had landed on the same scene. His expression softened instantly, the stress from his call momentarily forgotten.

Theo.

You recognized the sweater immediately—the sweater. The same one Harry had given Lily after the hot chocolate incident. It was still too big on her, the sleeves hanging past her fingers, but that wasn’t stopping her from flapping her arms dramatically while Theo doubled over laughing.

It was oddly fascinating, watching them.

Lily, typically so shy around new kids, was standing toe-to-toe with Theo, chattering animatedly, completely unbothered by the fact that they’d only just met. Theo, for his part, looked just as amused, his eyes bright with mischief, like he’d already decided they were going to be best friends.

Your lips twitched into an involuntary smile.

It was… sweet.

Something in your periphery shifted, and you realized Harry was looking at you now.

There was a moment—an unspoken, quiet kind of moment—where neither of you said anything. Just sat there, watching your kids become friends without effort, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Harry’s phone was still at his ear, but whatever conversation he was having was clearly secondary now. He shook his head slightly, amused, before rubbing a hand along his jaw, his own smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Without thinking, you spoke.

“Well, this is convenient.”

Harry huffed a laugh, finally ending his call before slipping the phone into his pocket. “Guess they’re making the decisions for us now.”

You nodded toward them. “I take it Theo is the mastermind behind this plan?”

He smirked. “Oh, definitely. He’s got a talent for roping people into whatever ridiculous scheme he’s come up with.”

Lily’s laughter rang out again as Theo dramatically flopped onto the grass, pretending to faint over something she’d said.

You shook your head fondly. “I think Lily might have just met her match.”

“Looks that way,” Harry agreed, leaning back against the bench, his posture relaxed but his gaze still lingering on his son.

You let the silence stretch between you, comfortable in a way you didn’t expect.

It was a strange thing, this… whatever this was.

Before the café, Harry had been nothing more than a familiar face. A neighbor, a bookstore owner, someone you exchanged brief smiles with but never really knew.

Now, though—now, he was sitting next to you, watching your kids become fast friends, and somehow it didn’t feel like a coincidence at all.

Just as you were about to say something else, Lily ran up to you, breathless and grinning. “Mummy! Theo says he has a dog!”

Harry chuckled, clearly predicting where this was going.

“Not just a dog,” Theo corrected, running up beside her. “A really big dog.”

Lily’s eyes went wide. “Can I meet him?”

Harry shot you a look, brows raised in amusement. “You alright with that?”

You hesitated, caught between the natural urge to say no to anything spontaneous—and the realization that, maybe, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to say yes.

After all… maybe there were worse things than a little serendipity.

That thought lingered in your mind long after the park playdate, long after Lily had chattered endlessly about Theo’s “really big dog” and how she was convinced they needed one just like him.

It was still there a week later, tugging at the edges of your thoughts as you walked into the parents' meeting at Lily’s school.

You weren’t particularly looking forward to it—these things were always a mix of too much small talk and too many emails you’d later forget to reply to—but you showed up, because that’s what you did. You juggled deadlines and grocery lists and bedtime routines, and you showed up.

Sliding into one of the chairs near the back of the classroom, you pulled out your notebook, half-listening as the teacher welcomed everyone and started discussing upcoming class activities. The words blurred a little, your mind already jumping to your to-do list for the rest of the day—until a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation beside you.

“Didn’t peg you for the back-row type.”

Your head turned sharply.

Harry.

Seated next to you, clad in a well-fitted jacket over a soft-looking jumper, casually sprawled in his chair like he wasn’t completely throwing off your focus. His green eyes flickered with amusement as he drummed his fingers lightly against the desk.

You blinked, momentarily thrown. “I—what?”

His lips twitched. “Back row. Feels like the kind of seat you pick if you’re planning to sneak out early.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Right, because I’m clearly a rebel parent.”

Harry smirked, but before he could respond, the teacher started explaining the logistics of an upcoming field trip, and the room quieted.

You tried to focus—you really did—but awareness prickled at you, your body attuned to the fact that Harry was right next to you.

It didn’t help that every now and then, you’d catch him glancing your way when the teacher said something mildly ridiculous, his expression just amused enough to make it harder to keep a straight face.

Or that when the topic of chaperones came up, Theo’s name was read out right before Lily’s, the realization settling between you with an unspoken of course they’re in the same class.

And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t miss the way Harry muttered a quiet figures under his breath, a slight shake of his head that made you bite back a smile.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, the teacher dismissing everyone with a reminder to sign up for volunteer slots, you were already gathering your things, ready to slip out—when Harry turned to you.

“Fancy a coffee?”

You froze for half a second.

It was a simple question. Harmless. A casual offer between two parents who, apparently, kept running into each other.

But something about the way he said it—the way his voice dipped just slightly, the way his eyes stayed steady on yours—made it feel less casual.

You hesitated.

And Harry, ever perceptive, caught it immediately. His posture shifted, something careful settling into his expression, like he wasn’t quite sure whether to push or back off.

“I mean,” he added, lightening his tone, “it’s just down the road. No pressure. Could be a good excuse to talk about how we’ve accidentally ended up with kids who seem hell-bent on becoming best friends.”

You swallowed, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

It was tempting. So tempting.

And maybe, once upon a time, you wouldn’t have thought twice about saying yes.

But you weren’t that person anymore. You’d learned to be cautious. To tread carefully when it came to things that had the potential to turn into more than just casual conversation.

And Harry—whether he realized it or not—felt like exactly that kind of thing.

So you smiled, polite but firm. “I appreciate the offer, but I should really get back to work.”

Harry didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t let disappointment show, though something unreadable flickered in his gaze before he nodded, easy and unbothered. “Fair enough. Another time, maybe.”

You hummed, noncommittal.

But as you turned to leave, your heart did this stupid, traitorous thing—this little lurch in your chest—because something in you already knew that this wouldn’t be the last time.

And, of course, you were right.

Because one week later, you were standing on the pavement, clutching Lily’s small hand, rain drenching through your coat as you tried—and failed—not to look as exhausted as you felt.

It had been a long day.

A really long day.

Your babysitter had canceled last minute, leaving you with no choice but to bring Lily along to your late-afternoon client meeting. She’d been good—so good—sitting quietly at the café table, coloring in the pages of her book while you discussed article revisions and deadline extensions. But by the time you stepped out into the dimly lit street, the sky had split open, rain coming down in relentless sheets, and you were both soaked before you even had the chance to open your umbrella.

You exhaled, pressing your palm against your forehead as you attempted to flag down a taxi. No luck.

“Mummy,” Lily whined, shivering beside you. “I’m cold.”

Your heart clenched. “I know, baby. I’m trying—”

A honk cut through the downpour.

You turned toward the sound just as a familiar black Range Rover slowed beside you, the driver’s window rolling down.

Harry.

His curls were a little messy, his face dimly lit by the dashboard lights, one hand gripping the steering wheel as he leaned slightly toward the open window. His brows knitted together the second he took you in.

“Are you seriously walking home in this?”

You blinked against the rain. “I don’t exactly have a choice, Harry.”

He scoffed, already reaching for the unlock button. “Get in.”

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t want to—you were cold and exhausted, and Lily was on the verge of full-body shivers—but because the last thing you needed was to owe someone anything. To let someone in, even if only for a car ride home.

Harry must have noticed the reluctance on your face because his tone softened. “Come on. No agenda. Just two parents helping each other out.”

Before you could argue, the back door swung open.

“Mummy! Theo’s in here!” Lily’s delighted voice rang out, already scrambling into the seat beside him.

You turned sharply—traitor!—but Lily was grinning, the excitement of seeing her new best friend completely overriding any of your hesitation.

You sighed, defeated. “Guess we’re getting in the car.”

Harry smirked. “Guess you are.”

You climbed into the passenger seat, the warmth of the car immediately soothing your frozen limbs. Your coat dripped against the leather as you fastened your seatbelt, and when Harry reached into the back and wordlessly handed you a hoodie—probably Theo’s again—you swallowed past the tightness in your throat before accepting it.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He shifted the car into drive, glancing in the rearview mirror where the kids were already chatting excitedly. “Where to?”

You gave him your address, and he repeated it under his breath like he was committing it to memory.

The hum of the car filled the space between you for a moment, the rain drumming against the windshield. You were suddenly aware of how quiet it was in the front seat—how the easy banter you’d shared before wasn’t there now, replaced by something heavier.

“Long day?” Harry finally asked, his voice softer than before.

You exhaled. “You could say that.”

“I get it,” he murmured. “Some days just feel impossible.”

You turned to look at him, but his eyes stayed on the road, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

It would have been easy to nod and leave it at that.

But something about the way he said it—like he really did get it—made the words slip out before you could stop them.

“My babysitter bailed last minute,” you admitted. “Had to bring Lily to work with me. I know she didn’t mind, but it’s just… a lot, sometimes.”

Harry’s fingers tapped lightly against the wheel. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“It’s just you and Lily, then?”

You hesitated. Not because it was a secret, but because it was one of those questions that carried weight, even if it was asked casually.

“Yeah,” you said finally. “Just us.”

Another pause. Then, quietly—

“Same. Just me and Theo.”

You glanced at him.

There was something different in his voice now, something laced with memory, something personal.

“What happened?” you asked gently.

He inhaled, long and slow. When he spoke, his voice was even, but you could hear the emotion beneath it.

“My wife—Theo’s mum—passed away a few years ago.”

Your chest tightened. “Harry, I—”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “It was… unexpected. One day we were planning holidays, the next, I was trying to figure out how to be a single dad.”

Your fingers curled into the sleeves of the hoodie.

You weren’t sure why, but something about hearing him say it—acknowledging it so openly, without dramatics, without self-pity—hit you harder than you expected.

“I left,” you admitted softly.

Harry turned, brow furrowing. “Left?”

You swallowed. “Lily’s dad. I left him.”

Understanding flickered in his gaze, but he didn’t say anything. Just waited.

You let out a slow breath, focusing on the rain streaking against the glass. “It wasn’t… good. I knew if I stayed, it would only get worse. So I left.” A pause. “For her. For Lily.”

Harry didn’t ask for details. Didn’t push.

He just nodded, like that was enough. Like he understood more than he was saying.

The air in the car was heavier now, but not uncomfortable. It wasn’t pity, wasn’t awkward sympathy. It was just two people, two parents, who had both lost something. Who were still finding their way forward.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your building, you turned to him, fingers hovering over the door handle.

“Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you expected.

Harry met your gaze, something steady and unreadable in his expression. “Anytime.”

And as you climbed out, leading Lily inside, you realized that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the last time, either.

And again, you were right.

Because the universe—or fate, or whatever force kept weaving Harry into your life—wasn’t quite done with you yet.

It started as a normal evening. A school event—one of those midwinter, PTA-sponsored gatherings where the kids were running on pure sugar-fueled excitement, and the parents were running on nothing but caffeine and obligation.

You had barely stepped inside the decorated gymnasium when Lily had spotted Theo, the two of them taking off toward the craft station without so much as a backward glance.

“Yeah, sure, don’t say goodbye,” you muttered, exhaling as you peeled off your coat and shoved your gloves into your bag.

“You get used to it.”

Your stomach dipped at the sound of his voice.

You turned to find Harry standing beside you, shaking snow out of his curls, his jacket dusted with white. He looked unfairly good for someone who had just come in from the cold—cheeks flushed, green eyes bright with amusement as he nodded toward the kids.

“First time they ditch you, it stings,” he continued, smirking. “By the hundredth time, you stop taking it personally.”

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Good to know.”

For a while, the event played out exactly as expected—parents milling around making polite small talk, kids crafting messy holiday decorations that would inevitably end up forgotten at the bottom of their backpacks.

You kept an eye on Lily, but she and Theo were perfectly entertained, alternating between cookie decorating and attempting to build a fort out of the chairs in the corner of the room.

And then, just as you were considering sneaking off to the refreshment table for a refill on your coffee, the first announcement crackled through the speaker system.

A snowstorm.

A bad one.

Roads already piling up, traffic at a standstill. Everyone advised to stay put until further notice.

A slow, collective groan moved through the crowd.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your fingers over your temples.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Beside you, Harry let out a low whistle. “Guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “You sound entirely too relaxed about this.”

He smirked. “Because I’ve accepted my fate.” He nodded toward Theo and Lily, who were thriving in the chaos, currently attempting to organize some kind of group game. “They, on the other hand, are living their best lives.”

You sighed, watching as Lily excitedly gestured for Theo to follow her to the makeshift play area.

“Traitor,” you muttered under your breath.

Harry chuckled. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward an empty classroom that had been opened up as an extra seating area. “Might as well find somewhere to sit before we’re reduced to standing in the hallway.”

You followed him, grateful for the momentary escape from the crowded gym.

The classroom was small, with a handful of desks pushed against the walls. Harry dropped into one of the chairs, stretching his legs out in front of him, while you settled into the seat beside him, cradling your coffee cup between your palms.

For a moment, there was nothing but the muffled sound of voices from the hallway, the occasional scrape of a chair from another room.

And then—

“So,” Harry mused, glancing sideways at you. “On a scale from mild to intervention-level dependency, how bad is your caffeine addiction?”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

He nodded toward your cup, smirking. “That’s, what, your third coffee tonight?”

You scoffed. “Second, actually. And I’ll have you know that my caffeine intake is perfectly normal.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “Sure.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I bet you have a thing too, don’t you?”

His brows raised. “A thing?”

“Yes. Some habit or vice you’re embarrassingly reliant on.” You smirked. “Let me guess—you’re a late-night snacker.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Not even close.”

You tapped your chin, pretending to consider. “Okay. Chronic over-user of pet names?”

His lips twitched. “I mean, love, I do have a tendency—”

You groaned. “Oh, that checks out.”

Harry grinned, his dimples deepening. “You got me.”

For a moment, the conversation settled into something easy, the banter light, playful. And you—despite the exhaustion, despite the long night ahead—felt…

Good.

Harry shifted slightly, watching you. “You’re smiling.”

Your brows furrowed. “I am?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “It’s nice.”

And that—that small, simple sentence—made something tighten in your chest.

Because Harry wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t teasing.

He was just… noticing.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly seen.

You cleared your throat, looking away, focusing on the rim of your cup. “Don’t get used to it.”

Harry chuckled, but didn’t press.

You sat there for a little while longer, the room quieter than the ones beyond it, but filled with something else.

Something unspoken.

Something that felt an awful lot like anticipation.

That’s what had been simmering under the surface ever since that snowed-in night at the school.

You told yourself it was nothing—that it was just the circumstances, the way you’d both been forced into conversation, the way time had slowed just enough for you to forget that Harry Styles was not supposed to be part of your life in any meaningful way.

But then came Saturday.

And Saturday ruined everything.

It had been Lily’s idea to go to the bookstore café, but you didn’t exactly fight her on it.

You could pretend all you wanted, but the truth was, you liked it there. The smell of coffee, the cozy chairs tucked between shelves, the soft murmur of people flipping through books—it was one of the few places in the city where your brain actually slowed down for a moment.

So, you’d packed up your laptop, bundled Lily in her coat, and headed down the familiar street, telling yourself that Harry might not even be working today. That it wouldn’t mean anything if you ran into him.

And then you walked inside, and he was right there.

Behind the counter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, laughing at something one of his employees had said before turning at just the right moment—seeing you.

His eyes brightened. “Look who it is.”

Your stomach flipped. Stupid. Completely ridiculous.

“Hi, Harry.” You cleared your throat, pushing past the way his smile made your chest feel tight. “Busy today?”

“Not too bad.” He leaned against the counter. “Here for your fix?”

You scoffed, already setting your bag down on the edge. “I’ll have you know I went an entire day without coffee yesterday.”

Harry placed a hand over his heart, mock-surprised. “I don’t believe you.”

You rolled your eyes, but Lily was less focused on your caffeine consumption and more on the glass case filled with pastries.

Harry caught her staring, smirking. “Hungry, love?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got some fresh croissants that need a home.” He grabbed a plate and slid two onto it before adding, “On the house.”

You immediately shook your head. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said simply, then met your gaze. “Stay. Sit down for a bit.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t loaded with anything, wasn’t flirtatious or heavy.

It was just… easy.

So you stayed.

You found a table near the window, sipping your coffee while Lily and Theo—who had conveniently appeared out of nowhere—settled on the floor nearby with a pile of books between them.

And somehow, Harry ended up in the chair across from you.

It wasn’t intentional. At least, you told yourself it wasn’t.

It was just conversation—banter, sarcasm, Lily’s constant interruptions to tell you random facts about the book she was reading.

And then… it wasn’t.

Because at some point, the edges of the conversation softened.

At some point, you started talking about things that weren’t just surface-level.

At some point, he told you about the bookstore—how it had started as a risk, how he wasn’t sure if it would work, but he’d wanted Theo to have a place to grow up around stories.

And at some point, you found yourself telling him about your writing, about the way you’d stumbled into freelancing after leaving your old life behind, about how sometimes, you missed the structure of an office, but mostly, you liked this. The freedom. The control over your own world.

Harry had listened.

Really listened.

And then he’d said something—something about how he admired that, about how he could see how much you’d built for yourself.

And that’s when it happened.

That’s when you realized.

This feels like a date.

The realization hit like a punch to the ribs.

Because it wasn’t a date. It couldn’t be.

You weren’t dating. You weren’t even thinking about dating. That wasn’t part of your life anymore, wasn’t something you could afford to let yourself want.

And yet—

You were sitting across from a man who made you feel like maybe it was.

A man who made it easy. Who made you laugh, who made you forget to keep your guard up, who looked at you in a way that made you feel like more than just a tired mother balancing a thousand things at once.

And that—that—was terrifying.

So, before he could say anything else, before you could let yourself sit in the moment for even a second longer, you panicked.

You shot up from your chair so fast Harry’s brows furrowed.

“I should go,” you blurted, already reaching for your bag.

Harry blinked. “What?”

You forced a smile. “I just—Lily has a lot of homework, and I need to—”

Harry wasn’t stupid.

You could see the confusion in his expression, the way his body tensed just slightly, the way his fingers curled around his mug like he was trying to figure out where the shift had happened.

But he didn’t push.

He just nodded, slow and careful, like he was trying to let you run if you needed to.

Lily pouted as you grabbed her hand, but she didn’t argue.

Harry said goodbye to her, ruffled Theo’s hair, then glanced back at you just once before you pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold.

And as you walked away—your heart pounding, your hands trembling—you told yourself you’d done the right thing.

You told yourself that leaving was better.

That letting him get too close would only make things harder.

You told yourself all of that.

And yet—

It didn’t stop you from feeling like you’d just made a mistake.

In fact, it only made it worse.

The whole way home, Lily kept glancing up at you, brows furrowed in confusion, like she knew something had happened but couldn’t quite figure out what. And the next morning, when she asked if you were going back to the bookstore soon, you’d mumbled something noncommittal, changed the subject, and buried yourself in work.

For days, you convinced yourself you’d done the right thing. That putting space between you and Harry was necessary. That whatever this strange, unexpected thing was between you—it wasn’t real.

But while you were busy trying to ignore it, two small, scheming masterminds were doing the exact opposite.

“I think my dad likes your mum.”

Theo’s voice was quiet, but not that quiet.

Lily, crouched beside him under the slide at the park, frowned. “I know.”

Theo blinked. “You do?”

Lily gave him a look, as if obviously. “He always smiles when she’s around. And he looks at her like my teacher looks at her coffee.”

Theo squinted. “Like he needs her?”

“Exactly.”

Theo leaned back, lips pursed in thought. “Well, that’s a problem.”

Lily nodded gravely. “Because my mum likes your dad, too.”

Theo’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Lily huffed, crossing her arms. “But she’s scared.”

Theo considered this, chewing on his lip. Then, slowly, a smirk stretched across his face.

“Well, that just means we have to fix it.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “How?”

Theo grinned. “Leave that to me.”

You should have known something was up when Lily had asked—too sweetly—if you wanted to take her to the park that weekend.

You should have been suspicious when she mentioned, offhandedly, that Theo had told her he and Harry were going to be there at the same time.

But you—naive, unsuspecting, and still drowning in your own avoidance—had just gone along with it.

Which was exactly how you ended up here.

Standing at the edge of the field, watching as Theo and Lily cackled like tiny villains, while Harry—completely unaware of their plot—ran around playing soccer with them.

And you?

You were helpless.

Because, despite everything, despite every wall you had thrown up, despite every reason you had to keep your distance—you couldn’t look away.

Harry looked happy.

Really, truly happy.

His dimples were deep, his laughter loud and unrestrained. His curls were a mess from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes crinkling at the corners as he dodged Theo’s attempt to steal the ball.

And Lily?

She looked just as free.

She wasn’t shy, wasn’t hesitating—she was grinning, giggling so hard that she tripped, falling right into Harry’s arms as he caught her mid-stumble.

And that—that moment—was what did it.

Because when Harry steadied her, ruffling her hair before sending her off again, you felt something click.

Something shift.

And suddenly, the thought you had been pushing away for weeks broke through like a crack in the dam, relentless and impossible to ignore.

This could be something.

Something good. Something real. Something you weren’t sure you were ready for—but something you didn’t want to run from anymore.

Because, maybe…

Maybe it wasn’t just serendipity.

Maybe it was something that was supposed to happen all along.

That thought followed you home. It followed you through dinner, through Lily’s animated retelling of her very official soccer victory, through the quiet moments when she was curled up in bed, her breathing slow and even.

And it followed you long after that, settling in your chest, stubborn and impossible to ignore.

Because you knew what you had to do.

So, the next afternoon, after too much pacing and too much overthinking, you found yourself standing outside the bookstore café, heart hammering as you pushed open the door.

Harry was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, a pencil tucked behind his ear as he scanned the inventory list in front of him. He looked focused, but the second he glanced up and saw you, something flickered across his face—something cautious.

You swallowed. Right. You did that.

Taking a breath, you stepped forward. “Can we talk?”

He set the clipboard down, wiping his hands on a cloth before nodding toward the back. “Come on.”

You followed him past the bookshelves, through a small hallway that led to a quieter seating area. It was dimly lit, quieter than the front of the shop, and suddenly, this felt very real.

Harry turned to you, arms crossed, waiting.

You exhaled. “I—I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “For running. For… whatever that was.” You sighed, rubbing your hands over your jeans. “I got scared.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted. A quiet understanding settling between you.

“I get it,” he said finally. “But I need to know where your head is at, Y/N.” His voice was even, steady. “Because I don’t do games. I don’t do halfway.”

You swallowed, throat tight.

“I know.”

He stepped closer, eyes never leaving yours. “So, what do you want?”

You hesitated, heart pounding.

But then, you thought about Lily—your Lily. Thought about how effortlessly she had let Theo in, how much brighter she had been since meeting him.

And then, you thought about yourself.

About the way Harry made you laugh. About the way he looked at you—like you weren’t just a mother, just a woman who had learned how to live cautiously, but someone he saw.

And suddenly, the answer wasn’t scary anymore.

“I want to try,” you whispered.

Harry’s shoulders relaxed. His jaw unclenched. And then, slowly, carefully, he stepped forward.

His fingers reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “Yeah?”

You nodded, exhaling shakily. “Yeah.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t say anything.

He just leaned in.

The kiss was soft.

Lingering.

Like it was meant to happen.

And maybe…

Maybe it was.

Maybe it had always been leading to this. To a quiet evening, to wine and laughter and the slow, inevitable pull of something neither of you could ignore any longer.

You weren’t supposed to end up at Harry’s place that night. It had started with dinner—just a casual thing, an unspoken agreement that whatever was growing between you should have space to exist outside of fleeting moments and bookstore conversations.

The kids had been there, of course. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t something you had planned.

But it had felt easy.

Effortless, even.

Like the four of you were already slipping into place, like Theo rolling his eyes at Lily’s terrible knock-knock jokes was as natural as Harry stealing a bite of food off your plate, smirking when you swatted at him.

And then, somehow, it had stretched later than expected.

The kids had curled up on the couch, movie playing softly in the background, their laughter slowly fading into soft, steady breaths.

And then—

Then it was just you and Harry.

Alone.

A glass of wine, the fire crackling softly in the background.

Your legs tucked under you as you sat on the couch, warmth settling in your limbs—not just from the wine, but from this. From him.

Harry leaned back, fingers tapping against his glass. “So.”

You raised a brow. “So?”

He smirked. “Are we still pretending this isn’t happening?”

Your breath hitched.

Because this.

This was happening.

The easy way he watched you. The way your body tilted toward him without thinking. The way you felt calm here, in his space, in this moment.

You exhaled, heart hammering as you set your wine down.

“I don’t want to pretend,” you admitted.

Harry studied you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he set his glass aside, shifting closer.

And when he leaned in—when he brushed his lips against yours, just barely, just enough to give you a chance to stop this—you didn’t.

You pressed closer.

And finally, finally, you let yourself fall.

Right into him. Right into the warmth of his hands, the steady press of his mouth, the way he didn’t hesitate when you kissed him back.

It was slow at first, unhurried and exploratory, like you were both learning something new—even though this had been building for months. Even though the tension between you had been simmering, bubbling over in every stolen glance, every playful smirk, every time he looked at you like he knew exactly what you were trying to hide.

And now, you weren’t hiding anymore.

His hands found your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater, dragging you in until you were flush against him. He was so warm, the solid weight of his chest pressing into yours, his scent intoxicating—something woody, something clean, something completely Harry.

You let out a soft gasp when he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing over yours in a slow, teasing stroke.

That sound—it did something to him.

Because suddenly, his grip tightened.

And then, you were moving.

He guided you backward until your lower back hit the edge of the kitchen counter. You barely had time to process the cool surface against your skin before his hands were everywhere—sliding beneath your sweater, mapping the curves of your waist, the dip of your spine, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to make you arch into him.

“Harry—”

He groaned at the way you said his name, his lips never leaving yours as he lifted you onto the counter, spreading your thighs as he stepped between them.

And that was it.

That was the moment everything tipped over the edge.

Because then, Harry was everywhere.

His mouth was hot and insistent against your neck, dragging down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, nipping at your skin just enough to make you whimper.

“Been thinking about this for so long,” he murmured against your throat, his voice thick, husky, wrecked.

Your breath hitched. “Me too.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, blown-out, his chest rising and falling as he scanned your face. Checking. Waiting.

You exhaled, chest tight, lips swollen from his kisses.

“I want this, Harry.” Your voice was quiet but firm. “I want you.”

Something in him snapped.

And then, he gave you exactly what you asked for.

But not in the way you expected.

Because for all the urgency—the heat, the months of unresolved tension stretching between you—Harry didn’t rush.

He kissed you slowly, deliberately, his hands steady as they traced the outline of your body, as if he were memorizing you. Like he wanted to savor every second.

And when he finally lifted you into his arms, carrying you effortlessly through the dimly lit hallway, you didn’t protest. Didn’t question it.

You just let yourself be his.

The bedroom was dark, moonlight pooling in through the window, the sheets cool against your back when he laid you down.

And for a moment—just a moment—Harry didn’t move.

He just looked at you.

His green eyes flickered over your face, your parted lips, the way your chest rose and fell beneath him. His fingers skimmed up your thigh, teasing, light enough to make you shiver, before he leaned down, his lips hovering just over yours.

"You’re beautiful," he murmured. "You know that, right?"

Your breath caught.

Because it wasn’t a line.

He wasn’t trying to seduce you. He wasn’t saying it just to say it.

He meant it.

And you could feel yourself unraveling beneath him.

"Harry—"

But your words cut off when he kissed you again, deeper this time, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your sweater, tugging it up, peeling it off with aching slowness.

His hands traced over your bare skin, up your ribcage, over the dip of your waist. His touch was reverent, patient—like he wanted to learn every inch of you, every soft sound you made when he touched you just right.

Your hands were just as desperate, fingers threading into his curls, tugging lightly as you pressed up into him.

He groaned, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank off his own shirt, tossing it aside before meeting your gaze again.

You exhaled sharply, taking him in.

The tattoos you had only glimpsed before, now completely on display—the swallows over his chest, the butterfly below his ribs, the intricate designs that inked his arms, his stomach, his strong, solid frame.

And then, he kissed you again.

Slower this time. Deeper.

His mouth trailed lower, over your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, his fingers working at the button of your jeans, slipping them down, kissing along every inch of newly exposed skin.

When his lips met the inside of your thigh, you gasped—gasped, because he was so close to where you needed him, but still taking his damn time.

"Harry—"

"Shh," he murmured, pressing a kiss higher, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin. "Let me take my time with you, love."

And then, he did.

He kissed his way up your thighs, parting them further, his hands gripping your hips as his mouth finally—finally—pressed against you.

You gasped, back arching, fingers tangling into the sheets as he licked into you, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every reaction, every sound that spilled from your lips.

"Fuck," you choked out, hips jerking involuntarily.

He hummed, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you as his tongue flicked exactly where you needed it, his hands holding you open, steadying you, grounding you.

And when he slipped a finger inside you—just one, at first, then another, curling them perfectly— you nearly came undone.

Your body tightened, the pleasure mounting too fast, too intense, and you could feel it—feel yourself teetering on the edge.

"That’s it," Harry murmured against you, his voice thick with lust and admiration. "Let go for me, love."

And you did.

Your orgasm ripped through you, waves of pleasure rolling through every inch of your body as your hips jerked against his mouth, his tongue not relenting—**not even for a second—**as he worked you through it, letting you fall apart completely.

By the time he finally pulled back, his lips were wet, his pupils blown, his expression completely wrecked.

"You taste fucking perfect," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning over you again, caging you in beneath him.

You were still shaking, still catching your breath, but you wanted more.

You needed more.

"Harry—"

He kissed you before you could finish, swallowing your words as he kicked off his jeans, rolling his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he was for you.

And then, finally, he lined himself up, pausing—just for a second.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breathing uneven.

"You okay?" he murmured, voice ragged.

"Yes," you breathed. "I want you."

That was all he needed.

And then, he pushed inside you.

A broken sound tore from his throat the second he was buried in you—deep, slow, perfect.

And you—fuck, you felt everything.

The stretch, the fullness, the delicious ache of him sinking into you, inch by inch, until he was completely inside you.

"Fuck," he groaned, his jaw clenching, his hands gripping your hips so tightly.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed there, letting you adjust, letting you feel him.

And then—

Then he pulled out, just enough before thrusting back in, deeper this time.

You gasped, fingers digging into his back, clinging to him.

It was slow at first. Deep and unhurried. Like he wanted to memorize you, like he wanted you to feel all of him.

But then—

Then you moaned his name.

And everything changed.

Harry growled, his grip tightening, his pace picking up, thrusting harder, faster, deeper.

"Fuck, Y/N—" His voice was wrecked, his body pressing you into the mattress, claiming you, ruining you.

And you—you didn’t care.

You wanted to be ruined.

You wanted all of him.

His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that sent shockwaves through you.

"You gonna come again for me, love?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Yes—Harry—fuck—"

"That’s it," he groaned. "Come for me."

And you did.

You shattered around him, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, your entire body trembling as he followed right after, burying himself deep, spilling inside you, groaning your name like a prayer.

For a long moment, the room was filled with nothing but harsh breathing, racing heartbeats, the aftermath of something that felt inevitable.

And then, Harry moved.

He didn’t pull away. Didn’t let you go.

He just wrapped himself around you, holding you close, pressing a kiss to your damp temple.

"Stay," he murmured, voice soft, tender.

And this time—

You didn’t run.

The smell of coffee woke you before the sunlight did.

Your body was aching in the best way, muscles deliciously sore, the sheets warm and soft against your skin. For a moment, you just laid there, blinking slowly, listening to the faint sounds of movement coming from beyond the bedroom door.

And then you realized.

You weren’t alone.

Not in the way you used to be.

Not in the way that had felt permanent for so long.

You exhaled, stretching slightly before sitting up, pulling the duvet tighter around you.

Harry’s shirt—which you had shamelessly stolen off the floor at some point during the night—hung loosely around your shoulders, smelling like him, feeling like him.

You pushed the bedroom door open quietly, stepping into the hall, and followed the sound of voices into the kitchen.

And the sight that greeted you?

It nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

Harry stood at the stove, clad in nothing but a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, a spatula in one hand, a coffee cup in the other.

And he wasn’t alone.

Theo and Lily sat at the kitchen island, chattering away, their legs swinging as they watched him flip pancakes.

Theo snickered. “That one’s burnt.”

Harry scoffed, dramatically flipping it onto a plate. “It’s golden brown, thank you very much.”

Lily giggled. “Theo says you always burn the first one.”

Harry smirked. “Well, your mum distracted me.”

At that, you cleared your throat.

Three heads turned toward you in unison.

Theo and Lily grinned.

Harry’s eyes flickered over you—his shirt swallowing your frame, your bare legs peeking out from underneath.

And then, slowly, he smirked.

“What?” you asked, fighting back a smile.

His dimples deepened. “You like seeing me in dad mode?”

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward to grab a mug from the counter. “I think I just like seeing you.”

Harry stilled for half a second.

And then, with zero warning, he was behind you—wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.

Your breath hitched. “Harry—”

“Get used to it, love,” he murmured against your skin.

Your heart stumbled.

And suddenly, you knew.

This was real.

This was yours.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

You weren’t afraid.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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nakylvr · 2 days ago

Text

— BACK TO ME

daniela avanzini x fem!reader

summary જ⁀➴ after an argument breaks out and hurtful things are thrown, you leave for a few days, and daniela realizes just how much she needs you

warnings/tags જ⁀➴ angst with happy ending, language, established relationship, dealer!dani au, arguments

now playing જ⁀➴ back to me by the rose

things had been straining recently. with tax season coming up you spent most of your days after work trying to figure out how to not get completely fucked over and get a ton of money taken out. you also got promoted at your job, which was both a blessing and a curse. more money was always a good thing, but your patience was already wearing thin when the argument started.

you had just gotten home, wanting nothing more than to relax when you realized daniela wasn't in the apartment. too tired, you shrug it off and lay down on the couch, still in your work clothes, not bothering to change. you ended up falling asleep faster than you anticipated.

when the front door opened, it was dark outside. you could hear it, but you couldn't find it in you to get up.

"yn?" daniela's voice is heard quietly. "what are you doing on the couch?"

you hum, opening your eyes groggily and looking up at her. "where were you?" you mumble.

"had to run out real quick," she answers. "come on, let's go to bed."

"for hours?" you say before you can think.

daniela's expression changes at your words, but you don't notice past the dark in the room. "i needed to do some stuff," she responds. "i'm sorry." she doesn't know why she's saying it. most likely out of fear that this conversation will spiral out of control after all the bullshit that happened earlier in the year. she doesn't want a fight right now, and she's trying to keep it from happening.

"who were you with?" you ask, slowly sitting up.

"minji," daniela answers truthfully. "she needed some help getting a gift for hanni, then she came with me for a deal that i had to do on the way back."

your eyebrows furrowed together, looking back at her. "you let her go along with you?" you inquired.

"yeah?" dani replies, but it comes out unsure. "i knew you were getting off work late and i didn't want to bother you."

"but you let minji go with you?" you press. "you told me i was the only one."

"well, yes. but minji's my close friend, i–"

"didn't see anything wrong with it?" you cut her off. "cause it looks a little weird when all your clients know me and then you show up with some other girl that's not me? let me guess, you saw keeho?"

"how did you–" daniela gets cut off again by you talking over her.

"he texted me," you tell her. "asking, and i quote 'who this random chick' is with you instead of me. so it's not just me thinking i'm crazy."

"i didn't say you were crazy," daniela quickly says, shaking her head. "baby, please, this isn't that serious. you know minji."

"but other people don't," you respond. "what if it wasn't keeho?"

"i-" daniela stops herself, taking a breath. "this is the only time i've brought someone other than you."

"but why?" you stand up from the couch, making daniela take a few steps backwards. "you're the one who tells me that you don't let anyone go because you don't want them to see, but minji is just a different story or something?"

"it's one time!" daniela says, her voice raising slightly. "why does it matter?"

"why does it matter?" you repeat. "you tell me, daniela. you tell me." you cross your arms over your chest.

daniela is quiet for a minute, trying to think of the right thing to say to not upset you more. "i know what you're thinking, but this isn't a big deal. i let her come along because it was keeho. nothing else, no other reason," she tells you. "i promise."

"not a big deal, you keep saying that," your voice turns sharp. "what's not a big deal? that i'm reasonably concerned when you're out hours past when i got back and tell me you were doing some stuff, helping minji get a gift for hanni, and do a deal? because those are multiple different answers."

"oh my god," daniela mumbles, looking around before back at you. "yn, seriously, it's nothing."

"give me your phone," you demand.

"what?" she looks at you confused.

"consider this a phone check. give it to me." you hold your hand out.

"you're serious?" daniela asks. when you don't answer, just stare at her, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and hands it to you. "jesus christ," she grumbles under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest.

looking through the recent messages, your fingers hover over one specifically, and when you glance up from the phone to look at daniela, she feels her heart drop to her stomach at the expression on your face.

"so what? you have clients wanting to get you shit for valentines day? is that the excuse you're going to give?" you say seriously, tilting your head to the side.

"what?" daniela lets out. "no one has–"

"what's this about then?" you hold the phone towards her, showing a thread of messages.

"that's jaehyun!" daniela exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. "he's my friend!"

"and you know i don't like how close he is with you!" you retort, your voice raising. "every time we go to his place it's like i don't even exist! he's obviously hitting on you!"

"he literally isn't! he's gay!" daniela scoffs, shaking her head. "plus, he literally has a boyfriend!"

"well that didn't stop you the first time, did it?" the words come out faster than you could think.

"right," daniela scoffs again, nodding her head. "right, because it's always my fault, isn't it? i'm always the one fucking up, right?"

"yeah!" you nod. "you're the one who says you can pull anyone, and then you act like i'm fucking crazy when people are all over you and i don't like it! like it's not right for me to feel upset even though i'm your girlfriend!"

"i've never called you crazy! when have i once said that?!" daniela's voice starts getting louder, nearing the edge of yelling.

"but you look at me like it!" you end up yelling first. "like-like it's a problem that i get jealous! you're allowed to have your hands all over me when i'm with my friends when you're jealous but when you have three different girls who give you thousands of dollars each month all over you it's weird when i get defensive and jealous!? that's not fair, daniela!"

"so what? i'm supposed to just sit there while girls eye-fuck you or try to get all close?!" daniela retorts. "you don't even know! you're so fuckin' naive that you think everyone just wants to be friends!"

"naive? i'm naive?" you let out a laugh, shaking your head. "right, sorry for being nice enough to make friends who don't just want to fuck me for some shit!"

"they still want to fuck you!" daniela yells. "look at sophia! you ran to her when shit got hard and look what happened! who's telling me that you won't go run off to some other 'friend' of yours only for them to fuck you while you were still mine!"

you stop once sophia's name is spoken. daniela knew better than to bring her up after the events that happened, knowing how much you regretted your stupid decision and how bad you felt about it afterwards. but in the heat of the argument, the second the words leave daniela's mouth you're standing there in silence.

"you know what," you eventually speak up. "maybe i will."

"will what?" daniela asks, seemingly not realizing what she said and how you took it.

you shake your head, letting out a scoff. you toss her phone on the couch and walk into the bedroom, not saying another word.

"yn?" daniela sighs. "yn! what are you doing?"

a few minutes later you walk back out with a bag in your hands, making daniela's eyes go wide.

"what're you doing?" she asks.

"i'm going to jungwon's for the night," you answer simply. "or, the rest of the night, i guess."

"what?" daniela looks at you confused. "why?"

you stare at her with a deadpan expression, waiting to see if she'll notice what she said. when she clearly doesn't, you shake your head again. "because he's a friend who won't fuck me while i'm still yours. those are your words," you tell her before starting to walk to the front door.

your words make daniela realize what she said, and she immediately starts following after you to the door. "yn? yn, baby, don't be like this! i didn't mean to bring her up!"

"but you did." you swiftly turn around, causing her to abruptly stop. "you did even though we talked about it and you knew how fucked up i felt afterwards. but if this is what comes out of your mouth when we argue, then i know you're still pissed about it. so, i'm leaving for the night, or maybe a few days, i don't know." you shrug. "i know i fucked up with what i did. i regret it. but you told me it was okay. when apparently it isn't if you're bringing it up. so while i'm gone, you think about what you want, daniela. because you are on thin ice, and it's cracking. so figure it the fuck out."

you leave the apartment before daniela can get a word out, the door slamming behind you echoing through the place. she stands there for a few minutes, waiting to hear you come back, but you never do.

"god damnit," she sighs, dragging her hands over her face.

the whole remainder of the night daniela kept texting you, telling you to come back, that she was sorry and didn't mean it. but, that's how she always was whenever you two fought. and you were tired of everything right now.

when you got to jungwon's, he was surprised to see you, but when you explained the situation he immediately brought you inside and talked with you about the whole thing. he was always good with comforting others and advice. plus, he could tell you were straining yourself recently.

while daniela sat inside the apartment, moping around waiting for you to come back, still texting you as the day passed and you didn't return or respond. she knew you were upset with what she said, that was obvious. and she couldn't lie and say that the event didn't gnaw at her every fiber since she found out, even if sophia got what she deserved in the end, because it did. she knew it shouldn't. that it was a moment of vulnerability for you, that you had no one else to go to. it all spirals back to her regretting what she did in the first place to start it all.

for the whole day daniela thought of what to do, how to fix this. she sat on the couch for hours thinking of what will make you not mad at her anymore. when she got an idea.

it was day three and you still weren't responding, so daniela took matters into her own hands and texting jungwon asking if you were there. he answered truthfully, saying that he wanted her to figure it out with you so he was trying to help the most he could. so she drove over to his place.

standing in front of the door, daniela shifts her weight from one foot to the other anxiously, biting her lip in hopes that this would work. the door opens and jungwon is revealed, who smiles at her.

"hey, dani," he says. "she's in the guest room."

"thanks," daniela replies, walking past him when he opens the door wider for her.

approaching the guest room, daniela knocks on the door a few times, hearing you hum on the other end. she slowly opens the door, making you turn and see it was her. your expression hardens, and dani notices, knowing she's still in deep shit.

"hey," she says awkwardly, pulling the flowers from behind her back. "i got you these." she holds them out, looking at the ground.

you can't help the way your eyes soften at the tone in her voice, quiet and hesitant compared to the confident loudness you were used to. she looks like a kicked puppy staring at the ground, and you let out a short sigh before getting off the bed, walking over to her and taking the bouquet from her.

"i'm sorry for what i said," daniela mumbles. "i didn't mean to say it i just...i still think about it sometimes and i don't know why. i know you didn't do it to hurt me on purpose but sometimes i...i worry that you're going to leave once you realize i'm not the best for you."

her words shock you as she still stares at the ground, finally speaking the thoughts that had been eating her up inside. "dani..."

"i-i know i'm not the best," she quickly adds. "i know you can find someone who will treat you better like it's nothing. but i don't– i can't lose you. i love you so much, so fucking much, and it scares me so much when we fight because i know every time it's another tick gone and that eventually you'll get tired of me and leave. i don't want you to leave. we fight, we have our ups and downs, but you always stay. you always stay and i know one day y-you won't." daniela's voice cracks at the end, tears filling her eyes the longer she talks. "i'm sorry." a few tears fall.

carefully setting the flowers on the bed, you take another step towards her and cup her face in your hands, making her look at you finally. "it's okay," you tell her softly. "you're right, i always stay. i always stay because i love you. i wouldn't if i didn't. dani, i don't think you know that you are the best relationship i've had. all of the other ones ended like shit. you prove to me time and time again that even if you fuck up, you own up to it and you don't run away. i won't ever get tired of you, i promise." you wipe away the tears falling from her eyes. "i love you, and i love the flowers. you always know what to get me."

"i try," daniela responds quietly, nodding slightly.

"i know." you nod. "and i love that about you." you lean in, pressing a soft kiss against her lips.

parting from the kiss, daniela's arms snake around your waist and pull you close to her as she puts her face in the crook of your neck. "i love you," she murmurs against your skin.

"i love you too," you reply, petting her head gently.

#katseye thoughts 💭#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #daniela avanzini thoughts 💭#daniela avanzini x reader #daniela imagine #substance thoughts 💭

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cindol · 1 day ago

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o̴̶̷᷄ o̴̶̷̥᷅ but daddy, i love him !

jjk x black fem reader

charas — gojo satoru, geto sugru, sukuna ryomen, yuki tsukumo, toji fushiguro,

𓈒 ♡̶ 𓂃 — when jjk men aren’t approved by your father.

𖧧 𓂃 ִֶָ — highschool au in all scenarios, fluff, crack, teenage pregnancy, drugging mentioned.,

geto suguru

a lot of people would think geto’s the best example of a guy who’s good for someone’s daughter. Perfect grades, star pupil of his class, the whole shabang but that was quite the opposite for your father when he officially met the man who won his babygirl’s heart at this dinner.

your mother was just all smiles, placing dessert peach cobbler on his plate but your father had a straight face with furrowed bushy black brows. Really geto tried everything in the book to impress your but he never smiled at any joke he made or accomplishment he mentioned.

once he came outside with your dad it was confirmed your father just didn’t like him.

“truth is boy, i just don’t like you, don’t want you or your loud mouthed ass friends around her or you around her.” saying that all while smoking a cigarette.

mentally, geto could sigh. Of course the one equation to this was gojo, always was. Geto put on a front, making a tight nit smile. “well, i guess i understand that sir.” he wasn’t looking to get into a argument with his girlfriend’s father. geto still never quit, because why would he over some salty dick trying to keep him from his pretty girlfriend?

at the dead of night you heard small dropping noises at your window. You were on your way to sleep after finishing homework at such a late time but that garnered your attention. You got up from your desk and walked to your window, when you looked down geto was there in all his glory, on a tall ladder in his infamous white t-shirt, baggy pants with his hair out of a bun.

you gasped at the sight of him. “g-geto?! what the hell are you doing here so late? it’s like, midnight!” talking in a hushed yelling whispering tone to not alert your parents.

geto just had that calm smile on his lips with relaxed hooded eyes. “well your father unfortunately has a large stick up his ass and commanded me not to see my girlfriend, so i’m here to kidnap you away.” he said, half joking.

you covered your mouth, but a small giggle came out at his words. “my dad will seriously have your ass if he knew you were here.”

“that’s why i’m taking you and then returning you righttt back. You wanna come with me don’t you?”

for a moment you looked around, mostly at your door since your parents room was right across from yours then back to geto to sigh. You couldn’t say no to him, never could since you met him.

you exhaled out a small breath. “i can’t say no to you. Just, let me get dolled up a little at least.”

he scoffed gripping your wrists making you squeak out a little grunt. “don’t need you to be all dolled up, just come with me in those cookie pajamas and afro puffs.”

once again you grouch, but decided to climb down the latter in your white shirt, black bonnet and black cookie patterned pajama pants.

gojo satoru

your father didn’t like cocky assholes. If it wasn’t for gojo’s witty humor and cockiness he would actually accept him as your boyfriend since he saw gojo as a good money bag.

now for gojo he didn’t care if your father seethed him and grounded you not to see him. In gojo’s eyes he loved his girlfriend and a bitter old guy wouldn’t stop him from loving you.

when you saw a man in all black climbing through your window your immediate instinct was to run over to the window and scream while hitting the body that was halfway through it with your pillow.

you stopped once you heard that familiar “ouch ouch!” then stood with a pillow in one hand with your other hand on your hip. “gojo? what are you even doing here so late!”

he huffed, dusting himself off and ruffling his hair.”well now that my girlfriend isn’t beating me with a pillow i came to take you out for a romantic little date.”

a smile formed on the corner of your lips, turning into a grin on your two tones brown lips, mostly at the romantic date aspect. “this late at night? How romantic of you, satoru.” you teased him, but it was cute for someone like gojo.

“what? old man don’t want you sneaking around goodie two shoes?” he bantered back at you.

“well he’s not even really inside, late shift at work till 2PM, so him finding out is out the window.”

gojo’s eyes were wide with shock. “so did i just like…. borrow geto’s latter for no reason?”

you giggled, nodding.

“well shit… let’s go out the front then. Makes my job as a boyfriend easier now!”

toji fushiguro

toji wasn’t the ideal boyfriend for a normal girlfriend, he knew that and your dad did. Your father tried with him, as much as he could try as a normal middle class dad until toji decided he didn’t wanna practice safe sex and impregnated his daughter. It made matters more complicated when you wanted to keep the baby too.

your father banished you from ever seeing toji but he didn’t know that a simple command didn’t sedate a pregnant sad girl, you went lengths to see your boyfriend, going far enough to drug the poor man your dad hired to watch you while he was out on a late shift.

toji was taken aback when he saw opened his front door to his pregnant girlfriend he hadn’t seen in six weeks, in pajamas and a purple bonnet. By the sulking look on her face he could tell you had been crying in your free lonesome time.

“shit… y/n? ya dad actually allowed you to see me?”

you shook your head. “he’s out on a shift so, i had to sedate the poor security guard’s he hired. Had to see you”

it wasn’t appropriate right now but toji smirked at that.”taught ya well huh? My girlfriend drugged her first man.” he joked. That got a dry laugh from you, despite your saddened expression.

there was a long silence till you spoke again. “i just…. need to see you, can’t take this loneliness in that damn house with that asshole i call my blood father. I don’t care if your mom is here either i just—”

he interrupted with you by bringing you into his arm. “you know she’s always fucking off somewhere at a bar again, now come and get inside, can’t have my pregnant girlfriend depressed alone.”

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hufflepuffsthunderdome · 2 days ago

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Sunset Lamp

Schlatt x gn!reader Summary: Schlatt gets home and enjoys a quiet domestic moment while you sleep. Warnings: swearing, pure fluff otherwise A/N: Based on this request by @sleepdepr1v3d 🫶

He just felt drained. Completely drained.

The second he left the office he felt like he could breathe easy for the first time today, escaping the stuffy studio, the never ending emails and technical problems, the sound of yelling of other people filming when he was trying to get work done. He never thought that the busy roads outside the offices would be calming but they dulled the ringing in his ears.

The trip home was long, traffic was backed up as it always was, every hour of the day, and people could not drive for shit. He managed to escape the city unscathed, driving through the quieter streets of suburbia as the radio hummed quietly in the background.

Parking the car, he got out with a groan as he stretched, back cracking as he wiggled out his achy joints and trudged upstairs. The house looked darked from the outside, soft red brick glowing brighter in the setting sun, casting his shadow on the door as he made his way up the stairs. The area was calming, a lot calmer than the city, big front yard, bigger backyard, fenced in to give them some space form their neighbours and the rambunctious kids he could faintly hear playing out the back of his neighbours house.

The house is dimly lit as he steps inside, the quiet scratching of a record ended and begging to be flipped is the only sound he can hear as he steps inside. Kicking off his shoes with a thud, he makes his way through the arch to the living room, being met with the orange glow of that sunset lamp he had teased you for buying. He's come around to it though, he'd never admit the way the orange lit room puts him at ease as he walks over to flip the unknown record, a soft smile on his face as the unmistakable voice of Lindsey Buckingham plays softly from the speaker.

He bobs his head as he sings softly under his breath along with the record,

I know there's nothin' to say Someone has taken my place When times go bad When times go rough Won't you lay me down in tall grass And let me do my stuff

His singing is interrupted by a soft purring sound behind him, as the music becomes background noise when he feels soft fur brush against his leg, seeing Jambo brush against his legs as he looks up curiously at his owner.

Jay scoops him up in his arms, planting a small kiss on his head as he mumbles out into the simly lit room, "where's mummy Jambo?"

That cat meows softly and wiggles his way out of Jay's grasp, jumping down onto the coffee table and onto the long couch along the wall of the room. Jay's gaze follows, his breath catching in his throat as he watches Jambo curl up against [REDACTED], both settling onto your stomach, on top of the blanket you're curled up under.

He just stares for a good while, watching as the cats rise and fall gently with the soft breathing as you sleep peacefully, your hand shifting in your sleep to protectively rest against Jambo. You look ethereal right now, there's no other words to describe it. Skin lit alight under the warm orange glow that fills the room, hair laid messily around your face as you lay on the pillow, a halo around your head.

He feels a warmth flutter in his chest as he watches you snuggle further into the couch, mouth burying below the blanket as you cocoon yourself in. He laughs softly to himself when he sees your nose twitch, soft fluff tickling you as you scrunch up your face. He crouches down next to you, hand hovering over you for a second before he lowers it gently to run through your hair, relishing in your soft presence against his palm.

He feels a warmth settle in his chest, expanding out across his limbs as small goosebumps rise on the skin of his arms as he hand drifts down to cup your face gently. Thumb running along your cheek, he admires the way your skin dents gently under the soft pressure of his hand. Your eyes flutter slightly, threatening to open before he's cooing softly at you, shushing gently so you settle back to sleep. He removes his hand, not wanting to disturb you further as he just admires you, the peaceful beauty on your face.

He sits back on his heels, kneeling down next to the couch as he watches you, cursing himself for not being able to freeze time in this moment with you forever. If he could he would, just watch guard over you like this for the rest of eternity, as you sleep, peaceful, safe and loved. That's all he ever wants for you. To give you that.

He laughs softly when Jambo sneezes, shushing the cats when Soup sleepily bats at his brother, the two lazily tussling on your lap. When you don't stir, he can't help himself but take his phone out, taking a video of the cats as they playfully fight, his laugh in the background. He hears you let out a soft little murmur in your sleep, and can't fight the dopey grin that makes it's way into his face when he turns the camera to you. He snaps some pictures, framing your peaceful face in the warm glow of the lamp, the outline of his shadow evident on you as you lay there.

You begin to stir in your sleep when Soup jumps down from your lap, eyes fluttering open as you squint up at Schlatt, trying to focus. "Jay?" you murmur softly, voice laced with sleep as you shut your eyes again once you've noticed his presence, a lazy smile drifting on your lips as your hand shifts to hang lazily off the couch, "when'd you get home?"

He stares in awe for a moment, overcome by the quiet intimate moment, the domesticity of being able to hear your voice like this, see your eyes flutter as you smile tiredly up at him, just for him. It chokes him up for a second. "A bit ago," he answers softly, trying not to disturb the quiet.

You hum softly in return, hand reaching out lazily to find his, meeting the soft expanse of his chest as you drag his palm up, gently rubbing over his neck before cupping his cheek in your small hand, "I missed you," you murmur into the pillow.

He swallows as he forces the words out, a soft smile breaking out on his lips that he doesn't even wanna try to fight back, as his hand comes up to cover yours. He brings his phone back up, snapping a photo of you, smiling tiredly at the camera as your hand reaches out for him, to the corner of the screen as he whispers back, "I missed you too."

You can hear him yelling something when you push the doors open and step into the house, a laugh bubbling onto your throat as you drop your bag by the door, the familiar chaos a surprising comfort after a long day at work. You drop the groceries on the kitchen counter, grabbing yourself a can from the fridge as you scoop up Jambo on your way to Schlatt's home office, doubling back to the fridge to grab him a can as well.

You knock gently on the door as you push it open, sticking your hand through with a can for Schlatt as you call out, "are you live?"

You hear some shuffling and his laugh as he makes his way over to the door, pulling it up and scooping you up in a hug as he takes the can from you, lips attaching firmly to yours. "No not live," he says when he pulls away and puts you down, stepping back into the study and kicking the door open some more so you can walk in, "just couldn't be fucked to leave the house today."

"Fucking lucky," you say, letting go of Jambo when he wiggles in your grasp, huffing playfully when he immediately climbs up onto the arm of Schlatt's chair, "wow someone's got favourites."

"We knew that already," he laughs as he pops open his can, doing the same for yours as he always does before taking a long swig, "they're both just after my money."

"Aren't we all?" you tease, bringing the can up to your lips to hide your smile, squeaking and nearly dropping it when he pinches your hip playfully.

"Alright," he drawls laughing, "I see how it is."

You go to make your leave when you see him slip his headphones back on, opening your mouth to ask how long he'll be when you feel the word's die in your throat. Your hand reaches out and grasps the gold frame as you stare down at it surprised, "what's this?"

"Hmm?" he asks, turning away from his computer to glance quickly over at it, "oh that's from the other day," he mumbles out nonchalantly as he turns back to his screen.

"You printed it?" you whisper, voice stuck in your throat at your surprise. You study the photo, looking at yourself laying sleepily on the couch, hand reaching out for something beyond frame, the unmistakable figure of your boyfriend casting a broad shadow over you in the orange light. He just hums back a confirmation as he types away an email.

You let out a breath of a laugh and fling your arms around his shoulders, pulling him off the chair and onto your grasp as he huffs out in surprise. "You are so fucking cute," you whisper, voice thick with emotion as you hold him tight, feeling him laugh against your neck as he bends down to let you hug him.

"Can you blame me darlin'?" he murmurs into your shoulder as he holds you tightly back, "I just fucking love you."

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queenbee298 · 3 days ago

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Hey, can you do one where Y/N has coffee that's really sweet and Doey, being curious, drinks it and gets really hyper before having a sugar crash?

Good idea 👍🏾 Thank you for request this story. Poppy Playtime x Gender Neutral Reader “Finally Free” Request #4. Enjoy the story. Btw it may take a while for me to get all of your request, but I will write them. Lots of fluff ☁️ in this story.

🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬

Like any other day, you woke up did your daily routine and make breakfast for your family. The toys woke up and came downstairs for breakfast

Y/N: “Morning kids.”

You prepared waffles, bacon, eggs, and orange juice for your kids. And a coffee for yourself.

Doey was the last one to walk downstairs. He let out a big yawn, showing he’s big, red fang.

Y/N: “Good morning, Doey.

You placed a kiss on has forehead.

Doey: “Good morning, mama/papa.”

You prepared a plate for yourself and Doey and join the others at the kitchen table. You set your coffee near you and Doey.

Doey: “Mama/Papa, what are you drinking?”

Y/N: “ Just some coffee.”

Doey: “Can I have some?”

Y/N: “No, sir. The last time we need is for you to have a sugar rush.”

Doey pouted a little, but when back to eating. As you and your family were eating breakfast, the door knocked.

Y/N: “Oh! That must be my new camera!”

You ordered a new camera to take pictures of your new family. You left the table, and Doey stared at your mug.

Doey 💭: Now’s my chance! But mom/dad said no. Maybe a little sip won’t hurt.

Doey picked up your mug and took a sip. The coffee was sweet and had a taste of peppermint. Doey chugged your mug until it was empty.

You came back into the kitchen to show off your new camera.

Y/N: “Hey guys, check out my new camera. You want to take some pictures of you all the hang up on the walls.”

Poppy: “That sounds like fun!”

Kissy wrote on her write board: “I want to look perfect for the camera.”

Y/N: “Okay, let’s finish breakfast then we can start.”

You went back to your sit to finish your breakfast. You tried to take a sip of your coffee, but the mug was empty. The only one who could have drunk it was Doey. You didn’t say anything until Breakfast was over.

Y/N: “Kids, why don’t you go play? I need to talk to Doey for a minute.”

The toys left the kitchen, leaving you and Doey alone.

Y/N: “Didn’t I tell you not to drink the coffee?”

Doey: “…Yes.”

Y/N: “So, why did you drink it?”

Doey: “I know, I know! I’m sorry! But it was so sweet and tasty! And smelled like peppermint!”

Doey continued rambling so quickly. You knew he was beginning to have a sugar rush. You needed to get the sugar out his system or he might destroy your house.

Y/N: “Okay, Okay! Doey, it’s fine. Why don’t we play a game?”

Doey: “Like what!?”

Y/N: “Hide and seek tag. You try to hide and I’ll seek.”

Doey: “Okay! Okay, Okay! Let’s play!”

He took your arm and ran outside.

Y/N: “Okay now you go hide and I’ll seek!”

You counted to ten and went to look for Doey. As you were looking for Doey, you heard giggling behind some bushes and saw Doey hiding.

Y/N: “Tag, you’re it!”

You ran as fast as you could away from Doey, but he was too fast to the sugar in his body. You looked back to see him catching up to you really quickly. You tried to run away from him, but he was too fast and grabbed you by your sides, tickling you. You broke out into laughter.

Y/N: “Doey! Stop! I’m caught! I’m caught! Let me go! Please!”

Doey: “ Ha! You’re it! You are it! You can’t trick me! I’m too good! I’m too quick!”

You couldn’t stop laughing as Doey continued tickling you and bragging about him catching you. He stopped tickling you and picked you up in the air.

Doey: “ Let’s play some more mama/papa!”

You gave him a thumb up as you were a little tired.

For the next 2 hours, you played capture the flag, statues, scavenger hunt, and Hopscotch. Some of the mini critters and Yarnaby came out to play were you two, but they couldn’t keep up with Doey’s sugary energy.

Y/N: “Okay, Doey. It’s getting late. Let’s go inside.”

Doey: “But I’m still wanna play!”

Y/N: “Well, let’s play inside.”

You, Doey, and the others toys came inside the house and the toys, except for Doey, fell asleep on the couch. Yarnaby took up most of couch and the mini critters laid on top of him.

Doey: “What do you want to play now, mama/papa.”

Y/N: “I got the perfect game!”

Doey: “OH! What is it?”

Y/N: “Sit next to Yarnaby, close your eyes, and count to 35.”

Doey: “Okay, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, ….17…”

Y/N: “ This game is called nap-time.”

Doey fell asleep. Now his sugar rush crash and he was sound again.

You took your camera out and took a picture of the sleeping toys.

Y/N: “These is going in the photo album.”

😴😴😴😴😴😴😴😴😴😴😴😴😴😴😴😴I hope you all enjoyed this story. If there is an artist reading this story, can you drawing the mini critters, Yarnaby, and Doey sleeping together?

See you next time! <3!

#sugar rush #poppy playtime #poppy playtime doey #ppt 4 #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime kissy missy #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime safe haven #doey the doughman #kissy missy #poppy playtime 4 x reader #doey x reader #poppy playtime yarnaby #ler Doey #Lee reader

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redsugarx · 3 days ago

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Hanfu in Components: Collars & Lapels (pt4)

navigation: hanfu in components 1 2 3.1 3.2 4 ...

Back to technical infodumping... Also caved and used tb images in this one LOL sources all linked of course!

I will now be going over different collar/lapel shapes often seen in hanfu! The collar and lapel are combined because they're connected ideas, so you can't really get an idea of what the front of the garment looks like unless you know both. There are so many different axes that you could use to sort these into categories (by dynasty, by collar, by lapel, by name, etc). I'm going to use the system that I think will make the most sense to people trying to get a sense of how stuff is constructed. This might differ from the system that most other informational articles use.

Terminology refresher:

領/领/ling3 - Collar (neck part)

襟/jin4 - Lapel (front of garment, where it 'opens')

I like to separate these into two broad lapel categories, which have a couple subcategories themselves. They are:

對襟/对襟/dui4 jin4/'parallel lapel'

大襟/da4 jin4/'grand lapel'

對襟 Parallel Lapel

Duijin garments usually have an open center front seam that gets secured to the opposite side with ties or buttons. The lapels are straight parallel lines. A shape may or may not be cut out at the neck.

直領/直领/zhi2 ling3/Straight Collar

月餅 / Yuebing / Mooncake by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy (see alt text for photo credits)

This is the simplest kind of collar. There is no extra shape carved out for the neck at the top of the garment, the lapels extend straight down from the midline. The result is an open-front parallel collar cardigan, which is almost always worn on the outside. The collar piece is simply a very long strip of fabric attached to the empty edges like this. There may or may not be a small gap at the back of the neck to allow space for the width of the neck.

寒翠 / Hancui / Evergreen by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy

There are a few variations to the collar piece. The simplest one shown is called 通領/通领/tong1 ling3/Through Collar, where it’s just one strip of fabric all the way around. If a garment is referred to as just 對襟 with no extra indicated collar shape, this is the collar type that it's referring to.

萦波 from 裳裳者华 on Taobao

折領/折领/zhe2 ling3/Folded Collar, primarily a Song dynasty thing, has the top half or so double-folded inwards to create a more reinforced neck area.

Custom order by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy

合領/合领/he2 ling3/Joined Collar, a Ming dynasty structure, has a thicker collar piece that only runs halfway down the length of the garment, and usually has no gap on the back of the neck.

圓領/圆领/yuan2 ling3/Round Collar

金通缠枝莲 from 松塔汉服 on Taobao

Round collars are fairly similar to modern-day round collars, except they are typically wider and lower than a tshirt. A large half-circle is cut out at the neck. The collar piece has two variations: the thicker full collar piece, which has more of a presence and the narrower 無領/无领/wu2 ling3/Missing Collar variation, which just encloses the circle’s edges with ~1cm of bias tape.

山染黛 / Shanrandai / Sierra by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy

Both of these almost exclusively apply to Ming Dynasty wear.

方領/方领/fang1 ling3/Square Collar

迎春 / Yingchun / Salutation by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy (see alt text for photo credits)

Square collars are usually more of a rectangular or trapezoidal shape. Almost exclusively applies to Ming Dynasty outerwear.

坦領/坦领/tan3 ling3/Open Collar

落夢 / Luomeng / Daydream by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy (see alt text for photo credits)

Also called the U-領. A wide scooping neckline in a U-shape often found in Tang Dynasty womenswear.

立領 /立领/li4 ling3/Standing Collar

雲化龍 / Yunhualong / Seraphine by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy (see alt text for photo credits)

Synonymous with 豎領/竖领/shu4 ling3. Standing collar, a long collar piece that wraps around the neck, usually secured in the front with ties or small buttons.

雞心領/鸡心领/ji1 xin1 ling3/Heart Neckline

升天行 / Shengtianxing / Hesperus by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy

Reverse heart-shaped neckline, can be considered a variant of the 坦領 where the center of the collar protrudes upwards to a point. Also Tang Dynasty womenswear.

Y領/Y领/Y ling3/Y-Collar

立春遊 / Lichunyou / Spring Thaw by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy (see alt text for photo credits)

Can be considered a variant of the 直領 or its own thing. Y-shaped neckline with a triangle cut out at the top, meeting halfway down. Also Tang Dynasty womenswear.

大襟/da4 jin4/Grand Lapel

Also referred to as 交襟/jiao1 jin4/Crossed Lapel, grand lapel-type collars usually have a 衽 piece attached to the center front seam to span the whole width of the torso, overlapping in the front. This is a term that's usually used for Ming Dynasty clothing, for which there is a 大襟 and 對襟 version of each of 直領，立領，and 圓領.

交領/交领/jiao1 ling3/Cross Collar

曉風青 / Xiaofengqing / Cardinal by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy (see alt text for photo credits)

Cross-collar, one of the most iconic features of East Asian clothing. There are a ton of ways that the cross-collar can be constructed, varying across time.

月將沉 / Yuejiangchen / Moonset by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy

The classic symmetrical 交領 from the earliest dynasties can be understood as a Y-shaped cutout with a triangular or trapezoidal 衽 sewn onto each center front seam to bridge the distance. Some also do away with the center front seam (but never the center back) and make the torso and the 衽 one piece together. The amount of overlap can vary.

横卧交领长袖短衫 from 淮边筱竹 on Taobao

Cross collars can also be asymmetrical, especially in the Ming Dynasty: the 直領大襟 example can be understood as a straight collar on the wearer’s right and a cross collar on the wearer’s left. There may only be a 衽 attached to the outside flap crossing over (coming from the wearer’s left), while the flap coming from the wearer’s right hangs straight down.

*In cases like these—and this is a VERY common mistake even for experienced Hanfu wearers—the ties cannot be knotted at their base. Instead the straight collar should be matched with the centerline of your own chest, and knotted a little further down the tie. Can be inner or outer wear in a variety of dynasties.

垂領/垂领/chui2 ling3/Dropped Collar

灵华 from 墨名堂 on Taobao

Literally ‘dropped neck,’ can be understood as a round collar that has ’sagged’ down in shape. The neck shape is a deep scoop shape, overlapping only slightly, usually secured with buttons. Almost exclusively seen in Tang Dynasty womenswear.

圓領/圆领/yuan2 ling3/Round Collar

The 大襟 round collar’s 衽 is usually more trapezoidal or rectangular in shape, as it extends all the way up to the neck. There are several varieties of round collar.

鳴澗 / Mingjian / Cascade by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy (see alt text for photo credits)

The earliest forms of round collar found in Tang and before are the standing round collar, where the collar piece is a long strip of fabric sewn ‘standing up’ to the neck, resulting in a small protruding collar line. Robes with this kind of collar usually have symmetrical construction, with identical trapezoidal 衽 on the inside.

海誓 / Haishi / Pelagos by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy

Later forms of round collar, mostly in the Song and Ming dynasties, have the collar piece on the same plane as the rest of the robe. This is sometimes called 盤領/盘领/pan2 ling3/Dish Collar. The collar piece can either be cut out in a round shape (modern method) or cut out as a strip of fabric and gathered into that shape by pulling a thread through like a drawstring (traditional method).

Custom order by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy

Typically the flat round collar piece is wider. Flat round collars also might be more likely to be asymmetrical: the outside is the mostly the same shape as the standing round collar’s 衽，but the inside can look similar to a cross-collar or straight collar 衽，since it gets hidden on the inside. Usually outerwear.

立領/立领/li4 ling3/Standing Collar

木有枝 from 空青汉服 on Taobao

This is the 大襟 cousin of the 立領對襟，also known as 竪領. The collar piece is the same, but there is a large trapezoidal 衽 attached on each side of the front center seam. This results in a diagonal lapel line running from the center of the neck down to the side, so it can also be called 立领斜襟/li4 ling3 xie2 jin4/Standing Collar Diagonal Lapel. Usually Ming Dynasty outerwear.

曲領/曲领/qv1 ling3/Curved Collar

風流 /Fengliu/Zephyr by 九雲閣 Cloud9 Hanfu on Etsy (see alt text for photo credits)

Very old seldom-seen collar shape from Han to Wei/Jin Dynasty inner wear. Very similar to the cross-collar shape, but the outside flap comes up to wrap around the neck like a turtleneck.

navigation: hanfu in components 1 2 3.1 3.2 4 ...

#hanfu #chinese fashion #chinese hanfu #hanyuansu #hanfu fashion #hanfu photoshoot #chinese history #chinese #cloud9 hanfu #cloud9hanfu #九雲閣 #hanfu in components

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runninriot · 2 days ago

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Happier With You

written for the @steddiesongfics february prompt and as fill for my @steddiebingo card prompt: The Hideout

song inspo: Happier by Ed Sheeran | rated: T | wc: 3.199 | tags: emotional hurt/comfort, heartbreak, second chances, love confessions, angst with happy ending | complete fic on ao3

This was supposed to be a fun night out with his best friend. Nothing special, just him and Robin going to the open mic night at The Hideout – a place he usually avoids for reasons but never would’ve thought said reasons would choose this night specifically to come back and haunt him. Had he known, Steve would’ve fought with his hands and feet not to be dragged into this hell.

It’s not Robin’s fault; she didn’t know this would happen. Neither of them could foresee that a night that started out so full of joy, could turn into a dreadful nightmare. That the laughter from earlier would get stuck in his throat, forming a lump too big to swallow around. Restricting his airways and making it almost impossible to breathe.

Maybe, if they didn’t have their backs turned to the little stage on the other side of the decently crowded room, he could’ve reacted differently. Maybe, had he seen rather than felt what was coming for him, he would have had the chance to get up and leave before it was too late.

That’s not what happens, though.

Because when first note hits him, it feels like a bullet shot right through his chest, tearing open old wounds that never quite managed to fully heal. Leaving him frozen in shock, no chance to run and hide to protect what little of his heart is still intact.

He hasn’t heard this voice in almost a year but still recognises it the moment it fills the room – honey-sweet and deep and warm, hanging thick in the air like suffocating campfire smoke slowly creeping into all the broken parts of him.

How could he forget?

How could he ever forget what his voice sounds like?

Even like this, singing a song that’s so different from the music he used to play back when they were still part of each other’s lives.

Back when Steve would’ve done everything for the man whose heartfelt lyrics now try to kill him. Steve would’ve given him the world but apparently, that wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

Not enough to make him stay but enough to- write him a song?

There’s no doubt those words are directed at him; the story too close to theirs – one moving on while the other is looking at them from the outside.

Only he’s twisting the truth. The words an accusation so vile it makes Steve want to scream. Makes him want to storm the stage and punch him right off the bar stool he’s sitting on. Guitar in his lap, eyes closed, pouring his heart into the mic. Sitting there looking hurt.

Having the audacity to make Steve the one who moved on. Blaming him for trying to find peace when everything was falling apart.

As if Eddie hadn’t made him choose someone else. Pushed him into the arms of a person Steve didn’t even want, not anymore.

Because he wanted Eddie.

But again, it seemed, Steve had fallen for his own mind’s tricks. Clinging to the illusion that there was something between them. Something worth fighting for. Something that turned out to be nothing but smoke and dust and the cause for an aching heart.

Eddie made him question everything. Made him feel insecure about his own intentions. Tried so hard to make him believe that what he felt was just a silly infatuation that would soon again dissipate into something less meaningful. Convincing Steve of a fact he knew not to be true.

Because Steve wanted Eddie like he had never wanted anyone ever before. His feelings were real, no matter how hard Eddie tried to make him believe that they weren’t. It could’ve been real, if Eddie had given him a chance.

-----

continue reading here

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie fic #steddiesongfics #steddiebingo2025

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magix-winx-club · 2 days ago

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God, I just want to sleep Part 2

Part 1,

Will make it a three-part series

Daryl Dixon x disabled!reader

Summary: Daryl goes on a supply run for your meds

Warnings: Slight Angst, Daryl being a dick (bc he cannot handle feelings)

Daryl had only gotten a handful of hours of sleep but that was nothing new. He only needed a couple anyways. So when the first light of a new day broke through the iron bars on the window and into the Cell Block he was up, rubbing the sleep from his face. His cell was down to its bare minimum, still not used to having a place to call ‘home’. A bunk bed, like everyone else had, a desk and iron chair, like everyone else had, and a curtain, to give the illusion of privacy. His leather vest was hung neatly over the back of the chair, one of his sleeveless flannels dumped unceremoniously on the desk in front. It took him a while to get used to sleeping without his full gear on. Now he was just dressed in his wife beater and least itchy jeans for bed. No shoes, but his crossbow was still perched next to him.

Daryl bent over putting his worn down boots on, he should make a separate run, bring some new clothes and boots back, especially now that winter was not too far off. Hastily he put his flannel over his wife beater. He still felt weird being so undressed. Next up was his pierced possession, second to his crossbow, the vest and the only item of clothing he really took care of.

Tossing his hair, which had gotten significantly longer now, of sleep and he was off. It was not that he tried to be quiet, he just naturally was, when he made his way almost silently down the stairs to the bottom cells. He almost passed yours when he halted himself. The cellblock was quiet, safe for some snores from the men, the air fresh from the night, not yet stifled by the day's heat, the first morning lights bathing the cellblock in a warm glow. Daryl’s cell might not be home to him but this was the bars, and thick cement walls and roof that kept his family safe.

Sowly, this time trying to be quiet, he made his way to your cell. The privacy curtain is not fully drawn. Daryl did not enter your cell, just watch from the gap between the curtain and the wall, the slow rise of your chest, some tear tracks still visible on your face. Something in him ached, to see you so upset and helpless last night. Helpless or hopeless, or both? Either way it hurt him. You were too kind, too gentle to be burdened like this and if there was something he could do he sure as hell will try.

With a renewed sense of purpose he made his way down to the rest of the cells towards the common room. Maggie sat there, running through her mental checklist like every time before a run. Gun, check. Knife, check. Pack, check. Water bottle, check. Daryl could still see some residue sleep in her green eyes. when she met his blue “Morning Daryl, good to go?” He gave her a curt nod and made his way outside, trusting that she would follow him. “Carol packed us some protein bars.” She handed him one, which he put in the top pocket of his flannel. “Thanks.”

“You are making a run to the big spot in a few days right?” She trailed next to him towards his bike. Daryl wanted to make sure they would be able to get to wherever they needed so instead of a car they’d take his bike. “Yeah, why you need sumthin’?” Maggie shook her head. “No, not me but if you find cinnamon can you bring that back?” Daryl shot her a look. “Takin’ up bakin’ now?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, which made Maggie snort, very much unladylike. “It’s for Y/N.” That got Daryl's attention, already adding the wish to the list in his head. “Thought we could make some compressions. Cinnamon is supposed to be an anti-inflammatory. If you could find one my Daddy could make some for her.” Daryl, humm. Well, if it was not on the list already it would definitely be now.

The soft light streaming into your cell made you feel groggy. Your head felt heavy with sleep but the deep exhaustion that had plagued you yesterday was somewhat gone. Letting out a groan you buried your head in your pillow, hoping to chase away the light for a little longer. In the end the little sleep you got was never enough, and you craved more than anything to turn around and let the warm blanket of nothingness take you again. But you knew, all that would happen would be a state between half asleep, and half awake, no rest, just a war waged between sleepy you and awake you. Yet, you could not bring yourself to open your eyes and face the day. Laying in your bed you pondered yesterday. How exhausted you felt, Daryl’s rough voice and observant eyes and his oh so gentle touch. Once more you were left wondering how a man so rough and strong could be so gentle. Images of him holding Judith, patting Carl on the back, and his occasional smile came to mind. Smiling into your pillow you could not help the skip of your heart. He truly was something else.

Even though you felt embarrassed about yesterday. There was mostly relief, to know that the secret you had locked away for so long, was finally out. The first time in what felt like years you were yourself. That though got you to move, sitting up slowly you tested out your legs. Moving the toes on your left foot, trying to chase away the stiffness, then your foot. You repeated the same process on the other leg before finally taking a deep breath and swinging them over the edge of the bunk. You sat in this position for a bit, testing out how bad your legs were today, and even though they were stiff and it was uncomfortable the cramping had died down a bit. So finally, you got up and got ready for another day.

On the way back to the prison Maggie mused on the fact that Daryl was even more focused than usual. Pushing to raid more places than they normally would. It was not until Maggie had found the jackpod of muscle relaxers that Daryl relented and the both made their way back to the prison. It was in a nursing home, that no one had thought to properly check before they stumbled onto, what Daryl described as ‘shit tone’ of medical supply. Not just supplements, and muscle relaxers but all kinds of stuff. Both of them filled their packs with as much as they could. Maggie noted how Daryl forwent antibiotics for supplements, muscle relaxers and lastly every form of painkiller he could. She had to bite her tongue every time when he hastily put the medication into his bag once she said it was a muscle relaxer. But could not help and let a small smile slip. It was nice to smile even though the place stank worse than anything else, bodies of dead elders everywhere. No wonder no one thought to look here. If it was not absolutely necessary, well and if she did not have a determined redneck leading the charge she would have skipped the place too.

The longer she thought about it the more she wondered. At the end of the world all of them looked like a group of misfits, not looking like they belong together but somehow do. Her thoughts turned to Glenn and she wondered if she had fallen for him before all this? She wanted to think so. But Daryl was arguably the most changed from all of this. He was hard before all this, ready to fight but now he learned gentleness, kindness, and community too. And if there was a person who embodied these traits it would be you. So yeah, from the outset it might look like an odd pairing but if someone would sneak their way into Daryl Dixon's heart it would be you. The thought made her smile even more.

You felt on edge, you had not seen Daryl all day. At first you thought he was avoiding you after last night but you overheard Carol that he and Maggie went on an impromptu run. It eased that anxiety in your chest a bit. And it would have been a nice day if it were not for Hershel’s watchful eye, always following you around. It made your skin itch. You knew he wanted to talk to you, but now was not the time, you told yourself. You had a job to do. And if you were to talk to him, what would you say? This was not something talking can fix. That was the one bad thing about monotone labour such as doing laundry. Your mind had time to think.

The sound of an engine cut through the groans of the walkers and chatter of nearby people. You could not help but whirl your head around so quickly it gave a slight crack. Not a minute later there he was, atop his bike, hair slightly flowing in the wind, his shoulders wide and imposing. He looked so right on top of his bike, weaving through some stumbling walkers.

You put up the last of the washed clothing on the washing line to dry, and made your way towards Daryl and Maggie, ready to help with whatever they had scavenged.

Before you could reach them Hershel was next to them, giving Maggie a quick kiss on the forehead and a hug. He turned to Daryl, saying something you could not make out. Daryl gave him a nod. Seemingly satisfied Hershel clapped him on his shoulder like a proud mentor and went off after Maggie.

Now it was just you and Daryl and it made you nervous. You stopped a bit away from him not knowing what to do. Daryl was busy unclasping his bag from his bike when he made eye contact. Instead of his normal curt nod of his head, he looked away, a slight blush on his face. Taking a deep breath you chose to ignore whatever happened yesterday and act like any other day. “Anything I can help you with?” You reached your hand out, taking the bag he had from him. So his hands were free to unclasp his crossbow from the back of his bike. “Where to?” You chipped. Yes, maybe you were compensating a bit but Daryl still had not looked at you. What if he thought you a burden now? Hated you for being the way you are? The anxiety in you coming back in full force. Gods please let me rewind and do yesterday again. You would just stay in your cell and avoid Daryl at all costs. “Should I bring it to Carol?” Your voice takes on a forceful happiness. “Nah, ‘s for yu,” he glanced at you. Giving you an encouraging nod to hold onto it. Your brows furrowed, staring at the bag.

Daryl watched you closely. You seemed better today, like usual. Almost like last night did not happen but his heart still aches thinking back to the tears in your eyes. How had he not noticed it before? He prided himself on being observant but for some reason he still missed it. Maybe it was because everytime you smiled at him, that was all he could focus on. How he tried to keep the skipping of his heart at bay. Either way he finally was taking care of you know. Thinking about all the days you had suffered in silence made him angry. He wondered how many nights you were sat up like yesterday crying by yourself. An imagine of you on the floor, screaming in pain as Walkers were feasting on your body came to his mind. It made blood rush into his ears and his skin tight, itching, angry.

“Common.” He gripped you on your upper arm. It startled you, it was not like yesterday. His grip is firmer. You could do nothing but trail after him confused by his sudden tenseness in his body. You could practically feel anger rolling off him.

He dragged you into C Block, bypassing some of the family members in the common area and heading straight to your cell. “Daryl?” you asked hesitantly once he dragged you into your cell, pacing in the small room. All at once, he exploded. “What the Hell were ya thinkin’?” Before you could respond he went on. “Nah ya wasn’t thinkin’, was ya?” He angrily ripped the bag from your grasp. You stood there, your mouth slightly open, your eyes wide. For the first time today he was facing you. His body leaning slightly forward and his furious gaze fixed on you. You wanted to say something, to reach out and sooth him but you had no idea how. It was best to just let Daryl be angry and let it all out. At least that is what you all had learned. “Fuck, if I’d not known ya, I woulda left yo ass ri’ht were I found ya.” His finger pointing accusatory at you. A knot formed in your stomach, spreading throughout your body, pumping like blood. This was all you had been scared off, being left, a burden once everyone found out. “Enjoy your shit.” He dumped the contents of his bag on your bed before storming out.

Once his footsteps stopped echoing off the wall you turned towards the bed. What you saw made you choke out a sob. Slowly you sank to the floor, in front of your bunk, curling in on yourself trying to stifle your crying.

Masterlist

Part 3

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader

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v-eee · 1 day ago

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secret

jungkook x you

Jungkook and you have been secretly dating for six months. You and him keeping it a secret because Jungkook is your best friend’s ex (Soojin). It’s been three years since Jungkook and Soojin broke up, but you’re afraid your relationship might hurt her, so you choose to keep it quiet.

(i)

One night, at a mutual friend’s birthday party at a restaurant, you and Jungkook arrive separately as usual. But Jungkook can’t help feeling jealous when he sees you laughing and chatting with another guy.

. . .

The restaurant was filled with chatter, laughter, and the occasional off-key attempt at singing “Happy Birthday.”

You had come early, greeting friends, sipping on a cocktail, and, most importantly, keeping a respectable distance from Jun. You know, because rules.

Jungkook hated those rules.

From his seat at the bar, he watched as you threw your head back in laughter, playfully nudging some guy’s arm. His grip on his drink tightened. Who was this guy? Why was he standing so close? And more importantly—why the hell did he get to be the reason you were smiling like that while Jungkook had to act like some casual acquaintance?

Not that Jungkook was jealous. No. Definitely not. He was just… mildly annoyed. And okay, maybe a little jealous.

When you got up to head to the restroom, Jungkook didn’t even think—he just followed. Because rational decision-making was clearly not his strong suit tonight.

The moment you stepped into the hallway leading to the bathrooms, a strong hand grabbed your wrist and, before you could react, pulled you outside through the back exit.

"Jungkook—what the hell?!" you whisper-yelled as you found yourself pressed against the cool brick wall of the restaurant’s alley. "Are you kidnapping me? Because there are cameras, you know."

Jungkook ignored your dramatic statement, leaning in, his arms braced on either side of you. "Who was that guy?"

You blinked. "What guy?"

Jungkook huffed, clearly annoyed. "The one making you laugh like that."

You tilted your head, amused. "Like what?"

"You know what I mean! All giggly and cute and—" He paused as he caught your playful smile. He knew you liked it when he called you cute. Jungkook sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I'm serious, Y/N... it’s driving me crazy.”

You tried—really tried—not to laugh. But seeing Jungkook, usually cool and composed, acting like a jealous boyfriend in a teen drama was just too good.

"Jungkook, that was Mark. Our friend Mark.” You raised an eyebrow. "You know, the one who once cried seeing me in an Olaf costume? That Mark."

Jungkook blinked. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." You smirked, crossing your arms. "So, are we done with this little possessive boyfriend moment?"

Jungkook's face cracked into a smile, then a giggle. "Okay, fine. Maybe I overreacted."

You poked his chest. "Maybe?"

He caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, his voice turning softer. "I just hate pretending like we’re nothing. I hate not being able to hold you, kiss you… tell everyone you’re mine."

Your teasing expression melted slightly, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did when Jungkook got all soft.

"I know," you murmured, squeezing his hand. "But you also know why we have to do this."

Jungkook groaned. "It’s been three years since I broke up with her. I think there’s an expiration date on guilt."

You bit your lip, torn. You wanted to believe that. You wanted to be with Jungkook out in the open. But the fear of hurting your best friend still lingered.

"Just a little longer?" you asked, eyes hopeful.

Jungkook sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if I have to suffer through another night of watching you laugh with another man, I won't hesitate to hug you in front of them."

You snorted. "Oh, I’d love to see that."

Jungkook smirked. "Try me."

And just like that, the tension between you both cracked into laughter, because somehow, even in the messiest of situations, you and Jungkook always found a way back to each other.

For now, the secret stayed. But for how much longer?

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #scenario #fanfic #new series

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 days ago

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A Curse [Chapter 4: Beverly Hills]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, lowkey sexual harassment, emotional distress/panic attack, Maroon 5, some shouting, minor injury, Sunshine and Aegon share an apple.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

Baela has made you breakfast. On the kitchen counter is a plate holding a single slice of wheat toast with a transparently thin smear of peanut butter. You’re already nauseous; the smell of toast in the air is enough to make your stomach lurch and the caustic burn of acid rise in your throat. In their vase, the sunflowers are perky and radiant, like the nuggets of gold that beckoned settlers to the West Coast in the mid-1800s, the hope, the possibility, the indomitable dream.

“I don’t think I can eat anything,” you say.

“Try,” Baela insists, pushing the plate towards you. Jace isn’t shuffling around lackadaisically or sprawled across the orange couch; he must still be asleep. “You aren’t going to make a good impression if you’re all woozy and retching everywhere. You don’t want to look half-dead when you meet Maroon 5, do you?”

“Oh my God.” You chuckle languidly, rubbing your forehead. Your eyes ache; you’ve barely slept. “I completely forgot they’re going to be there.”

Baela grabs a can of La Croix out of the refrigerator and sets it down beside your toast. “You’re that freaked out about the bathtub thing?”

“I guess so.”

“You wanted to be an actress. You’re getting your wish. It’s a blessing.”

And a curse, you think before you can stop yourself. You nibble at your peanut butter toast reluctantly. “I shouldn’t complain.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Baela says.

You crack open the La Croix and take a sip: icy, sharp, oddly dry, Strawberry Peach, pretty awful. “It could be a lot worse.”

“Yeah, it’s not like it’s a Harvey Weinstein situation.” And in her tone is a quiet condemnation: you don’t belong here, you don’t have what it takes.

“What are you doing today?” you ask to distract yourself.

“Gym, the farmers’ market, practicing French.” Because Baela is leaving for Paris in a few weeks, and her agent didn’t even have to forge her a resume to get her the part. “Maybe you’ll meet a guy on the music video set, like a camera dude or a boom operator or something, and then you can finally have a real boyfriend and stop fantasizing about your elderly engaged agent!”

I doubt it. Nonetheless, you smirk weakly as you nurse your La Croix. “Let’s hope he’s not a hobosexual like Jace. We’re running out of room.”

“Hey,” Baela says as she admires your sunflowers with a soft, fond smile. “Jace isn’t so bad.”

“No,” you agree. “No, he’s not.”

You are standing on the sidewalk outside your apartment building when Aegon rolls up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible, just a few minutes shy of 8 a.m. Hair stylists, makeup artists, and costume designers will reinvent you when you get to set, so you are dressed for comfort: an olive green floral sundress with large buttons down the front, your trusty TOMS wedges, just a blur of eyeshadow swept across your lids with a fingertip so you don’t feel naked, sparkly gold Bold Moves by Huda Beauty. Aegon is already blaring Lose Yourself and rapping along loudly, wearing his aviator sunglasses and flashing gang signs, his sandy blonde hair brutalized from the wind:

“I’ve got to formulate a plot, or end up in jail or shot,

Success is my only motherfuckin’ option, failure’s not,

Mom, I love you, but this trailer’s got to go,

I cannot grow old in Salem’s Lot,

So here I go, it’s my shot,

Feet, fail me not,

This may be the only opportunity that I got…”

“I told my dad you drive one of these,” you say as you climb into the Sebring. “He said they’re super unreliable.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Aegon replies. “But I have lots of money and very few responsibilities, so repairs aren’t a problem. And it cruises so smooth.” When he passes you a venti-sized iced vanilla latte, his right hand is shaking.

“You okay?”

Aegon flashes a grin. “Too much caffeine.” He whips away from the curb and drives towards the interchange of the 405, five chaotic lanes that fly northwest towards Beverly Hills. He is wearing his haphazard suit again, his jacket too big and his tie too skinny, reminding you of the Jehovah’s Witnesses who used to come proselytizing to your parents’ house until one day Tripp got fed up and told them you were Satanists. That is apparently sufficient to get a family on some kind of blacklist. Mom was mortified.

You are slurping your vanilla latte—very slowly, so your queasy stomach will not rebel—and trying to think of how to bring up the new scene situation when Aegon gets a call. Eminem vanishes from the Sebring’s speakers, and Aegon unplugs his phone from the aux and lifts it to his ear.

“Hello?” Aegon is merging onto the 405, crossing dotted white lines until he reaches the High Occupancy Vehicle lane along the concrete barrier. “Hey, Brando. What’s up?” A pause. “Why, what’s on Monday?”

You look over at Aegon: one hand on the steering wheel, hair whipping in the wind, black sunglasses that the early light glints off of, thoughtful creases etching into his forehead and around his eyes as he listens, endless blue sky above and miles passing anonymously below. It’s the morning of Thursday, July 3rd, and you have known him for three weeks, and you—who once made Mason wait months to do anything more than kiss you—think that if Aegon laid his palm on your thigh right now, only a whisper-thin layer of cotton between you and the warmth of his palm, it would feel not just good but right, safe, destined, and your drumming heartbeat would turn calm like the sea after a storm, and you would believe you were capable of anything he asked for.

I don’t want him to think I’m weak. I don’t want him to be disappointed in me.

“Right, yeah, I have to go to that,” Aegon says. There’s a lull as Brandon asks him something. “Because they keep trying to get Steve to do his own stunts and I don’t want him to end up with a broken back like Brendan Fraser. Uh huh. Sure. Oh, and remind Steve that he’s invited to the charity gala thing. Yeah. I don’t know, call Aemond and ask. No, I don’t want to call him, that’s why I’m telling you to do it. Okay. Cool, thanks. Hey, I have no idea when we’ll be done with the Maroon 5 thing so no need to wait at the office, you can take off at three or four or whenever. Sounds good. See ya.” Aegon hangs up and glances at you. “You’re invited too, by the way.”

You startle; your thoughts had been drifting. “Invited to what?”

“The gala in a few weeks. It’s to raise money for UNICEF. All my clients are invited.”

Just like they’re invited to his wedding in Turks and Caicos, you think, and you are hit by another pang of nausea so strong you put your latte down in the cup holder next to Aegon’s drink, something topped with whipped cream and a swirl of chocolate syrup. “I’d love to go! It’s like grown-up prom!”

Aegon shakes his head, but he’s smiling. Again, you are mulling over if and how to mention the new scene—does he already know? will he think I’m complaining?—but now traffic is thick and a Tesla cuts Aegon off, and he is focused on driving and reading the directions on the screen of the GPS mounted on the Sebring’s windshield, and you don’t want to distract him, and when he plugs his phone back into the aux there is a Red Hot Chili Peppers song that comes plucking out of the speakers as the mid-70s breeze ghosts across your skin like feather-light fingerprints: She Looks To Me.

The mansion is perched on the cliffside of Bendict Canyon, red-gold earth that glows under the rising sun, gnarled trees and shrubs twisting skyward from arid soil. The circular driveway is already crowded with trucks and vans, along with a few BMWs and Range Rovers. Aegon parks his convertible near the end of the driveway and then walks with you into the building: mid-century modern, glass walls and sand-colored marble floors to match the accents of amber and warm teak wood, jewel-tone velvet furniture and shag area rugs, statues that pretend to be gold and plants made of plastic. There are attendants brushing exotic cats, Ragdolls and Himalayans. There are people picking over trays of fruit and sandwiches, and others setting up light fixtures and placing marks on the floor with tiny Xs of white tape. You imagine yourself standing on them, and your knees and ankles feel weak as you toddle in your wedges.

Dan is here, and he parts a sea of assistants and sound technicians to cross the living room to greet you and Aegon, beaming and energetic and showing no indications of deception or malpractice. You watch as he and Aegon chat and laugh at each other’s jokes, tales of their most disastrous filming experiences, and you think: If Aegon trusts him, shouldn’t I?

Dan waves Maroon 5 over, and you meet the band but even as it’s happening you can feel yourself not committing it to memory, your skull too full of rattling anxiety, fog-like doubt. They are here to tour the set, but they seem halfhearted about it, and soon they find an excuse to leave; the band is filming their scenes on a different day and presumably have more interesting things to do. If I had millions of dollars, you think distractedly, I would want to be on a film set every day of my life. You are also introduced to the male actor, and he is very attractive in a tan, gym rat, California sort of way, and he seems perfectly polite as well. Aegon hovers nearby until the actor casually mentions his husband, then Aegon slides his sunglasses into his suit jacket and wanders off to pet the long-haired and ill-tempered exotic cats.

A copy of the script is placed in your hands and an assistant leads you upstairs to a small bedroom filled with racks of clothing and a station set up for hair and makeup. The costume designer and stylists work on you, and you make small talk so you won’t think too much about what’s about to happen and start hyperventilating. The first scene, blessedly, is fully-clothed: blush pink Prada ballgown, four-inch heels, your updo gracefully falling loose, dramatic fake eyelashes and inky mascara tears snaking down your cheeks, a screaming match with your supposed soon-to-be-ex lover. You and one of the makeup artists chatter about favorite eyeshadow palettes as she paints your skin like a canvas: a base of matte pink Love Letter by Anastasia Beverly Hills, the sheen of dusk-colored Brink by Natasha Denona.

When you’re ready, the costume designer says: “I don’t think they need you quite yet. You can stay in here, if you’d like.” She smiles, believing she is doing you a favor. “I know you actors need your space to get into character.” And then before you can think of how to protest, she herds the stylists out of the bedroom and you are left alone with the poltergeist of the near-future, cold pockets that make you shiver and the racket of furniture being rearranged in other rooms. You leaf through the script and then, when your hands start shaking, leave it on the low platform bed with a geometric print blanket.

Knowing you shouldn’t, you go to the racks of clothing and paw through garments until you find the lingerie for the bathtub scene: all black lace, all semi-transparent, and while clever camera angles and post-production editing will conceal anything elicit from the audience, there will be no such discretion here. And even if only the essential crew is present for the scene—though there’s no indication it will be a closed set—that’s still a cinematographer, a key grip, a camera operator, a sound technician…and Dan the director, of course.

Your family’s words come rushing back to you, a chorus of skepticism and caution and an underlying conviction that no one could want you for the right reasons:

If she wants to embarrass herself, let her.

Well, be careful, darling.

Who knows what his intentions are.

Men can be so creepy.

You walk towards the bed in a daze and then sink to the floor, backing up until you hit the mattress, hiding there in the small shadow, a sanctuary from the daylight that is flooding in through the glass walls. You feel like you can’t breathe, like your vision is going dark, like the chambers of your heart are splitting open, and yet you know from all your father’s stories of people showing up at the ER erroneously believing they are dying that this is all in your head, and you force yourself to take deep, slow breaths so you won’t pass out.

I can’t do this.

But you have to.

Everyone’s right. I’m not the kind of girl who makes it in Hollywood. Not exceptional enough, not bold enough, not beautiful enough, not willing to do what it takes.

But you’re not ready to give up yet.

There is a knock at the door. “Hey, you camera-ready, sunshine?” Aegon says from outside.

You press your curled index fingers just beneath your eyes to try to stop them from watering. “Yeah. Two minutes.” But your voice cracks, and now he knows something is wrong.

“Are you naked?”

You sniffle. “No.”

Aegon opens the door, and then he has crossed the room and is kneeling down on the floor beside you in his black suit, and he’s completely mystified because he’s never seen you this way before, and he’s half-reaching for you but he’s also hesitating, not knowing if you want to be touched. “What happened? What’s wrong with you?”

“I think…um…” Another sniffle. “I guess I’m just a little freaked out about the scene they added.”

Aegon is confounded. “What scene?”

You reach up onto the bed behind you and fumble around until your fingers grasp the script. You give it to Aegon and he hurriedly skims through the pages. When he stumbles across the scene in question, he goes entirely still and his murky blue eyes turn dark and hard and focused in a way you’ve learned is rare for him.

He asks without lifting his gaze from the paper: “When did you find out about this?”

“Yesterday night. Dan brought the script to my apartment.”

Aegon looks at you. “He showed up at your house?”

“Yeah,” you whimper pathetically.

“Did he touch you?”

“What? No, nothing like that. He stayed in the hallway.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry. I kind of assumed you knew.” A pause. “And I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Aegon, still clutching the script, stands and bolts for the bedroom door.

“No!” you beg in a whisper, lunging after him and grabbing his empty hand. “Aegon, no, I can do it. I don’t want to lose the job. I’ll do whatever they want. Aegon? Aegon, please, I don’t want to give up, I don’t want to go home a failure—”

“Don’t talk,” Aegon says, low and violent. “Let me handle it.” And before you can reply, he has ripped away from you and is through the doorway, down the staircase, into the living room where people are gathered under bright lights and making last-minute adjustments to furniture, décor, equipment. Exotic cats lounge on the velvet sofas. Your faux lover paces in a flawlessly-tailored white suit; he smiles when he sees you, then it swiftly dies.

Dan is chortling with two other men and leaning against a wall. Aegon rages to him, shoves him so hard Dan stumbles, strikes the wall two inches from his face. Aegon’s knuckles come away bloody; there is now a dent in the wall marred with a stain of crimson. An assistant screams; everyone in the room is gawking.

Dan is not just stunned by irate. “What the fuck, man?! That’s coming out of her paycheck!”

“How about we take it from your life insurance policy?”

“What is your problem?!”

“No, you know what you did!” Aegon shouts, and Dan is bigger than him but Aegon is seething, fearless, unrelenting, giving him no space. He balls up the script and pitches it at Dan; it bounces off his temple. “You knew any changes to the script were supposed to go through me and you hid this, and that’s fucked up, and it’s not happening. Take the scene out.”

Dan throws his arms wide in disbelief. “You said no nudity and no sex scenes, and this is neither. I didn’t con you, man.”

“Don’t act stupid. You went to her house and you sprung this on her and you thought you could get away with breaking the rules, and maybe you’ve done this before and no one stopped you because it’s just innocuous enough for you to have plausible deniability. But you’re not going to do it to me, and you’re not going to do it to my girl.”

“You think I need her?!” Dan yells, as if it’s preposterous. “She’s a nobody, she’s nothing special! She should be down on her knees thanking Baby Jesus that she’s on this set right now. You think I don’t have ten other actresses I could call?”

“So call them,” Aegon says. “But you’ll have to reschedule the shoot, and I know you’re paying a thousand bucks an hour for this place.”

“Hey dumbass, I spent over a thousand dollars on wine last night—”

“And I will never work with you again. And neither will Aemond, or Helaena, or Daeron, or any of our people.”

For the first time, Dan looks uncertain, stymied, wary. He studies Aegon as his crew avert their eyes awkwardly. On the sofas, the Ragdolls and Himalayans lick themselves and swish their fluffy tails. Aegon glances back at you. Your eyes are wide, glossy pools of pleading.

I don’t want to lose the job. Please, please, don’t make me give up on the dream yet.

“Look,” Aegon tells Dan, now level and diplomatic. “Do the right thing. You fucked up, you own it. Take the scene out and we’re cool. You get your music video shot on schedule. We get the originally agreed-upon terms. Everyone goes home happy. You’re a very talented director and I’ve only ever heard great things about you. I’d hate to have to start correcting people when they’re singing your praises.”

There is a long stretch of silence, and then Dan chuckles and holds up his hands as if surrendering. “Fine, no problem, we’ll axe the scene. It was just an idea, and maybe I got carried away. That was my bad. I had no idea you’d be so touchy about it.”

Aegon smiles, thin and tight and ingenuine. “I’ve been known to be sensitive.” He holds out his right hand; blood drips from his knuckles. An assistant drops to the marble floor and scrambles around wiping up the mess, viscous and scarlet. “No hard feelings?”

Dan shakes Aegon’s wounded hand. “No hard feelings.” Then he marvels at the blood in his palm and an assistant descends to disinfect him. Another moves an abstract painting so it covers the damage to the wall.

Aegon returns to you, and your pulse is slow and hushed, and your breathing is effortless, and you are transfixed; you cannot look away from him, you cannot believe he’s real. “So, uh,” he says, quietly so the rest of the room won’t hear. “No need to worry about that anymore. You want to take ten minutes to chill and get in the zone, and then we’ll get started?”

“No, I can go right now,” you tell him.

“Okay.” Aegon turns to Dan. “She’s ready.” Then he points at the male actor. Aegon probably doesn’t mean it to, but it comes out sounding like a threat. “You ready?”

The actor nods frenetically. “I’m ready!”

“Great,” Aegon says, and he steps out of the shot, and you step into it, and by the time the camera rolls you aren’t you anymore. You are a woman who desperately loves the man in front of her—instantly transformed from a stranger to a soulmate—and you are betrayal and jealousy and loss and wrath, and while your pink Prada dress is formal and wondrous your body is ever-contorting to be weak, vulnerable, breaking as you realize he is leaving.

Then you are clawing your way up the staircase in a heavy fur coat that seems to swallow you, then you are in a bedroom making unanswered phone calls in a lavender silk nightgown, then you are in the kitchen shattering plates and glasses in a neon green mini-dress, then you are in a leopard-print robe petting the exotic cats in the living room, then you are drowning in the swimming pool in a black empire-waist evening gown. Aegon follows you around the mansion and stands wordlessly in corners, chomping on his Juicy Fruit gum, holding the towels that assistants bring him against his knuckles; during every wardrobe change, he waits just outside the bedroom door.

The shoot isn’t done until after sunset, and you thank everyone profusely before you leave: the crew, the male actor, and especially Dan. You still need him to promote and release the music video, and assuming he doesn’t hate you after Aegon’s outburst, he’ll be a valuable reference.

When Aegon speeds his Sebring out of the mansion’s circular driveway and onto winding cliffside roads presided over by the towering shadows of palm trees, the first thing he says to you is: “You are never working with that man again.”

“Okay,” you agree immediately. And before you can say anything else he has put his phone to his ear. Faintly, you can hear ringing, and then a voice that you think you recognize as Brandon’s.

“Hi,” Aegon snaps. “What do I pay you for?”

“Aegon, please don’t be mad at him,” you say quietly. He’s driving very, very fast. The streetlights race by in a blur, the night wind tears like talons through your hair.

Aegon ignores you. “Why was her address on the stuff we sent to the Maroon 5 video people?” A moment passes. “No, it clearly wasn’t redacted because Dan Sacco showed up at her apartment last night. Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. Well, open your email and find out.”

“Aegon, he’s supposed to be off work right now. He’s at home, I’m fine, it’s not important.”

“Shh.” And then, after a long pause, Aegon says to Brandon: “Oh. I get it. Okay, yeah, my mistake. Sorry about that. Enjoy the 4th tomorrow, I’ll pay you extra for this conversation. Alright. You too. Bye.” Aegon sighs and looks over at you, as if he’s asking for forgiveness. “I mislabeled the PDFs. Brando thought he sent them the redacted one but he actually sent the original. He should have double-checked anyway, he usually does, but I was rushing him to get it out because I was trying to make sure you got the job. So…it’s my fault and I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, Aegon,” you say softly.

“It’s not fine.” And you don’t have the opportunity to correct him because Aegon is scrolling through his contacts, and despite his earlier aversion to calling his brother Aemond, soon Aegon is recounting what happened and warning Aemond to never work with Dan, never recommend him to actors, never sell him a script, that Dan is dead to all of them as soon as the music video is officially released.

Aegon merges onto the 10 and heads east towards his office in Elysian Park. You don’t wonder why he’s not taking you south to Harbor Gateway, because you don’t want to go home yet. It’s well after 9 p.m., and the freeway is vast and open, silhouettes of skyscrapers and palm trees, reflective green signs indicating routes to Pasadena, San Bernadino, Santa Ana, San Pedro. Under the streetlights that arch overhead, you can see that the knuckles on Aegon’s right hand have turned violet and maroon, bruises down to the bone. When he reaches Downtown, Aegon’s Sebring takes the 110 north, and you are reminded of the route you drove to Elysian Park on the day you first met him, a girl with no prospects that he believed in anyway.

Aegon doesn’t hang up the phone until he’s at the curb outside the half-duplex he rents, a blinking blue neon sign that reads Targ Talent Agency in one window. He rests his wounded hand on the back of your seat when he twists around to look as he’s parallel parking. In the lobby, he goes to the minifridge behind Brandon’s desk and gets two green glass bottles of Perrier, passes you one of them, continues to his office and collapses into his chair, staring up at you as he swigs his Perrier and drops of condensation fall down onto his suit. He thumps his shoes up onto his desk, characteristically littered with gum wrappers and manilla folders and loose papers, framed photographs and his recently-acquired ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples. You are still standing.

“That happens sometimes,” Aegon says after a while. “Just so you know going forward, because I failed to make it clear before, script changes always go through me. I negotiate with the other party and if any modifications are approved I tell you about them, not the other way around. And unless you’ve cultivated some kind of working relationship with them, directors and producers should not be reaching out to you personally.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You aren’t really sure. “I guess I should have known better.”

Aegon smirks, tired and cynical. “I told you this place is a curse.”

“You tried to warn me,” you concede.

“Do you believe me now?”

“No. I still want to be in Los Angeles.” I still want to be here with you.

He considers you, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side. “You did a really good job today, sunshine. Despite everything.”

“I hope so.”

He gives you a wry half-smile and takes another gulp of his Perrier. You haven’t opened yours yet. You are wearing your street clothes from this morning, TOMS wedges, unceremonious olive green sundress. Your hair is still damp from the scene in the pool and smells like chlorine. Aegon sighs deeply and kneads the area just above his right eye with his fingertips, as if he has a headache.

“Aegon?” you say, and he looks up at you. “Thank you for what you did for me.”

“I’d do it for anyone.”

“You’d almost break your knuckles?”

He glances at the back of his hand as if he had forgotten about the damage incurred there: clotted blood, subterranean bruises. “No, that was just for you.”

You set your unopened bottle of Perrier and your purse on his desk. Then you step out of your wedges, reach beneath your sundress, hook your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and pull them down to your ankles. You kick them away and leave them on the scuffed wood floor with your wedges. Aegon is watching you, his lips parted and his dark blue eyes amazed, as you walk to his desk and sit on the edge, pluck a Honeycrisp apple out of the bowl there, and take a large, famished bite. When saccharine juice spills down your lips, you don’t wipe it away.

Slowly, Aegon’s own mouth blooms into a smile. “I was wondering if it was mutual.”

He stands, harvests the apple from your hand, buries his teeth in the wet yielding flesh in the same place where you bit it. Then he lets the apple tumble to the floor as his hands rise to your face and he kisses you, and if you once discovered that this was easy with Mason then here it is instinctive, necessary, sheltering, and you have never felt so safe, and you have never been so sure of anything. You are unfastening the large buttons that run down the front of your sundress. Aegon is shrugging off his suit jacket and opening his shirt, his chest and belly soft and warm, no distance between you as you lie back across the desk and Aegon climbs on top of you, tasting like apples and Juicy Fruit and night air. Folders and papers cascade in a flurry. The bowl of apples is shoved off the ledge and shatters. Photographs are knocked to the floor, their glass panes splintering.

You are afraid only once, when Aegon unclasps your bra and tosses it away, but then he’s touching and kissing you there, lips and tongue and teeth, and his need is so palpable, and you can’t believe you ever considered scalpels and stitches. “I knew you were perfect,” he whispers against your throat, and when his war-torn hand travels between your legs you are already slick and starving, and you tell him you can’t wait.

You glance down as he rummages around in a drawer of his desk and eventually—seconds that feel like an eternity—finds a few condoms in silvery wrappers. “I’m sorry you have to use one,” you say, breathing heavily as you lie beneath him, not wanting to ruin this. “I’m sorry I’m not on the pill or—”

“I’d wrap up anyway. I’m serious about the no kids thing.”

And then he’s easing himself into you, and it’s better than it’s ever been because you’ve never wanted it more, and you’re trying not to moan too loudly because you don’t know if there’s anyone home in the other half of the rundown little duplex, and when your eyes flutter open you see flashes of the mint green walls, beams of headlights raking across the windows, gleaming emerald shards of your Perrier bottle that has tumbled to the floor and broken there, hemorrhaging a sea of carbonated water. It’s not a climax but a plateau so high you can’t think, can’t speak, your fingers in Aegon’s hair and your hips moving with his, your legs linked around him and his voice in your ear, is this okay for you, is this good, and you are nodding and gasping and letting him take you to a place where you can have everything, magic that usually only exists on pages and screens.

Aegon finishes—too soon, with some embarrassment—then pulls back and is alarmed to find tears on your cheeks. He wipes them away with his hands, bewildered, concerned. “What are you doing? Don’t cry, sunshine.”

You laugh shakily. “I’m fine, I swear, it’ll go away. I just get emotional.”

“Always?”

“When it’s good.”

Aegon kisses you, sweet and slow, and then he climbs off the desk and flings the condom somewhere, grabs your hips, drags you towards to him. You sit up when you realize what he’s doing.

“Oh no,” you say. “Wait, no, you don’t have to. Don’t worry about it.”

Aegon furrows his brow at you impatiently. “Do you want to come or not?”

“Well yeah, but it can take a while. So I’ll just do it myself later.”

“Shut up and put your legs over my shoulders.” He yanks you closer and you fall back onto the desk, now damp and slippery with perspiration, and you are grinning up at the ceiling, astonished and euphoric and a little sheepish, not expecting it to work but then being overwhelmed by him, coaxed into it like tumbling down the crumbling wall of a canyon, plummeting into inevitable and effortless gravity, the earth disintegrating beneath your clawing fingers when you try to catch yourself. Then Aegon takes your hand and shows you that he is hard again.

“More,” you plead in a whisper, and you go with him down to the floor, careful to avoid jagged flecks of glass and fragments of the shattered ceramic bowl, and you are helping him roll a new condom on because he’s taking too long and you can’t wait, and you’re both laughing as you straddle him, and then it becomes something quiet and slow and indelibly heavy, imprints in sand that eons of waves could not wash away, and afterwards you lie together on the floor for a long time, not saying anything, not tethered to reality, drifting in a bone-weary mirage of nightscape chemicals until the sun will rise and paint the world in color again.

You get up and start looking for your wedges. You have to shake them to get pebbles of green glass out. Aegon, still lying on the wood floor, watches you; you smirk guiltily. “I should probably go home soon. I have to be at Cold Stone tomorrow morning.”

Aegon seems surprised. “You’re working on the 4th of July?”

“Only until 6:30. Then Baela and I are going to see the fireworks.”

“And you’re driving to work, right? Not walking?”

“Right,” you promise.

Aegon groans as he drags himself to his feet, pulls on his suit and misbuttons his shirt, surveys the damage done to his office and runs his hands through his disheveled blonde hair. He shakes his head and looks a little sad, vacant, meditative. Does he regret it? you worry; but then Aegon turns to you and smiles. “Let’s get going.”

The long-gone daylight has been replaced by streetlights and headlights and coils of neon, glowing through the darkness like manmade stars, young synthetic constellations. As the Sebring sails down the ghost town of the 110 at midnight, Aegon passes you his phone. “Listen to whatever you want.”

You scroll through his Spotify playlist; there are five hundred songs, lots of Alanis Morissette and Pearl Jam and Third Eye Blind and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. You remember listening to one of their songs on the way to the mansion in Beverly Hills this morning; Aegon must really like them. You choose another Red Hot Chili Peppers song at random, one you’ve never heard of before, Hard To Concentrate. The hypnotic guitar chords spill from the speakers, and as you gaze dreamily over six abandoned southbound lanes, you can see on the periphery of your vision that Aegon keeps glancing over at you, his hair flying in the wind and his bruised right hand resting on the steering wheel.

Aegon parks illegally in a fire lane on the curb outside your apartment. “Hey,” he says when you open the passenger’s door, and you stop and return to him. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

You check the analog clock on the dashboard, a black box of green numbers. It’s just after midnight on July 4th. You murmur as you kiss Aegon one last time, your lips curled into a smile: “Happy Independence Day.”

Then you float up the concrete steps and into your apartment building, higher than the sun at noon.

#aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x female reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x you

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stinkysam · 3 days ago

Text

Choi Subong “Thanos” - 44.

Warning : body modifications (scarifications, split tongue, face implants, eyes tattoo.)

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : “thanos with a reader who has multiple piercings. Like, in his ears, tongue, mouth, nose” -anon

Reader : male (you/yours)

A/N : bold is in English // was thinking about a similar thing the other night 💭 reader w/ lots of piercings and tattoos and some body modifications so I hope it’s okay 🥺

Thanos was waiting in line, one person before him emptying their cart slowly. Bored, he looked around.

Then you appeared behind him, waiting to pay for the items in your bag. When he saw you he had to do a double take. A not so discreet one.

Like, woah.

You had so many piercings on your face and ears, tattoos creeping up here and there on your skin.

He thinks you look really cool and can’t stop trying to look at you to get more details about how you look. He’s shamelessly turning around to simply look at you.

You gave him a polite but rather awkward smile which he took as an invitation to talk.

“Do you know me ?” He asked with a cocky grin.

“Do you know me ? You’re the one who’s staring.”

He ignored your comment, asking another question instead, trying to sound casual.

“You look cool. How many piercings do you have ?”

“44.”

“Huh ? All on your face ?” Now he was shocked. He could see you had a lot but he didn’t expect that number.

“Most of them are, but no.” You smiled, not elaborating. He looked at you up and down, trying to think where the rest could be.

“Wait- the… your dick ?”

You laughed at his straightforwardness.

“Tongue.” You said, sticking it out, showing your split tongue with a piercing on each side. “But dick too.” You added with a wink as you walked past him, emptying your bag for the cashier to scan the items.

Thanos was stunned. Oh, he had to get your number.

You put everything back in your bag and paid everything, smiling and waving at Thanos as you walked out the store.

He quickly gave his stuff to the cashier, before shoving them in any pockets he had, almost throwing his money at them to rush outside to go after you.

“Hey ! Pretty boy !” He called after spotting you, quickly running to your side. “Do you really not know me ?” He asked once he was next to you.

“I do. You’re that rapper. Thanos.”

He proudly combed his hair with one hand at your words.

“And ?”

“And what ?”

“Did you like me ?” He asked with a smug expression.

“No, sorry, I was rooting for someone else. Stopped watching when he left.”

He looked at you, shocked.

“Huh ?”

“The one with five consecutive ‘A’ in his name, all lower case except the middle ‘A’.”

“Oh, him.” He tsked, rolling his eyes. “He’s a fucking loser.” He said, making you chuckle.

“Didn’t you lose, too ? I saw the memes.”

He sighed, rubbing his hair in frustration.

“It’s not like that, you don’t understand, I still should’ve won. They were all against me. I really should’ve won !”

“Okay, okay. I believe you. What did you want anyway ?”

He looked at you up and down with a small pout, thinking before smiling and answering.

“Your number. You look cool. But your taste in rappers isn’t.”

You laughed at his comment.

“Okay, give me your phone.” You shrugged.

He handed you his phone and you typed your number with your name. You gave it back to him and he immediately dialed the number to make sure it wasn’t fake.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket and he smiled, hanging up.

He was really annoying at first because he kept trying to get into your pants to see your piercings. He slowly calmed down about it, realizing you wouldn’t let it happen like that.

He’ll ask you all the basic questions. Did your piercings and tattoo hurt, which one hurt the most, what’s the meaning behind your tattoos, how much did it cost you, where did you get them ?

He’ll definitely show you his back tattoo. Taking off his shirt without any warning before showing off his back.

“Thanos…” You read aloud, thinking. “Did your tattoo artist know you ? I wonder if they thought you were just a big marvel nerd ?”

“Of course he knew me. I’m a fucking legend.”

“Did he tell you that ? Did he really say ‘yes I know you’ ? Or is it just your ego speaking ?” You asked, amused, placing your hands on his shoulder to make him face you.

He glared at you, putting his shirt back on.

“Want me to prove it to you ?” He asked, pulling up his phone to show you the Instagram page of his tattoo artist, it was full of lettering tattoos, they all looked really good despite how fast he was scrolling.

Then he clicked on a post, his freshly tattooed back appearing on the screen with a caption under the picture where the artist was tagging and calling him “the Great Thanos”.

He looked smugly at you.

“Ah, I’m so disappointed. Really wanted him to just think you’re a weird fan of that purple alien thumb.” You said as he hit your arm, unamused.

He definitely wants more tattoos but has so many ideas and keeps changing his mind all the time.

One day he told you he wanted a tattoo of his own lyrics. His favorite part of his best rap. But when you promised to get it tattooed as well if they were cool enough, he backtracked. Not that he didn’t want that tattoo anymore, but because he wants to make better bars, worth being on your skin.

It’s stupid, you have tattoos without meaning. They’re just here because you found them pretty. But he wants his tattoo to be your favorite one on your body.

He’s also thinking about more piercings. Mainly the ears and maybe some on his face, hesitating between a bridge, eyebrow piercings or dimples.

“Why not the lips ?” You asked, looking at your phone, slumped on the couch next to him.

“Don’t it fuck up your teeth ?”

“It can. Especially if you play with it. Or bite on it.”

“Do you ?”

“Yeah, fuck. Look at ‘em.” You replied, putting your phone to your side to show him your teeth. “I once bit too hard on a Pringle with my piercing by my tooth and a bit broke.”

“How the fuck do you bite so hard on a fucking Pringle you chip your teeth ?”

“I really wanted to eat.” You replied with a laugh, your focus returning to your phone. “Look, spider bites would look good on you.” You said, placing your phone before him, the front camera activated with piercing filters on.

Thanos grabbed your hand, angling the phone better as he observed himself, tapping on the screen to display more piercings.

He pouted, thinking.

“Yeah but eyebrow piercings…” He took a selfie and showed you the result, not before saving it on your phone so you’d have a picture of him.

“Why not both ?” You replied, tapping on the screen so the spider bites would appear at the same time as the eyebrow piercings. “Both sides or only one eyebrow ? You don’t look like a symmetrical kind of guy. More like- chaos ?”

“I like chaos.”

“Yeah I figured.”

“You… really are into fucking symmetry. And 44 ? How does it work with a dick piercing ?”

“I have two. Frenum and a dydoe.”

“Two ?” He looked at you surprised. “Why can’t I see ?” He whined, slumping down further, making you laugh.

“Just google them and you’ll have tons of visuals.” You snickered, rubbing his hair.

“Yeah but I want to see ‘em for real ! Are they healed ?”

“Yep.”

He sighed. A piercer saw your dick twice but you refuse to let him see it even once ? What kind of friendship is that if you don’t know what your friend’s dick looks like ?

You told him you wanted to go back to Japan to do some more body modifications, wanting small horn implants on your forehead.

Thanos is absolutely hooked. He’s so hyping you up.

You took him on your trip to Japan to visit a bit but mainly for these bodmod, having booked only a couple days. Though you were a bit stressed, you were mainly amused by Thanos who was silently staring all along. For once his mouth remained shut. But as soon as you were out he was yapping again.

He was literally jumping up and down holding your arm, wanting to show you to everyone.

Despite looking more intimidating than him due to all your piercings and tattoos, if someone tries to annoy you around Thanos, he will put himself between you two, down to fight the person getting on your nerves.

Even if it’s just old people displeased with how you look.

You generally place your hands on his shoulders to keep him from doing anything, smiling. You’re not a violent person so you prefer to calm him down rather than letting the situation escalate further.

You have a lot of pictures together, mainly selfies he took and sent you and a few from concerts or clubs you went to together.

You were going through your phone, your storage was full as you deleted some unused apps and photos. Then you saw it, the photo Thanos took the other day. You dialed his number.

“Why did you save it ?” You directly asked as soon as he picked up the phone.

“What ?”

“You took a selfie, the day we were looking at the piercing that would suit you. Were you afraid I didn’t have a picture of you ?”

“Ah.” He laughed. “Yeah. You need to have more pictures of your boyfriend anyway.”

“My-” You scoffed, chuckling. “My boyfriend ? I’ll let you know I already have tons of pictures of you on my phone, dumbass. It’s full of your stupid purple head.”

“You save the pictures I send you ? Aw. So cute, I love you too.”

“No. My phone automatically saves them... And I don’t know how to disable it !”

“How old are you again ?” He laughed. “Are you complaining about having pictures of your boyfriend ?”

“My storage is full, Thanos. Stop sending me selfies. I’ll block your ass. On all platforms.”

“Thanos ? Not T ?” You rarely ever called him by his full stage name, finding it too cringe.

“I’m serious.”

“Would you prefer dick pics ?”

“I dare you to try.” You replied. “No- wait- no- don’t. You’re actually capable of doing it. I don’t- I don’t wanna see your dick.”

Quickly you received a text from him with an attached image. You clicked on it, hoping it wasn’t a dick pic.

[Thanos]> “:(”

You sighed, relieved to see it was just yet another selfie.

“Don’t scare me like that !”

Thanos laughed.

“It’s natural to see your boyfriend’s dick at some point. Don’t be so scared of it.” He said in a sing-song tone.

You snorted. The nerves of this guy.

“Stop- you know what ? Okay. Alright. You’re my boyfriend. What do you plan on doing now ?”

“Well now I’m allowed to send a dick pic.”

“Sure. If you want to see the quickest breakup in history.”

“Ah, come on !”

You hung up, going back to deleting all the photos that didn’t interest you.

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