Help me why do all the ones I thirst over have no fanfic representation!!! THEY HAVE SO MANY FREAKING EDITS ON TIKTOK THOUGH IT GETS MY FUCKASS HOPES UP
Sade Olutola
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

⁂
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Claire Keane
Xuebing Du
Misplaced Lens Cap

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Game of Thrones Daily
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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ojovivo
occasionally subtle
$LAYYYTER
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

oozey mess

almost home
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@tartybleedinghearts
Help me why do all the ones I thirst over have no fanfic representation!!! THEY HAVE SO MANY FREAKING EDITS ON TIKTOK THOUGH IT GETS MY FUCKASS HOPES UP

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𝜗𝜚 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲 ⁞⁞ 18+ ; mdni ⁞⁞ firearms, sub!tate, overstimulation, dacryphilia, this is a weird one, tate is a loser ⁞⁞ dead dove: do not eat ⁞⁞ wc: 1.4k
Tate’s hair is soaked, golden-brown curls plastered to his forehead, his pupils blown and his hands shaking as he climbs through your bedroom window. He’s shirtless, the tones of his chest and stomach sharp and intense under the dim light emanating from your bedside table. Raindrops coalesce and drip down his collarbone in long rivulets, patting rhythmically on the hardwood floor. In his trembling fist, a black metal object that seems to suck all the air from the room.
He’s crying hard, his shoulders shuddering, body jerking up and down with the force of his sobs. “F-fuck,” he cries, staring at you. His gaze is dark and no doubt hardened by the stuff running through his veins. There’s a pinkness to his cheeks you haven’t seen in a long time, a flush down his neck that tells you this breakdown is spurred by a force outside of himself. “Fuck.”
Why make them hot if their a killer?? Why make then be morally grey if their gonna be boyfriend shapped?
i wholeheartedly believe that tate has a praise kink, but i’m thinking about him realizing. he probably freezes, whimpers, and then tears up a little bit
18+ ; mdni tate langdon x f!reader ⁞⁞ religious imagery, oral sex
tate langdon thinks about god a lot.
religion was constant in his family home before he died; both in the literal way, and in the abstract. his mother had been god, in a way. tate, her lucifer. her light-bringer, her fabled, perfect son. and her fallen fucking angel.
but in the house, there is no heaven nor hell, and nowhere to be cast away from. one can’t be the king of purgatory. all that exists are the hallways. the attic. the huge, unused rooms and the stained glass that puddles multicolored sunlight on the hardwood floor in the mornings.
and then—you. a flash of revolutionary difference amidst the sameness. you fit no role here, your presence spilling over the confines of archetype, unnameably free. to come and go, to age, to love him.
when you fuck, head thrown back in pleasure, sweat sheening on your skin, the convergence of your bodies reminiscent of eclipse, he feels closer to god than he ever really has. deliberate, hedonistic disobedience of whatever his mother preached gets him high.
and when you whisper to him, body bare, heart thumping against your paper ribs, your thighs clenched around his head, fingers twisted in his shattered halo of curls, he feels more like a disciple than a seraphim. salvation.
“tate.”
he lets a whine pass his lips, rolling his hips into the mattress, pressing his face closer, working to coax more of that sound from your body.
“fuck, tate, oh my god…so good, so perfect…”
that feels more like gospel than anything. he can imagine staying here, between your legs, where he’s good and warm and useful, where his worship matters, for the rest of the forever he’ll spend in this house. he’d be seraph for anything that thanked him.
his dick fills out and he rubs against the bedspread, seeking friction, physical stimulation to match the intensity of what’s happening in his mind. his tongue works faster, lapping up whatever you’re willing to give him.
your fingers trace on the nape of his neck and you shift your hips. “so perfect,” you repeat. he can’t see your face but he can guess the kind of twisted up pleasure-pain painting your expression.
and it hits him, then, that nothing feels better than the holy light of your love. your praise.
he freezes, forehead pressed against you, eyelashes damp. when the tears come, he resumes moving, fingers clenching in the soft flesh of your ass, letting them drop onto your sex, devotion mixed with your natural wetness. he stops chasing his own crescendo, focused entirely on you, on the only provable deity.
tate langdon thinks about god a lot.
18+
tate langdon isn’t doing much to disprove his therapist’s diagnosis when he fucks you into the chaise longue in your dad’s office, one hand clamped loosely ‘round your neck while he drives himself into you with unforgiving force. “you know what he said? apparently i’m—fuck—scared of people leaving me. fear of rejection. fuckin’ hilarious, right? like, like i wouldn’t fucking make you stay if you tried,” he spits out bitterly, voice cracked with a desperation that doesn’t quite match the brutal rhythm he’s setting. “i wouldn’t dream of leaving you, tate.” your legs hook tight around his waist, pulling him deeper in your desire to feel him. lately he’s been both clingy yet unreachable, even when he’s inside you. “i love you,” tate huffs, forehead pressed against yours. the world seems to tilt on its axis when he pummels into your g-spot. “why’d you put up with me? i’m-” he buries his face into the crook of your shoulder when he cums, mumbling a feverish litany: “i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m so so sorry.”

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men will never understand what a teenage girl feels when she sees Evan Peters in his blonde hair era
The thing about me as a woman and as a writer is that I will never give my men six packs. I might consider a tonned stomach, yeah, okay, fine, but prominent abs? Never.
Look, I don't care that Kurt is an acrobat and a flexible, agile, bouncy X-Man, he will have a fluffy soft tummy and I will imagine planting my face there as a form of stress relief and that's final.
and for the lady, perhaps a devout knight?
i love writing out numbers and then putting them in parentheses like "one (1)" even when i dont need to i think its funny
SOFT SPOT - Aerion Targaryen
SUMMARY - Having met as children and reuniting once you've grown into a woman, Aerion's previous suspicion of you grows into the softest spot imaginable.
CONTAINS - pure fluff, reader is extremely kind, aerion is only kind to reader, classic sunshine x grumpy
A/N - i personally couldn't stop giggling while writing the "pastry" scene. Ughh i need him
The blazing sun over Summerhall was unforgiving, but it did nothing to melt the sour disposition of Prince Aerion.
At barely ten name days old, the boy was already terror embodied. He sat on a smooth rock by the edge of the river, a fishing rod held tight in his small, tense hands.

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➤ double entendre
synopsis: ethan has had a crush on you since forever, but you develop a particular taste for a… different version of him. pairing: ghostface!ethan landry x reader, ethan landry x reader warnings: i don’t even know what to call this it’s like really goofy and definitely doesn’t take ghostface ethan as seriously as it should, kind of dubcon? (reader doesn’t know ghostface is ethan at first), hooking up, p in v, unprotected sex (big nono irl), blowjobs, making out, cowgirl, doggy style, dom-coded switch!ethan, sub-coded switch!reader, ethan being insanely bad at dirty talk, a lot of swearing, crack, MINORS DNI word count: 3.7k notes: ethan’s highkey such a loser in here lol, like you don’t need to bring out the whole serial killer fit to date your crush pls just shoot your shot directly + he kinda switches personalities a lot (when the mask is on vs off) but i like to think his real one is a mix between the two depending on where he is and what he’s doing + the pacing's pretty bad for this one and to be honest i don't think it was written that well, but i had fun writing it haha + hope you enjoy!
you don’t think something that feels right can be wrong. or, better, something that feels good.
that’s selfish, sure. probably immoral too. it’s definitely selfish when that something is fucking ghostface.
“take off the mask,” you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist. he’s panting against you, hips stuttering for a moment.
the mask tilts slowly, the voice changer reverberating against your skin.
“you don’t want the face,” he gives a particularly sharp thrust, “all you need is a dick to fill you up.”
“no–ah,” you protest weakly, “wanna see your face.”
btw it's so fucking stupid you can be anxious physically in your body even after you've decided mentally you don't care. I'm supposed to be in charge here
When you grow distant from him. — A.T x Reader.
content tags: MDNI! fluff, aerion is a bit of a brat and a bastard, it's okay though cuz he gets hit with the wifeguy genetics from his father, mild foreplay and allusions to sex, implied insecure reader, implied manipulative reader (margaery core but it's for the good of the realm but she genuinely loves him), doomed brothers angst if you squint, poorly betaread (as always), eng is not my first language so TEACH ME PLEASE IM BEGGING.
author's note: this is part of the WYGDFH series, I wrote some of this in the middle of my final lmfao—anyways, this is my first time writing for aerion I lowk don't like it but I do?? didn't think I'd write THIS MUCH for him compared to his dad, speaking of daddy here's his chapter
NAVIGATION — MASTERLIST
W.C. 2.2K
DIVIDER CREDIT: @SARADIKA-GRAPHICS (DRAGONS), GRADIENTS (ME)
Aerion loathed you.
The girl who robbed him of his freedom.
From one moment he was unshackled, unburdened from the duties of marriage and a wife, the next he was betrothed to some girl — even worse, betrothed to a girl that had no dragon-blood coursing through her veins.
He was adamant in his plans, fully intended to make your life hell, make you rue your very existence.
He was adamant.
Until he met you.
He expected a stammering little wench, but instead found you.
i am like a puppy eagerly waiting my the door and wagging my tail for the kinktober 2026 release
piercings
a/n: lil bit of a mix of thoughts between me, @franticallymajesticprincess and my baby 🦷
dabi
he pierced your nipples a couple months ago and has been having you come back into the shop to check up on the healing process. you swore they were all healed last week but he insisted you come in again. you walk straight to his private room, a quick knock before you enter and stop dead in your tracks.
“i’m sorry.” you cover your eyes.
“shut the door.” he hisses and you shut it quickly.
“i didn’t.. i don’t..” you whine and face the wall, pressing your forehead against it.
“well i guess it’s only fair since i stare at your tits once a week.” he sighs. “wanna see?” he watches you peek over your shoulder.
“does it hurt?” you turn fully.
“nah, ‘s been healed for a couple years now. was just changing the jewelry.” he twists the ball on.
you can't tear your eyes away from the silver piercing at the tip of his dick. eyes squinting, head tilting a little. you walk closer, looking down and then back up to his face.
“like what you see?” he smirks.
“can i.. like touch it?” he laughs.
“wanna touch my dick?” he raises his brows.
“just the tip.” you purse your lips.
“that’s usually my line.” he flashes you his teeth. “go ahead.” he nods.
you reach down hesitantly, tracing a finger around his tip, gliding against the cool metal and his dick twitches, starting to harden. you don’t even glance up at him, just wrap your fingers around his shaft and thumb just under his piercing.
“that’s more than just the tip.” he rasps.
“that’s usually my line.” your eyes flick up to his.
“what’re you tryna get into?” his abs flex when you brush against the metal.
“dunno?” you tilt your head. “thought you wanted to check my piercings?” batting your eyelashes at him.
“well you got your hand wrapped around my dick, sweetheart.” he clears his throat.
“kinda wanna feel it on my tongue.” you swipe at the pre starting to leak out.
“wha-?” his lips part when you drop to your knees. “shit you serious?”
“mhm.” you look up at him. “that okay?” your breath fanning across his dick, making him twitch.
“yeahh, go ahead.” he brushes your hair back.
you lean forward and swirl your tongue along the underside and then start to follow his piercing to his tip. he groans lowly, fingers digging in your hair when you lick at his slit.
you suck his tip into your mouth, still swirling your tongue around his piercing and you sink lower. the metal feels different, good, as it slides deeper into your mouth, dragging across your tongue and then hitting the back of your throat. you slowly pull back off, only leaving his tip in your mouth and hollowing your cheeks.
“fuck, this is-”
he tosses his head back when you suck him to the back of your throat again and start a rhythm. you can’t stop, it feels too good and his sounds are going straight between your thighs. he’s thrusting into your mouth and you look up at him to find him staring down at you and you stop with him at the back of your throat and give him a little nod.
“fuckin perfect.” he mumbles, brushing your hair back and holding it in a ponytail.
he starts to fuck your face and you look up at him as spit starts to bubble at the corner of your lips. each time you sputter and gag he swears he’s about to cum but he wants this to last longer. he snaps his hips harder and when he sees the tears gathering in your eyes he knows he’s done for.
“look s’fuckin pretty.” he pants. “fuck and this little mouth is fuckin perfect.”
you’re holding onto the back of his thigh, nails digging into the fabric of his pants, looking up at him fall apart. his thrusts are rough but it’s everything you want and you can feel how wet your panties are. when your tears spill over the edge he curses lowly, hips faltering and you feel the first spurt of cum coats your throat. you hold him at the back, swallowing down everything he has to give you until he’s pulling you off by your hair.
“fuck..” his chest his heaving. “like my piercing?” he gives a breathy chuckle.
“mhm.” you lick your lips and stand up.
“lemme check your piercings.” he grabs your hand and pulls you over to the piercing bed.
you lay back, squirming a little as he lifts your shirt, eyes glued to your tits. he glances at your face and then brushes his thumb against one of the silver bars, watching as your face twists. he keeps rubbing against it, taking both ends of the bar and giving it a little twist.
“dabi!” you gasp.
“sensitive today.” he hums, moving over to your other nipple. “looks like they’re healing nicely.” he taps at your perked bud, watching you squeeze your thighs.
“i.. i think they’re healed.” you jolt when he gives a little pinch.
“why’s that?” he smiles.
“cause.. i can play with them and they don’t hurt.” your cheeks flush.
“yeah?” he tilts his head. “lemme try something.” he dips his head down and you feel the tip of his tongue curl around your nipple.
“mmmf!” you push your chest up into his face.
his laugh fans across your skin before he sucks your nipple into his mouth. he flicks against the bar, lapping at your bud and then flattening his tongue and.. he has a tongue ring. your breath catches when he slides it against your nipple again, fingers tangling in his hair.
he kisses across to your other nipple, teasing it the same way, sucking a little harsher. he teases his teeth against it, pulling a whine from your lips. he brings a hand up to your other nipple, playing with the little bar, twisting and pulling, listening to all the sounds you make.
“i.. dabi! wanna feel that piercing somewhere else.” you’re breathless.
“yeah?” he laughs. “where do you wanna feel it, sweetheart?” he looks up at you.
“between my thighs.” you whisper.
“ohh wanna see what it feels like when i eat your pussy?” he watches your cheeks burn at his words.
“yeah.” you push his shoulders lower.
he pushes your skirt up and slides his tongue up your panties, pressing the ball of his tongue ring right over your clit. your hips jerk as he flicks it slowly, before sliding back down’s
“move em! need- nghh! need to feel it please!” you look down at him desperately.
he peels your panties to the side, eyes darkening when he sees how wet you are. he sucks your clit into his mouth and rolls his ring over the sensitive bud and you arch off the table. he moves his tongue faster, chuckling into you when your thighs start shaking around his face.
“it’s- it’s.. dabi please!”
he licks down to your pussy and pushes his tongue in, making you gasp at the feeling of the metal piercing. you’re grinding against his face, his nose nudging against your puffy clit, orgasm already stumbling towards you. your fingers tangle in his hair pulling him closer, hips bucking wildly as you cry out his name.
he licks back up to your clit, tongue lashing against your clit and you burst. wave after wave of pleasure slams through you as he keeps licking at you. he finally pulls back with a wet chin and lips and a lopsided smile on his face.
“can.. can i feel the other one?” your legs are still twitching.
“what d’you mean?” he tilts his head.
“do you.. can you.. mmm.” you whine.
“words, sweetheart.” he kisses your thigh, already lifting up and unbuttoning his pants again cause he knows what you mean but he wants to hear you say it.
“fuck me.” your eyes locked on his dick once he lowers them. “please?” you look up at his face.
“there you go.” he grabs your hips and pulls you to the end of the table.
he slides his tip through your messy folds, grinning at the moans leaving your mouth with each pass. he taps his piercing against your clit, chuckling softly at each whimper it elicits. he pushes his tip in, the metal melting your mind as it drags against your gummy walls. with each inch you feel it slide in, your breath catches.
“how’s.. how’s it feel?” he clenches his jaw at the way you’re squeezing around him.
“s’fucking good.” you nod, panting.
“yeahhh.” he snaps his hips into yours, watching your tits jiggle with the intensity.
his fingers dig into your thighs as he fucks into you, pulling you closer before letting one of his hands splay on your lower tummy. he pushes down and lets his thumb rub at your clit, stomach tightening when your pussy flutters around him.
“t-thinkin about getting one right here.” he leans forward and grinds against you. “it’ll rub right against this cute little clit every time.”
“yes!” you nod. “i wanna feel it!” you grab onto his wrist. “dabi- i.. i..”
“won’t be able to really fuck while it heals though.” he leans over you, forearms resting next to your head. “gonna wait f’me, sweetheart?” he watches you peel your eyes open.
“been- mmngh! been coming in here for months just so you could play with my nipples.” each word a little more high pitched.
“yeah you have.” he smiles. “and they’re so perfect.” he leans down.
he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue ring lashing against it. your fingers tangle in his hair, and with a harsh thrust and a scrape of his teeth you’re cumming all over him. he grunts against your chest, hips pounding into you as he fills you with his hot cum. he lifts up and slowly pulls out, watching you leak with him and then up to your chest glistening with his spit.
“i think they’re healed.” he looks up to your flushed face.
“can i still come back?” your bottom lip wobbles.
“course sweetheart.” he adjusts his pants and fixes your panties before helping you up.

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Strong-looking vulnerable men......Strong-looking vulnerable men.
You know the type. Big hands, big shoulders, could probably bench-press a car, but the moment they sit down, they look like they’re carrying the weight of the whole damn universe. Eyes that are just a little too soft for a face that sharp. Like, are you okay? Do you need a hug? Do you want to cry into my arms for three hours?
They look like they could destroy you, but deep down, you know they'd rather let themselves break first. What is it about them? Why do they look like they could hold you together when they’re clearly held together with duct tape and desperation? It’s unhinged. It’s unfair. I want to fix them. Or maybe I want to fall apart with them. I don’t even know anymore.
I love them so much they make me lose myself
AAAAAAHHHHHH
monsters and misunderstandings.
part 2 of this post !
pairing: gn ! reader - ft. faefolk, merfolk, elves, harpies, selkie.
author’s note: really wanted to do a naga and a gnoll but got lazy. . .honestly, kinda more angsty (but longer! i think) than the last one. sorry !
faefolk.
“hey, sunshine.” you say it so casually. offhand, distracted, not even looking at them.
the fae stills. “. . .what did you just call me?
you glance up. “huh? oh, ‘sunshine’. why?”
silence.
their wings twitch once. and slowly, they step closer. “you do remember i’m fae, yes?”
your brows furrow. how adorable.
“names are not to be given lightly among my kind,” they murmur.
“it’s. . .it’s not a name. it’s just – like, a nickname.”
“. . .a name you chose for me.”
you open your mouth – pause. “i, i guess. . .?”
their gaze, usually so sharp, softens. something dangerously fond slipping through.
“then i will keep it.”
you laugh, nervous. “it’s not that serious—”
it is to them.
merfolk.
it was done unconsciously. you don’t notice it at first.
just the gentle sway of the water, the quiet conversation, the way you lean back on your hands -
and the slow, absentminded shift of your leg.
until something smooth brushes against it.
you glance down.
their tail.
your leg is resting against it—no. worse. half entwined.
you start to pull back, “oh, sorry—” but they stop you. not forceful. their tail wraps around yours, further tangling your limbs.
“. . .don’t.”
you blink. “. . .what?”
their gaze flickers between your legs and their tail, wrapped loosely together.
“we don’t do this casually, you know.” they murmur, a soft smile gracing their face. you feel yours heating up in turn.
“i didn’t mean to—”
“i know.”
their tail slightly loosens around your legs. but they don’t let go.
“. . .in the tides, this is how we stay close with someone.”
they pause. glance back up shyly.
“. . .so stay.”
elves.
“stay,” you say absentmindedly, tugging them down beside you. “just for a bit.”
the elf glances at you, then at your hand wrapped around their sleeve. “are you. . . certain you wish to spend time with me?”
you blink in surprise at their tone, their expression. “of course.” you answer honestly. why do they look so . . .
“. . .you ask as though it is a small thing.”
“it is?”
they’re quiet. hesitant. but they sit anyway. they sit closer than they were before.
“you are asking for time. you ask an elf, of time.”
“which you have lots, by the way.” you chuckle lightly, continuing in a quiet tone. “. . .i just meant don’t leave yet.”
“ . . .i know.”
they don’t get up. even when they probably should.
they’re gonna outlive you. they know it. they know you should be with someone else - someone you can grow old with. someone with the same time flow as you.
they knew it was. . .a promise of hurt, loving a mortal like this. loving someone with such short lifespans. loving someone whose life is only a second compared to theirs. they knew it better—
they feel you shuffle against their arms, nuzzling closer to the nape of their neck. their hand instinctively comes to cup your back.
. . .they knew better. and yet they still find themselves laying there with you, each night, being in each others embrace. being in your fleeting embrace.
. . .just a few more seconds. a few more seconds to savour you, before you are just a memory for them to hold onto.
harpies/ bird hybrids.
“hold still!”
you grab their shoulders, turning them slightly. a feather’s bent awkwardly near their wing. you smooth it back into place without thinking.
“there.”
the reaction is immediate. wings flaring, feathers puffing -
“you just preened me–!” they’re red-faced, brows furrowed, looking a mix between embarrassed and mad.
you preened them. fixed their look. touched their feathers. something mates do. are you insinuating something? no, you're a human, how could you know their courting. . .!
they shiver, remembering your gentle touch as you brushed out their back —
“. . .i fixed it?”
“t-that’s not. . .that’s not fixing, that’s intimate—!”
you blink. “. . .sorry?” you’re confused, but seeing how worked up they are - you feel bad at possibly offending them. you look down in guilt at the thought of making them uncomfortable.
they falter, seeing your expression.
then, much quieter -
“. . .don’t be.”
you look up. they huff, turning away. “j-just ask next time!”
selkies.
you find it by accident. hanging around with a friend at their cabin near the beach, you spot it.
soft. dark. tucked away on the floor - looking like it fell.
“oh, is this yours?” you call out, already picking it up. the reaction is immediate.
“don’t—!”
too late.
their hand catches your wrist. tight. sharp. almost angry. “give it back!” they snap, snatching the coat from your hands.
you flinch. “. . .i was just looking—”
their chest rises, falls. their grip trembles. “you shouldn’t touch things that aren’t yours.”
“. . .it’s just a coat.”
silence.
something flashes across their face. raw, deep, intense. “it’s not just anything,” they say, quieter now. strained.
you hesitate, then slowly take a step back. “. . .sorry.”
they look like they might break as they cradle the coat to their chest.
“. . .don’t do it again.”
they keep their distance after that. less laughter, less lingering.
you notice. of course you do. you were so close, for god’s sake!
you don’t understand.
but after a while, things went back to normal. kind of.
they start sitting closer again. their shoulder brushing yours. their voice softer when they say your name - like something’s pulling them back.
“you’re staring,” you mumble, a curious smile on your face, but you don’t look up.
they don’t deny it. no use anyway, you can feel their stare since minutes ago.
“. . .am i?”
“yeah.”
a pause. “. . .does it bother you?”
another pause. “. . .no.”
another, longer pause. “. . .good.”
you go back to what you were doing. they continue to stare.
they think about telling you.
they really do.
about what you touches. what it meant. what it did.
how the moment your hands made contact with their coat - they were no longer entirely their own.
they were angry.
at you.
at themselves.
at how careless it all was.
but, now. . .
you laugh at something small, nudging their shoulder.
they look at you. really look. “. . .you didn’t know,” they say quietly. suddenly. you look at them, “know what?”
god. they wish you did.
they shake their head. smile, strained. “. . .nothing.” their fingers brush yours, going to check what you were giggling about.
they don’t have the heart to say it. not yet.
not when the thought of you letting go, of you choosing to let go, feels worse than the sudden binding itself.
so instead they stay. keep quiet. keep close. and pretend it was never an accident. that you wanted to touch the coat. that you wanted them to be yours, and you, theirs.
‘. . .not yet.’
© jusfneo