✦ AFTER THE BELL ✦
⁞ ‘✎ ❛ you could be, be my glass of wine.... ❜ [Worth it.] RAYE
୨⎯ singledad!ony x teacher!reader
lani speaks ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ good day to all the baddest bitches of the land… finally i bring you the second installation… enjoy at your leisure my loves ! xoxo ❞
content warnings ! ⇢ ˗ˏˋ black!reader, use of n-word, a lotta yearning, makeout in a public place, suggestive themes, intense love ࿐ྂ
you smooth your hands down the front of your blouse—satiny, cream-colored, tucked neatly into the high waist band of your olive pencil skirt, gold-heeled pumps clicking on the floor every so often. you made yourself late fussing over an outfit for tonights open house. you weren’t tryna do too much, but once you were walking out the door, you looked damn near runway-ready.
you sigh, shifting your weight in your increasingly uncomfortable heels, cussing under your breath— this was not the time to be breaking these things in. your classroom is clean, cozy, and borderline pinterest-worthy—handmade signs, colorful name tags, little string lights around the room, and other little decor for the special night. you had just spent the last hour frantically laying out snacks and printing welcome packets. now the air in the room is seeped in the aroma of cinnamon graham crackers and dry erase markers.
you’re not nervous, not really at least. this isn’t your first rodeo, and open house is always a breeze. but something about tonight got your stomach fluttering. maybe it’s the full moon outside. the chill in the classroom. the buzz before the school floods with excited kids and parents
or maybe it’s because you've spent the past week anticipating this.
anticipating him.
your first time seeing each other technically outside of "school hours". you don’t want to admit that your heart’s been counting down to the moment onyankopon walks through that door —but if you keep it all the way real?
you did your hair different tonight. you spritzed on the burberry "goddess" you know clings to your skin like a rich oil. you chose this damn skirt.
and your brain keeps saying: what if he don’t even show up? but your body knows better. that feeling in your gut when you think of him.
he always shows up.
the first few families trickle in. you smile, greet them happily, hand out folders. the usual. this is not the hard part, small talk with parents is the least of your worries.
amira’s best friend’s mom brings in cookies. a soft-spoken couple asks about the math curriculum. one of the dads makes an awkward joke about Common Core. you smile, nod, professional head tilt. you’re doing good. you always do good with this, your job is your strong suit.
and then—
the door creaks open again. you glance up, ready for another happy family, half-smile already forming.
and that’s when time basically stops. it comes to a screeching halt actually. every nerve you thought you had under control, flares up like a brush fire.
ony steps into the room, his massive frame taking up almost the entire doorway. his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette is backlit by the fluorescent hallway lights. your eyes trail over his body — clad in khaki slacks so snug they look like a second skin and a soft sage colored sweater that clings to his chest like it was tailored for temptation. his chain gleams at the base of his throat, resting against that smooth, deep brown skin. his beard is crisp, lineup immaculate, lookin like he was at the shop 20 minutes ago.
you watch his clean forces carry him across the floor. he scans the room—letting his eyes land on you.
and baby, the way his gaze drags down your body??
you feel it. like a full-body awareness. every fiber of your body wanting his closer. his tongue peeks out to wet his lips, slow, like he’s already imagining what you taste like. his eyes catch on the curve of your hips, the arch of your waist, that little sliver of chest you didn’t mean to leave exposed. it almost like he wants you to see exactly where he’s looking. he just gets you so hot — you don’t know whether you want him in your bed or 50 feet away at all times for your sanity.
he nods once.
like, yeah. that’s mine. even if it ain’t yet.
amira pauses her game of uno to say hi. running up to him and then promptly skipping back off to her friends, leaving her daddy in the dust with a kiss on the cheek.
you clear your throat. fix your face, hoping you dont have any malfunctions that he can see. you smile — sweet. no time to be stunned into silence, you have an open house to run.
“hey ony,” you say, voice calm. warm. professional. you’re not letting him rattle you tonight.
but inside? best believe you’re SCREAMING.
“amira’s just in the classroom with her table group. they’re showing the parents their projects.”
he nods again, deep voice smooth as molasses. “appreciate you, miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧.”
to your surprise, he doesn’t even flirt…
he just walks past—slow, confident, hands tucked in his pockets, slacks hugging him in the best way, cologne wrapping around you like a thick, heady spell—and heads toward the sign-in table like he has no clue he just rearranged your whole central nervous system.
held hostage in the entrance of your classroom, you’re answering some uptight dad's burning question about literacy benchmarks when you catch that shit out the corner of your eye.
he’s standing by amira’s project display. some PTA mom is damn near pressed against him, all up in his personal space, laughing all high pitched and loud. hand on his arm like its cute or something. cheap glossy lips parted like she just discovered black men exist.
you feel the slightest tinge of guilt about the dad you're only half listening to, but not too much — this is a daily occurrence at this point and it irks your last nerve. partly because its him, duh, and partly because of the very fact that you actually feel jealous! if you were your own homegirl, you'd be gritting out tighten the fuck up girl! right about now.
so thats why you keep it cute. every time. the dad conveniently finishes his ramble, and you politely excuse yourself to at least pretend you're not bothered over by your desk.
you keep it soooo professional. but she runs the hand up, and then back down his arm in a distasteful attempt at seduction. the nervous twitch in your eye gives you away immediately.
ony's laugh sends a soft rumble through the room—polite, charming—but he’s not paying her any real attention. nah, how could he? his eyes slide past her shoulder. like he finds them doing quite often these days.
they drift to you. he's locked in. smirking, even — like this is funny or something. he knows you don't think so, but he teases you anyway.
he looks at you like — you jealous, ma? and maybe you are. but would you admit that to his face? never. precisely why you try your very hardest not to let it bleed out through your pretty brown features.
you excuse yourself from the cluster of parents that have gathered near your desk, snatching your clipboard up and walking the long way around the room, giving yourself a moment to breathe. a much needed inhale. that woman's horrible flirting had stuffed up your classroom, you swear.
then—suddenly the low patter of adult conversation and the occasional squeals from a kid slide into the background. front and center is ony's deep and amused voice —
“you gon’ keep avoidin’ me all night, or you gon’ come say hi like you actually happy to see me?”
you jump. just a little. not enough to turn the heads in the room but you feel the jolt from your neck to your toes. you always do this — let him sneak up on you while you're daydreaming about him.
he’s right behind you now, tall and warm and way too close, his breath short and strained like he wanna pin you between him and the bulletin board.
“i said hi you when you walked in,” you say, steady. not tryna give him anything to hang on to. now is not the time.
“that was for everybody else. i want the one for me.”
you glance back at him, lips curling. he thinks he's slick. “oh? and there's a difference?” the quip comes out sassy. but you know there's a difference. of course there is. when you speak to him it comes out soft, comfy, unguarded like you've known him for years. and he speaks to you the same way, but with a slight tinge of hunger.
his eyes drop to your mouth, watching your lips purse as you wait for an answer. then down to your blouse, eyeing the sliver of lace bra thats exposed—again—unbeknownst to you. then back up with a stare that says one touch and im ripping that flimsy ass blouse off and sucking on them tittes. his voice drops an octave.
“one of em' come with that smile i like.”
you turn away, biting your lip. yeah, you know what he means. you can't help it. you feel like every time he's around you're trying not to fold.
he chuckles under his breath, you make him crazy with that professional shit. “mmhmm. that’s what i thought.”
you try to walk away, avoid the lump in your throat that forms whenever he presses you—clipboard tucked, feet swiftly carrying you toward the hallway like you actually got something to do. but you definitely don’t. most of the parents are gone except the two getting a tour of the classroom from their kids, and the rest of them are corralled in the auditorium.
you just need space. some air thats not clouded with his delectable cologne. distance from that man, and the way his words ooze out like he already undressed you in his head twice. maybe three times. okay, maybe every time he looks over at you. he cant stop — its actually a problem. he's run out of scandalous scenarios to imagine you in and he needs more material—real material.
you reach the doorway and step out, the classroom noise dulling behind you, replaced by the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the faint scent of lemon cleaner. you exhale out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and lean against the wall just outside your door like your body needs a rest.
your heart’s still racing, thanks to him and his fine ass. your stupid blouse that you've been tussling with all night, suddenly feels too hot. you adjust the neckline and press the cool metal of your pen to your lip, trying to ground yourself. what the hell are you gonna do about him.
before you can come up with a solution that doesn't include submitting completely and wetting up his sheets, the door opens behind you.
you already know.
you don’t even need to turn around to know its him. to feel him. that presence that invades your space like a secret love.
big and warm and rough as hell, ony steps into the hallway, the door swinging softly closed behind him. he doesn’t say anything at first. just lets the silence stretch, like he doesn't want to disturb your peace of mind.
until he starts to get restless just looking at you, watching the thoughts race around your head. the space in the hallway suddenly feels small, and his voice cuts through it easily, low and slightly unreadable.
“mm... why you always run when I get too close?”
you blink. not expecting him to go so deep so quick. “i'm not... running...” you are. you're just not sure you're ready to share why you run. afraid he'll misunderstand why you're always so hesitant. its not him, and frankly — the simple fact that its him makes it that much harder to resist.
he hums, closing the space until he’s right beside you, shoulders pressed against the wall, arms crossed as he leans back next to you like y’all got all the time in the world. and to him? you do. he'd stand here forever if it would help him understand what the hell is going through your head.
“coulda fooled me,” he huffs, voice teasing but edged with something heavier. something deeper, “you been dodging me all night...”
you get the urge to look over at him—really look—and regret it almost instantly.
because now you’re face-to-face with those soft brown eyes gazing straight at you like you're the most beautiful puzzle, those full lips begging you to kiss them over, and over, and over...
“i’m working,” you say, quieter now. a little ashamed that its all you can come up with. he really deserves better than that. “this is my job, ony. i’m supposed to be—”
“professional. yeah. i get it.” he sighs.
but the way he says it? no judgment. no teasing either. just… acceptance. understanding. a little disappointment. and it breaks your heart.
he glances down, kicks the heel of his sneaker against the wall lightly. like he doesn't know what to do with himself.
“i just…” he trails off, trying not to go on a tangent. then tries again. “i know this ain’t the place. or the time. but i meant what i said tonight. and every other day. every time i see you, i swear i gotta remind myself to act right...” and little do you know, thats the least of it.
you swallow, a kind of excited fear filling you. “why?”
his eyes slide back to you. slow. deliberate. he wants you to know he's actually thinking about this. its not just some little game to him. it never has been.
“‘cause every time i see you, i wanna love you, real bad. i wish it was sum' i could just shove down, but, its not. and you know that.”
that’s it. that’s your final warning. him laying his cards on the table full spread.
because now he’s shifting, body turning toward you, hand lifting just enough to brush low against your wrist—fingertips barely grazing skin. you freeze. breath caught somewhere in your chest, because, its sparks going off where your skin touches.
he steps closer. fully in front of you now. caging you in so you physically can't run. he won't let you get away this time — not if its up to him.
his other hand slides up to the wall beside your head. his body doesn’t touch yours, leaving just enough space for your head not to fog up—but you feel him. like a sweltering heat. almost too much but the burn is so good. like if you shifted half an inch, everything would go up in flames.
his voice is low. real low now.
“you be killin' me, y’know that?” he says it with a breathy chuckle, hanging his head like its funny.
you blink up at him, mouth parted, completely unable to pretend anymore. you never anticipated him opening up to you like this, especially here, tonight.
“you walk around with that pretty lil smile, that sweet lil voice, them tight-ass skirts…" he runs his free hand up the side of your thigh, and you feel the heat through it — skirt so tight it feels like skin to skin. his hand comes to a leisurely stop at the top of your thigh, fingertips grazing the bottom of your booty like its forbidden territory. "and i’m supposed to... be okay? nod and say ‘thank you, miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧’ like i don't wanna bend you over that desk?”
you let out a breath that you didn’t mean to. it escaped, quiet. shaky. while you were neck deep in those brown eyes—the ones feverishly flitting between your own eyes and your parted lips.
he leans in—closer this time, loosing willpower by the minute. forehead almost brushing yours. his breath warm against your cheek. you feel like letting go. like taking off the handcuffs you stupidly put on your heart and finally letting him in. it hurts too much tryna keep him out.
“i ain’t never been good at pretendin’, baby,” he murmurs. “and when i'm around you… i feel like i’m losin’ my damn mind. i can't keep goin' like this...”
you run a hand down his stubbled cheek, truly seeing him, wishing you'd made your mind up sooner damnit. you whisper against his lips like a prayer, “i... want you to stop pretending.”
his jaw tightens, like that wasn't the response he was expecting. he's been tryna get as you for so long, he didn't even think this attempt would change anything. his eyes flicker down to your mouth. his muscled arm flexes as it holds him up in front of you, thick fingers pressing where they rest under your butt. he wants you to make the first move, because you want to — but restraining himself from you has taken an overwhelming toll.
“you sure about that? you know i'm not lettin' you go once i got you.” he asks, like he’s giving you one more out. he wants you to be sure.
you nod. more than once. "yes, im more than sure ony—" you've neglected your feelings for this man for too long. you don't know how much longer he'll wait if you dont take the chance now.
he smirks and leans in like he’s gonna kiss you—
but doesn’t. ony knows this is big for you, after all it has been an excruciating back and forth for you both. but if you're as sure as you say you are... a little revenge won't kill you.
his nose brushes yours. he revels for a second, in how close you are. his breath fans across your lips. he can smell the sweetness radiating off your rich brown skin. he's been waiting for this for so long he can't help but stay pressed against you like he never wants to leave. your lips are so close you can practically taste the kiss in the air.
but all he does is whisper.
“after the last parent leaves… i'll still be here. so don’t go nowhere, bae.”
then he steps back with a lick of his lips, looking you up and down like the finest thing he's ever seen, all heat and promise and restraint, and leaves you in the hallway damn near trembling.
back in the classroom, you try your best to keep it together against all odds. the last twenty minutes of open house are a complete blur. you say the right things. smile the right way. parents love you, maybe even more than usual.
but your hands won’t stop shaking and your pulse won’t slow down.
you keep replaying the way his hand slid up your leg and lingered there, the heat pressing into you like a hot iron. how his lips ghosted over yours with a whisper of a promise, and then he was gone. that nigga dead wrong for making you wait.
every time you look up, ony’s watching you. eyes fixated like you're the only one in the room.
sitting calm, nodding at other parents, arms flexing as he folds them across his chest. but every time your eyes meet, he gives you the smallest smile. almost innocent and sweet, like his lips didn't just ghost a vow of carnal desire over your own.
the kind of excited, childlike smile that says:
i meant it. i want you. i’m not going anywhere.
the last parent leaves around 8:12 PM.
you exhale as you watch the classroom door close behind her, a soft click echoing like a starting gun instead of crossing the finish line. the air in the room feels… heavier now. quieter. like a stillness before the storm. like it knows something you don't.
you take a deep breath and turn back to your desk, pretending to reorganize folders, straighten name tags, wipe imaginary crumbs from the already-clean surface. waiting on him is eating at you more than his relentless teasing. where the hell is he...
your heart? still tryna leap out the front of your chest. shoulders tense from the anticipation.
you hear him before you see him—soft footsteps on that cheap linoleum floor, the rustle of fabric as ony moves through the now-empty classroom as smooth as ever. the rush you get whenever he walks into the room should be studied.
“you tryna stay busy or you just nervous?” he asks behind you, voice low and close. so close you can hear the smile in it.
you glance slightly over your shoulder, lips twitching upwards. oh, he got jokes? “i'm not tellin' you, nigga.”
he chuckles, warm and easy, and that sound alone calms you a little. just a bit though, he's still got every one of your nerves on edge. "hmm, where allat come from? huh?"
"oh, that's just a taste of after-hours miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧. youn' even know..." you turn around and lean against your desk, finally letting yourself look at him. the way the soft glow of the overhead string lights dances across his dark skin. the way his hands rest firmly in his pockets, like he’s tryna keep from reaching for you. and he is. he don't even know what he'd do if he really got his hands on you. and the way you lean your hips on the desk isn't helping. its like they're begging him to grab two handfuls. so, understandably, he gets even closer...
“you stayed,” you say, quieter now. the intensity of his eyes dissolving any feistiness you had bubbling to the surface before.
“told you I would. sent amira home with her mom mom.” he looks down at you like you're the most precious thing he's ever seen, so you know he means it.
you bite the inside of your cheek, a little nervous about how to go about this. you know you want to make this a thing, but the words to express that are escaping you left and right. “why?” thats all you can manage, so it'll have to do.
his eyebrows lift in the sexiest way you've ever seen. “why what, ma?”
“why are you doing this? all of this?” you ask, motioning around the room—this space that was meant for tiny desks and flashcards and progress reports, not tension thick enough to choke on. you can't help but wonder what his true intentions are.
his eyes don’t leave yours, unwavering completely. he honestly can't believe you still don't see it. how much he really likes you. he's not worried about hiding it whatsoever, actually going out of his way to show it. “you really don’t know?”
you shrug, voice soft and level. “could be a lot of reasons. maybe you’re bored. maybe it’s the thrill. forbidden thing. hot teacher fantasy.” you tilt your head playfully, knowing its none of those things, if you're honest with yourself. you're partly playing with him, call it a get-back for all the teasing and flirting he tortures you with. its taken you this long to wrap your head around the fact that what he's showing you is more than real, but you can't help but play coy.
“୨˚̣̣̣͙୧…” he says your name like a warning, chuckling under his breath. sometimes he wants to kiss you just to shut up that nonsense you be talking.
you snicker. “what? i ain't oblivious but... you know i can't read your mind, right?”
and that just solidifies how much he wants you to know how he feels, no chance he's letting you think he's anything but 100% serious. “i ain’t here for no fantasy,” he murmurs, fingers reaching to tangle with yours. “i’m here ‘cause when i look at you, i see the one thing i been wantin’ but never thought i deserved.”
your breath stutters. he really means that. you never imagined this love finding you. especially so early in life. it feels almost too good to be true.
he steps closer. its like an instinct. his body near yours. he craves you when he's lying alone in bed at night. it overwhelms him. but he also craves to understand the deepest parts of your mind, to peel back every layer until he knows you inside and out.
“you don’t just teach my kid,” he says, voice low and steady, eyes dancing like windows into his soul. “you look at her like she’s somebody. like she matters. you patient with her when she gets distracted and allat'. you celebrate her when she gets things right. you see her.”
he pauses, chest rising like the subject makes him emotional. fingers sneaking up your thighs because the contact eases his racing mind.
“and when i drop her off, or pick her up, or sit in them little conferences with you? i see the way you pour into her. the way you speak. the way you nurture her. and i started wonderin’ what it would feel like to be seen like that. i knew that's what was drawin' me to you. you feel like home. like peace of mind, ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧.”
you press your lips together, lump in your throat, tears straight from your thumping heart threatening to spill.
“you already are,” you whisper, slowly melting before him. “seen. i see you, ony. for real.” the way he's spilling out to you, it makes you breathless. you really do see him, the way he loves his daughter, the way he provides, he doesn't know you watch but you haven't stopped watching from the moment he walked in.
something shifts in his face. it eases into a softness. a quiet unraveling. like he can breathe a little better knowing you understand him.
you step toward him just to be closer. “i see the way you show up for her. how she talks about you like you’re a superhero. i see the way you make her laugh when she’s scared. the way you listen when she rambles about glitter and snacks and cartoons.” you look into his eyes like they baptize you, and he feels it.
you reach up—trembling just a little—and place it gently on his chest. his heartbeat thuds beneath your palm like a drum. if you didn't know better you'd think it was gon' pop right out.
“and i see the way you look at me like i’m more than a job title. more than miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧. i see it, trust me.”
he closes his eyes like that’s too much. like he wasn’t ready to hear it, even though he knew it. it feels like your hearts are both spilling out onto the floor. like a big beautiful mess. but he'd take this mess over a life without you anyday.
he scoops you against him with one arm and then his hand lifts—slow, deliberate—and rests over yours on his chest.
“i really don’t wanna play no games with you, y/n,” he murmurs. “not if this is real.” theres no walls up right now and he can see it in your face. a gentle radiance like a peaceful meadow. he feels you opening yourself up for him and its beautiful.
“it is real ony,” you say. no hesitation. almost too quick. no breath between words like you couldn't wait to get it out. its the easiest thing you've ever said to a man. and the way it felt when you said it — you're mad you didn't say it sooner.
the look in his eye shifts from admiration to complete and overwhelming desire. that was the green light he was looking for, the reassurance that he's not crazy. the feelings he's been trying to wrestle down like a bull are mutual. finally able to love you like he knows you deserve. finally able to taste those beautiful lips with a clear conscience.
time slows as he leans in—one slow, shattering inch at a time—and kisses you.
its soft, warm, and reverent. like he’s afraid you’ll disappear right out of his arms if he moves too fast. his lips part against yours, slow and searching, and your hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping the soft fabric of his sweater like you need something to grip for purchase.
the kiss deepens—gradually. its delicious, the way your tongues dance together, tangling between lips and moans. his hand grips your waist higher, fingers flexing against the fabric of your blouse, feeling you up. anchoring himself to you like your body ignites a fire inside him.
he breaks the kiss to pepper your lips in quick sickly sweet smooches, pulling back just enough to whisper, “lemme' know when you wanna' stop, baby.”
you shake your head frantically, still tryna kiss him, eyes half-lidded and dazed. “please don’t—”
so he goes back in before you even finish—hungrier this time. still gentle, still controlled, but with an urgency now. like he’s been starving without this. like you’re the only thing he wants, and your lips are his favorite desert. the way he eases your mouth open with his own, sucking your tongue so filthy as your lips press together. his hands wander to your booty, squeezing and groping like he's dreamt about since you first strolled past. "mm- been waitin' to get my hands on this thang.." he groans soft against your lips with the most obscene smirk.
he lifts you—effortlessly—settling you on the edge of your desk. your legs part without thinking, his body sliding between them like it was made to fit there. the fact that you're still in your classroom, likely with the door unlocked? completely irrelevant now, the way he he bites at your lips in between kisses starts to send you into a fog.
his hands find the bare skin he can get to at your waist, sliding under your blouse, big warm hands, slow and so so tempting. he grips you—squeezes because he literally can't get enough. no matter how close your body is it'll never be enough for him. he wants to be so close he feels your pleasure like its his own.
you moan into his mouth, giving in to him more and more by the minute. his arms are like thick, heavy chains locking you against him— and you are loving every minute of your confinement. your clit throbs under your panties each time he sucks your tongue, or bites your lip, or touches your bare skin pretty much anywhere. neither of you could give a shit about the janitor that was probably still mopping in the hallway.
“fuck—been wantin’ to touch you like this for so long,” he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, sucking wet hickeys onto your shoulder. “but i didn’t just wanna have you. i wanted to know you. build something with you...” he heaves like he can't choose between oxygen and exploring your body.
his tongue on your jugular makes you shiver beneath him. “then lets build it, ony. i’m not goin' nowhere i promise.” you slur out soft and breathy, high as a kite off of his worship on your body.
he exhales hard, like he’s been holding that breath in for weeks. his lips return to yours, slower now. so much more tender. so sickly sweet that you both furrow your brows in concentration, lips pressing languid like ya'll got all night. his hands roam— quite a lot, over you hips, booty, the swell of your breast under your blouse—but never rushing. no piece of clothing comes all the way off. not yet at least—he's got something else in mind for that.
but you feel absolutely everything. every sensation magnified like you've never experienced before. like every single movement and kiss and touch sends an electric thrum throughout your body.
the weight of his body between your thighs, hunched over you like a thirsty predator. the heat of his hands pressed against your back. the low groan he lets out when you roll your hips against his once. only once because—its almost too much. it send a jolt through your pussy that threatens a territory not suitable for a public place—after hours or not.
you gasp.
“careful, baby” he murmurs against your mouth. “i'll cross that line if you let me...”
you bite your lip. “don’t stop. just keep kissin' me a lil while longer, please.”
and he does so happily.
the wet, nasty kisses never stop. his hands never leave. but the pace? slow. steady. so, so intimate.
he kisses you like you’re home. like you’re already his completely. like he already decided—and he did. committed to learning you and your body like the back of his hand.
the way you move together is like a beautiful dance, pushing and pulling. he steals your breath and gives it right back. you tug his big frame farther over his body like you want him to devour you whole.
you pant around each others kisses, completely enthralled in your own world. and when he finally pulls back, resting his forehead against yours like the connection he feels is palpable, he whispers:
“imma' take you out for real. no distractions. just us. real grown folk time.”
your breath catches before you giggle like a school girl.
you nod while spreading kisses over his face. “i’d love that.”
his smile is lights up the room. its real and straight from his beaming soul.
and when he kisses you again—gentle and sure—it tastes like a promise.
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hope y'all liked this! comments, likes, reblogs and all the rest are much appreciated!!!
xoxo, lani 💋💋💋
