Mo

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ Mo from Mia and me

Jason Lyle

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ checking up on you

Jason Lyle

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ Resting session

Yeonjun

｡ ⋆ enemy prince 🌹

Harry Potter

｡ ⋆Harry potter’s sister ｡ ⋆

Nanami Kento

｡ ⋆ A bath 🛁 ｡ ⋆

Bruce Wayne

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ Party 𝟺 u

Ron

꩜ ｡ ⋆ Caring boyfriend ｡ ⋆꩜

Fred jones

｡ ⋆looking for clues 🔎 ｡ ⋆

Alexei Vron

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ ge𝙽tle love

Ron Weasley

｡ ⋆innocent but not so innocent ｡ ⋆

Rafe Cameron

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ million dollar man - Lana del Rey

Ronald Weasley

｡ ⋆nice dress 🪩 ｡ ⋆

Grayson Hawthorne

The Hawthorne mansion had never felt so empty. Grayson, Nash, Jameson, and Xander moved through the echoing halls, their footsteps loud in the silence. They had come not for fortune—they already knew the letter would settle that—but because they needed Elisabeth. Months had passed since Elisabeth had left Hawthorne House at eighteen. Six months after stepping into the sprawling estate filled with riddles and fortune, she had boarded a plane to LA, following her father’s path (federal agent) —a man who had once raced in the streets with Dom Toretto, a bond that had made Elisabeth almost family to the legendary crew. She had gone undercover with Brian and Toretto, dismantling Braga’s operations, and then, like a shadow, she had moved to Brazil, joining Dom’s crew in the chaos of Reyes’ cartel. Each mission had honed her, each risk sharpened her instincts. Alissa handed them an envelope, her expression unreadable. Grayson broke the seal and read aloud: As the sole heir to the Hawthorne estate, I was entrusted with resources and responsibilities of considerable magnitude. After careful deliberation, I have chosen to implement a distribution that reflects both fairness and finality. Effective immediately, a transfer of twelve billion dollars has been made to Nash Hawthorne, Grayson Hawthorne, Jameson Hawthorne, and Xander Hawthorne, respectively. This amount constitutes an equal division of the inheritance originally designated to me. The decision has been executed in full and will not be revisited or revised. Cold. Final. Unapologetic. Grayson. He remembered her leaving, six months after moving into Hawthorne House, boarding a plane to Houston to follow in her father’s footsteps. That path had led her straight into Dom Toretto’s orbit, racing, planning, surviving—everything he hadn’t known she was capable of. They searched records, questioned staff, and pieced together the fragments of her trail. Every clue pointed toward the Canary Islands, where Dom’s crew had settled after Brazil: Brian, Mia, Elena, and even Toretto himself. She was there, somewhere, between the cliffs and winding roads, between sun and ocean. Grayson remembered the wine cellar, the stolen kiss before reality had torn them apart. That memory guided him, a tether he refused to let break. Hours later, winding along the cliffs, engines humming faintly in garages below, he saw her: black Ford mustang ‘21, hair whipping in the wind, eyes scanning the horizon with deadly precision. Elisabeth, every bit as commanding and untouchable as he remembered. He approached her. “It wasn’t hard to find you.”

Ron weasley

｡ ⋆ alcohol night 🥃 ｡ ⋆

GRAYSON HAWTHORNE

The penthouse was quiet in that particular way only evening could bring—city lights breathing softly through the windows, the hum of traffic far below like a distant ocean. Grayson stepped inside just past nine, loosening his coat as he did. Elisabeth was still awake.She stood by the kitchen table, boots on, dark blue mid-rise jeans hugging her hips, black long-sleeve top tucked in neatly as if she’d never left the house. A folder was clutched in her hand, its corners bent from use. She paced slowly, lips moving in a quiet, relentless rhythm. “…Basel III capital requirements—tier one ratios—systemic risk mitigation…” Grayson didn’t interrupt. He watched her for a moment, silver eyes softening. He saw the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened every time she lost her place. He saw the exhaustion she refused to acknowledge, the perfectionism that kept her upright long past when her body asked for rest. He closed the door quietly and hung his coat, movements unhurried, deliberate. Only when he was close enough for her to sense him did he speak. “Elisabeth.” She stopped mid-sentence, breath catching just slightly. “Hi,” she said, as if she hadn’t been spiraling seconds before. “I’m just—going over it one more time.” He nodded once. “Of course you are.” He reached for her gently, fingers brushing the folder first, lowering it from her grip with care, as though it were something fragile. Then his hands moved to her wrists—warm, grounding. “You’ve been doing that since this morning,” he said, not as an accusation. Just a fact, spoken kindly. She exhaled through her nose. “I know. I just—this morning I couldn’t remember anything. Not one thing. I studied all night and it was just… gone.” Her voice stayed steady, but he heard the echo of the tears she’d allowed him to see earlier. No one else. He lifted his hand to her cheek, thumb resting just beneath her eye. “And before you say anything,” she added softly, “I know what you told me this morning.” His gaze softened further. He stepped closer, both hands coming up now, cupping her face with deliberate tenderness, as if she were something precious that required care. “Let me remind you,” he murmured. He kissed her forehead first—slow, reverent—then the bridge of her nose. His lips brushed her cheek, then the other, lingering there as though grounding himself in her warmth. A kiss followed along her jaw, unhurried, gentle, his thumbs lightly stroking her skin. He kissed her eyelids—one, then the other—soft enough to barely be felt, before finally pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was tender, unrushed, nothing demanding in it—only reassurance, only presence. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in. “You’re safe,” he said quietly. “You’re doing more than enough.” She leaned into his touch despite herself. He kissed her forehead—slow, lingering—then rested his brow against hers for a moment, grounding them both. “And I told you then,” he murmured, “that your mind was exhausted, not empty.” She leaned into his touch despite herself. He kissed her forehead—slow, lingering—then rested his brow against hers for a moment, grounding them both. “And I told you then,” he murmured, “that your mind was exhausted, not empty.” She shook her head faintly. “I hate not being in control.” “I know,” he said. “And I still love you when you’re not.” That made her finally look at him. His expression was calm, serious in the way he always was—but threaded with unmistakable gentleness. Grayson Hawthorne never raised his voice. Never dismissed. Never withdrew warmth as punishment. His love was quiet, consistent, intentional. He bent slightly, unlacing her boots without asking. One foot, then the other. He set them aside neatly, then helped her slip out of her coat as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Come sit,” he said. She let him guide her to the couch. H

Lewis

｡ ⋆ Questions 🦑 ｡ ⋆

Drew starkey

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ Silent apologies

Art Donaldson

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ Taken care of

Eddie Brock

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ sucker for you

Rafe cameron

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ Run for the hills - Tate McRae

Clark Kent

The hallway light flickered as you stepped inside your apartment, the familiar creak of the old wood floor echoing behind the door. You tossed your keys into the dish by habit—but froze. Something felt…off. There was movement in the kitchen. Subtle, quiet. A clink of a pan. A soft sizzle. You hadn’t invited anyone over. Your fingers instinctively reached for the bat propped near the shoe rack, the one Clark teased you about but never actually told you not to keep. You crept forward slowly, heart thudding in your ears, the city noise from the window drowned out by your own nerves. Just as you rounded the corner, muscles tense and ready to swing, you paused— And exhaled hard through your nose. Clark. There he stood, sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened and slung around his neck like he’d just left the newsroom, hair tousled and those wide, innocent glasses sitting crooked on his nose. He was stirring something in a pan with that easy, focused look on his face—the same one he had when editing copy. When he heard your breath, he turned with a sheepish smile. “Hey,” he said, holding up the wooden spoon like it might defuse your alarm. “Happy anniversary.” You lowered the bat and leaned against the doorframe, laughing under your breath, hand over your heart. “Clark. You scared the hell out of me.” “I knocked,” he said, lips curving into a boyish grin. “But I figured 12 months in, I might have earned emergency spare key privileges.” You walked over, still in your work clothes, warmth blooming in your chest despite the surprise. “You might’ve earned a kiss, too. But only if that’s garlic bread I’m smelling.” He looked pleased. “It is. And pasta. And the wine’s breathing. I thought… maybe we’d keep the newsroom guessing for another month.” He stepped toward you, warm and steady, grabbing your waist and pulling you into a deep kiss as he lifted you to the counter. “It was so funny today” he kissed you, smiling. “It was hilarious, the little back and forth we had going?”another kiss, and he earned a low him from you.”jimmy was eating it up”he grumbled as he kissed your neck affectionately. “I wasn’t acting Clark,” “If you keep interviewing yourself, eventually people are going to figure it out” He shrugged “but the glasses.”

Ronald

｡ ⋆you’re amazing he said ｡ ⋆

Eddie Brock

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ too good for him ☕️

Drew starkey

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ I fall to pieces when I’m with you

Ronald Weasley

｡ ⋆lonely boy ｡ ⋆🎀

Jason Todd

𝜗𝜚ㅤೀ over𝙳ose