#also! there is more to this than just these three sets

[mingapace]

𝕺𝖓 𝖆 𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖍

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴘᴇᴛ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ x ꜰ!ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴅᴇꜱᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ-ᴘᴀᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ꜱᴜʙ/ꜱᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏᴘ ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ᴅᴏᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴇʀᴀ, ʜᴀɴᴅᴊᴏʙꜱ (ᴍ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ᴄᴜᴍ ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴘ ɪɴ ᴠ, ᴍᴏᴀɴɪɴɢ, ᴘᴇᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ, ᴡʜɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱɪɴɢ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅɪɴɢ, ᴅʀᴏᴏʟɪɴɢ, ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ ᴘᴏʀɴ, ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ꜱᴇx, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴇxᴄᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ. [Also, English is not my first language]

𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: 4K

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: @lunaleah

Things with Remmick kept changing. Slowly, of course—like frost retreating in spring, leaving patches of bare earth in the ice—but they were changing.

You no longer slept with a vial of holy water under your pillow, nor did you roam the house pointing a rifle at him whenever he suddenly appeared behind you.

The tension had softened, and the sex—well, that helped quite a bit.

Still, there was one barrier he hadn’t crossed yet: the bed.

He still slept at your feet, like a loyal animal that didn’t dare claim more than what he’d been given.

Technically, you hadn’t set that boundary yourself—but you’d realized it. He was waiting for permission.

And you… you hadn’t given it to him yet.

You found comfort in not yet sharing that level of closeness. For some strange reason, sleeping next to him felt deeply intimate. Yes, more intimate than the furious, casual sex you sometimes gave in to.

But your doubts—while under analysis—were the lesser evil.

There was a bigger problem in the house: your cat couldn’t stand Remmick. A creature used to ruling the house, now forced to share its territory with a larger predator. Literally. And of course, Remmick returned the sentiment with equal intensity.

They growled at each other, hissed, traded glares like in a Western film before throwing themselves at one another.

More than once, you had to separate them. You’d learned to read the moment just before it exploded—when your cat’s fur stood up like a lit fuse.

You often had to lock the two in separate rooms. Like quarreling children. And you feared, just as often, that Remmick might lose control.

His teeth were always there—barely hidden behind his lips, sharp as razors. Ready.

One evening, after yet another incident, after scolding them both, your cat curled up on your stomach before Remmick could, almost like a further act of defiance.

And you absentmindedly stroked it, turning your focus back to the movie.

Remmick, on the other side of the couch, sulked. He didn’t say anything. Not his usual annoying remarks during the most intense scenes.

That night, he didn’t even climb to the end of the bed.

He left into the night, and the next morning, you found him already at the stove, making the usual breakfast.

For three days, he was distant. Not cold or rude, but… hurt.

As if you’d made a choice. Declared a preference.

On the fourth day, however, you pushed the cat off the couch and offered Remmick its spot—on your lap.

“Don’t want it?” you asked, your eyes soft, knowing it would make his self-raised walls crumble.

Of course, he gave in almost instantly.

You stroked his hair, and he curled into it like a dog on his favorite blanket. You let him stay there even after turning off the TV, especially because he didn’t seem eager to move.

This day, you were sitting at the living room table, the blue light of the computer casting onto your face as you scanned the dozens of rows and columns on the screen.

You were doing inventory.

Or at least, trying to.

The task wasn’t new. You had a habit of logging the store’s stock every two weeks so you could restock early.

It was a routine that made you feel in control. It reminded you who you were: methodical, precise, present.

Yet… something felt off today.

You scanned the page again, as if looking for an inconsistency, but when you realized the problem wasn’t in the file—it was in your home—you frowned.

There was silence. Too much silence.

Remmick wasn’t talking, and that bothered you more than any provocation.

By now, the vampire would’ve found some way to distract you. His voice echoed through even your busiest days: a whisper, an out-of-place question. “What d'ya reckon happens if ya mix powdered milk and blood?” “D'ya think yer cat hates me more or less than it hates dogs?" “Why've ya got two citrus juicers when there’s never a fruit 'round here and you live off takeaway from next door?”

Annoying. But predictable. And, in a way, familiar.

But today… nothing.

Not even a footstep, not a held breath, not even the muffled sound of his clawed hands tapping the doorframe in that cute, pathetic way.

Only the steady hum of the fan and the dull thud of your own heartbeat.

You closed the laptop and stood up. Your legs creaked slightly under the sudden movement—too abrupt after sitting still so long.

“Remmick?” you called.

No answer.

You sighed as you entered the hallway, walking slowly past the kitchen. The fridge was closed, lights off. Everything in place.

Your cat appeared from around the corner and brushed past your legs, heading back into the living room.

In the bathroom, the toothbrush cup was untouched. The utility closet door was closed.

Maybe he’d gone out to the garden? But it was still early. The light streamed in bright and steady, and Remmick only went out at dusk—when the sky turned orange and the shadows stretched across the walls like fingers.

You rolled your neck with a soft exhale, then made your way toward your bedroom.

The door was ajar—and your breath caught in your throat when your eyes focused on the scene.

He was standing in front of the full-length mirror, backlit.

His figure—solid and well-proportioned—was still. His left arm raised and tense. He was shirtless. The pants—the ones he had you buy in three identical pairs—were unbuttoned, revealing the curve of his hip. The suspenders hung down, abandoned along his thighs. His dark hair was messy as usual, giving him that desperate look.

But that’s not what struck you. It was what he was holding.

Your dog’s old leather collar.

He had placed it around his neck. Not buckled yet, but resting on his skin.

The clasp nestled just below his throat, and with two fingers, he held the tag, watching its reflection in the mirror.

He stood completely still, his bearded face shadowed, eyes vacant.

The air hung, suspended.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

You stared at him.

As if the scene didn’t belong to you. As if you were looking through frosted glass at something forbidden.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the point where leather met his skin. Something, at that image, pulsed under your ribs. Not just by the strangeness of it—you were used to strange by now with him. It was the tenderness, the almost ceremonial care with which he held the tag.

A part of you—the part used to deflect things with sarcasm—took over, stifling the desire.

You parted your lips, half-smiling. Your voice came out softer than you’d meant.

“I think I already told you not to snoop through my underwear drawers, didn’t I?”

Remmick flinched slightly, as if he’d been too absorbed to hear you. All his supernatural predator senses drowned.

He dropped his gaze almost immediately with something like shame. Or arousal. Or both.

The hand holding the collar lowered slowly, almost reluctantly.

You saw the gold chain around his neck shimmer again in the LED light.

“I wasn’t… snooping. Was only having a look—” he stopped. Swallowed. “Spotted a wee box down at the bottom, closed up like. Got curious, so I thought it might be somethin' of yours.”

He said it like yours meant sacred.

You stepped away from the door and approached slowly. Held out a hand without speaking, and he, docile, handed you the collar.

His fingers brushed yours—and for a moment, that was all: skin against skin, brief and intense. Like everything between you.

Then you took it.

The collar weighed little, but the moment you held it, you felt the worn leather flex in your hand—as if it remembered.

You brought the tag closer, and the letters engraved in the metal etched into your heart.

Your dog’s name.

You closed your eyes. Something twisted in your stomach. A small, familiar ache. Sweet, like an old scar that flares up when the seasons change.

You saw yourself again, crouched in the driveway years ago, with that enthusiastic furball licking your face. You saw the runs in the park, his tail thumping against everything, his dusty paws on freshly cleaned floors.

A shaky breath filled your chest.

You felt Remmick’s eyes piercing your skull, like he was trying to follow your thoughts.

Trying to understand why you were aching so deeply.

You gently ran your thumb over the tag, then flipped it.

On the other side—the one Remmick had been reading in the mirror—it said:

Owner.

And below it, your name. Yours.

You smiled. A crooked little smirk. Unexpected, as a thought crossed your mind.

The memory dissolved, and you felt amused. And something more.

You turned toward Remmick. Found him exactly as bided—deep grey eyes locked on you. His bare shoulders tensed. His pale skin catching the faint light through the side window.

No more shame on his face. Just desire. Pure and simple. But not the lust that used to consume you. This was deeper. Barer. As if he needed something that once belonged to someone else.

The collar still sat between your fingers.

“Do you want one too?” you asked softly.

Your voice wasn’t teasing. It was real. Almost gentle.

Remmick opened his mouth. Then bit his lower lip. Held it. Swallowed. And said:

“Yeah… I want somethin' that says I’m yours. All of me.” His voice cracked on the last words.

It wasn’t dramatic. It was honest. It was pathetic.

Beautifully pathetic.

You stepped behind him. Slowly.

Watched him in the mirror as you lifted the collar and slid it around his neck—more resolute this time.

Remmick tilted his chin up, just slightly. Without being asked. Offered his throat like it was instinct.

He hardly breathed. Not that he needed to.

Your hand moved calmly. You brought one end of the collar around the back of his neck, following the curve of his throat. The leather slid over his smooth, taut skin like a promise spoken without words. The buckle was cold. The metal pricked your fingers. But you were careful. Precise. You slipped the other end through and began to tighten it.

Not too much—but not loose either.

You wanted him to feel it.

Remmick made a choked sound. His muscles tensed slightly again, his shoulders lowered, his throat fluttered with an almost imperceptible tremor.

In the mirror, you locked eyes with him—watching the red glow pulse in his irises.

His canines peeked past his slightly parted lips.

The buckle snapped into place with a click. Firm. Final.

The tag dangled. You heard it clink against the other chain he already wore.

You had turned it to show only your name and your ownership of him.

You paused.

Your hands still at his collar, like you were weighing the meaning of it. Your fingers brushed the skin stretched under the strap.

His scent reached you: something metallic, cold, laced with soap and your fabric softener.

He had become part of your home. Without you even noticing.

“Look at yourself,” you said.

Remmick raised his eyes.

In the reflection, your eyes meet.

Your hands glide down along his collarbone, then lower — slow — tracing the lines of his chest. You feel him stiff against you when your nail grazes a nipple. But you don’t stop. You keep descending, pressing your lips to the back of his shoulder while watching him in the mirror.

He’s cold, as always. But it doesn’t disturb you. On the contrary, it makes you want to set him on fire.

You reach the waistband of his pants, still loose, and slip your fingers underneath — unhurried. You’re not rushing. You want him to savor the torment, just like he often made you.

A thin string of drool slips from his parted lips, and you smile against his skin.

And when your hand closes around his erection, his body folds slightly forward, as if the gesture had split him in two. A moan tears from his chest — thin, hoarse, like an involuntary plea.

“Stand up straight for me, Remmick,” you whisper, gently pushing him back upright, your free hand pressing softly against his throat.

You hear him murmur your name as he tears his gaze away from the mirror, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“Y've no idea what y'do to me, darlin'…”

Your hand slides down his shaft. He throbs, alive, almost warm in contrast to the rest of him. Your fingers outline the veins in small strokes until they reach the tip, where you collect the first sign of his desire, spreading it all around.

“Ma’am…”

The word leaves him broken — desperate — as you begin moving your hand up and down. You feel the drool mess your ear where he breathes, ragged, and a shiver runs down your spine.

“I like how that sounds,” you grin. “Say it again.”

“Ma’am, I'm beggin' ya…please don't stop...” His breath catches when you squeeze just at the base of his cock, near his balls, and he throws his head back onto your shoulder.

The mirror reflects his pitiful, desperate state. His cheeks are flushed, fangs visibly longer, forcing his mouth to remain open. Saliva slides down his throat, seeping beneath the collar.

His eyes are half-lidded but still looking, just as you told him to.

“You’re such a mess. Drooling and leaking like a fucking dog,” you whisper, brushing your cheek against his temple. Your hand keeps its steady, slow rhythm — just enough to push him into despair — and you feel him push his hips forward, craving more.

“Oh, you like that.” His cock twists beneath your palm, soaking his underwear with precum, and it almost makes you drool too. “You like being my messy little mutt, don’t you?”

He chokes out a little whimper when you sink your teeth into his neck, bent perfectly for your mouth.

“Fuckin' hell… yes. Wouldn't want to be anythin' else for ya. Yer always so good to me, love. So kind.”

His eyes meet yours again — red, filled with barely restrained lust. But you feel it. His shoulders stiffen. His thighs press together.

He’s close.

And you’re always generous with him. You wouldn’t deny him this.

Your fingers wrap fully around him and your wrist picks up speed. His cock answers eagerly, growing harder, pulsing with need.

Remmick accidentally — or maybe not — scratches his lip, and a thick line of blood joins the drool staining his chin.

“Are you close, sweetheart?” you tease, fully satisfied when he nods, fast and wild. “You’ve been good. You can come.”

And he does. You feel him melt into your hand with a sob, head falling forward, body taut like a drawn bow. His hips lock as pleasure shoots through him like electricity.

“Thank you…” he whimpers, as his release soaks through his underwear. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

You smile gently and your hand pulls away. He lets out a quiet moan, like losing the last point of contact with the world. You start to turn away, ready to go clean yourself in the bathroom — but he grabs you, hard.

One arm wraps around your waist, the other seizes your wrist and raises it up.

His bare chest presses against your shirt-covered back, and you can hear the low, barely-there heartbeat that accelerates only for you.

You watch as he bends to your palm and licks — slowly — gathering his own release with his tongue. It runs between your fingers, over each joint, until you’re partially clean again.

You turn in his hold. The need to look into his eyes takes over.

Remmick returns your gaze. The red is gone, replaced with a human gray. Lust has vanished, but something deeper shines in its place.

It’s not hunger. It’s not craving.

It’s something that lives in the space between his mouth and yours — which he closes in an instant.

The kiss is different than usual. Slower.

There’s no urgency. No devouring need.

It’s a promise. A prayer.

He kisses you like he’s waited years for this.

Like there’s nothing in the world he’d rather devour than your lips.

He takes your face between his hands — carefully, without claws. His fingers tremble just slightly, but they’re firm the moment they touch your skin. He holds you like that as his mouth opens — just enough to welcome yours. Your tongues brush and curl into a rhythm of recognition.

You taste blood, his release, his desperation.

When he pulls back, his eyes remain locked on you.

“I reckon the reason I didn’t die when I should've… is 'cause the world was waitin' on me to find you.”

His hands explore you with a slowness that surprises you — even now. Not like someone seeking a body, but someone seeking a home. He brushes along your arms, your ribs, the soft curve of your waist. His fingertips slip beneath layers of fabric, touch your bare stomach as though he’s tracing a secret poem along your skin.

You shiver beneath the attention, but don’t pull away. You don’t think you could even if you tried.

He takes your hand in his, silent, and guides you back to the bed. He doesn’t undress you immediately. He lays you down on the sheets as if placing you on an altar.

In the meantime, he must have kicked away his boxers and pants — because when he settles between your thighs, he’s bare. Completely. All that remains is the collar, snug around his throat.

His cock presses against your stomach, hard again, demanding more. You silently thank whatever vampire magic grants him such rapid recovery. The hem of your shirt has risen just enough to let in the cold air of the room.

He stretches out on top of you — not to pin you down, but to cover you. Protect you. Envelope you.

Remmick kisses you again, deeper now, like his heart had climbed into his throat and wants to be devoured whole. His palms splay across your bare hips, rising higher, dragging the fabric up with them.

You realize he has no intention of unbuttoning your shirt — so you lift your arms, letting him peel it off over your head. When he pulls back to do it, he kisses every new inch of exposed skin as if he’s seeing you naked for the first time.

And maybe he is.

And maybe, that’s exactly how you want to be seen. Every day. Forever.

When he gets to your underwear, he drags them slowly down your legs, and you’re sure he’s about to bury himself between your thighs again — his favorite place — but you stop him. Slide two fingers under the collar at his throat and pull upward, hard.

He gasps, a little guttural sound that’s half protest, half delight. But when your thighs close tightly around his hips, his smile returns — crooked and satisfied.

Your fingers comb through his dark hair, playing with the small knots you find along the way, and it makes him hum — like a purring cat — the sound pulling your own smile out of hiding.

You’d had sex before. Many times.

Remmick had always been hungry. Always physical. Always attentive. He’d learned your rhythms, your sounds, even your silences.

He’d always asked. Never taken. He’d touched you with worship, eaten you like a rite, taken you like a gift.

But this… this had never happened.

Not like this.

Not this slow. Not this full. Not this… domestic.

He pushes inside you while your mind is still floating. There’s no warning, no fingers — but you don’t need it. You’re so wet and open, he slides in easily. That damp pressure between your thighs could only be your own arousal.

“Rem…” you sigh, your arms instinctively circling around his neck, pulling him close. You feel the cold of the medallion brushing your clavicles as he rolls his hips forward, mouth descending toward your neck, and thrusts into you again — deep, firm, sure.

“Fuck, darlin'… I could live inside ya like this forever,” he stammers against your skin, his hands lifting your hips slightly to find that perfect spot you crave — and as always, he finds it.

Your eyes roll back as he hits it again. And again.

“Ya feel unreal...so fuckin' good,” he groans, his pace faltering, the rhythm of his thrusts slipping into a stutter. You hear the tiny, familiar whimpers escape him — the ones you’ve learned mean he’s close. “I can’t even fucking think straight— love—”

He rotates his hips in a way that makes you see stars, your spine arching beneath him, your nails digging into his back like claws anchoring you to this world.

You feel the climax boiling in your stomach, rising fast, your legs trembling as you try to keep up — but he holds you. One hand supporting your lower back, the other gripping the underside of your thigh, keeping you spread wide around him.

“Remmick—” you gasp, gripping the collar again, yanking it. “I’m gonna come—”

“Look at me,” he pleads, lifting his face from your neck, locking eyes with you. “I want to see ya. I want ya to look too. Look at what you're doin' to me...Come with me. Please—”

It’s hard to keep your eyes open when the knot inside you snaps. Your cunt clenches around him, pulling him deeper as you come, and he falls with you, the moment he feels it. He keeps moving, slower now, hips rocking through it, pumping the last of his cum deep into you, like he’s trying to mark your inside forever.

The blankets are tangled. Your skin is wet with sweat. Your back aches from the angle, but you feel full. Complete.

Remmick collapses on your chest, lips barely brushing your skin, still trembling through the aftershocks. Eyes closed — but you can feel it: he’s not asleep.

And then… he moves.

Carefully. Like someone who isn’t used to staying.

He lifts himself slightly, eyes scanning for his pants on the floor. Reaching for them, as if to dress. To withdraw. To return to his place.

At your feet.

Far away.

As always.

But you don’t want as always anymore. Not after this.

You reach out without lifting your head, and pull him back down by the collar, slow and firm. He drops back into the bed with a stunned look, and you roll onto your side, silent, guiding his arm around you until he holds you.

Not permitted.

Required.

Remmick stiffens at first.

Then something breaks.

A long breath. A quiet surrender. A deep, honest relief.

His body softens against yours, curling into you.

“…Can I stay, yeah?” he whispers, instantly regretful for asking aloud.

“I thought that was obvious,” you murmur, eyes closed.

Remmick smiles against your nape.

He kisses your shoulder. Once. Twice. A third time — soft and grateful.

His fingers caress your stomach, then your waist, then your hip, as though redrawing the boundaries of what he’s allowed to touch.

He pulls you closer. Nose buried in your hair.

Something moves outside the room, catching his attention.

A shadow glides past the half-open door. Light paws. A high tail. Indifferent.

Your cat.

Remmick opens one eye.

Sees him pass. The little animal doesn’t stop — just a lazy glance. The usual feline disdain.

But the vampire…smiles.

He throws the cat a look of triumph — not smug, just assured. “This time, I’m the one in bed. Next to her.”

The cat pauses. As if understanding. Then, with solemn dignity, walks away.

And with that, Remmick curls back around you and finally, peacefully — sleeps.

[cameronsbabydoll]

how does rafe handle puppy readers periods? why do i feel like he has a tracker app in his phone and he’s always the one having to track them bc she does not gaf and i imagine a few days before he starts carrying around a pad or tampon with him with and he keeps reminding her all the time to be careful 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ or does he give her some type of birth control that makes her not get her periods bc he just doesn’t think she can handle them?

how does rafe deal with puppy!reader’s period!? ⋆.𐙚 ̊

rafe absolutely has a period tracker app on his phone, set to silent notifications. not because he’s soft — no, he’ll roll his eyes if anyone catches him looking at it — but because you are helpless.

you don’t even notice the signs. you’ll get all teary watching a commercial about laundry soap and rafe will just sigh like,

“great. three days early.”

he notices when you get whiny or when you start to clinging more. when your appetite flips — suddenly it’s chocolate milk and hot fries and your chewing the sleeves of his hoodie.

he starts preparing days before — always has a pad or tampon in his glove box, in his coat pocket, in your little hello kitty bag. he’ll casually slip one into your hand in the middle of target like

“you’re not bleeding yet but you’re close. keep it in your pocket.”

you just blink up at him like he’s your period fairy godmother.

he 100% carries wipes and panties for upi too. probably has a little emergency ziplock in his car just for yourselves emergencies: fruit snacks, extra hair tie, the good lip balm, underwear, and midol.

when it actually starts, your always confused?? like “my tummy hurts 🥺” and “why is there red??” and rafe is just sitting there like

“because your uterus is doing what it’s supposed to. jesus, pup. we’ve been over this.”

birth control thoughts?

yes. rafe has definitely considered putting you on the shot or implant or something low-effort because your so bad at remembering pills. and half the time when you do take one your like

“this is the pink candy, right?”

but ultimately he decides he’d rather track it himself than trust you with it. like he doesn’t even tell you anymore — he just texts you a 🩸 emoji and packs your overnight bag.

you’ll be in the backseat kicking your legs like

“where are we going???”

and he’s like

“you’re bleeding and annoying and you cried in a dunkin’ drive-thru so we’re going to my place until it’s over.”

also... he totally coos at you when your crampy even when he’s being mean.

“ohh, baby, your tummy hurts? maybe you shouldn’t’ve eaten three hot pickles and jumped in the pool. get in bed.”

and your all pouty but you curl up anyway, letting him tuck a heating pad under your belly and spoon-feed you bites of chocolate.

[writeonwhiskey]

act like you love me: ch 7 (18+) MDNI

a/n: this is coming out at this random hour because i forgot to send out the snippet on the mailing list again and i feel bad 😔 enjoy! word count: 4,780 tracklist: love untold, railway (i've once again placed in the chapter where these songs were most impactful while writing if you wanna feel that vibe out) [ fic master list ]

7 - The Scene After the Scene

WEEK 6 (continued)

Getting through that rehearsal took all the thoughts and prayers. It was a constant barrage of physical contact with Hyunjin after three days of being apart. Granted, that’s not a lot of time, when you think about it, but you haven’t gone more than a day without seeing him since you started filming.

You didn’t expect to miss him. You didn’t expect to leave set wanting more.

But you did. And you still do.

A few weeks ago, you couldn’t have fathomed feeling remotely fond about that man, let alone yearning to be near him. But in the time that has passed, you’ve seen and learned so much that opposes your initial assumptions of him. His gentle, compassionate side has been on display more frequently and that, combined with all that continues to shift between you—since dinner, since the club, since the camping trip—is threatening to undo your professionalism.

It’s a continuously growing revelation.

The biggest takeaway from today, though, is that Chan approved of the choreographed scene. He sat and listened to the suggestions you and Hyunjin had come up with for the filming style, too. You’re beyond thankful to Chan for being willing to work with you, and to Hyunjin for helping you voice your concerns, addressing them, and eagerly working to make it something you’re comfortable with having on screen.

After you wrapped for the day, you were tempted to hang around in your trailer until Hyunjin finished but figured it would be best not to.

However, since coming back to your hotel room, all you’ve thought about is the potential repercussions of pursuing something physical with Hyunjin. But with the way that rehearsal went down, you also considered how good it might feel when the layers of clothing are finally removed.

You close your eyes, sinking into the couch as you imagine the feeling of his hands touching every part of your body, his lips trailing kisses down your stomach and your pussy quivers at the thought. You bite your bottom lip, hand creeping toward the waistband of your pajama bottoms.

You have to be professional at work. But when you’re home alone…

Your phone suddenly buzzes next to you, and you startle, heart pounding as if you’ve been caught. Your eyes widen, reading the name on the screen: Persistent Prince 👑.

Why right now?

Is this a sign?

Or maybe an omen?

You contemplate letting it go to voicemail, but you’re too curious and too hopeful right now. You clear your throat, press the answer button and put the phone to your ear.

“Do you bother all your co-workers this much?” you ask dryly, as if you weren’t just about to diddle your fucking bean to thoughts of him.

“No. Just you.” He replies and your heart smiles. “So, you’re up?”

“Clearly.”

“You busy?” he asks, ignoring your sarcasm.

Although you’ve always spoken to each other this way, it doesn’t have the same weight of pettiness and bickering as it once did.

You quirk a brow. “Why?”

“Meet me in the lobby in thirty minutes.”

“What if I’m busy?”

“If you were you wouldn’t have answered. Unless…” he trails off.

“Unless…?”

“You’ve been waiting for my call.” You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “See you in thirty.”

He hangs up, giving you no time to accept or decline.

You could disregard the invite and stay cooped up in your room for the night. In fact, that’s probably the best choice.

But you’re already standing from the couch, forsaking that logical little voice in the back of your mind. You head straight to the bedroom, puzzled about what to wear. He didn’t mention a dress code. Jeans and a t-shirt? Or something sexier? He did seem to like your outfit at the club a lot.

No. The least you can do is not tip this in that direction by wearing anything too thought-provoking. You’re just going to hangout. That’s it. Jeans and a t-shirt it is.

Thirty minutes later you’re standing in the lobby of the hotel, looking around nervously for fear that Minho or Han might see you. But you remind yourself that you hang out with them all the time.

This wouldn’t seem any different...

Hyunjin emerges from the other elevator moments after you. He’s clad in dark clothing, a hat pulled low and covering far too much of his features. He gestures towards the exit, and you walk out together.

“Where are we going?” you ask as Changbin takes off.

“You’ll see when we get there,” he replies.

You hide your smile. A surprise?

“What made you call out of the blue?” you ask.

“We didn’t have a lot of time together on set today.”

You can’t be sure, but it feels like an ‘I missed you’ is hidden in there somewhere.

You missed him, too.

When you arrive to the destination, Hyunjin gets out first and holds the door open.

“Thank you, Changbin,” you say on the way out.

“I’ll text you when we’re done.” Hyunjin says, leaning in the car to speak to Changbin.

“I’m going to bed. It’s a thirty-minute walk back. You’ll be fine.” Changbin replies.

Hyunjin huffs, shaking his head as he closes the door. “It’s hard to find good help these days.”

You nudge him playfully with your shoulder.

“An illusion museum?” you ask, reading the sign above the entrance.

Hyunjin grins. “Thought we could use a night of fun.”

[song: love untold]

Inside, the place is quiet—almost closing time—which means you have most of it to yourselves. The first room is a giant mirrored maze, and you’re both immediately separated, laughter echoing off the glass as you keep running into your own reflections.

“You good?” Hyunjin calls.

“No,” you say between laughs. “I’m fucking nauseous—there’s too many of us.”

Eventually, you find him again—his face breaking into a relieved smile. And for a second you just stand there, facing each other. Reflections of the two of you ripple across every surface, warped and multiplied. It’s a perfect representation for the situation you’re in—endless possibilities and outcomes.

He reaches out and your hands meet against the mirror first, to which you both chuckle. Then he finds the real you and laces his fingers through yours to pull you close.

“There you are.” He places a quick peck to your lips.

You bite your bottom lip to keep from smiling too widely.

“Next room,” you suggest, pulling away.

In the upside-down kitchen, Hyunjin jumps into character, pretending to stir invisible soup from the ceiling, and insists on snapping photos with the worst angles imaginable.

“You’re going to regret these,” you warn. But as you scroll back through them, he’s perfectly photogenic in every single one, regardless of the angle. “Your face is so unfair.”

“You can thank my mother.”

“Not your dad?”

“Maybe for my humor,” he shrugs.

At the forced perspective wall, you pretend to be a towering giant while he crouches small in the corner. “This is kinda how you make me feel on set,” he teases. “Tiny.”

You continue throughout the other rooms, your bodies like magnets. You drift apart for a while when exploring and taking pictures but come back to each other’s side right after. He holds your hand a few more times, steals a few more kisses. And after a while you stop acting like it annoys you.

When you’ve gone through all the exhibits, he thanks the employee for letting you stick around after closing and you exit.

“Convenience store run?” he suggests when you’re outside.

You hesitate. This would be a good time to call it a night. That would be the wise and responsible choice. But you did just have fun with him, doing something completely normal and nothing like the NC-17, perhaps XXX, content that’s been plaguing your mind.

And yet, you don’t feel like you’ve had enough time with him.

You still want more.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling.

You walk in the direction of the hotel and stop at the first convenience store. The inside is fluorescent and freezing. You each grab a green basket at the entrance and start down the aisles like it’s a timed competition. Hyunjin tosses in triangle kimbaps, banana milks, and a pack of shrimp chips without hesitation. You, more thoughtfully, grab ramyeon, a bar of dark chocolate, and two bottles of water.

You both come to a stop at the wall filled with a wide array of gummy snacks.

“You’re going for sweet and spicy,” he observes, peeking into your basket. “Classic.”

“You’re going for chaos,” you reply, eyeing the random snack combo he’s put together. “Is this your usual dinner?”

He shrugs. “Tonight’s my last cheat night. I’ll be hitting the gym every day now until the shirtless scene.”

You gulp.

Hyunjin shirtless is the last thing you should be picturing about right now.

Your eyes travel to his chest of their own accord, but you quickly avert your attention to the gummies on the shelf and grab a peach pack.

You don’t even like that flavor.

“Do you want to make the ramyeon here and eat outside?” you ask.

“Is there another option?”

“We could go back to the hotel…” you trail off, letting the offer linger in the air.

“To our separate rooms?” he tilts his head to the side.

“Depends if you know how to cook without burning down the place,” you tease. “…but we could go to my room.”

“You okay with that?”

You shrug. You’ve done well keeping yourself in check so far. You can handle this.

Maybe.

He pays for your haul and you resume the twenty-minute walk back to the hotel. It’s mostly a silent trek, and you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. He knows this is a bad idea too, doesn’t he?

On the elevator ride up, you’re racking your brain for the state you left it in. You’ve made a conscious effort to keep it relatively clean and if anything is out of place, he doesn’t comment on it when you enter.

You advise him to sit at the table while you take the bags into the kitchen, but he doesn’t listen. He’s at your side, opening cabinets and drawers, taking out cooking utensils and seasonings.

“Please, you’re a guest.”

“Fine.” He says, after taking out a pair of bowls and setting them next to the stove.

“Get comfortable—you can take off your disguise,” you tell him.

He pushes off his hood and removes his hat before sitting on one of the barstools across from where you’re prepping.

Your hotel smells like garlic within minutes. You’re stirring a pot of noodles, vaguely aware of Hyunjin looking more at you than the food.

“You actually know what you’re doing,” he says.

“Shocking, I know.” You toss him a playful look over your shoulder. “I feed myself like a grown-up.”

“You’re ruining my image of you.”

“And what was that?”

He grins. “Someone who survives entirely off iced americanos and anxiety.”

You snort, putting the noodles into the bowls and sliding one in front of him. “You’ve got me mixed up with Han.

“That’s actually pretty accurate,” he laughs, picking up his chopsticks to take a bite. He blows on the noodles before slurping them up. The look on his face giving away just how hot they are. “This is really good,” he manages to get out.

“You sound surprised…again.”

“I am surprised. You’re hiding all these domestic skills.”

“Guess we’re both full of secrets.”

The clink of chopsticks against ceramic takes over for a moment as you both eat.

“I like this,” he says eventually.

“What?”

“Hanging out with you.”

There’s that openness again—the thing that sneaks up on you when he stops trying to be amusing, or charming, or anything else.

You opt not to respond verbally, nodding your head instead.

He offers you the last bite of his triangle kimbap, and you shake your head, but he leans forward anyway, holding it out.

You sigh at the weight of this gesture. You can deny your feelings all you want, but he doesn’t seem to have any intention of doing the same. You take the offered bite from his hand.

When you’ve both finished eating, Hyunjin insists on washing the dishes, not accepting your rebuttal that he’s a guest. So, you sit sideways on the couch and watch him work, making small talk. He tells you he has a few more projects coming up after this to finish out the rest of the year and won’t have a real break until December. You finally tell him about your conversation with Chan.

“KBS?” he repeats. “No shit?”

You nod.

“Are you going to do it?”

“My agent thinks I should. But I don’t know if it’s the right career move…”

He’s silent for a moment as he continues scrubbing at the dishes.

“Do you want my input?”

You don’t know when it was that you came to rely on his guidance, but you’ve stopped questioning what he tells you career-wise as anything other than helpful. He always seems to put you first, more so even than your agency.

“Please.”

“I think you should take it. Chan’s right about that—it’s a great opportunity. It will be good publicity for our show, but it also gives the general public a chance to fall in love with you,” he says, and your brain gets stuck on how those last four words sound falling from his lips. “All it takes is one high ranking exec’s teenage kid to start blabbering about how great you are, and they’ll be calling you up with more work.”

He dries his hands and comes to sit on the couch, his right thigh just near your feet.

“You think so?”

“I know so. I understand what you’re up against, but you’re really kind of amazing and I don’t think you see that the way everyone else does.”

“Situations like that interview tend have a longer lasting impression than anything positive,” you say.

“Fuck that guy.” He repeats his sentiments from a few days ago. “It’s easy to let the negativity cling to you in this industry. You can’t let it.”

You nod.

He glances around the room before turning to you with a smirk. “Alright, you’ve seen my art, my hidden passion. Where’s yours?”

“I don’t have a penthouse suite, so I packed light,” you tell him.

“Pity,” he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

You smack him on the arm.

“There’s gotta be something you come home to unwind to.”

“I really didn’t bring anything,” you shrug. “I do have a Lego collection of landmarks from around the world at home. My dad is in the army, and he’d get me one of every place he was stationed, and I’ve just kept up with it on my own.”

“That’s nerdy. But cute.”

“Don’t make me hurt you, Hyunjin.”

He smirks. “I could be into that.”

You offer a small chuckle to brush it off.

He lifts your legs from beside him and drapes them across his lap, his hands resting on top. He doesn’t touch you beyond that, doesn’t bring you closer. He just looks—at your face, your mouth, your eyes—and suddenly, it’s quieter than it should be.

You speak first, wanting to lighten the air. “Do you always stare at people like this?”

“Only when I’m trying not to do something stupid,” he murmurs.

You swallow, looking down at his hands, unsure whether you should pull your legs away, or move yourself closer.

“Tell me not to,” he says. “And I won’t.”

You must stay silent for too long. Because without warning, his hands grab your hips, sliding you toward him until the back of your thighs are pressed against him. Your pulse quickens at the sudden movement—the closeness.

You look up, meeting his gaze. “We shouldn’t.”

His eyes drop to your mouth again, lingering there for a moment.

“Is that a no?”

You know you shouldn’t. He knows you shouldn’t. And yet, you shake your head anyways, and he leans in slowly, giving you time to move or change your mind.

But you don’t.

When his lips meet yours, it’s gentle at first. His body is tense, like he’s still holding back. But when you wrap your arms around his neck, hands caressing his head, you feel the change in him. He really kisses you then. No hesitation. His mouth claims yours, tongue slipping between your lips like he owns you already.

You’re both aching with everything unspoken—the stolen glances, the unfinished thoughts, the pent-up energy and tension from filming and rehearsing. But you can’t shake how good it feels to be connected to him like this. And you still want more.

You break the kiss, resting your forehead against his as you both catch your breath. You pull away, leaning back until you’re lying flat on the couch. You keep your eyes on him, grabbing his shirt to pull him closer. He readjusts you, then himself before settling on top of you, fitting between your legs as if he belongs there.

He kisses you again and when you arch your back, pressing your chest into him, his hands snap to your sides like he needs to hold you still or he’ll lose control.

“Take it easy,” he warns against your lips.

Was he intending only to kiss? Perhaps that would be okay…

But the heat between your thighs says that it’s not.

So, you nip at his bottom lip and rock your hips up, slow and purposeful. He groans as a small gasp escapes you, feeling the pressure of his cock through his jeans, right where you need it.

He drags his mouth down to your jaw, then lower. His teeth graze your skin, and you tilt your head to give him more access. You slip your fingers beneath his shirt, nails lightly gliding across bare skin. He shivers.

He leans back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed.

“What about thinking? And not letting the moment get the best of you?”

You never thought you’d curse a man for actually remembering the things you say.

[song: railway]

“This doesn’t feel like just a moment,” you softly admit. “And…I want to.”

You roll your hips again. This time he grabs them tight, grinding down into you with a low groan.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Maybe just this once?” you try to roll your hips again but his grip on you is too tight.

“To get it out of our system?”

“And then back to professional?”

Neither of you answer a single question asked.

Then, his hands leave your hips and in seconds, his shirt is gone.

You stare. His torso is lean and defined—not gym obsessed perfection, but real. Beautiful. His eyes scan your face as he reaches for your shirt. You sit up a little and raise your arms.

Your bra comes off next. You unhook it yourself, letting the straps fall, feeling shy as his gaze roves over you like he’s never seen tits before. He covers you, bodies flush now, every inch of you ignited. His mouth crashes against yours, hungrier, rougher.

Your heart is fluttering and racing all at once. It’s overwhelming, how much you want him—how long you’ve been trying not to. And he’s kissing you like he needs this just as badly as you do.

You’re both too far gone now.

He groans when your hand slips beneath the waistband of his jeans. You cup his cock over his briefs and squeeze gently.

“Take your pants off,” you whisper.

He lets out a sharp breath and sits up, shoving his jeans down, boxers still on but strained against his cock. You push your jeans down, too, kicking them out of the way.

He stays upright on the couch, pulling you into his lap this time, your thighs straddling his. His fingers skim your waist, dragging fire along your skin. His gaze drops between your legs.

“Red tonight, huh?” he comments, to which you chuckle.

He kisses your breasts, alternating between taking one in his mouth and circling his thumb around the other, gentle at first, then firmer when your hips grind against him. The little fabric still separating you is such a fucking tease, but the added friction feels good.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans.

You grind your hips again.

“It shouldn’t feel this good, right?”

“It really fucking shouldn’t.” He agrees, leaning back on the couch to just watch you please yourself.

All you can focus on is the way rubbing your pussy on his cock feels and the way he’s looking at you like you’re something sacred and sinful all at once.

He reaches down, his finger slipping between the thin material of your underwear to pull them to the side, leaving nothing between your clit and his boxers.

“Look how fucking wet you are already,” he says, as you start moaning.

But you don’t need to look. You can feel it. You can hear it.

And you want his boxers out of the way too, now. You still need more. You grind harder, locking your fingers behind his neck.

He pulls you to him, kissing a path up your chest, then your throat, nipping lightly beneath your jaw.

“Hold on to me.”

He grabs your hips suddenly and lifts you. You lock your legs around his waist, lacing his neck and shoulders with kisses as he walks down the hall to the bedroom.

This. This is what you envisioned when rehearsing.

It felt wrong to imagine it then.

But it doesn’t feel wrong right now.

The only light entering the bedroom is what drifts in from the window.

He lightly tosses you onto the bed and you move back to make room for him. You expect him to lie on top of you again, but he has other plans. He lays down flat on the bed, one hand slips up and over your thigh to grip it. With the other, he strokes a finger up and down your pussy, over your underwear, teasing you.

“Hyunjin—just take them off.”

“You want to feel my fingers on your pussy, jagiya?”

Fuck. Double fuck. Those words.

You nod, your hips circling against his finger. Your clit is pounding—begging for more.

“So fucking wet,” he murmurs.

“Hyunjin,” you plead. “Please.”

He smirks up at you before pulling your underwear to the side, planting his mouth right where you want it.

You moan, your head falls to the side, eyes shut. You were half-expecting delicate, teasing licks but his tongue is relentless, sliding up and down, lapping you up. He draws out every sound, every buck of your hips.

When the pleasure threatens to unravel you, your fingers clutch at his shoulders, desperate to bring him back to you. He finally relents, rising to his knees with a heated look in his eyes. With one hand, he slides your underwear down your legs, tossing them aside, then pushes his boxers down to free his cock.

You let out a low exhale, licking your lips at the sight. He’s thicker than you imagined—not too girthy—and already glistening at the tip, making your thighs instinctively part wider.

He shifts closer, settling between your thighs, his cock hovering just above your dripping pussy. His fingers wrap around the base, and he drags the tip slowly up and down your slit, teasing you again with every pass until he pauses at your entrance, his gaze flicking up to meet yours—like he’s asking one last time if you’re sure.

You give a subtle nod. “Come here,” you whisper, hands reaching for him.

But he just smirks, shaking his head. “I have to see your face.”

You’re spread open beneath him, vulnerable and aching.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, and you feel the shift as his hips begin to slowly press forward.

He sinks deeper, inch by inch, and your mind begins to blur.

Finally.

“It’s perfect,” you breathe.

“Like a glove?” his grin is wicked.

You swat his chest. “I can’t stand you.”

Your laugh is cut short by a sharp gasp as he sinks into you fully.  

This is what your body’s been screaming for in every moment you spent pretending you didn’t want him. You feel stretched, filled, split open in the best way.

You both groan.

He moves slowly at first, unhurried. You match his rhythm, legs locked around his waist, hips tilting upward, fingers roaming his chest—memorizing the way he feels above you, inside you.

He lowers his forehead to yours, your breaths mingling.

And really does feel perfect.

He presses a kiss to your lips before pulling back, hands gripping your thighs as he starts to thrust deeper, harder. Each stroke feels like he’s letting go of something he’s been holding on to for far too long. And maybe you are too.

“You feel so fucking good, y/n,” he declares, slowing his pace just enough to make you whine. Every slow push deeper knocks the air from your lungs; every draw back has you chasing for more. “So. Fucking. Good.”

He emphasizes each word with a thrust of his hips.

“Hyunnie,” you moan.

He chuckles softly at that, his hands sliding back to your legs to unhook them from his waist. He pulls out just enough to flip you onto your side, curling himself behind you. His arm slips beneath your head, cradling you close as he pushes back inside. You gasp at the new angle—the way it lets him reach deeper, the way his chest is pressed to your back, lips brushing against your ear.

“You like when I fuck you?” he whispers.

You nod, unable to form words.

“You thought about this when we were rehearsing too, didn’t you?”

You arch into him, threading your fingers through his on the mattress as he fucks you, unrelenting now.

“My cock in your pussy—tell me how much you wanted it.” His other hand slides to your breast, gripping, kneading the soft flesh.

“So fucking bad,” you admit, breath hitching.

“Me too. I wanted to know how tight you’d feel around my cock. How wet you’d be for me.”

His voice is far too close. Saying far too many filthy things. The sound of skin slapping skin is joined by his ragged exhales and your whispered pleas—to fuck you harder, to make you come.

“You going to come for me?”

“Yes,” you whimper, thrusting back against him.

His hand leaves your breast to curl tightly around your waist, holding you right where he wants you.

“You’re mine now, jagi,” he says, voice low.

You cry out at the possessive growl in his tone.

“Hyunjin—I—I’m—”

“Let go,” he breathes. “With me. I got you.”

And you do—tumbling right over the edge, turning your face into the mattress to hide your cry. He follows soon after, groaning against your shoulder as he fills you.

And then…silence.

Except for your breaths. His chest still pressed to your back. His hand still tangled with yours.

It doesn’t feel real.

Not just the way he fucked you—like he couldn’t help himself, like he needed it—but the way he’s still holding you now.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and not just from the high you’re still coming down from. But because this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with him. Not like this.

But now that it has, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

“Fuck, I should have grabbed a towel,” you say, breaking the silence.

You feel the moment he starts to stir, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, and you hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. “We could shower.”

“We’ll mess up the sheets. I don’t want to explain that to the maid.”

“It’s fine.” He shifts slightly behind you. “We can make it to the bathroom like this.”

You snort, turning your head. “You’re not seriously trying to walk like this.”

“Why not?” He grins, wrapping his arm tighter around your waist. “Teamwork.”

It’s ridiculous. And yet, you let him guide you to the edge of the bed, both of you moving in clumsy tandem, still connected, stifling giggles like teenagers.

You’re bent forward, hands braced against the wall as you inch your way toward the bathroom and he’s behind you, smug and unbothered.

By the time you reach the bathroom, you’re both breathless from laughing, from the afterglow, from everything.

Somehow, it really is perfect. And so much more than a moment that got the best of you.

a/n: FUCKING FINALLY. i hope it was worth the wait 😊 i swear the scenes where i was listening to love untold would play out as the cutest music video ever. a fun date at a museum? convenience store run? ending with them taking the elevator up, and fading to black when they enter the hotel room. do you see the vision?? and if you hit play when railway is mentioned, the beat drops in right around when he's taking his shirt off, depending on reading speed of course. its *chefs kiss* and then the undressing bits would play out kinda slowed down ahhhhh! sorry that's the filmmaker in me blabbering, i love picturing how scenes would play out as a movie/show/video etc. anyways lol, i'm going to try doing a tagging list again. please comment here or on the master list for this fic if you'd like to be added. i tweaked some settings, so hoping tumblr stops maxing me out at five people??? ready to kms over ts (jk, im just dramatic, pls) tagging those that have been commenting faithfully, so don't even ask, you're already on it my loves.

@hwangjoanna / @hanniesbubuwife / @straycat420 / @tsunderelino / @dessianna1 / @akindaflora / @tirena1 / @krayzieestay / @ehstay

[muiitoloko]

Heeeyyy!! New follower here 😁 I absolutely love your work. I wanted to ask possibly for a smut Alan Rickman fic please and thank you 🥰 Not of a character, just him as himself with fem!reader ❤️ thank you in advance!

Title: Layers of Sin

Summary: All she wanted was to feed her husband on set—what she got was Alan in full villainous costume, hard and hungry. Turns out, he was starving for more than just food.

Pairing: Alan Rickman × Fem! Reader

Warning: Smut

Also read on Ao3

You didn’t usually visit your husband on set.

In fact, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d done it in your entire marriage—and you’d probably still have fingers left. You didn’t like to be seen. The whole media circus had never appealed to you, not even when Alan’s face started showing up on posters around the world. You preferred your quiet life. Your books. Your garden. Your kitchen. Your husband, at home, with his feet up and a glass of wine in his hand.

But today… well.

Today he’d called you, his voice low and dramatic down the line like he was already halfway into character.

“I’m starving,” he groaned, like a man facing his final hours. “I’ve had three spoons of some grey, unidentifiable substance they claimed was soup. I’m not even sure it was food. Please… rescue me.”

You laughed, of course. You always did when he got like that—like a Shakespearean ghost who couldn’t find a decent sandwich. But you made him one anyway, along with a slice of lemon cake and that little thermos of tea he liked, the one with the lid that never quite screwed on straight.

Alan had been especially busy that year—2006 had come like a storm. He was splitting himself between two films: Harry Potter, which he barely tolerated, and Sweeney Todd, which he was practically giddy over. You’d never seen him so animated as when he described working with Tim Burton, throwing around phrases like “unapologetic darkness” and “opera of murder” over breakfast.

But Potter? That was different.

He respected the work. Respected the crew. But he didn’t love it. Not the way people assumed. You were almost sure he would’ve given it up by now if his agents hadn’t quietly insisted—and if the paycheck hadn’t politely reminded him how many zeroes came with fame.

So here you were, standing outside the trailer on the Sweeney Todd set with a bag of real food in one hand and a fond exasperation in your chest. A few crew members passed by and offered polite smiles. You returned them, nodding when one assistant told you Alan was in his trailer, “resting—or sulking, I can’t quite tell.”

That sounded about right.

You raised your hand and knocked on the trailer door. There was a pause. Then, the distinct shuffle of footsteps and the sound of a familiar voice behind the door.

“Oh, thank God,” Alan said dramatically as he opened it. “You’ve saved a dying man.”

You froze a little when you saw him in his costume. There was Judge Turpin in his full, grim element—buttoned into that severe black frock coat, high white cravat stiff against his throat, the cold sheen of authority practically clinging to his shoulders. The transformation was unsettling, even to you. His hair was slicked back harshly, drained of its usual softness, and his face… it wasn’t Alan’s face, not quite. It was tighter, crueler, the mouth set in a stern line, the eyes shadowed with something weightier than fatigue.

For a flicker of a second, you understood why he called this role “unapologetic darkness.” And why it lingered on him more than most.

Alan noticed your gaze almost immediately. His hazel eyes flicked down to the costume, then back up, his expression softening as he read your reaction. “Ah,” he murmured, dryly. “Yes. It’s a bit much before lunch, isn’t it?”

Before you could answer, he reached for your arm and tugged you inside the trailer with a touch more urgency than usual. “I’m filming a courtroom scene today,” he explained quickly, his voice dipping into that gravel-edged register he used when slipping out of character. “Turpin on the bench. Condemning the innocent. All in a morning’s work.”

You nodded slowly, still eyeing the cravat like it might lunge at you.

Alan sighed as he collapsed into the small chair by the trailer’s makeshift table, immediately reaching for the bag in your hand. “Is it strange,” he asked, pulling out the sandwich like a man possessed, “that I feel more guilt about lunch than sentencing a man to hang?”

You laughed softly. “Was the food at the buffet really that bad?”

He didn’t even look up as he unwrapped the sandwich with trembling reverence. “I ate something they claimed was mushroom risotto. It tasted like old socks and kitchen regret.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

He took a grateful bite, closed his eyes, and let out a low, indecent moan of pleasure. “This… this is salvation. This is what will keep me from slipping into full villainy.”

You leaned against the edge of the tiny kitchenette, watching him devour the sandwich like a man just returned from war. His fingers still bore faint makeup smudges, and the rings of costume powder around his collar made him look paler than he was. But under all that, it was still Alan—hooked nose and quick wit, the faint crow’s feet by his eyes betraying the smile he didn’t quite wear yet.

“I brought cake too,” you said after a moment. “Lemon. From the tin you like.”

He froze mid-chew, eyes lighting up as he swallowed. “You’re going to spoil me. I’ll expect this every shoot day now.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He paused. “Actually, I would. And have.”

You handed him the thermos next. “The lid’s crooked again,” you warned.

He took it anyway, uncapped it without hesitation, and sniffed dramatically. “Ah. Tea. The one true constant in this chaotic world.”

As he drank, you let yourself study him more closely. There were lines of weariness around his eyes, yes—but there was also that familiar glint. That spark. The one that only flickered when he was truly engaged, deep in the work, no matter how grim the role. You’d seen it during Die Hard, again in Quigley Down Under, and now, even under the weight of a merciless judge’s robes… it was there.

Alan glanced up then, catching you watching him.

“What?”

You shrugged. “Nothing. Just... glad you still look like you.”

A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Even under all this?”

“Especially under all that.”

He reached for your hand then, warm fingers curling around yours with a gentle squeeze. “Stay a while,” he murmured. “Just until they call me back. I promise not to sentence anyone to death while you’re here.”

You smiled, settling into the opposite bench, eyes still on the man beneath the costume.

Alan noticed your gaze. Again.

You were staring. Not discreetly. And not, strictly speaking, at him—but at the costume. At the severe black robe stretched across his broad shoulders, at the stiff white cravat wrapped around his neck, at the high moral indignation stitched into every inch of that grim, judicial silhouette.

Your eyes dropped the moment his brow lifted, the heat rising in your cheeks as you looked away, suddenly fascinated by the crooked lid on the thermos.

“…You look nice,” you mumbled, the words slipping out too fast, too soft.

Alan stilled mid-chew. Then swallowed deliberately. “Nice,” he echoed, voice warm but teasing. “That’s what we’re going with?”

You glanced at him. His mouth was curved now—not into one of his usual, charming smiles, but something slower. Sharper. The corners tugged just enough to make you nervous. His hazel eyes gleamed beneath those dark brows, the edge of Judge Turpin creeping back in, sliding around the room like a shadow that hadn’t quite been banished.

“Is it the robe?” he asked, casually licking a bit of mayonnaise from the corner of his lip. “Is that what’s gotten you flustered?”

You stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ah. Denial.” His baritone dropped, lower now, velvet laced with something darker. “That’s always the first sign of guilt.”

You shot him a warning glance, but he only leaned back against the bench, thighs spread, one hand resting on his knee like he was prepared to pass divine judgement on your hormones.

“Come here,” he said, voice low. Commanding.

“Alan—”

“You brought me lunch,” he interrupted, gesturing to the remains of his sandwich. “You’ve saved me from culinary despair. I should thank you properly.”

You hesitated. You always did when he got like this—half in character, half in control. It was dangerous ground. Which, of course, was why he liked it.

“I’ve got ten minutes,” he added, voice softening slightly but still lined with mischief. “Plenty of time to ruin you. Eat cake. And return to set as if nothing happened.”

You flushed deeper, but your feet moved before your brain could object. Alan reached for you when you were close enough, guiding you gently but insistently onto his lap, his palms sliding to the backs of your thighs as he pulled you across him, straddling him on the judge’s robe like some courtroom scandal.

“Is this a bribe, Judge?” you murmured against his mouth as he kissed you, warm and unhurried, his fingers curling at your waist.

He hummed, baritone vibrating low in his chest. “No, darling. This is gratitude.”

Your hands found his cravat, fingers pressing against the stiff fabric at his throat as his lips slid to your jaw, then your neck. His teeth grazed just beneath your ear.

“You should be eating,” you whispered, breath catching as he tugged your hips forward.

“I am,” he murmured darkly, letting his mouth descend again—this time, to the pulse at your throat. “You’re just… dessert.”

You let out a shaky laugh, fingers tightening against his shoulders. “Alan—someone could knock—”

“They won’t. I’m scheduled. I’m a judge, remember?” His smirk curved against your skin. “No one interrupts a man with power and a full stomach.”

You tried to scold him, but then his hands were sliding up your thighs, dragging the hem of your skirt higher, pressing you down against the firm bulge beneath all that black fabric. You gasped softly, hips twitching at the contact, the heat of him burning through the layers between you.

“Ten minutes,” he whispered against your lips. “Give me ten minutes, and then you can go back to pretending I’m just your tired husband eating cake.”

You bit your lip. Then nodded. And Alan Rickman—half man, half menace in a judge’s robe—grinned like a man who had just sentenced someone to ecstasy.

It wasn’t a comfortable chair. You knew this. Alan knew this. Hell, the chair itself knew—it creaked like it was pleading for mercy, wedged in the corner of the cramped trailer like a prop nobody had the heart to throw out. It had a stiff back, no give, and one arm that tilted slightly too low, as though resigned to its fate.

And still, you were in it. Straddling him. Your knees braced awkwardly on either side of the armrests, your skirt hiked up past your hips, his ridiculous judge’s robe bunching between you as he wrestled to push it aside. It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t smooth. But it was happening.

Because there was no time. Not today. Not in the sliver of stolen minutes between scenes. Not when Alan’s hair was still slicked back, not when he still smelled like stage powder and expensive costume wool, and not when his cock was hard and heavy beneath you, straining against the constraints of time, space, fabric, and basic logic.

“Remind me again,” he muttered under his breath, his baritone thick with frustration as he shoved layers of black robe upward with one hand, the other gripping your hip. “Why the devil does this character need so many layers?”

“You insisted it was authentic,” you whispered back, already sliding your fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear, breath hitching as you found yourself slick—already slick—for him.

Alan groaned, low and wrecked, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Authentic my arse,” he muttered. “We’re reenacting judicial sex crimes in a glorified broom closet.”

You laughed—but it caught in your throat when you found your clit, your fingers rubbing small, tight circles. You didn’t have time for slow. Neither of you did. Your thighs were already trembling, your breath shallow as you rocked just slightly above him, not enough for contact, but enough to let the heat build.

He saw what you were doing. Of course he did.

“Oh, you wicked thing,” he rasped, his voice dipping so low it barely made it past his teeth. “Teasing yourself right above me. That’s cruel. That’s absolutely—ah—Christ.”

You bit your lip, watching his eyes darken, watching the flush creep up his neck as he finally freed himself—his cock springing forward, flushed and thick, curving toward you like it knew where it belonged.

He reached down, fingers curling around the base as he held himself steady. “Come on, then,” he murmured, almost a dare. “You’ve got five minutes left to ride your judge before he has to go sentence someone to death.”

“Romantic,” you muttered breathlessly, angling your hips and lowering yourself slowly, the head of his cock catching on your entrance before pushing in—thick, hot, unrelenting.

You both moaned.

The stretch was intense, immediate, your walls clenching around him as he filled you inch by inch, your knees slipping on the armrests as your thighs trembled from the effort. Alan’s head fell back, his jaw tightening, the cords in his neck standing out as he gripped your hips with bruising force.

“Fuck—bloody hell—” he groaned, hips jerking up just enough to bury himself completely. “You’re always this tight when you’re in trouble?”

“I’m not in trouble,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulders as you started to move, the chair groaning in protest beneath you both.

“You’re in a judge’s lap with your skirt around your waist and my cock inside you,” he said tightly. “You’re definitely in trouble.”

You rolled your hips, and his words cut off in a strangled gasp.

The pace was fast—had to be. Your movements were desperate, uncoordinated, frantic. Every grind, every thrust was a chase, both of you riding the edge like you knew it wouldn’t last. Alan’s hands guided your rhythm, rough and unrepentant, pulling you down hard with every stroke, his breath ragged, his voice a low snarl in your ear.

“You’re going to make me come in this damned robe,” he hissed. “And I’ll have to walk back on set looking like the ghost of sexual misconduct.”

You laughed, breathless. “I’ll be the one leaking down my thighs while you go back to monologuing about sin.”

“Oh, that’s enough,” he growled, gripping your hips and slamming up into you hard, once, twice, again—until your head fell back, a sharp cry spilling from your lips as your body clenched, spasmed, gave in.

He felt it. God, he felt it. And he didn’t last long after that.

With a rough curse and a shudder that rocked the chair into the wall, Alan came—hot, deep, his hips jerking once more as he buried himself fully, breath stuttering in your ear.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just panting, sweating, clinging. The robe was bunched beneath you like a suffocating quilt. The chair creaked in protest. And Alan, pale, flushed, breathless Alan, let his forehead fall to your shoulder with a groan.

“This was a terrible idea,” he said weakly.

You kissed the side of his throat. “But such a good one.”

He looked at the clock on the trailer wall. Six minutes. Alan exhaled, still flushed, still tangled up in the high of it, but already slipping into that efficient post-ecstasy calculation he always managed—six minutes was plenty. Enough time to devour that wonderful lemon cake you’d brought. Maybe even enough for a second cup of tea if he was quick.

You shifted first, gingerly easing off his lap with a shaky breath and adjusting your skirt back into something resembling decency. You both stilled for a moment, eyes dropping instinctively to the black judicial robe still bunched between you, half-trapped beneath your thighs.

No stains. You both sighed in relief at the same time.

Alan stood with a quiet groan, adjusting himself and tugging the robe back into place. His movements were brisk now—habitual, almost military. He smoothed his cravat with one hand while reaching for yours with the other.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Bathroom.”

You followed, your legs wobbly, your laugh breathless. “Demanding.”

“Efficient,” he corrected, pushing the small door open. “If anyone sees you walk out of here flushed and glowing, I’d like you to at least be clean.”

You both squeezed into the tiny private bathroom, a box barely big enough for one person, let alone two. Alan turned, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click, and the space immediately shrank around you. The air was thick—warm from your bodies, heavy with sweat, sex, and the lingering scent of his cologne under the costume powder.

He turned on the tap, washing his hands briskly as you leaned against the wall, still trying to catch your breath. His fingers worked quickly—efficient, just as he said. But when he reached for the paper towels and turned toward you, something shifted.

He paused.

Just... looked.

At you.

At your flushed cheeks and swollen lips. At your skirt still slightly wrinkled, your legs pressed together for modesty that came far too late. At the smear of lipstick half-faded from your kiss.

Alan handed you the paper towels without a word, but his eyes didn’t leave you.

You wiped your thighs as best you could, careful, deliberate. But the movement made your breath hitch, your body still hypersensitive, and the moment your legs parted just slightly, you heard the soft intake of breath from across the cramped room.

Then he kissed you. He didn’t ask. Didn’t ease into it. He just stepped forward, closed the last inch of space between you, and kissed you again—deeper this time. Rougher.

The kind of kiss that belonged to someone who hadn’t finished with you. His hand found your chin, fingers pressing just firmly enough to make you still, to tilt your face up. His mouth moved over yours like it had purpose, and his body followed—looming, pressing, all heat and height and shadow. You felt your back hit the cool tile, the angle of the sink jabbing your hip, but you didn’t care.

Not when he was kissing you like this. You gripped the front of his robes, fisting the fabric between your hands, feeling the coarse wool bunch beneath your fingers. The white of his cravat brushed your jaw, stiff and intrusive, a reminder of the role he wore even now.

Because this wasn’t just Alan. Not quite.

You felt it the moment his hand moved from your chin to your throat—not squeezing, just holding, just claiming. His thumb brushed your pulse. His lips never stopped.

And his voice, when it finally broke the kiss, wasn’t soft. “Look at you,” he rasped, his baritone a velvet snarl. “Ruined and still wanting.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes, dark and hooded, flicked over your face. Judge Turpin. You knew it. Felt it. Alan was still there, he always was, but the edges were blurred now, shadowed by character.

You’d seen this happen before. During Mesmer. During Rasputin. And now, again.

Alan had warned you. That sometimes a costume wasn’t just fabric. That some characters were masks, and others were mirrors.

“Alan,” you whispered, but even your voice shook—less protest, more plea.

His grip gentled.

He leaned in, brushing his nose along your cheek, his breath hot and steady against your ear.

“I’m right here,” he murmured. “Still me. Just… wearing something cruel.”

You closed your eyes.

And then he kissed your temple—soft, reverent, familiar.

The costume didn't vanish, but Alan did return.

Piece by piece.

[leapyeap]

an austin butler/callum turner primer, maybe

hello comrades

the past few days i've really been itching for some new content (preferably of the two of them together but i unfortunately live in reality so separately will do) and i've decided to be the change i want to see in the world. so behold. a primer of sorts.

the sheer delight in each other! it gets to me! (kiss)

first things first, who are these guys?

austin butler

austin (born august 17, 1991) is a california girl through and through. he has an older sister named ashley butler and a bff named ashley tisdale (you're all familiar). he was discovered at 13 and immediately took acting SO seriously. i'm just going to link his esquire article here, because it's honestly required reading and they go over pm his entire life. from painfully shy home schooled baby austin to losing his mom at 23 to coughing up blood after filming for elvis wrapped. a quote:

When Butler wasn’t working on bringing Buck Cleven to life, he toiled away at finding Austin. “I was just trying to remember who I was,” he admits. On set, he had a dialect coach whose main job, he says, was to help him stop talking like Elvis. But the whole Masters experience feels like a blur to him now. “I hardly remember filming that,” he says. “Almost the full year that I was in London.”

FASCINATING. callum in the mud tbh. stop the primer, austin doesn't even remember that man.

and then there's this paragraph that just makes me laugh because honestly, what a little weirdo:

Austin Butler has a funny habit. Rather than fill a natural lull in a conversation, or the space between questions, with words, Butler fills them with—and I’m not kidding here—smiles. Eyes lock. Lips curl. It is impossible not to return the expression. But then you’re just two people, sitting in the back booth, smiling like idiots at each other.

smiling because he doesn't know how to answer a question! making it a whole performance! he is so deeply in his head all the time!!! i wanna crack him open like a walnut and study his brain!!! seriously, read the esquire article and then come back.

anyway, moving on.

callum turner

callum (born february 15, 1990) is a chelsea boy who was raised as an only child by a single mom on a council estate. he often talks about growing up right next door to some of the most expensive real estate in the world, and the huge wealth disparity between him and his classmates. his mom sounds like the coolest person in the world - she was a club promoter when callum was a kid and boy george coming over wasn't an uncommon occurrence. a quote:

Turner’s mother ran nights at London clubs including the Ministry of Sound, and fostered her son’s early interest in film (he cites Billy Elliot as a childhood favourite). She had wanted to be an actress, but hadn’t had the chance. He credits her with his performing gene, and his chutzpah. “She instilled this belief in me that if I wanted to do something, anything, I should go for it. Although she was also always saying, ‘Get a trade. Become a plumber.’ And I’m like, ‘No. I don’t want to be a plumber. I want to be a footballer.’ I didn’t want the safe option. It’s nice to take risks.”

spoiler alert: he didn't become a footballer, but he IS sad about that. i just love how he talks about his childhood and growing up:

‘Oh, I know them all,’ he says of his coterie of fabulous London acquaintances by birth. ‘The thing I always find interesting in my childhood was, yeah, I was growing up on an estate, single mum, working-class, but then I also had all these colourful characters around. It wasn’t about navigating two worlds,’ he says. ‘There were three, four, five more.’

and a last one about his childhood:

Turner was raised by his mother, a “brilliant woman” who worked as a nightclub promoter during the New Romantic movement in the Eighties. Her job meant an eclectic mix of characters from across the London club scene were constantly passing through Turner’s front door, with some even living with them when he was a child – “The father figures were a lot of different gay guys, basically.”

this is explained in detail in all the linked articles but he signed as a model at 17-18 and travelled the world a bit for burberry, comme des garçons, etc, having to lose like 6 inches off his waist bc the fashion industry is evil. if you ever wondered "damn, he looked so skinny in his modelling days", there's why. after that he worked at dover street market (a cool high fashion clothing store, i am told) for a couple years while trying to make it as an actor.

just including this because it makes me laugh tbh

in the independent article he also talks about being a big stoner and self medicating with weed for a good few years because he "was dealing with a depression or a frustration".

I was acting, doing films, and smoking weed every day. I never smoked on set but as soon as I got home, I was like a real addict. I definitely missed four years of my life.

including this because he seems like such a happy go lucky guy, but he's got his own demons. in a different interview he also talked about trying out therapy, and his mom retrained as a therapist as well. i'm a big fan of the turners.

anyway, that was too long, on to:

callum & austin

(so sorry to nate and anto for the crop)

in february 2021, austin was supposed to fly from australia (where he'd just wrapped on elvis after working on that for 3 years straight) but instead his body gave out and he was hospitalised and bedridden for a week. either during this period or after he flew to the uk and was doing his 10-day covid quarantine, callum sent him a first voice note, and austin replied in such an elvis voice that callum was like we're past that babe:

Butler and Turner exchanged voice notes after Elvis wrapped, just before they were set to start shooting Masters. [...] “It was like a voice note from Elvis, you know,” he says. “And I just sent him a message: ‘Elvis has left the building.’”

i'm sure he thought that was very funny. if i think about the voice note period too much my brain starts to conjure up too many scenarios so let's move on. to bootcamp!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Apple TV (@appletv)

mr presley you're doing such a great job

they spend the next 10 months filming together. they bonded right away and seem to have spent quite a bit of time together:

The two bonded, spending downtime walking Turner’s dog, or grabbing a meal on a Sunday. “Austin and I have a very special relationship,” he says. “It’s deep, and it’s profound. I’ve made friends through the years that I love. And there are people that you work with, and have a great time with, but they don’t necessarily become your friend. You still love ’em. But Austin’s my friend.”

genuine friends!! and obviously these quotes are from the mota press tour in january 2024, more than 2 years after filming wrapped, so we can assume they've kept in touch, despite austin's phone allergy.

also at some point nearing the end of filming callum, austin, fionn o'shea and mustafa the poet went to see... something idk. this was posted october 2021, if someone wants to sleuth and tell me lol.

and this is where i introduce ruthie rogers. you may have heard austin and/or callum mention ruthie in interviews before when they talk about their weekly sunday roasts. maybe, like me, you assumed she was someone from the mota crew or a previous project that they'd befriended, but you'd be wrong, she is in fact the owner of the river café in london, which has a michelin star. lol. here's a quote from an interview with ruthie herself:

Rogers, whose Italian nonna-ness extends to her home, tells me how she hosted a group of actors that included Austin Butler and Carey Mulligan for supper for 39 consecutive Sundays following the loosening of lockdown rules. “Everyone was away from home and their families so they would come to me. They would help me cook and then we’d play cards. It became a sort of tradition.”

39 consecutive sundays! carey mulligan! okay! that's fine, i don't desperately need to know who else was there or anything

here's a podcast between austin and ruthie where she talks about the weekly dinners in her intro but sadly it doesn't come up during their conversation. it's a sweet listen though, they're clearly close and he calls her family.

and this is irrelevant to everything except it's so fucking endearing:

A WhatsApp message sent by the actor Callum Turner may have also landed on the industrious phone. “He sends me his Wordle score every day,” Rogers explains. “A sweet boy.”

a sweet boy! so true, ruthie

here they all are in september 2022, when ruthie hosted a party at the river café in honour of elvis being released. you've probably seen pictures of this event because austin basically unbuttoned his entire shirt and callum looked like the most supportive boyfriend.

like that's just a family portrait i'm sorry.

and speaking of supportive boyfriends, in december 2023 austin came out for a new york screening of boys in the boat too!

(austin are you okay) (is this the reason callum told austin to smile at the mota premiere)

alright so we've made it to january 2024, when mota comes out and the press tour starts. we immediately get hit with this gem:

Turns out the pair had hung out at Butler's pad and watched the Golden Globes one night earlier. Just the two of them. No glamorous girlfriends, no entourage befitting two major stars on the rise. "We were just going to go out and have dinner, and then we decided to do something relaxing at the house," Butler says. "So we ordered food, lit a fire and had a romantic little night in."

romantic little night in... probably the first time they had a night to themselves since filming ended... girl the possibilities

another quote because i can't handle how much callum turner loves austin butler:

"And we were just unbelievably kind to one another from minute one. I guess we just teased each other and looked after each other simultaneously. It was beautiful working with him. He’s such an incredible actor, and I learned so much from working with him, and as a man. Some days, I would go just to entertain Austin. If I didn’t make him laugh, I wasn’t doing my job. He was such a safe place, and I hope he feels the same with me, because we just loved each other."

"if i didn't make him laugh, i wasn't doing my job." 🫠 callum, say so much less. if you'd like to see them love on each other in video format, boy do i have the clip for you:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Good Morning America (@goodmorningamerica)

K I T H.

if you wondered if callum knows he's being sappy, yes he does. he knows and he can't stop because he needs the world to know too, i guess!

i might as well stop here or i'll end up linking their entire press tour, but i just want to leave off by saying i think they're very neat, and i love that they're so different in some ways and so alike in others. the obvious extrovert vs introvert dynamic, where callum acts as a social buffer for austin, and makes him feel more at ease, but vice versa callum's also said that austin's presence on set made him comfortable taking big swings. it's about the give and take, the yin and yang!!

and they obviously share a huge love of movies and their craft, and they're competitive losers, they had to make their own way in the industry, they're beloved by all their castmates, etc etc.

in conclusion: they're in love. i hope you learned something and if not i hope you at least liked seeing it all compiled. thank you for coming to my ted talk, i love you like austin loves grabbing callum's shoulder

[burningember0802]

Three's Company Ch. 2

Pairing: Robby x Abbot x Reader

Warnings: sexual content (nothing super explicit but gets more than PG13), cursing (let me know if I forget anything else!)

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: I'm so glad that people are liking the first chapter! Luckily I had time this week to go ahead and crank out the second one, hopefully y'all like it! Would you guys want some kind of taglist for this fic or masterlist of all the chapters as this fic goes on?? I'm planning on having it be a slow burn of sorts, not quite sure how long it'll end up being yet.

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

You quickly got lost in your work as you jumped into the shift, your issue with the two attendings pushed to the back of your mind. You went about your shift as normal, working quickly and efficiently, making your way from patient to patient. You were quick on your feet, much quicker than most expected you to be, especially on your first day, not letting the new environment affect you. Throughout the day you felt Robby’s eyes on you though, not allowing the issue to fully leave your mind. You caught him looking at you a couple times while you were working and when you two were on a case together he had a certain look in his eyes as he watched and spoke to you that gave you a fluttering feeling in your stomach. You tried to brush it off in your head as him just observing you on your first day and getting a feel for you as a doctor. 

Robby was impressed with you as he watched you throughout the shift. He noticed the way you were quick on your feet, quick to analyze the situation and assess the best options. You were good with patients too, having a charming and soft demeanor that put patients at ease while still showing that you were confident in what you were doing. He couldn’t help the way his eyes kept falling to your figure throughout the shift. He was observing your skills as a new resident but it was deeper than that. He couldn’t help but analyze the way you interacted with your coworkers in the ER, with him. He had a gnawing feeling in his stomach the whole shift as he was nervous about the situation between him, his boyfriend, and you. He didn’t want the one night between the three of you to cause you to want to leave the Pitt before you really even started, especially now that he saw your skills. He wanted to keep you on here, make you comfortable, and be professional about the whole situation. He couldn’t help but also want to get to know you better, to feel drawn towards you, just like he and Jack had been that first night. Robby quickly pushed those thoughts out of his mind, not letting himself linger on the idea of getting to know you better outside of a work setting, believing that’s something you would never want.

The shift went by quickly due to the constant rotation of patients in the ER. The constant flow of patients kept you busy, leaving little room for breaks, but you still managed to get some small talk with your coworkers throughout the day. You wanted to make a good impression on everyone, show them your skills, maybe make some friends. You quickly clicked with Dr. Mel King and Dr. Samira Mohan especially. You and Mel quickly became friendly as you discussed the struggles of working in medicine as neurodivergent people, especially being on the sensitive side. You and Samira quickly bonded over your want to focus on taking care of each patient thoroughly and taking your time with them if needed. The three of you had a lot in common and you ended up working with them frequently throughout the day, allowing for small chatting here and there. Getting to know different people around the ER helped ease your anxiety about being there. 

You were sitting at the nurses station finishing up some charting while shift change was happening when you caught a view of Dr. Abbot walking in out of your peripheral vision. You watched him find Robby before the two of them made their way to a stairwell nearby, disappearing. Robby and Jack walked up the stairwell to their spot on the roof in a comfortable silence. Once reaching the roof they stood shoulder to shoulder looking out at the early morning Pittsburgh skyline. “So how’d it go on the shift with her?” Jack asked, breaking the silence between the two. “It went surprisingly well…she’s really good Jack. She’s quick on her feet, smart, good with patients.” Robby says with a sigh. Jack nods, turning his head to meet his gaze. “Did you say anything to her about…everything?” He questioned. “I talked to her for a second…she made me a coffee without me asking, just handing it to me. She said she had no idea, and of course I told her we didn’t either obviously and that this all isn’t anyone’s fault. Then I told her the three of us could talk more about it together later, figure out how we want to handle it.” Robby explains, meeting Jack’s unwavering gaze. “How’d she react?” Jack asks. “She said she agreed and I told her that obviously while on the clock everything will be strictly professional between the three of us and it’ll be like it never even happened.” Robby explained, his shoulders tense. Jack places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly before moving his hand to run through Robby’s dark hair for a moment, trying to ease his anxiety. “It’ll be fine…I promise…we should probably catch her and plan a time to talk now though before she leaves…get it done sooner rather than later…” Jack says, his voice calm and comforting, anchoring Robby back to reality as he runs his fingers through his hair. Robby’s eyes close softly as he lets out a groan. “I know, I know.” Jack can’t help but smirk at him before pressing a short, soft kiss to his lips. “It’ll be fine babe, we’ll figure it out. Now come on.” He says softly as he pulls away from the kiss, grabbing Robby’s hand and leading him towards the stairwell again. 

The two men walk back onto the bustling ER floor. You sit at the nurses station finishing the last bit of the chart you were working on when your attention’s pulled away. “Hey, you have a minute?” Robby says softly, leaning on the counter above your computer, Jack next to him in the same position. You flick your gaze up to look at the two men in front of you. “Um, yeah, give me just one second to finish and close out this chart.” You say quietly, looking back down to the computer to finish and close out the chart quickly. Then you stand up, wrapping one of your arms around your torso in an attempt at self soothing your anxiety. Jack nods to the empty family room before walking that way with Robby and you right behind him. 

Once the three of you are in the room Jack closes the door, giving your guys some privacy. You stand there with your gaze fixed to the ground, scared to meet the brown eyes of the two men in front of you. “So how do we want to handle this…” Jack says, starting the conversation none of you guys wanted to start. “I don’t know…” You say letting out a sigh. “I definitely didn’t expect the guys I randomly had a threesome with to become my bosses” You say, letting out a bitter chuckle. Robby and Jack could help but chuckle at that too. “Yeah, fuck, neither did we…” Robby says with a chuckle. “I mean I guess the best thing would be to just act like it didn’t happen? I don’t want this to affect how either of you treat me or my work here.” You explain, finally daring to meet their gazes. They both nod as they listen. “I know neither of us want this to affect your work, that’s the last thing we want. No one here even knows Robby and I are together so we should have no problem acting professionally around each other.” Jack explains, trying to ease your worry. “Okay…good…” You say, letting out a sigh. 

Now that it was understood between the three of you that you guys were basically going to act like the weekend didn’t happen you felt a lot better about everything. The three of you stand in a comfortable silence for a moment before Jack speaks up. “You left without saying goodbye this weekend…” Jack says, looking at you, a small smirk on his face. “I-I just don’t normally do the whole one night stand thing or the threesome thing so I guess I kind of panicked when I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep and didn’t know how to deal with the morning after. I thought it would be better to just leave before you guys woke up to make it easier and less awkward on everyone.” You ramble, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment. “That sure worked didn’t it?” Robby says with a laugh. You couldn’t help but laugh because he was right, this was way more awkward than any morning after ever could be. “We were hoping to get to know you better over breakfast, but you left before we could.” Robby continues with a small smirk.

The admission that they wanted to know you more than just a normal one night stand would scared you, terrified you actually. You were never good at people taking a liking to you romantically, being too scared of being vulnerable, of being hurt like you had been in the past, that your first instinct had evolved to shut down and run. This admission on top of the anxiety you had felt all day tipped you over the edge, leading to you reacting before you had much time to really think about it. “Um…I’m sorry…I think we should just keep our relationship strictly professional…” You quickly ramble, averting their gaze the whole time, the floor suddenly being the most interesting thing in the room. “I-I really need to go anyway…” You ramble out before quickly walking out of the room, leaving the two men stunned. 

[hannie-dul-set]

my youth is fee — [PREVIEW].

SYNOPSIS. there’s this one boy who keeps reminding you that there’s no price to enjoying the moment, and that there’s no such thing as a deadline in living life to its fullest.

PAIRING. taesan x female! reader. GENRE. college! au, romance, humor, coming of age, comfort (no hurt), light angst, childhood friends to lovers (fuck you, you’re never taking this trope away from me), younger brother! woonhak, taesan is your manic pixie dream boy. i saw the clip of him saying that his ideal type is someone he could tease and i’ve never been the same ever since— i.e. he’s a shameless flirt in this watch out. WARNINGS. swearing, alcohol, mc is older than taesan and shorter than him (it’s dynamic relevant i promise), the many struggles (and mistakes) of the eldest sister in an asian household, pressure and anxiety attached to a graduating student. yeah, i’m projecting leave me alone. WORD COUNT. preview, 5k | full fic, est. at least 30k LMAO.

RELEASE DATE. within the month of june. TAGLIST. dm/ask/comment to be added.

NOTE. this is my last major project before ultimately graduating and probably getting even less time to write at this point HAHAH so i’m really targeting to finish and release it this month for the sake of thematic relevance, and while my emotions are still on high HAHAHAH. if you've read some of my fics before, let me just say upfront that this is gonna be in the same vein as peach tree, love vomit, and mogi/nabi. meaning— it’s gonna be so full of love and endearment that ur gonna be sick by the end of it!!! woohoo!!!!

preview under the cut.

YOU’D LIVED MOST OF YOUR LIFE AS AN OLDER SISTER TO SIX BOYS. Well. Not exactly, but figuratively. Only one of those boys is your actual brother. The rest are totally against your own will. 

See, you didn’t sign up for it. It’s just that your mom has five friends living in the same neighborhood, and those five friends of hers had five sons after she had you as a daughter— meaning, you were born into the role as a direct consequence of your parents deciding to marry the moment they reached the age of majority. Not the smartest decision, but they were high school sweethearts in love. Also, your dad was gonna inherit Gwangju’s fruit and vegetable monopoly, anyway. They were set out for life.

Anyhow, the details aren’t really necessary. This is just to explain why you, as a graduating senior, are so at home being surrounded by a handful of freshmen right now. 

“Seonbae, I read your article in the Policy Studies Journal! I totally agree with your analysis.”

“You’re literally one week old in this program. Quit acting like you understood anything.”

“By the way, seonbae, is Prof Yeon’s classes really hard? I have him for my intro class, and—”

“Congratulations on your LOGODI internship, noona! Are you gonna be paying for the next round of drinks?”

It’s almost like your face muscles have stiffened from smiling too much, and your beer glass has been left untouched for the last ten to fifteen minutes. The kids continue to eagerly swarm you with questions and songs of praises. It currently being your department’s opening party and you being the face of your department— you kind of expected this much. Still, it’s a little overstimulating. But you continue responding to as many questions as you can because, again, it’s not something you’re not used to.

“Thank you for reading my article, Dohoon. Prof Yeon actually helped me a lot with it, and he isn’t as bad as you think, Jiyeon! Just keep up with the readings, and you’ll be fine.”

They’re cute. They’re excited. Keeping up with a bunch of energetic kids is something you’d been doing since the age of three. But as you continue to age, it does get a bit more exhausting as the years pass.

“Hey, now— leave your seonbae alone, kids. You’re all suffocating her with your questions.”

Your saving grace comes in the form of Kim Sunwoo sauntering out of nowhere to drop an arm on your shoulder from behind your chair. 

A release of breath slips past your lips, right before it finally manages to touch the cold rim of your glass. You’re about to welcome his appearance with a smile, but he rips your gratefulness away just as quickly as he offered it. “She just got dumped. She’s suffering from a breakup right now.” Two pats on the same shoulder. Two very patronizing pats. “Let her drink her sorrows away in peace.”

The beer doesn’t even make it to the middle of your throat when you choke it back out. A chorus of gasps break out. You wipe your mouth with your sleeve as you snap your head back. “Kim Sunwoo, what the hell?”

He grins. He flashes you a peace sign. Then starts walking away.

“Hey, you, get back here—”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry to hear that, seonbae. I hope you’re doing okay.”

“At least you’d be busy with your internship to think about too much…?”

“Cheer up, seonbae! You’re probably too good for that Choi Soobin guy, anway!”

How the hell did these kids even know who your ex is?! Where the hell did Kim Sunwoo run off to?!

“I saw him once and…He’s actually really handsome.”

“O—oh, then— then forget about him, seonbae! You’ll find someone better!”

Somehow, you manage to excuse yourself from the brood of ducklings to hunt down that damned rat. You spot the hood of his jacket— sitting on the same table as Yeji, and giving you the perfect opportunity to yank in down and elicit a guttural yelp from him. “Gah!”

“Move over, asshole.”

“Hey, you’re here!”  Yeji greets you, pushing off an extremely offended Sunwoo from his chair and taps on the seat the moment his ass leaves the surface. “Sit! I haven’t heard a whiff from you over break and the first thing I find out is that you broke up with Choi fucking Soobin. What the hell happened?”

“Correction. He broke up with her,” Sunwoo sniggers, straggling onto another vacant seat on the table. “Imagine the whiplash when I got the notifs ‘I got the internship,’ and ‘Choi Soobin dumped me,’ with not even a two-hour interval between each text. Crazy shit.”

You groan. Yeji very timely pushes her drink towards you and you take a swig. 

It really wasn’t that dramatic of a breakup. The day you received the acceptance email, you had a dinner scheduled with your then boyfriend. If Sunwoo was whiplashed, how does he think you felt when you told Soobin about the news over pasta, him congratulating you and that he knew you’d get it— only for it to be followed by a pregnant silence as he nervously gulps down a glass of water, just to drop the foreboding opening of, “You’re amazing and I’m really proud of you, but…”

Ugh. Recalling it causes a vein in your head to tick. You slam the glass down on the table. “Is it messed up to say that I was more mad than heartbroken over it?”

“Girl, what are you talking about?” Yeju huffs.  “I’d be pissed too if that hot of a guy broke up with me— not to mention a hot guy you’d been dating for three years! You didn’t even put up a fight! How could you just go with it?!”

“What, did you want me to beg him not to dump me? I have my pride too!” you screech back. Sunwoo is just watching you both like he’s watching a liveshow. “But that’s not the reason why I’m so pissed. This breakup just obliterated my 40 Year Plan, and I’ve been losing sleep trying to figure out how to get back on track and fix it.”

You fear you’ve just lost the room at the mention of your 40 Year Plan.

“Your…what?”

40 Year Plan. At age nineteen, you enter university. By twenty-three, you graduate and get a good job in the same year. Which is why you were so hell bent on getting the internship at the Local Government Officials Development Institute, under the Ministry of the Interior and Safety. Not only does it give you an easy opening to networking and eventually landing a job there, the internship is paid despite being a public institution— which is one of the major reasons why applications are always a battlefield every year.

You were warned by a senior while you were still in the midst of preparing your application. That there’s no such thing as free lunch, and the pay is definitely not worth the amount of work they put you through. 

Nevertheless, it’s still your gateway ticket to landing a stable job fresh out of graduation, ensuring that you stay on track and stay on schedule. That plan’s been fucked entirely by your recent breakup, though. 

You were supposed to get married by age twenty-five. Live a happy married life for the next five years domestically. Then your vacations in your thirties are gonna be spent travelling the world. Now, how the hell are you supposed to meet a new guy and fall in love with him just enough for you to want a ring on your finger— without wasting so much of your damn time on useless blind dates and dating apps— all within two damn years when it took you your entire life to meet Choi Soobin?

“My schedule has already been delayed after taking a gap year last year to save money,” you continue complaining. The alcohol is slowly starting to sink into your system. Your friends are looking at you like you’re insane.

“It’s…more fucked up that you scheduled literally your entire life,” Yeji remarks.

“And why does your plan only come up to 40 years old?” 

Sunwoo knows the answer, but he asked anyway. “Duh. I plan on dying by then.” You immediately shut down their looks of worry because they say anything else. “Either from a car crash or through natural causes. I don’t want to die as an old lady. I need to be pretty on my deathbed.”

They’re not looking at you any better. “You’re completely abnormal,” she tells you.

“And what the hell makes you think you’d naturally die at that age?” he spouts.

“I don’t know, the sinking standard of living? The crashing global economy? The increasingly precarious geopolitical landscape? Fucking climate change?” you grunt, finishing the glass in your hand. “We’d be lucky if the world doesn’t end in twenty-years. Maybe I’d have to adjust my timeline.”

Your two friends continue to prattle about how viscerally insane you are, and you listen but let the words come in one ear and out the other while you tap a finger on the table, waiting for a server to come by so you can order another drink. In the background, mish-mashed with the voices of Sunwoo and Yeji, you heard the restaurant door ringing open. Seems like more freshmen are pouring in. 

“Hi, is this where the public administration majors are partying?”

“Hell yeah, dude! Are you a freshman?”

“Yeah, but I’m from the performing arts department.”

“Who cares, you guys come on in!”

“Sweet!”

There’s nothing sweet about getting your plans derailed. As far as you remember, you’ve always been hellbent on speeding through life— growing up as quickly as you can so you live and die on your own terms. You moved out from your home in Gwangju to attend high school in Seoul. You gradually stopped asking for support from your parents when you got into BNDU with a full-ride. And you’re pretty sure the root cause for this insanity (as your dear friends like to put it) is your very formative childhood.

“Whoa. So this is what a college party is like.”

“Hey, don’t get distracted!”

Going back to your dearest mother and her group of high school friends— for three years, you’d also been their honorary daughter. And then another one of your aunties got married shortly after your mom did. It was at age three that you’d already started living for somebody else.

“Darling, come and meet Sungho!”

See, your mother and her friends never really…gave up on their youth. Even in their thirties and forties, even after starting their own families and lives, they always made sure to have Friday brunches at a new restaurant every week, weekend shopping trips and two-day-one night trips by the sea and uphill mountains. Naturally, these girl trips often became family hangouts. Your mom would bring you along, and your mom’s friends would bring along their kids as well.

The thing is, your moms and dads would often do their own thing, loosely supervising the rotational playdates held at someone’s else’s house each time— so you, more often than not, end up being the eldest person in the room that the rest of the kids look up to. 

First, it was just you. Then came Sungho. Followed by Sanghyeok and Jaehyun. And then Dongmin and Donghyun in the same year. You were essentially the person of authority for these five until you were in first grade. 

And then five became six when your mom gave birth to your younger brother—

“Kim Woonhak!”

Wait. The beer glass stops between your teeth. Hold on. That’s your brother’s name. Why are you hearing his name being yelled out in this restaurant? Why does that voice yelling his name out loud sound so disconcertingly familiar?

“Woonhak! We found your sister!”

Your drink dribbles back into the glass. Holy shit. That voice is Jaehyun. That’s fucking Myung Jaehyun. Your head shoots up, eyes wide, whipping around the room at the same rate as your heart is spiking, What the hell? Where the hell are they? Better question— what the hell are they doing here? 

“Hey, are you good?” Yeji asks in concern. You wish you could answer with a yes, but the moment your eyes land on one end of the restaurant, you immediately clock the six heads sticking out like six sore thumbs. Oh god. Oh god, no. 

You aren’t even given the chance to get your bearings straight when the other five finally notice where Jaehyun is pointing at. 

Woonhak mouth falls open. “Noona!” Then he starts barreling through the crowd. The other five trail after him, and it’s not a very discreet sight. Your face falls into your hands. Is this a hidden camera prank or something? What the hell even is this?

“Hey, are we about to get accosted?”

“They’re coming over here, do you know them, why are they—”

“Noona.” You pull your face out of your hands, looking up to see your younger brother’s disgruntled face. He’s slammed his hands down on the table— your table, your two friends sitting on the same table. His brows are all scrunched up. His tone is nothing more than a whine when he says, “Why weren’t you answering any of my calls?!”

Ah, crap. You shuffle into your bag and indeed, you find four missed calls from him on your phone. You sigh, rising up from your seat because it doesn’t feel good that you have to look up at him, but even after standing, this kid still has a good amount of height above you. “I didn’t notice it vibrating, I’m sorry, but Woonhak, but what—” You eyes flicker to the head popping out from behind Woonhak’s right shoulder— a silly smile and an equally silly wave from Jaehyun. You let out a sound and drop your head down, a finger massaging your right temple. “What…what are you guys doing here? Why are you here?” 

“Noona! This party is so sick!”

Jaehyun is quickly followed by Sanghyeok, who quickly jumps out from behind your brother, waving and jumping and very happy to see you. Next to him is Sungho, who’s looking very apologetic as he yanks on Donghyun’s jacket collar, who’s already starting to wander away, attention fished by your peers doing tabletop karaoke somewhere.

And then there’s Dongmin.

“Noona.”

The moment he steps forward, you’re prompted to look up. 

There’s a smile on his face— quiet and playful, the same hint of mischief mirrored in his downturned eyes. A pair of glasses are perched on his nose, but the most prominent thing you notice is something else. 

It’s the fact that he’s now looking down at you. You don’t remember having to look this high up just to meet Han Dongmin’s eyes. 

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Who...who gave you permission to get this tall?”

It’s enough that your brother already towers over you. Now this guy thinks it’s funny that you have to look up to him. But you can’t linger on this injury for too long because a sudden wave of whispers break from around you. You flinch, eyes peering to the side to see your peers and juniors gazes fixed on you in the center of the room. Your face burns. 

“I told you I could sniff her down,” Jaehyun proudly declares.

“Yeah, that’s on brand.”

“Is that a pool table over there? Donghyun, let’s play a round, lets—”

“Noona, I’m so sorry,” Sungho solemnly mutters. “I told them we’d wait somewhere else until you answered Woonhak’s calls, but they insisted on looking for you.”

Oh, this is dizzying. You catch from the flicker of your eye Yeji mouthing that maybe you should take this outside, and you couldn’t agree more. You mutter a few muddled somethings and usher the boys out from the suffocating humidity and warm lights of the restaurant, dragging them into the dewy and cold streets of nighttime Seoul. 

It gets significantly quieter. You find a spot under a planted dogwood oak on the walkway, the six boys sitting down and huddled up on the tree bench while you look at them, arms crossed and toes tapping. “None of you have answered my question yet,” you start with an exhale. “What are you doing here?”

Seeing them all together is like a sucker punch to the gut of guilt. When was the last time you’d seen this complete idiot ensemble? Four years ago? The one summer you spent at home in Gwangju before moving out for the second time for university? But even then you’d only see at least two of their faces once a week— except your own brother of course whom you had to wake up every morning each day else he’d sleep in until noon.

God, you’re pretty sure they were still a bunch of twerps back then, though. It irks you that even while sitting down, half of them are still kind of at eye-level with you.

“Why else would we be at the university district?” Jaehyun proudly sticks his nose out. “We’re also BNDU students. We’re here to party!”

“I’m sorry what?” you sputter. “BNDU students, what— what do you mean? Are all of you studying here? This year”

“Yeah!” Sanghyeok affirms. “

“Woonhak, you haven’t even graduated high school yet, what the hell are you talking—”

“Hey, c’mon now! Let them join us! There are plenty of drinks to go around!”

Maybe you should’ve picked somewhere farther away from the restaurant because one of your classmates— clearly inebriated— decides to butt into your business and invite your group of sparkly-eyed boys to something they obviously can’t refuse, like they’re being lured in by a pied piper.

It’s an inevitable mess. Jaehyun has already made at least seven friends from your major. Yeji is trying to hit on Sungho, who’s been trying to run away, red in the face. Sunwoo keeps on passing drinks to Sanghyeok and Donghyun and you make them tell you their addresses before they pass out beyond comprehension. And you’re keeping an eye on Woonhak like an eagle on the hunt for prey. 

“Ow!” he yelps when you smack his hand the moment his sneaky hand tries to reach out for a beer glass.

“Don’t you even dare.”

He grumbles. “C’mon! I’ll be an adult soon anyway!”

You leer at him. Woonhak continues to grumble while being locked down on the seat next to you because you can’t trust your damn peers to know that this kid is a minor. Dongmin has also decided to join you on this table— and the fact that he’s sitting right across from you, cross-armed and relaxed, makes it impossible to ignore the mischief playing on his grin, clearly directed at you.

“What?” you ask him pointedly.

“I was just thinking,” he hums, cocking his head to the side as if he’s trying to investigate something on your face. “You’re gotten a lot grumpier since I’ve last seen you. Is that an effect of aging?”

Your blood pressure simply cannot get higher. “Dongmin, you lot are already on thin ice.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, raising two hands up in surrender. “But don’t worry, noona. You’ll still be pretty even when you turn sixty.”

This fucking kid, you swear. You catch your head in your hands with a defeated groan, not bothering to give him a response. You just had to be stuck with the most stressful one, even while growing up because sure, Jaehyun had the energy of eight toddlers in one body. Sure, Donghyun would suddenly hold you at gunpoint with questions about the universe and the solar system of which your middle school aged brain did not have the answers to. Sure, you’d get a heart attack trying to keep watch on Sanghyeok in case he pulled another flying stunt on the stairs and landed himself in the hospital again. But out of all the boys Han Dongmin was the one you’d always dreaded to babysit the most because—

“Noona,” he tries calling out to you as you continue to question your life choices while counting the crumbs on the table. “Noona? Hello? Can’t believe you’re gatekeeping your face from me after I called you pretty.”

—he’s always been way too blunt and brazen. To the point that even he manages to get under your thick skin.

“I still haven’t gotten a good enough answer as to why you six decided to hunt me down,” you nag him, diverting the conversation. “Do you plan on telling me now or wha—”

“Seonbae!”

Your interrogation gets interrupted by the arrival of a few of your female juniors, taking the liberty to sit around your table as well. Second years. Sophomores. They come to greet and congratulate you on your internship. You thank them with a smile and wait for the actual kicker— coming in the form of a whisper from the junior who grabbed a chair from the other booth to nudge herself next to you.

“Can…can you introduce me to the guy in front of you?”

You press your lips together to mask your amusement. You’ve got no reason to say no and stop a show from unfolding— and maybe you’d be able to get something to tease Han Dongmin with this time and finally instill some revenge— but once you finish your quick introductions and step back from the conversation, you’re pretty surprised to see the sudden 180 of his usual playful demeanor, and the sudden drop in his expression that you almost don’t recognize the man before you.

“Dongmin-ah,” your poor junior tries to test out his name.

“Just call me Taesan,” he suddenly corrects in a less than friendly tone. 

You try to look at Woonhak for an answer to this change in behavior, but he’s busied himself with a game on his phone because you’d been policing all his fun tonight (his accusation, not yours), and when you shift your attention back to the two, the atmosphere had become absolutely, incorrigibly frigid within the few seconds that you were looking away.

“Is it a nickname? What does it mean?”

“Nothing much.”

“Ah, well, then, what’s your major?”

“I’m undecided.”

“O—oh, uh, where— where did you get your jacket? It looks so cool!”

“My grandpa gave it to me before he passed away.”

You physically wince at that one. You’re pretty sure most of those are lies because last you heard his grandpa is very much alive and kicking, but damn. He’s an impenetrable shield. You peer at your left and notice your junior visibly getting red and embarrassed. You’d like to step in and save her from any more of this, but she’s just as determined as Dongmin— on opposite ends of the battlefield.

“What’s your IG user, Taesan-ah? Let’s follow each other!”

“I don’t do social media.” 

“Th–then— then, how about your num—”

“Seonbae,” Dongmin cuts her off. “I’m sorry, but I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I’m not interested in you.”

Holy shit, what is this kid doing?

The tension is palpable. You’re pretty sure the surrounding tables have caught a whiff of the back and forths as well because the diameter around you is weirdly quiet for a party. What’s worse is that he’s now looking at you as if you’re part of the conversation, staring at you with a glimmer in his eyes that’s all too familiar when he’s plotting to stir up some trouble— a tell that he never outgrew since was like six.

He smiles. It’s a targeted smile. He looks straight at you when he says, “Right, noona?”

“What?” you croak in alarm. “Why are you dragging me into this?”

“Don’t play dumb now.” You receive a nudge by the foot from underneath the table. You don’t need to duck and look under to figure out the culprit. “How can I be interested in anyone else when I already confessed to you. And four years later, you still haven’t replied.

To say that you’re bewildered right now is an understatement. “Dongmin, what are you— what…what?” All your intellect and you can’t even begin to formulate a response. He just saying this like he’s reciting the national anthem. He’s insane. 

And the way he’s looking at you right now tells you exactly that he finds your flabbergasted expression absolutely hilarious.

Dongmin lets out a huff and rests his arms on the table to lean forward, closing in the gap between you into barely half an arms length, all while doused in all the smugness of the world. “I don’t know about the other guys, but I came to see you with one goal in mind,” he says. And then, with the tilt of his head, continues, “Don’t you think it’s about time you give me a response, noona?”

A chorus of ooooh’s breaks out from all your surroundings. Your face is as hot as the sun, but what you’re currently feeling is incomparable to the sheer and visible mortification emanating from your junior. Woonhak starts to make gagging and barfing noises from the right of you. You’re far too taken aback to tell him off to do anything about it— to do anything about this, in general.

“Woonhak-ah, you might end up calling me brother-in-law one day, you know.”

“I’d rather die.”

To add onto the absurdity of it all, the remaining four start to make even more of a mess.

“Noona! Look over here! I can do a trick shot!”

“Hey, who vomited in the bathroom sink?!”

Which leads you to the very sound conclusion—

“I think…I think it’s time we all head home.”

Unfortunately for you, the night isn’t over yet. You still have to make sure your five non-blood-related idiots make it back home in one piece. 

Sungho is fortunately still mostly sober, so he assured you that he can walk Jaehyun back to their shared apartment that’s just within the same neighborhood. Sanghyeok and Donghyun live in the opposite direction from you, so book an Uber for them and watch as Sanghyeok tosses his passed out roommate into the backseat before waving you goodbye. “You owe us a meal for ghosting us, noona!”

“Go take a shower first, vomit breath!” you yell back, then turn to the remaining sheep in your herd the moment the car drives off. “And you?”

For your sake and his, you forget all the nonsense Han Dongmin was spewing earlier. He just wanted to get your junior off his tail that badly.

“I’ll walk you two home first,” he replies. “I didn’t drink so I can get home just fine. But you— tsk. Probably can’t say the same for you, noona.”

“You—” 

With a sharp inhale, you try to reach for his neck, but you realize you can’t give him a noogie anymore since he’s now a whole head taller than you. Dongmin notices what you were trying to do, and just as well notices that you’re annoyed because you no longer can. So, he dips his head down closer to your level. He provokes with that slight squint of his eyes that feign innocence, accompanied by the upturned corners of his lips.

You stare at him. You sigh. And then you push him back by the forehead using two fingers. 

“Quit acting smooth, you’re literally a toddler.”

Somehow, he makes no attempt to egg you further and settles with laughing alongside your strides across the street, fixing the bangs you messed up while his other arm latches around Woonhak’s shoulders. Your brother verbally protests and whines but makes no actual effort to shove him off as you make your way back to your apartment building. 

“Did you tell mom you’re staying over?” you ask Woonhal, climbing up the staircase to your floor. Your question, for some reason, causes him to stumble on the very last step, your eyes narrow at him.

This is suspicious. That much is apparent because he’s desperately trying to avoid your scrutinizing glare right now. Dongmin gives him a little nudge to answer before your patience runs out. Woonhak gulps. “Haha, well, she knows.”

Not good enough. “Kim Woonhak, what are you hiding?”

“W-w-well—”

He doesn’t need to finish replying because you get your answer in the form of a very familiar suitcase parked right in front of your apartment door. It has around a dozen keyrings and PopMart figures chained everywhere possible. Your head snaps at Woonhak. He immediately tries to shield himself with his arms.

“I didn’t get kicked out!” he loudly explains. “Mom and dad let me transfer to a high school in Seoul!’

They what?

Woonhak takes your lack of immediate response as an opportunity to continue squeaking out an explanation. “They—they said I could live with you while I study here and, uh—”

You can feel it— the blood rushing to your head, you can absolutely feel it. You try to close your eyes and take in deep breaths to keep it down but it’s no use. Despite all this, Woonhak continues digging his grave with caution.

“And I…I start school on Monday, so…haha…”

Yup. No use. Woonhak flinches when you move a step closer. Dongmin tries to calm you down with a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t get too angry—” But you smack his hand away and snap your eyes up at him. His smile twitches nervously. “Whoa, haha. Woonagi, your sister has gotten pretty scary.”

That sort of knocks you out of your temper. At least just a little bit. “I’m not angry,” you grit between your teeth. “Dongmin, go home. It’s getting late. And you.” You turn over to the guilt ridden Woonhak once more, completely avoiding eye contact with you with his hands behind his back. You sigh in an attempt to relax. “Get inside and unpack your things. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

my youth is free. © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[hellfirebarnes]

Slow-Burns Part 5

@crowleythesexydemon

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 6

I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.4K Words

Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

The Tower had two personalities. Loud and unhinged by day, quiet and dimly lit at night. The kind of quiet that let your thoughts wander into dangerous territory if you weren’t careful.

You stood at the stove, barefoot in sweatpants, hair pulled back haphazardly. A pan of eggs sizzled in front of you. You weren't even really hungry, just… restless.

Behind you, a cabinet creaked open.

You didn’t have to look. “You’re about to ask if I made enough for two.”

A low, familiar voice answered. “No. I was gonna pretend I didn’t want any until I smelled it, and then pretend to be surprised.”

You turned, smiling. “Hi, Bucky.”

He was dressed in what passed as pajamas for him - black sweatpants, faded navy t-shirt, hoodie unzipped just enough to show a little collarbone that you refused to have feelings about. He looked good in the half-light. Tired. Soft.

“Bad dreams?” you asked gently, sliding some eggs onto a plate.

He hesitated. Then nodded.

“Same,” you murmured, nudging a plate toward him.

You ate in silence for a while. Side by side at the counter. The fridge hummed quietly behind you. Somewhere deep in the Tower, something beeped and reset itself. The world outside didn’t exist.

“You always this generous with your midnight cooking?” Bucky asked eventually, voice quieter now.

You smiled without looking up. “Only for people who share snacks with me on stakeouts.”

He huffed a tiny laugh. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this - be near you, know you like this, feel your warmth in the quiet, and not do anything about it. But he also didn’t want to rush anything. So he just ate his eggs. And stayed a little longer.

The off-grid training grounds were several hours into the woods, set against hills and pine. No cell service. No towers. No backup.

Val called it “team recalibration.”

Everyone else called it a nightmare.

“I’m not saying this place is haunted,” John said as he kicked open the cabin door, “but if a ghost asks me to get out, I’m leaving.”

“You are not leaving,” Yelena said. “You are suffering like the rest of us.”

There were three cabins in total. And it was somewhat assumed Alexei and Bob would take the first one, with you, Yelena, and Ava in the second, and Bucky stuck with John in number three. That was until the arrangements were revealed.

“Agent and Bucky, you’re in cabin three,” Val announced, like it was nothing.

John choked on his water. Yelena looked like she’d been waiting for this. Bob dropped a granola bar in shock. Alexei? Beamed like a man who’d just solved world peace.

“My time has come,” he whispered to no one.

That evening in cabin three Bucky stood awkwardly in the doorway as you set your bag down. The cabin was small. Too small. One room, two cots, and the world’s most judgmental kerosene lamp.

“This okay?” you asked, glancing at him.

He nodded stiffly. “Yeah. You?”

“Totally.” You were lying, but only a little.

You settled in - Bucky reading in silence, you flipping through a deck of Polaroids you'd already taken.

He watched you from the corner of his eye. The way your fingers lingered on each image. How your smile changed depending on who was in the frame. He could tell when you hit the photo Yelena had taken of you and Bob earlier. Your whole face lit up.

“He really likes you, huh,” Bucky said quietly.

You smiled, not looking up. “Bob? Yeah. I think he’d follow me into a volcano if I asked.”

“He would,” Bucky said, too quickly.

You looked at him, something amused and knowing in your eyes. “You jealous?”

Bucky froze. “Of Bob?”

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His ears had gone pink.

You leaned back on your cot, watching him with an easy smile. “Relax, Barnes. I’m messing with you.”

He didn’t answer. But the tension in his shoulders dropped just a little.

The next day started with mud, yelling, and Alexei trying to invent new exercises on the fly.

“Three laps!” he bellowed. “Unless you are Sunshine, in which case you may do one and then rest!”

“She’s your favorite now?” John demanded.

“She is my destiny now!” Alexei announced.

Bucky nearly choked on his water.

The entire day followed that chaotic pattern.

Bob orbited you during warmups. You and John argued over the most efficient rappel technique, which ended with you shoving him into a river (he deserved it). Yelena dragged you into competitive sparring while Ava watched, amused.

Bucky, always nearby, stayed mostly quiet. But he saw everything.

The way you laughed with them. Teased. Protected. Belonged. How you were the gravity in the center of this storm of broken, volatile, half-saved people. And how you somehow made him feel like part of it too.

That night the stars were sharp and endless above them. The woods quiet. A fire crackled outside somewhere - Alexei leading a dramatic retelling of how he’d once survived an explosion “with nothing but sheer will and my elbow.”

Inside cabin three, it was quiet.

You sat cross-legged on your cot, a blanket around your shoulders, Polaroid camera in your lap. “I keep taking these,” you said, lifting the camera, “because I think one day I’ll want to look back and remember what this all felt like.”

He watched you carefully. “And what does it feel like?” he asked.

You hesitated, then met his gaze. “Like maybe this is the first place I’ve ever truly belonged.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. Not exactly. So he reached for the camera. Held it up. And took a photo of you - quiet, wrapped in starlight and warmth and honesty.

You reached for it when it popped out, but he held it back again, just like he had the first time.

“This one’s for my wall too,” he said.

You blinked, surprised. Then your smile returned, soft and bright and achingly kind. “Good,” you said. “Then maybe I’ll start showing up in more of your memories.”

He looked at you. And his heart felt like it was overflowing.

Valentina stood at the head of the table, a sly smile playing on her lips. “We’ve got a situation,” she began, tossing a dossier onto the table. “A gala in Monaco. High-profile. Our intel suggests a potential arms deal going down under the guise of charity.”

She looked around the room, her gaze settling on you and Bob. “Agent, Bob, you’re going in undercover. Posing as a couple.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “A couple? Like, dating?”

Val smirked. “Yes, Bob. Dating. Try to act natural.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. He glanced at you, who met his gaze with a shrug and a small smile.

Alexei leaned over to Bucky, whispering loudly, “This is perfect! A little jealousy might finally push you to confess your feelings.”

Bucky shot him a glare. “I’m not jealous.”

“Of course not,” Alexei said, winking.

You descended the grand staircase at the gala in a sleek black gown, your hair elegantly styled.

Bob, in a sharp tuxedo, offered his arm. “You look stunning,” he said, genuinely.

“Thank you, Bob,” you replied, taking his arm.

You mingled with the guests, laughing and chatting, all the while keeping an eye out for the target.

Bucky, stationed across the room in a security uniform, watched you closely. Every laugh, every touch felt like a punch to the gut.

Yelena sidled up to him. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky muttered.

“Sure you are,” she said, smirking.

Back at the Tower, the team gathered in the common room, debriefing over coffee.

“Great job, everyone,” Val said. “Agent, Bob, your cover was flawless.”

Bob beamed. “Thanks! She’s a great fake girlfriend.”

You chuckled. “And Bob’s a surprisingly good fake boyfriend.”

Bucky remained silent, his expression unreadable.

John clapped him on the back. “Cheer up, Barnes. It’s not like they’re actually dating.”

Alexei chimed in, “But maybe they should be. They have chemistry.”

Bucky stood abruptly. “I need some air.”

Later that night, you found Bucky on the rooftop, staring out at the city lights.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He turned to you, his expression softening. “Hey.”

You stood in silence for a moment.

“You were amazing tonight,” he said finally.

“Thank you,” you replied. “Bob was great, too.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, he was.”

You looked at him, your eyes searching. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

He met your gaze. “Maybe a little.”

You smiled. “Good.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

“It means you care,” you said, stepping closer.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I do.”

You stood there, the city lights reflecting in your eyes, the tension between you palpable.

[sevsevteen]

Is there anyway you could write about the 14 th members struggle with sleep during comeback season? Maybe also they have a tight grip on caffeine which had been surprising their apatite, making filming more difficult ? The amount of nausea I’ve been having cause of this recently is mental

OMG get well soon girl 😭 this is so relatable, but please remember to take care of yourself too!!🤞 i hope this will make you feel a little better - i made it a little joshua-focused by accident BAHAHA prepare for the angst

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

The waiting room was colder than usual.

Or maybe it was just you.

Sat curled up on the floor between takes, your knees were drawn to your chest as the chatter of the staff and members buzzed distantly in the background. Your head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache that echoed behind your eyes - not painful enough to cry out, but sharp enough to disorient.

“Five minutes till next cue!” someone called.

You didn’t move.

For the past three weeks, your body had been running on caffeine and fumes. The combination of pre-dawn call times, demanding choreo and practice days, interviews, and rehearsals hadn’t let up - and as always during comeback season, your chronic insomnia decided to rear its head again. Every night, you’d lie awake for hours on end, scrolling endlessly or staring at the ceiling, unable to get a wink of sleep.

Three weeks. Barely any sleep. And now, barely any food either.

Breakfast was skipped because you didn't have any appetite after lying awake all night. Lunch was missed because the group had a last-minute schedule. Dinner…you couldn’t even remember the last time you ate a full one.

Only iced Americanos, hot Lattes, anything that contained at least two shots of espresso in them. Bottles of water. An energy bar once, maybe.

And now, your body was starting to turn against you.

Your vision swam for a second as you leaned your head against the wall behind. Your limbs felt unusually cold, stomach hollow and churning. There was a faint buzzing in your ears, like a warning siren your body was trying to sound.

You tried to breathe. Focus.

Just one more segment.

Smile for the fans. Laugh a little. Hold it together.

"You okay?"

You blinked, startled by Seungkwan’s voice. He had crouched in front of you without you noticing, brows furrowed.

“You look really pale.”

You forced a smile. “I’m okay, just a little tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn't the truth either.

“You sure? You’ve been quiet all morning…”

Before you could answer, staff called for positions again. The members moved instinctively, stretching and walking toward the filming area.

You stood up on legs that immediately protested - the moment you pushed yourself off the wall, your balance tilted, and you nearly stumbled into the makeup table. Your vision whited out for a second as nausea surged from your empty stomach.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, heart pounding.

No. Not now. Just one more scene.

Someone gently touched her elbow.

“Hey.”

It was Joshua, his voice softer than usual, his eyes scanning your expression. You hadn’t even realized you were swaying on your feet.

“You okay?”

“I-” you opened your mouth, then froze.

Because the world tilted again.

And this time, it didn’t stop.

Your knees buckled as you felt your body give way, but before you could hit the floor, arms caught you - firm and warm. You gasped, trying to steady yourself, only to feel the panic in Joshua’s hold as he pulled you to sit down again.

“Someone get water—quick!”

The others were gathering fast, voices overlapping. The set blurred behind the haze in your eyes, sounds muffled.

You hated this.

Hated that it took this for someone to notice.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled weakly, “I just - I skipped breakfast.”

Joshua crouched in front of you again, worry laced in his usually calm expression. “You skipped all your meals yesterday too,” he said quietly. “You think we don’t notice when you’re only running on coffee?”

Your eyes widened slightly, guilt catching in your throat.

Wonwoo had already come with a bottle of water, pressing it gently into your hand. Jihoon stood nearby, frowning deeply as he talked to one of the managers in low, serious tones.

“We’re delaying the shoot,” he said firmly. “She’s not continuing like this.”

“No, I can-”

“No.” His tone was final. “We can always film it later. You’re more important than a damn shoot.”

You bit your lip hard, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes - not from pain, but frustration. Embarrassment. Relief.

So many things you couldn’t name.

Joshua took the bottle from your trembling fingers and opened it himself, holding it up gently. “Just sip for now, okay?”

“…Okay,” you whispered.

And when the bottle touched her lips, you let yourself accept it.

Your lips parted, and you took the water, letting the cool liquid trickle into your dry mouth. At first, it felt like relief.

But then-

Your stomach twisted. Violently.

It was too much.

The taste of metal rose in your throat, and your body jerked with a sudden, nauseating reflex.

“I-!” you gagged, hand shooting up to push Joshua away, water splashing onto your knees. You scrambled up on unsteady legs and stumbled toward the corner of the room where a trash bin stood, knocking over a stool.

The next moment, you were on your knees, bent over the bin as your body gave in.

The sound of you retching cut through the backstage chatter. The room fell into a shocked silence.

Behind you, Joshua immediately knelt to help but paused, respecting the space as you gripped the edge of the bin, gasping between each wave. Everyone's chest tightened helplessly at the sight of your shoulders shaking - not just from nausea, but shame.

No idol ever wanted to be seen like this.

Seungcheol muttered something curt to staff before walking over, immediately motioning to a manager to assist. “Get her jacket. And another water bottle,” he ordered lowly.

Seungkwan hovered near Joshua, jaw tight. “She’s really not okay,” he said under his breath, chest rising with stress. “She’s been running herself to the ground.”

When you finally stopped, you stayed hunched over, breathing in shallow, shaking breaths. Your throat burned, tears had spilled down your cheeks without noticing.

You didn’t dare look back.

You hated crying in front of them. Hated the worry it sparked in their eyes - eyes that saw you as strong, independent, unshakeable.

But right now, you were none of that.

A soft touch broke through on your back.

It was Joshua again, closer now, a tissue in his hand and worry etched so deeply into his features it almost hurt to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked, wiping at your mouth with a trembling hand, trying to regain some sense of dignity. “I didn’t mean to- I just-”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, crouching in front of you now. “Not for this. Not for any of it.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his.

And for once, you didn’t hide the exhaustion in them.

Just behind him, Seungcheol nodded once. “You have nothing to prove.”

You could only muster a small grateful smile as your eyes burned.

Because this time, someone caught you before you could fall.

--

[wosoafc]

Young hearts run free - Part 2

Pairings: Leah x Alessia x y/n, Kyra x Grace, Steph x Russo!Sister

Authors note: here you go with part 2, I hope you guys like it. This one is way more fun than part 1. Please tell me if you also want some Leah/alessia/reader smut in part 3 or just the morning after!

Warnings: SMUT + 18 (at the end MDNI)

Words: 6k

„Hey you guys whats upppp“ alessia tumbles towards you and leah, holding a bottle of champagne, clearly more than tipsy already. You share a look with leah and burst out giggling at your girlfriends state.

„Oh lessi, i see you’ve found the alcohol“ leah grins and pulls alessia towards her by the waist „can i have a sip?“. The younger girl nods eagerly and proceeds to pour chamapgne down leahs throat. You three quickly down the whole bottle, and another two until everyone is an irresponsible level of drunk.

„Hey Champions!“ A loud male voice ecchoes across the room, signalling the russo family has arrived as well, already sharing drinks with the williamson parents.

Your family could not make it due to you being australian, but that only meant that your girlfriend's parents were kind of a second and third set of parents to you too. Both Less and Leah were incedribly close to their families, that didn’t mean that they could not be embarassed by them though, which was definitely going to be the case tonight.

You could already sense alessia panicking at the sight of her dad, pulling leah aside and throwing his arms around her shoulder like they were life long bros.

„Leah darling have a beer with me“ he hands her a bottle. „Thanks mario“ leah grins and cheers with him. „You know leah…when alessia first told me about you three i was…sceptical“ mario begins to slur, leah listening carefully with a raised eyebrow, curious about what’s about to come. „Really mario? About us?“. Mario just nods then takes a big sip before continuing

„Well about you, you were always so…cool. And I can imagine the girls lining up for you“ he explains and leah has to hold in a giggle at that. „Well even though you’re not wrong about my flirting abilities i gotta admit two girls are more than enough to handle“ Leah answers and looks over at you and alessia, currently giggling about something on your phone.

„Oh tell me about it, I had to deal with three women in my household. And even though I love them endlessly, i don’t stand a single chance against em“ Mario nods and leans back, letting his sight glide over his wife, two daughters and you.

„But anyway leah now you are just…like a bro to me you know?“ Mario finishes his thoughts and then proceeds to pour down the whole bottle of beer.

„You’re my bro too mario“ leah cheers him and finishes her bottle as well. Mario stares at her before pulling her into a tight hug, patting her back. 

Just then, Alessia approaches witth a suspicious look and slight panic in her eyes "What are you whispering about?".

Mario claps her on her shoulder, grinning “Just talking about how Leah’s basically your husband now.” Alessia nearly chokes on her champagne. “Papa!” Mario beams. “What? You’ve been together forever, you live together, you share a Netflix account-” “We don’t!” Alessia protests. Leah and you shrug in unison “We do.” Mario raises his hands triumphantly. “See? Married!” Alessia groans. “Please stop talking.”

Just then, Leah’s mom stumbles over, cheeks flushed, holding a glass of red wine dangerously close to tipping.

“Oh my god, are we talking about weddings? Because finally! I’ve been waiting!”

You appear from behind her, mouthing “help me” and holding up two more glasses of wine that Amanda brought as back up.

“Oh no not mum...why are we doing this now?” Leah groans, clearly embarrassed by the situation.

“Because,” Leah’s mom says, putting an arm around you and Alessia, “I just love you two so much. And Leah of course.". It's almost cute, if it wouldn't be so so awkward.

Alessia is visibly spiraling now. “Why is everyone so obsessed with marriage all of a sudden?!” Leah clinks her glass with Mario’s. “Your dad thinks I’m husband material.”

“And I think you should put a ring on your girlfriend's fingers Leah! Also grand babies, I want lots of them and you guys should definitely start soon." Amanda states it like the most casual fact ever.

There’s a beat of horrified silence.

“Did she say grandbabies?” Reader asks.“She definitely said grandbabies,” Alessia mutters, trying not to laugh at the situation.“Okay, I’m leaving,” Leah declares, turning to walk away.

Mario then slaps your shoulder "Seriously you guys are great people, and you'd make great babies. that's all we're saying." he shrugs. You nod, trying to remain casual but not quite able to contain a grin. “You're great too Mario.”

He pauses. ���I’m also drunk.”

“Yeah, we noticed.” Alessia rolls her eyes but can't stop giggling as soon as you burst out laughing at the situation

On the way to the bar, fleeing away from her mother, leah stumbles into another russo family member. Giulia, alessias little sister, was busy getting a drink for herself too. „Hey Leah who’s that again?“ she nods towards the other side of the room were steph was currently talking to kyra. „That’s steph“ leah chuckles, not sure if she should stop or encourage giulia.

„She’s hot“ giulia states, resuming to watch steph move over the dance floor. „Yeah i guess“ Leah shrugs and signals tot he bartender that she needs another drink. „What’s her situation?“ Giulia asks again while already ordering two cocktails.

„Just broke up with her fiance, had a bit of a rough patch so she could use some…distraction“ Leah explains. That’s all the information giulia needs until she’s already on her way towards steph, drinks in her hands and ready to win over the aussie.

Steph doesn’t notice her at first, she’s still listening to something Kyra’s saying, grinning wide. But then she turns, and there’s Giulia, standing in front of her, holding out a drink. Steph blinks. “Oh um hey.” She stumbles over her words, a bit surprised by the presence of the younger russo sister.

“Figured you could use a refill,” Giulia says, voice even. Calm.

„You figured right“ Steph grins and they clink their glasses before each taking a big sip. „So you’re the famous russo sister i guess?“ Steph asks, looking at giulia over her glass. Giulia just smirks a bit and then nods „That’s me, i hope alessia has only told good things about me“.

Steph chuckles and shrugs „Depends how you define good, the england girls definitely teased that you love to party. Is that so?“ Steph asks, getting a bit more comfortable in giulias calm presence.

Giulia was just a little bit taller than steph, same height as alessia. But other than that they looked the complete opposite, which really surprised steph. She couldn’t help herself from staring a little bit at giulias tattoos, her dark curls and finally into her dark brown eyes.

„You’re staring“ the russo sister grins and shoves steph teasingly. „What if i am?“ Steph decides to be bold tonight, it’s not everynight you win the fucking champions league. And just like she told kyra in the showers, she could definitely use a palate cleanser, why not a woman for a change?

„I’m not complaining“ giulia grin widens and pulls Steph out of her thoughts. „You looked good on the pitch, got a sense of calm confidence around you. But i gotta say the after party look suits you even more“ Giulia compliments Steph who has to blush a bit at the comment.

„Now why don’t you tell me a bit about the changing room festivities and after that drink i wanna take you for a dance.“ Giulia decides while leaning back against the bar, looking cool as hell. 

The both of them resume to chat a bit, getting to know each other more. After another cocktail and an unhealthy amount of shots they both finally stumble onto the dance floor, being greeted by a cheering kyra. 

That’s the moment when alessia spots her little sister and defender for the first time, completely unaware of the interaction beforehand. Also very tipsy if not full on drunk she not so gently pulls leah towards her by the arm. „Leah! What the hell does my sister think she’s doing“ alessia hisses, frowning at the dance floor.

Giulia and Stephs were dancing close to each other, not quite touching yet but too close for two strangers that just met each other. „Oh with Steph? Yeh she asked about her and told me she’s hot“ leah chuckles, not as irritated by the situation as alessia.

„You knew about it? And didn’t stop her?? You know giulia she is…a player“ alessia groans. 

„What is lessi freaking out abou- oh“ you stepped towards your two girlfriends before spotting the antics going on a few meters away. 

There they were. Moving in sync, drinks forgotten, hips swaying to the beat. Steph’s hand now resting loghtly on Giulia’s waist, and Giulia? Calm. Confident. Smirking like she just won the lottery.

„No no no this can’t be happening, i know that look in her face“ Alessia groans and burys her face in her hands. „What look?“ you chuckle, finding the whole situation very amusing.

„That’s how she always look at girls that she is going to…“. „Fuck?“ Leah interrupts with a grin but alessia just smacks her shoulder. „It’s not funny leah“ she argues but you and Leah just can’t contain your laughter.

Leah then proceeds to wrap her arm around alessias waist, pulling her into her side. „Relax, they’re just dancing“ she tries to calm down her girlfriend a bit but fails horribly, because this shifts alessias focus away from steph and giulia, onto leah.

„You!“ she says, pointing a finger right at leahs chest. „You knew and you didn’t stop her!“. “I told you she thought Steph was hot. What did you want me to do, tackle her to the floor?”

“Yes! That, exactly!”

From the dance floor, Giulia laughed at something Steph said. Not just polite laughter. That real kind, where she had to tilt her head back and clutch her chest for a second. Alessia practically combusted.

“She’s never laughed like that at my jokes.”

“She’s not trying to shag you,” Leah said flatly, which earns her another giggle from you and a death stare from alessia.

Leah throws an arm around Alessia again. “Look, babe. They’re grown women. Hot grown women. Let them vibe.” Alessia peeks back at the dance floor. Giulia had leaned in, whispering something into Steph’s ear that made her bite her lip and glance down at her drink like it had suddenly become too much to handle. Alessia screamed internally. “They’re vibing too much,” she muttered.

You clink your glass with Leah’s. “Ten minutes until she tries to stage an intervention?” Leah nodded. “I give her five."

Just as predicted a few minutes later, alessia can’t take it anymore. The touches between steph and giulia were growing bolder and bolder, steph now definitely grinding the younger russos thigh to the beat. That’s the point were alessia snaps, deciding enough is enough, But two steps in, ready to throw hands, a strong arm arm hookes around her waist and yanks her back. 

“Absolutely not,” Leah says in her ear, spinning her gently around like they were dancing. “You are not making a scene right now, let them live a bit lessi, c’mon they’re adults.”

“She’s twenty-two!” Alessia argues, trying to twist back around. “She still eats cereal for dinner!” “Yeah? Steph just cried over Finding Nemo last week. Seems like a perfect match to me.”

Alessia squints at that. “Wait, really?” “Full-on sobbing, this woman needs a distraction. I swear to god if i have to talk her out of drunk texting dean one more time…this is good for her. And it’s definitely good for giulia.“

You nod at Leahs words, already familiar with Stephs regular meltdowns, and Han Alessia a glass of water. “Hydrate before you destroy your sibling’s sex life.”

“I don’t want her to have a sex life!” Alessia argues, but doesn’t try to get out of leahs arms anymore and takes the water thankfully. 

Meanwhile, Steph and Giulia were now dancing closer, still not touching too much, but definitely within magnetic pull. Every time Steph leaned in to laugh, Giulia tilted her head just enough to flirt without forcing it. It was subtle. Lethal. Classic Russo charm shining through.

Alessia whines. “I can’t watch this.”

“You don’t have to,” Leah says, guiding her gently away. “This is a party, and i think we should be having way more fun right now.“ Leah smirks and turns less face towards her, away from steph and giulia.

You lean in, giving alessia a little kiss on the cheek. „Leah’s right, let’s focus on us and all the fun we can have tonight“

Leah nudges your side with a cheeky grin “Okay. Operation ‘Make Alessia Stop Thinking About Her Sister's Sex Life’ is officially underway.”

Alessia groans, “Can we name that something else?”

“Nope,” Leah says with a grin. “I stand by it.”

You were already moving to the beat, hips swaying lazily as you turn your face to your girlfriends. “Come on, Less. You love dancing when you’re tipsy.”

“I also love not being mortified,” Alessia mutters, sipping from her drink way too fast.

Leah steps closer, crowding into her space just enough to make Alessia’s breath hitch. “That’s rich,” she murmurs, leaning in like she was telling a secret. “Considering you’re a way bigger freak than your sister. Should I remind you what you begged for after the semi-final?”

Alessia’s cheeks explode into crimson. “Leah!”

Yeah snort at the reaction, knowing where Leah was heading with this “Oh lessi do we really need to remind you how naughty you really are?“

“No you don’t,” Alessia snaps, flustered. “You both need to behave.”

“Babe,” Leah laughs, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You love when we misbehave.”

Without waiting for a response, Leah grabs your hand and spins you into the center of the dancefloor, your bodies colliding in rhythm as the music shifted into something darker, sexier. You slide your hands up Leah’s sides, movements syncing instantly, all smooth hips, teasing touches,

Alessia tries not to look.

She fails.

She tries not to notice how Leahs fingers grip your waist just a little tighter. How you throw your head back laughing, eyes glittering under the lights. How Leahs mouth brushes dangerously close to your neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

God. She hates how good they looked together.

The jealousy hits her sharp and fast, like a shot to the chest, irrational but loud. And that stupid, aching possessiveness twisted her gut.

So Alessia does the only thing she could do.

She puts her drink down, marches toward you two, and without a word, inserts herself between you, hands on both your hips, her body slipping into the rhythm with infuriating ease.

Leah smirks immediately. “There she is.”

“Took you long enough,” you add, licking your lips.

“I hate you both,” Alessia mutters, breathless.

Leah leans in, voice like smoke in her ear. “No you don’t.”

(To be repeated in part 3!)

In the meantime Kyra and Grace were completely unaware of the antics happening involving their friends and teammates. After finally having the guts to talk to Grace, Kyra and her were having a blast.

It turns out they had a lot in similar, like being little pests but incredibly good midfielders. After about 2 hours on the dance floor grace finally excuses herself to the balcony to cool down for a bit and of course kyra follows her.

To everyone else watching them it was clear how they were about to fall for each other, but unfortunately kyra and grace were completely in the dark about each other feelings. Yes Steph has indicated to kyra that grace might be interested in her as well, but kyra couldn’t quite beliefe it. 

„You alright?“ Kyra smiles at grace, plopping down next to her on a couch outside, also exhausted by the party going on indoors. „Yes, just needed to catch some fresh air“ Grace smiles back, cheeks red from the dancing and alcohol.

Kyra nods gently, it’s quiet again. But it’s not uncomfortable. It feels like the air between them is full of something soft and electric at once. Kyra shifts slightly, brushing her shoulder just barely against Grace’s. Neither of them pulls away.

Kyra nods. “It’s nice out hear, and easier to think.”

“Think about what?”

She’s not expecting Kyra to answer. But Kyra does.

“You.”

Grace turns her head quickly, eyes wide. Kyra’s still looking up at the sky, but there’s the smallest curve to her mouth, like she knows exactly what she just did.

Grace blinks. “That’s- I…”

“I mean,” Kyra adds gently, finally turning to look at her, “just… in general. I think about you a lot.” Kyra admits shyly, playing with her fingers again while holding a breath, not sure if she went too far.

Grace laughs, nervously, sweetly. “I think about you too…and i really like being around you.“ She admits as well, blushing because of the confession.

That’s when Kyra looks up with a relieved but happy expression, letting out a breath. „really?“ she asks, containing a wide smile. 

Grace just smiles back and nods. That’s enough for Kyra, at least for now. She grently rests her hand on Graces and gives it a soft squeeze.

Graces smile widens and she shifts her fingers so their hands are entangled properly.

And for the moment, that’s more than enough. After a while grace leans against kyras shoulder, just looking at the stars and enjoying the peace and quiet.

Kyra decides to take it a step further and leaves a light kiss on graces head. The english girl looks up at her with a big smile before resting her head again, now even more comfortable.

It’s not long after that both of them start to yawn regularly but not quite ready to end the moment. But when Kyra notices Graces eyes fluttering shut she knows they shouldn’t be falling asleep out here.

„Um Grace?“ she gently nudges her, not trying to startle the younger women. „Hmm?“ Grace asks sleepily but opens her eyes again. „We should head to bed but…if you ehm want you can…you know“ Kyra offers carefully which leads to a teasing grin from grace.

„What?“ she just asks, squeezing kyras hand again to encourage her. „Do you want to spend the night? I can sleep on the couch, no problem“ Kyra finally finishes her sentence.

In response Grace gets up and pulls Kyra with her „I’d love to spend the night…and you are definitely not sleeping on the couch“ she adds cheekily before pulling Kyra inside with her.

They don’t bother saying goodbye but head straight to Kyras room just a few floors above the party venue.

After closing the door softly Kyra turns around only to find Grace standing right in front of her, smiling. „Hey“ Kyra whispers and takes a step forwards, so they were almost touching.

„Hey“ Grace whispers back and gently takes Kyras hands into her own. They stand there like this for a few seconds, just looking at each other before Grace finally breaks the silence.

„I really enjoyed tonight…with you“ she admits and strokes Kyras hands softly which gives the aussie goosebumps. „Me too“ kyra answers with a smile while her face was growing hotter due to Graces hot breath she was feeling on her lips.

„I really wanna…“ Kyra starts and slowly lets her eyes glide down onto Graces lips. And with a gentle nod by Grace, Kyra finally closes the remaining space between them.

The kiss is soft, careful and shy. No exessive tongue fight, just carefully exploring each other. Due to the lack of air kyra eventually pulls away but stays close to grace, looking her deep in the eyes. „I wanted to do that since you got here“ kyra smiles softly and pulls grace even closer while wrapping her arms around her waist.

„Then let's do it some more“ grace grins cheekily before leaning in again, now with a lot more confidence than before. The kiss grows heated, kyra slips in her tongue while grace gently tucks at her hair.

Suddendly grace lifts kyra up and walks them over to the bed, not stopping the kiss until they both fall down onto the matress, giggling. Kyra scoops up a bit so grace can lay down on her properly.

Grace rests her head on kyras chest and enjoys the warmth around the aussie. „You are so cuddly, like a koala“ grace grins up at kyra and cuddles even more into her. „Well I’m australian so makes sense“ kyra chuckles and hugs grace tightly. They lay like that for a while, enjoying each others company, sharing light kisses now and then. 

Eventually they force themselves to get up again to get ready for bed. When Kyra spots Grace in one of her oversized shirts she can’t keep herself from tackling the younger girl onto the bed again, enjoying the feeling of graces bare thighs underneath her. 

„I wanna do this properly…“ kyra smiles down and nestles her head in graces neck. „Let me take you on a date when we are back in england“ she continues and carefully looks up at grace, not sure if that is something the other girl would want.

But the big smile on graces face already tells her she said the right thing. „I’d love that“ grace answers and kisses kyras forehead before pulling the blanket over both of them.

„Now let’s get some sleep champ“ she whispers and makes herself comfortable again. They drift away soon enough, still tangled together trying to stay as close as possible to each other. Basically like two big soft koalas.

Warning: Smut ahead!

Even though Kyra and Grace already left, the party was far from over. And that included Steph and Giulia who were currently tucked away in a more private corner, sitting very very close to each other.

Giulia was close, too close, and looking at her like she saw right through the layers Steph usually kept tightly in place. In that quiet, private moment stephs heart was starting to pound fast, her hands lightly trembling because of how nervous giulia was making her.

What if this was s huge mistake? She never kissed a woman, what if she is no good at it? Giulia pulls Steph out of her thoughts with her calm voice. „You’re tense“ she states, trying to look into stephs eyes but the older woman was avoiding her gaze.

„Let me help with that“ Giulia whispers and strokes Stephs arm, trying to grant some comfort. 

Steph’s laugh came out nervous and thin. “I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t. She wasn’t fine at all. Giulia scooted even closer, her hand slipped to Steph’s waist, fingers splaying there, warm and possessive.

When her mouth hovered just beside Steph’s ear, Steph felt a shiver run straight down her spine. Then Giulia whispers, “You want me to finally kiss you?”

Steph’s breath hitched. Her skin burned.

She did, God, she really did want Giulia to kiss her, but the second their lips were about to meet, something inside her pulled away. Her body tensed, and she stood up, sudden and abrupt.

“I, no. Wait,” Steph says, her voice shaking more than she wanted. Giulia blinks, surprised. “What’s wrong?” Steph turns away, hugging herself. “I should go.”

But as soon as she steps outside into the hotel hall, Giulia was there, standing in front of her. This time there was no smirk, no teasing. Just worry and sincerity in her eyes.

“I’m not promising you anything I can’t give,” she says. “No relationship talk, no forever. I don’t know where this will lead us. But I do know I want to be here tonight. With you.”

Steph looks up, caught in the weight of that gaze. Giulia’s tone wasn’t flirtation anymore, it was clarity. „Giulia I…I just got out of a relationship and I-I’m such a mess“ Steph confesses, her eyes growing glassy.

But Giulia lifts her chin up, looking straight into stephs eyes. „I love messes“ she smiles sincerely „And I don’t want to pressure you into anything but…I can promise you a good night. One that matters. One that makes you forget“ Giulia ads and something in Steph cracks at those words.

„Just…“ Steph sighs, finally accepting that she really needs and wants this „Just kiss me now“ she whispers, stepping closer to giulia with a new gained confidence. 

And when they kiss, finally, deeply, there was no hesitation.

Just heat, and breath, and something that just felt right. Even though Giulia is trying to hold back, trying to be respectful of Stephs feelings , the kiss is growing more heated.

„Come to my room“ Steph whispers breathless agains giulias lips when they part for s econd. Giulia gulps and her eyes darken while looking at Steph, all flustered.

She just gets out a nod but tha’s all the confirmation Steph needs to pull her down the hall and into an elevator. Finally, after what felt like years, they reach Stephs room and as soon as the door closes Steph pulls Giulia towards her by the collar of the shirt. 

The kiss is urgent and heated, Giulia proceeds to lift Steph up and throw her onto the bed with a smirk. She looks at her for a few seconds before climbing onto her, straddling her lap.

But just as soon as she’s about to lean in Steph stops her with a hand against her chest. „Everything okay?“ Giulia asks worried, scared she might have overstepped.

„Yes I um just never…I don’t really have any experience at this“ Steph confesses, face going red. „You mean sex generally?“ giulia asks, sitting up and stroking stephs arms comfortingly.

„No no but with a… women, i’ve never had sex with a woman. Or kissed a woman. I have no idea how to do this right“ Steph finishes her sentence, trying to convert Giulias gaze.

„Hey Steph look at me“ Giulia answers calmly and eventually Steph turns her head towards her again. „I can show you…or we just cuddle. You decide“ she answers with a sincere smile.

„No i don’t want to just cuddle…I want you to show me. But please be careful okay?“ she answers. „Of course, you tell me when to stop, everything at your pace“ Giulia smile widens before she leans down again.

„Now can i kiss you again? I can’t get enough of that taste“ Giulia whispers against Steph who leans up and closes the gap between them.

They just make out for a bit, exploring each others mouths and tongues. Stephs hands slowly wandering over Giulias body while Giulias Fingers were entangled in Stephs hair.

„You know…you can touch me too“ Steph grins into the kiss and gently guides one of Giulias hands down her body. Giulia does not need tob e told twice, hand slipping under Stephs shirt, gently stroking up and down her waist and bare stomach. At those touches Steph shivers and a shaky breath leaves her mouth.

„Can i take of your shirt“ Giulia whispers into Stephs ears who just eagerly nodds in response. Giulia chuckles at the reaction and finally pulls Stephs clothing above her head. „Fuck“ she bites her lip at the sight, Steph only in a red lace bra beneath her. „Like what you see?“ Steph grins, finally gaining a bit more confidence. „Fuck yes I just want to ugh“ Giulia groans and keeps looking down to Stephs cleavage.

„Touch them?“ steph finishes the sentence. Now Giulia ist he one to nod eagerly, while biting her lip. „Go ahead…but let me get rid of this for you“ Steph whispers and unclips her bra before discarding it completely. Giulias eyes grow even darker and finally her hands are roaming over stephs stomach, waists and eventually her breasts. She starts massaging them softly, carefully studying Stephs facial expression.

Then she wettens her fingers and gently rolls both of stephs nipples between them. That’s when a moan leaves stephs mouth, not able to keep quiet anymore. Giulia grin widens at the sound, she has always loved women that were vocal in bed. „Mi fai impazzire (You are driving me insane)“ Giulia leans down and whispers in Stephs ear.

Steph whimpers in response, growing even wetter at those words. „T-take off your clothes giulia“ Steph begs, looking up at Giulia with pleading eyes. Giulia just grins in response but then quickly gets rid of her top and shorts, only wearing underwear now.

„Fucking hell“ Steph curses, hands running over giulias defined abs. Giulia straddles steph again and spreads her legs with her knee so their hips are flush against each other. „I can’t wait to fuck you“ Giulia whispers against Stephs lips and then bites them gently.

„Giulia don’t…just do something“ Steph begs again, trying to get some friction by lifting her hips. Giulia chuckles at that but eventually has mercy on Steph and quickly gets rid of her shorts as well.

She can see a big wet spot on Stephs underwear and can't contain a groan. Then Giulia looks up again, making eye contact with Steph „Can I touch you?“ she asks, trying to spot any hesitation in Stephs eyes.

But the older woman beneath her is already a complete mess. „Please Giulia“ she asnwers breathlessly and lets out another moan when Giulia gently rubs the wet spot on her underwear. „Good Girl“ Giulia murmurs, taking one of Stephs nipples in her mouth while still rubbing her.

Finally she has mercy on the squirming mess underneath her and slides down stephs underwear. After another encouraging nod by Steph she dives in with a long and deep lick through Stephs wolds.

„Yes fuck“ Steph pants and holds onto the duvet. Giulia resumes that a few times before she lazily starts to circle stephs clit, fingers still outside but already completely wet.

„You want me to fuck you properly?“ she asks with a smug grin, looking up at the older women. „For gods sake yes giulia“ Steph moans when giulia increases the pressure on the clit. „I’ll fuck you but something is missing baby“ giulia sits up while steph whimpers at the loss of contact.

„Where’s your medal?“ she asks Steph wo frowns at the question but point towards her medal draped over a chair. „I think you should wear it while i fuck you, you deserve it champion“ giulia explains while getting the medal.

Steph chews on her lip, incredibly turned on by the idea but also thinkig about something else. „How would you feel about using it for…something else?“ Steph finally asks.

Giulia just raises her eyebrows in response, curious about what Steph is on about. „If you’re not into stuff like that i understand but i like to be…um tied up. I like it a bit rougher you know“ Steph admits, going completely red at the confession.

But her worries are soon forgotten when a Giulias grin widens. „So Ms. Catley likes it rough? We can definitely do rough“ she answers and pins Stephs arms abover her head. „If you feel uncomfortable, just tell me“ Giulia adds whispering before Steph nods and she resumes to tie Stephs hands together with her medal.

„Be a good girl and turn around“ giulia says with a calm but commanding voice. Steph whimpers because she is so inredibly turned on but does as she’s told by the younger girl.

Giulia pulls Steph up so she is on her knees with her head resting on the matress and arms spread out in front of her, tied together. Giulia leans over her so she can whisper directly into stephs ear „How do you feel about spanking?“ she asks, gently rubbing stephs back and ass cheeks.

„G-good“ Steph stutters, pressing out her backside a bit more. „perfect“ Giulia grins and lightly slaps stephs ass. It’s not hard but still leaves a pleasant sting on stephs skin.

„Now be a good girl and hold still, i still haven’t touched you properly“ Giulia moves behind steph and licks through her folds once again. Steph moans but it’s muffled by the pillow. „I wanna hear you properly“ Giulia commands and lightly slaps Stephs ass once again.

The second time she licks through her folds Steph turns her head and moans again so Giulia can hear her this time. „Perfect“ Giulia mumbles into Stephs lips while resuming to lick her. Not long after she starts introducing a finger, dipping it in just a little bit but not quite enough for steoh who starts to squirm.

„Please giulia“ Steph moans again but a strong slap on her ass, stronger than before, makes her stop and stay still. „Don’t be impatient“ Giulia grumbles and resumes her movements as soon as steph stays still.

Slowly, too slow for Stephs liking, she starts pushing the finger all the way inside. Steph moans again at the sensation „Please Giulia, more please“ she is now a begging mess. „You want me to fuck you harder? All spread out for me and ready?“ giulia asks with a teasing voice, moving her finger slowly in and out.

„Y-yes please“ steph begs again. „Alright then“ Giulia positions herself directly behind Steph again and pushes a second finger inside. Steph can’t contain a moan, full aware that she might wake up the whole hotel but too far gone to really care about it.

„Fuck baby you are so tight“ Giulia groans, getting wetter with every movement as well. „I’m gonna move now, tell me when it’s too much“ she announces and then starts pumping her fingers in and out.

At first it is still gentle, letting Steph adjust tot he intrusion. But a few minutes in Giulias movements are getting harder until she presses Steph down and fucks her right into the matress.

Steph is a moaning mess, already completely gone and getting closer tot he edge. „Fuck turn around principesa“ Giulia moans out and switches Steph onto her back.

She can’t help herself from looking down at the aussie for a few moments. Sweat glistening on her forehead, panting and hands still pinned over her head.

„I’m gonna make you cum now“ Giulia whispers in her ear which leads to another moan. She starts kissing down Stephs body, stopping at her nipples to bite them lightly before going further down until she is met with Stephs dripping cunt. 

She immediately attaches her mouth to Stephs clit, sucking at it and even biting it lightly. Noticing how close Steph was getting she pushes her fingers back inside the older women and resumes fucking her as har das possible.

Not long after Stephs walls are starting to tighten, nearing her orgasm. „Don’t come yet“ Giulia commands and lets go of Stephs clit for a bit, just fucking her with her fingers and enjoying the view.

„beg for it“ she then adds when they make eye contact which increases the pressure building inside steph even more. „Please Giulia please let me cum“ Steph immediately complies, dignity already out of the window.

„More“ Giulia grins and starts sucking and licking Stephs clit again. „I beg you please i need to cum so bad“ Steph almost screams out, thighs clenching around giulias head. „Good girl, cum for me“ Giulia murmurs inside Stephs folds.

The vibrations are enougg to push Steph over the edge. She cums with a loud scream of Giulias name, her whole body tensing before finally relaxing again.

After helping Steph ride out her orgasm Giulia gently retracts her fingers and leaves a short kiss on her clit before scooting up again. „All good?“ she asks, stroking a bit of hair outside of Stephs face. Steph, still a panting mess, just nods.

So Giulia kisses her forehead gently before loosening the handcuffs, aka the medal, around Stephs wrists. She notices the marks on her hands and kisses them softly as well.

„You did so good“ Giulia smiles down at Steph who finally opens her eyes again, breath evening out. „That was…incredible“ she chuckles which leads to a wide smile on Giulias face, glad that Steph enjoyed the experience.

After a few minutes of silence, Giulia was just laying on top of steph, enjoying her warmth, the older woman speaks up again. „Do you want me to um…you know return the favour?“ she asks, clearly exhausted.

Giulia smiles softly but shakes her head „Believe me i enjoyed it more than you probably“. „I doubt that“ Steph mumbles and closes her eyes again, wrapping her arms around giulas body.

„Do you want to sleep here? I mean i understand if you wanna leave but…um you can also stay“ Steph asks, a bit awkward, not sure if she is being to forward. But once again Giulia manages to calm her down just by smiling softly and kissing Stephs nose lightly

„Of course i wanna stay“ she answers and rolls down from Steph. „Good“ Steph answers but can’t contain a yawn which is their sign that it’s definitely time to sleep now. 

[transgendz]

This is an update, but to summarize what's already been said-- my roommate/fiancé and I need to leave Mississippi. We are intersex and trans, respectively. We have significantly more affordable housing and more consistent work waiting for us in NY (not NYC, upstate), already set up and agreed upon. We can't afford to move. I've set up a GFM to cover the moving costs, and we're trying to get there before it gets too cold to do so, which is a lot earlier in the year than you'd think! We need to get about 3k a month towards this for about three or four months to have any hope of making this possible, hence the goal below. More details below the cut and in the previous post linked above, I'm just trying to keep this short.

🚨Dm me for details or proof of the situation, also vetted by @kyra45-helping-others who does scam busting on here. Anything given through GFM has a portion taken out for their company profits, so I am leaving my links below if you'd prefer to give directly. EVERYTHING will be logged on GFM🚨 (I was slow to do that for a couple of days bc a loved one passed, but I'm back on it I promise)

If you'd prefer to support and get something for it beyond just knowing you've helped two people escape fascism, my art blog is @theartistrans, examples below, and I am trying to get more things on my kofi, although there are tiers as it stands.

PP V $C Kofi GFM

$1,886/$3,000

He is having an increasingly difficult time accessing the medical care he needs, and has already experienced intense medical discrimination here. I have sort of written off transitioning at all, having prioritized our safety and my ability to advocate for him in the eyes of cis medical professionals.

We do not qualify for aid here, and were denied even when we were homeless. What this means in effect is that we are unable to get insurance, unable to afford what medical treatment we can access, etc. We have both lost frightening amounts of weight from poverty, leading to some of his doctors seeming to write him off as a lost cause.

[scarletwinterxx]

birthday clues - lee haechan imagine

hellooooo ~ it's been a while, but it's fullsun's birthday and i really really wanted to post this today🥺 happiest birthday, hyuck. I love you always, in all ways🤍

For my other nct works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

my x acc - niniramyeonie 🤍🌻

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(Pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’ve been planning this for weeks.

There’s a laminated checklist taped to your wall, color-coded in three shades of chaos. There’s a Tupperware of star-shaped cookies cooling on your kitchen counter. And there’s a hand-drawn map of the city stuffed in your backpack, dotted with red Xs for the custom scavenger hunt you designed like your life depended on it.

Because it does.

Not literally, of course — just your dignity.

Hyuck’s birthday is today, and more importantly, so is the annual Birthday Bet. 

The tradition started as a joke years ago when you gave him a paper crown and he retaliated with a balloon-animal bouquet labeled “Most Annoying Human 1st Place”. Every year since, you’ve tried to outdo each other. This year? You're going to bury him in the sweetest, most ridiculous, most extra birthday ever.

You’re halfway through setting up clue #2 (taped under his favorite bubble tea shop bench, complete with a mini polaroid of the two of you dressed as bananas in 2021) when your phone buzzes.

🐻 hyuck: you’re being suspicious. 🐻 hyuck: do not try to emotionally assassinate me with baked goods again. 🐻 hyuck: unless they’re the chocolate ones. 🐻 hyuck: actually nvm. do your worst.

You roll your eyes, heart already doing the annoying thing it does every time he texts you something even slightly cute.

you: tell me where you are right now. no reason. not planning anything. 🐻 hyuck: totally not at the park where we had our disaster picnic in 2020 🐻 hyuck: totally not wearing the cursed sweatshirt you hate 🐻 hyuck: totally not hoping you’ll show up with cookies and feelings

You stare at the last text a second too long.

Cookies and feelings He’s teasing. Obviously. You take a breath, shove clue #3 into your backpack, and head to the park.

Operation: Win This Birthday Bet And Definitely Not Confess Your Feelings is officially underway.

The sun’s still climbing when you spot him, lounging on the crooked picnic bench like he owns the park, hood up, legs stretched out, face tilted toward the sky like he's waiting for a sign from the universe.

You’re not the universe, but you are holding a bakery box and a smug smile.

“Happy Birthday, Your Highness,” you say, setting the box down in front of him with a dramatic flourish.

Hyuck peeks at you from under the hood, grin spreading like mischief. “Is that cookies I smell?”

You say nothing. Just lift the box, crack it open, and let the scent do the work. His eyes go wide.

“You’re playing dirty.”

You shrug, innocent. “You started it.”

He bites into a cookie, chews slowly. “I’m not gonna cry, but just know — if I do, I’ll lie and say it’s the pollen.”

“Noted.”

You slip your hand into your hoodie pocket and pull out the first envelope, thick and obnoxiously glittery. He catches the motion and freezes mid-bite.

“No.”

“Oh yes.”

“I just got glitter off my floor from last year.”

“Then it’s good timing,” you say, handing him the envelope. “Clue number one, birthday boy.”

He narrows his eyes but takes it, cracking the seal dramatically like he’s unwrapping a treasure map.

Clue #1: Where you first declared me “unbearably tolerable” Go find the bench that’s uglier than your sweatshirt Something sweet waits for you there. Also: check under it, dumbass. His laugh bubbles up immediately. “You remember that bench?”

“I remember everything you say when you’re half-asleep on cold wood and full of fries.”

Hyuck stands, stretching lazily. “So you’re sending me across town for some cryptic love note and maybe a brownie?”

“Incorrect,” you say, stepping back and giving him your best evil mastermind expression. “You’re being sent on an emotional journey. There are snacks along the way.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Something flickers in his eyes, quick and unreadable, before the smirk returns.

“Fine,” he says. “But if this ends with karaoke and me crying, I’m giving you the trophy and making you take me out for dinner.”

“Bold of you to assume I haven’t already reserved a table.”

Hyuck points at you. “You’re dangerous.”

“And you’re stalling,” you say, already turning. “Move, Lee Donghyuck. The next clue expires in twenty minutes.”

He laughs again — loud, bright, and just a little breathless — then grabs the rest of the cookies and jogs after you.

“Wait,” he calls. “Did you say reserved a table? Are you— Is this a date in disguise?”

You don’t look back. You just grin and say, “Guess you’ll have to finish the hunt to find out.”

You two arrive at destination number two, just outside the tiny record shop that still sells mixtapes and smells like dust and heartbreak.

“Tell me,” he says, slightly breathless, “did you bribe the old man inside to play our cursed playlist when I walked in?”

You sip your drink casually. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You timed ‘Tiny Dancer’ to hit as soon as I opened the door.���

You shrug. “The universe provides.”

He narrows his eyes and pulls the second clue from his back pocket, still faintly glittery and now slightly crumpled.

Clue #2: Back when we didn’t like each other (or pretended not to), You stole a blue hoodie from me here. I let you keep it. Mostly because you looked stupid cute. Find the hoodie. Try not to cry. (Spoiler: it’s not the same one, but it smells like you think it should.)

Hyuck reads the clue aloud, voice softer near the end. His fingers pause on stupid cute. He glances at you.

“Bold confession,” he says, trying for a smirk.

“Technically, you started it by saying I looked better in it than you ever did.”

“I blacked that out.”

You reach into your backpack and pull out a tiny gift bag — navy blue, tissue paper fluffed to near perfection. He stares at it for a moment before taking it.

Inside is a hoodie. Blue, oversized, soft like a memory. You made sure the tag still had the tiniest corner of your cologne sprayed onto it — the one he once said smelled like “comfort and bad decisions.”

He pulls it out, eyes dragging over the fabric, expression unreadable.

“Put it on,” you say casually. “Or I take back the cookies.”

He laughs but he does it, tugging the hoodie over his head in one fluid motion. When it settles on him, it looks right. Familiar.

“It’s warm,” he mumbles, tugging at the sleeve. “You’re trying to ruin me.”

“I’m trying to win.”

He looks up, and for a second — just one heartbeat — it feels like the game is long gone. Like this is something else entirely.

But then he breaks the tension with a loud sniff.

“Yep. Smells like your obnoxiously clean laundry and deep emotional manipulation.”

You smile, triumphant. “That’s clue three’s vibe too, by the way.”

He groans. “There’s more emotional warfare?”

“Three more,” you say. “Next one’s already waiting.”

“God,” he mutters, but he’s grinning again. “You’re actually insane.”

“Only on June 6th.”

He tugs the sleeves down over his hands and follows you down the block, hoodie hanging off him like a secret.

You let him take the lead for clue three. It’s taped inside the cover of a romance novel at your favorite used bookstore — the one with the peeling wallpaper and the grumpy cat that always sits in the window like it owns the place. 

You told the owner in advance. He raised an eyebrow, muttered something about “young people and their dramatic quests,” and gave you a discount on a sticker that says Certified Soft Boi.

Hyuck finds the book within five minutes.

“Let me guess,” he says, sliding the clue out carefully. “You picked this one because they’re enemies to lovers and yell at each other every chapter?”

“Sound familiar?”

“I don’t yell.”

“You whine,” you say sweetly. “Like a drama lead in a K-drama with bad bangs.”

He opens the card. His lips twitch as he reads.

Clue #3: You once made fun of my favorite book. Then you read it. Then you cried. (I still haven’t let you live it down.) Go where we argued for twenty minutes about whether love confessions in books are realistic. Find the sticker. It says how I feel. (Try not to combust.)

You watch him scan the shelves until he stops at the romance section. There, on the spine of the exact book you shoved into his hands last year (he said it looked cheesy, and then stayed up until 3 a.m. reading it), is a neon pink sticker.

He peels it off.

It reads:

“I Like You. Unfortunately.”

He looks up slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You had this printed?”

“Custom ordered,” you say. “Just like your birthday cake.”

“There’s a cake?”

“Clue five, if you survive long enough.”

He tucks the sticker into his wallet. Doesn’t comment on it. Doesn’t need to.

Clue four is at the basketball court.

It’s barely late afternoon now, but the sun’s hitting everything in that golden way that makes the world feel too soft. You’re perched on the bench while he dribbles a ball — not part of the plan, he just stole it from some kids who “needed better defense anyway.”

He’s grinning as he jogs over, cheeks flushed, hoodie sleeves pushed up.

“I better be getting another hoodie after this,” he says between breaths.

“You’ll get an emotional meltdown and a handwritten letter.”

He sighs dramatically. “Just what I always wanted.”

You hand him the next clue. This one’s folded in a tiny origami heart, because you’re extra and because you know he’s a sucker for dumb things folded into cuter things.

He unfolds it carefully, slower this time.

Clue #4: This is where you almost confessed. But you tripped on your own shoelace and called me a “walking heart attack.” I thought it was the best almost-love confession I’d ever heard. Check under the bench. There’s a mixtape. (Play track four. I dare you.)

He’s quiet for a moment, blinking down at the page. “I remember that,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“You were nervous. Kept kicking gravel. I thought you were gonna break up with me.”

You laugh “We aren’t even dating. ”

“Exactly,” he says, looking up at you. “Which made it weird that I was scared.”

You don’t know what to say to that so you say nothing.

He crouches down, pulls a little box from beneath the bench — a tiny tin with a USB drive inside. It’s labeled: Hyuck’s Birthday Mix (100% Emotional Damage Edition)

“Track four?” he asks, turning it over in his hands.

“Track four.”

He doesn’t play it yet.

Just slips it into his pocket, eyes still on you like he’s seeing something he hasn’t quite let himself look at before.

Then he grins. “This better not be an audio recording of you crying over my hoodie.”

“That’s track three,” you say.

He laughs again, loud and full and honest And it’s the kind of sound that makes you think: You’re not even trying to win anymore.

You just want him to know.

By the time you reach the last stop, the sun’s dripping gold across the city, painting everything in the kind of light that makes you feel like maybe the world’s in on your secret.

You’re at the rooftop.

The rooftop — the one above his apartment complex, where you both snuck up to drink lukewarm soda and complain about life during your second year of friendship. It’s seen all your highs, lows, and accidental hand-holding incidents that you both pretended to brush off while your hearts did backflips.

Now it’s dressed in fairy lights and chaos. A table covered in snack bags, a too-small cake with a single sparkler jabbed into it, and two chairs facing the skyline like the city’s putting on a show just for him.

You hear his steps behind you before you hear his voice.

“This is illegal levels of cute.”

You don’t turn. Just lift the final envelope from the table and hold it out behind you.

He takes it slowly, brushing his fingers against yours longer than necessary.

Clue #5: You win. (Not the bet — obviously, that’s still me.) You win because this birthday made me feel like my heart’s about to explode. You win because you remembered everything I said in passing, even the stupid stuff. You win because you always win when it comes to me. So here’s your final task: Sit down, eat your cake, and ask me what I want for my birthday.

There’s a pause. You can hear the sparkler sizzling.

Then his voice, low and slow and way too soft.

“You really went for the kill this year, huh?” like he knew exactly what you want for your birthday this year.

You finally look at him. He’s got that dumb smirk on, the one that says he’s trying to hold back a smile and failing miserably.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t think you’d make it to clue five. I had a backup plan in case you rage quit.”

“Please. I live for your dramatic clues.”

He steps closer, envelope still in hand. “So. That spoiler…”

You lift a shoulder casually. “What about it?”

“Should I sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you on your birthday before I grant the wish or after?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling — wide and unguarded. “I swear if you make a corny joke before kissing me—”

He kisses you mid-sentence.

It’s soft, certain, and somehow still teasing — like everything else he does. His hands settle on your waist like they’ve been waiting there for years. And when he pulls back, just a little, he’s grinning again.

“You still lose,” he whispers.

“Only if you count kissing you as losing.”

“I do,” he says smugly. “Because now you’re stuck with me.”

You pretend to groan. “Ugh. The worst prize.”

But you’re already pulling him back in, sparkler still crackling behind you, the city twinkling below like it's clapping for you both.

This time, there’s no envelope. No glitter. Just you, Hyuck, and the softest end to the longest game you’ve both been playing — and finally, finally winning.

He kisses you again deeper this time, slower. Like he’s memorizing the shape of the moment. Like he’s been waiting for permission and now that he has it, he’s not wasting a second.

His hands slide up your back. Yours find the edges of that blue hoodie you gave him, fingers curling into fabric that now feels like it belongs right where it is — wrapped around him, wrapped around this.

When you finally part, it’s just the sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city below.

He keeps his forehead resting against yours, eyes still half-closed, like opening them would break the spell.

You smile at him soft, real, the kind of smile that only ever belonged to him anyway. And you say, in the quietest voice you’ve ever used around him:

“Happy birthday, Hyuck.”

He grins — that big, obnoxious, heart-wrecking grin. “Yeah,” he says, tugging you closer again. “Definitely the best one yet.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, still close, still so stupidly beautiful in that hoodie and that grin and that soft glow of fairy lights that somehow makes him look even more unreal.

“So,” you say, cocking your head, “you admit I win this year.”

Hyuck’s eyes narrow, playful, as his hands tighten at your waist. “Don’t push it.”

“I won,” you repeat, smug now. “Say it. Say the words.”

He chuckles, leans in just a bit like he’s going to whisper something devastating.

Instead—

“Just wait for your birthday,” he says, low and casual. “I’m gonna surprise marry you.”

You blink. “You—what?”

“I’ll do it sneakily. Like, you’ll wake up and boom—wedding arch, legal paperwork, vows written in glitter pen—”

“You’re insane.”

“—the whole group chat invited. Chenle officiating. Jaemin crying. Doyoung hyung objecting, probably.”

“Hyuck—”

But you don’t finish because he shuts you up with another kiss, quick and smug this time, like he knew you’d have something snarky and didn’t feel like letting you say it.

You pull back again, breathless and half-laughing. “This is not how I imagined this.”

“Oh?”

“You’re using kissing as a weapon.”

“I am,” he agrees. “Can’t help it. Waited too long to do this.”

He kisses you again. Slower now. Softer. No smirk, just sincerity pressed to your mouth like it’s an apology and a promise all at once.

And this time, you don’t stop him. You just melt into it — hoodie and rooftop and ridiculous scavenger hunt clues and all — because he’s always been the prize.

[c4shm0neyxxx]

Bare with me here…univerisity setting kang wooyoung x reader having a friends with benefits relationship but surprise reader catches feelings she decides to ignore until one day she learns there are rumors going around campus about wooyoung having multiple girls he sleeps with so she decides to break it off bc maybe they agreed to not sleep around while they have their lil deal going on? And that leaves wooyoung confused bc he doesn’t know what he did wrong until he finds out about the rumors and confronts the reader bc he also caught feelings and he’s like let me put an end to any rumors and since we know he likes to make lil videos this time he keeps the camera rolling while they do their thing but out of respect for the reader and also not wanting people to see what’s his the video doesn’t show much but records the sound of what’s going on for everyone on the campus to shut up with their silly rumors 👀

Ok ngl this was kinda confusing (but that’s ok!!!) so I hope you like this😘

“Rumors & Recordings”

Pairing: Kang Wooyoung x fem!Reader

⸻

You should’ve known this was a bad idea from the beginning.

Friends-with-benefits rarely stayed just that. Not when the lines blurred so easily — in the way Wooyoung would stroke your hair after, or pull you close as if he hated the idea of you leaving his bed. Not when his texts came in at midnight just to say “missed you,” like you were anything more than a body in his sheets.

But you had rules.

And you were foolish enough to believe he’d follow them.

So when whispers started floating around campus — about Wooyoung and a girl from his stats class, then another from his gym club — you told yourself they were just that. Whispers. Cruel rumors. Until your friend accidentally let it slip:

“I thought you and Wooyoung had, like… an open thing? He’s kind of all over the place.”

That was it. The crack that split everything open.

Because no matter what you told yourself — that this wasn’t real, that you weren’t allowed to care — it still hurt. Maybe more than it should have.

You didn’t cry when you ended things. Just gave him a quiet, “We’re done,” before walking out of his dorm.

Wooyoung didn’t chase you. Not at first. Just stared after you, jaw tight, eyes sharp like he was trying to figure out a puzzle he didn’t know he’d been handed.

⸻

Three Days Later

“You’re avoiding me,” he says, cornering you outside the library like it’s nothing. Like you didn’t just shatter whatever fragile thing you had.

“I’m not.” Lie. “We’re not anything anymore. I’m just giving us space.”

Wooyoung frowns. “You ended it out of nowhere.”

“Did I?” Your voice is cold now. Sharper than you want it to be. “Thought maybe you were too busy with your other hookups.”

He goes still. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Woo. People talk. They say you’ve been with half the girls in our year. What, did you forget we said no one else while we were—”

His hand shoots up. Not in anger — in frustration. “I haven’t touched anyone but you.”

You blink. “The rumors—”

“Are bullshit.”

Something in his voice stops you. There’s none of his usual cocky charm, no teasing glint in his eyes. He looks… tired. Hurt, even.

“I wouldn’t break the one rule we had,” he says. “You think I’d risk losing this? You?”

You look away.

“I caught feelings too, Y/N.”

It crashes into you like a wave — the admission, the weight of everything unspoken between you.

But he’s not done.

“Let me fix this,” he murmurs. “Let me make sure they know who I’m with. Who I want.”

⸻

That Night

It’s familiar, the way his hands explore your body like they already know every scar, every freckle. But there’s a different energy now — something raw, something laced with emotion neither of you want to name out loud.

You notice the camera first.

Perched silently on his desk. The red light blinking.

“Wooyoung—”

“It’s not for anyone’s eyes,” he says quickly, seeing the look on your face. “Just the audio.”

You freeze.

“I want them to hear what real sounds like,” he says, voice husky. “Let them talk. Let them wonder. But they won’t have a single doubt who I’m with.”

It’s crazy. Messy. Petty.

But you understand it. The need to take back the narrative. The need to show the world that you’re not some secret. That you matter.

So you let him.

The camera rolls, but only the sound of tangled sheets, whispered names, soft gasps, and the distinct, unmistakable rhythm of passion fill the air.

He kisses your collarbone and whispers against your skin, “Only you. Always you.”

And when the audio clip somehow finds its way into the group chat of a certain gossip-prone student society — cropped, tasteful, and full of unmistakable truth — the rumors stop.

Just like that.

⸻

Days Later

You’re walking across campus when a girl smirks and says, “Guess we were wrong about Wooyoung.”

You don’t answer. Just smile — a private, satisfied curve of your lips — and disappear into the arms of the boy waiting by the quad.

He kisses your forehead in front of everyone.

Let them talk.

This time, the story’s yours.

[m0r1bund]

Things have been quiet lately on account of my house burning down. Nobody was hurt, and I haven't lost my physical / digital art pieces, but I have no way of working on them right now... which means I'm going a little stir crazy! haha! ha !!!

I had the foresight to draft a post with some of my favorite panels from my twine game, Threadbare. I was originally just gonna use them to promote the game, but this is all I can to work on right now, so you're getting the director's commentary reel I guess. but first

Play Threadbare!

Or don't, I can't control you.

I started making Threadbare so that I could weasel my way out of drawing comics. it was supposed to be a low-effort way of telling Frey and Kairos' story, which is, in the grand scheme of things, ancillary to everything happening on wasteland Earth.

(honks clown nose)

the art is also made to be low-effort, even if it doesn't stay that way. unremitting red/white/blue/black takes the guesswork out of painting in color, and also feels like propaganda art. mapping characters to certain colors makes simplifying them easier. Frey can be reduced to an angry blue smudge and Kairos can be a stupid red hat on a triangle.

I had already written out most of the Frey-Kairos scenes back in 2023. The holding cell scene is actually one of the first things I drew LOL. Everything else sprang up from the twine game format. I knew I wanted some buffer between Frey breaking out of the Abattoir and Frey confronting the Oracle, so that we could learn more about the two of them, and also the Archive, without rushing into prophecide. This ended up changing the structure of the story more than I thought it would... and created a lot of self-inflicted scope creep... which is for me to unpack at a later date (when I'm done) (girl help im not even done)

but probably the biggest addition is

her

and ES I guess.

ES and Rhodes were originally funnie little nature spirits, but I long suspected that Rhodes would make a kickass ex-secutor, and I needed some NPCs to explore the Archive with, so. here ya go. I promise I'm going somewhere with them. Rhodes is filling the shoes for another old character concept I had (which was partly cannibalized by the Oracle of Caeres, funny enough.)

<more spoilery stuff under the cut. play my twine game.>

The other characters like Petrei and the Undertaker were designed on the spot, which is to say I just opened a canvas and started painting and hoped for the best. because this was supposed to be low-effort. haha.

I want to go back and figure out Petrei's anatomy because the idea of doing horrible manweevil origami is fun.

The other big surprise in all of this was having sound and music figure so strongly into things. My last twine game, Killswitch, had maybe three little songs to set the mood, and no SFX. I guess something broke in me and I decided I wanted to make an ace attorney game this time. You're all getting bespoke vox files now. my gift to you. and part of why this took like 9 months

I feel lucky that I found the musician ROZKOL, whose work is featured prominently in the twine, just as I was dipping my toes into audio editing and really scripting the meat of things. I was not expecting to find a musician in the Creative Commons scene who had totally figured out what a ceaselessly grinding imperial death machine sounds like. I have a hard time thinking in music, even though it motivates so much of my work... sometimes I feel like I have aphantasia but for compositions LOL. So I really enjoyed this kind of post-hoc surprise collaboration, it was cool to watch the scenes start to mold themselves around ROZKOL's music.

The slideshow-quicktime-event-fight-scene is especially molded to ROZKOL's song "Good Soldier." A fun return to the fine tradition of warrior cats AMVs that I was raised on. bringing in player participation is something that I would like to explore in a more elegant way in the future, I really like the idea of a music video being an active, participatory experience and not a passive one. and honestly I just want other people to feel the same unhinged rush that I feel when I put a song on repeat 70 times while painting.

There's I think four different routes in the first part of that encounter, leading to some variant panels like these.

depending on your choices, Frey gets roughed up a little more or a little less, ES may or may not stick their neck out for you, and the Oracle has choice words for you if you're a good soldier dancing partner.

(fun fact: if you don't choose to act during this scene, Frey picks a route and acts at random.)

I'm still learning what does and doesn't make a meaningful player choice. is there a branch because the possibility of choosing to / choosing not to see it is compelling, or is there a branch just to be a branch? I don't really think that you need to fundamentally alter the narrative to have fun with it. little things like ES and Rhodes remembering your name still feel meaningful to me, even if they don't change the outcome of anything. but I'm also bending to certain limitations that I cannot fully discuss until I finish this damn thing.

Speaking of finishing, I made the denouement in a deranged fever haze. I got sick twice in the span of, like, a month. It was pretty miserable. but hey, at least I had time to finish my twine.

^^^ how it feels to finish your twine (she doesn't know her house is about to burn down)

further in the vein of things burning down, I'm glad I found the song "In Your Mind" and didn't get cold feet about keeping it in the tracklist. I was struggling to nail down the tone of the ending scene, until I gave it a few listens and things clicked. but at the last minute, I nearly swapped it for "Burn it All Down." It's a really good song, too, but it's probably for the best I briefly possessed Kairos' gift of prophecy and didn't pick the one about uhhhhh. burning.

I think that's all I got for now. thanks for playing and/or flirting with the idea of playing by reading this post. kill petrei for me. and try not to be on fire.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Look Out for the Little Guy!

Summary: Scott Lang's peaceful visit to the Rogers-(Y/L/N) home comes to an abrupt end when (Y/N)'s water breaks and she goes into labor. As Steve's unfortunately-timed absence forces (Y/N) to re-live the traumatic events of their first child's birth, Scott's unwavering support calms her down and reminds her that you should never count out the little guy.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a brief description of a panic attack and childbirth (nothing graphic)

A/N: Hi guys! I'm back with another one-shot, this time centering around Natalia Austen Rogers-(Y/L/N)'s birth and how awesome Scott Lang is lol I decided that Booksmart and Co. wouldn't quite fit into Quantumania, but our world-renowned historical-fiction author and part-time Avenger would seamlessly fit into the writing of Scott's memoir! Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Look Out for the Little Guy! July 2025 The Home of Steve Rogers and (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Brooklyn (Superhero Snapshots Masterlist)

“Aaaaand cut!” Scott exclaimed, clicking the ‘end recording’ button on his laptop screen and fist-pumping the air in triumph. “That’s how you do a book interview! Don’t tell anyone else, but you’re hands-down my favorite interviewee; seriously, you’re an amazing storyteller and you’ve given me enough material for at least three more books!”

(Y/N) chuckled bashfully at the older man’s enthusiastic praise, taking a sip of her coconut water and setting the glass down on the dining room table before folding her hands on her nine-month pregnant belly. “What can I say? You asked some very insightful questions for a first-time interviewer and as eager as I am to meet this little gumball, I’ve been dying to talk about something that’s not baby-related for once.”

(Y/N)’s second pregnancy was nearing its conclusion, much to her overwhelming relief. The third trimester had been plagued by insomnia, leg cramps, unending cravings and irregular mood swings, a far cry from her fairly easygoing pregnancy with Carina, and she was more than ready to finally give birth. When her due date of July 1st came and went without so much as a Braxton-Hicks contraction, she was on the brink of a hormone-induced meltdown that had narrowly been averted by a call from a blissfully unaware Scott Lang; the engineer was in New York accompanying Hope on business and was wondering if she was available to be interviewed for his memoir, and she immediately agreed. Scott’s interview was a welcome distraction from her swollen ankles and aching back, and she found herself enjoying her friend’s unorthodox but effective interviewing style the longer the day went on; she opened up about the unspoken struggles she’d faced throughout her time as an Avenger and the friends she’d lost along the way, but he’d also gotten her to talk about more lighthearted subjects like her love of music and her scrap-booking hobby. All in all, a very relaxing day, she thought to herself with another smile.

“That’s how Maggie was towards the end of her pregnancy; anything VistaCorp-related usually bored her out of her mind but around the middle of her third trimester, she’d practically beg me to talk about work just so she could get a break from all the baby preparations.” After tucking his laptop into his backpack, Scott sat back in his chair and took a swig of his Gatorade. “Are you guys doing anything special for dinner?”

“Steve’s picking up Indian food on the way home from the park; butter chicken and basmati rice for him and Cari, and Palak paneer with extra green chilies for me.”

Scott arched a brow at that. “Coconut water, spicy food…you two must be going through Google’s top recommendations for inducing labor. What’s next, pineapple cores, a long walk around the block and…?” His nose wrinkled and he rapidly shook his head. “Y’know what, never mind, I don’t wanna think about you and Steve like that.”

“Don’t worry, we’re only trying the coconut water and spicy food.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes in affectionate exasperation and started to stand, prompting him to jump out of his seat and help her to her feet. “Thank you, Scott. I just wanted to stretch my-” A pained gasp escaped her as she straightened her posture, one hand flying to the small of her back while the other clutched her protruding stomach.

“What is it?” Scott asked, a panicked expression on his face as he leaned down to meet her gaze. “Is the baby coming?!”

“No, I think…I think my back’s just a little sore from sitting for so long. Mm-hmm, that’s what it is.” (Y/N) attempted to reassure her friend with a smile that more closely resembled a grimace. “On an entirely unrelated note, I think I’ll give Steve a call and see if he’s on his way home yet.”

But just as (Y/N) was reaching for her cell phone resting on the antique sideboard, she felt a sudden release of liquid soak the legs of her jeans and watched Scott’s eyes widen in shock. “(Y/N), i-is that what I think it is?” She nodded mutely, momentarily unable to speak, and he ran a frazzled hand through his hair. “Oh man.”

With the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears, (Y/N) snatched up her cell phone and shakily dialed Steve’s number, holding her clammy forehead with her free hand and taking a steadying breath as she waited for him to answer. “Hey sunshine, we were just about to head over to Tikka; Palak paneer with extra green chilies, right?” She opened her mouth to reply but was unable to. “(Y/N)? (Y/N), what’s wrong? Baby, talk to me, what’s wrong? (Y/N)!”

(Y/N) was vaguely aware of Scott taking her cell phone from her and gently easing her down onto a dining room chair, her breath coming out in ragged puffs as he switched on the speaker function. “Her water just broke, Steve, and I think she might be going into shock.”

Steve’s breath hitched in shock but a moment later, his soldier’s training kicked into full gear. “Everything’s gonna be okay, (Y/N), okay? I’ll call Dr. Prince and drop Cari and Indy off at Bucky’s, just like we planned, and then I’ll get to you as fast as I-”

But (Y/N) couldn’t hear her husband’s reassurances or feel her friend’s comforting touch, not through the painful memories of Carina’s birth flooding into her mind. Seven years ago, while Steve and the others were still on the run, an unfortunate encounter with one of Stephen Strange’s mystical artifacts transported her to Sakaar, a dangerous planet ruled by a megalomaniac named the Grandmaster; she’d reluctantly entered into a partnership with Loki – who’d crash-landed on the trash planet after being thrown from the Bifrost by his adoptive sister Hela – and agreed to pose as his wife in exchange for safe passage back to Earth. Unfortunately, her water broke on their first night in the Grandmaster’s palace and with Loki acting as her midwife, she delivered Carina Lorraine Rogers-(Y/L/N). After all the trauma she’d endured over the years and the losses she’d suffered, it was frankly a little shocking that Carina’s birth affected (Y/N) as much as it did. She thought she’d processed the distressing experience of giving birth in an unfamiliar place without Steve there to support her, but having her water break while he was away instantly brought her back to that terrible, frightening day.

A warm hand enveloped hers and pressed it flat against a sturdy chest. “(Y/N)? C’mon, (Y/N), take a deep breath for me, like this…” The chest expanded and contracted in a slow and steady rhythm. “Okay, now you try.” With great effort, she sucked in a deep breath and exhaled and she felt the hand give hers an encouraging pat. “You’re doing great! Let’s take a couple of more breaths together, c’mon.” They breathed in steady tandem and after a short while, she could feel her heartbeat slow to a resting pulse. While her breathing evened out, her vision cleared and she found herself meeting Scott’s reassuring gaze; her friend was kneeling on the ground in front of her, holding her hand flat against his chest and smiling kindly, clearly setting aside his own anxiety to ease her through her sudden panic attack. “How’re you feeling now, (Y/N)?”

“A-A little better…” Accepting the glass of coconut water he offered her, (Y/N) took a timid sip and smiled feebly. “Thank you, Scott.” The older man merely patted her hand and moved to stand as she turned her attention to her cell phone sitting on the kitchen table. “Steve?”

“I’m still here, sunshine, I’m right here,” Steve quickly assured her. “Scott’s gonna drive you to the hospital now, and I’ll be there with you before you know it. Is that okay, baby?”

Tears prickled in (Y/N)’s eyes before she furiously blinked them away and nodded. “Yes, of course, it’s just the thought of you not…not being there, it…” Her voice trembled and her grip tightened on her glass of coconut water. “I-I can’t do this without you, Steve. Not again.”

“You won’t have to, (Y/N), I promise. This won’t be like last time. There’s nothing in heaven or hell that’ll stop me from being there for you and our little Talia, you hear me? We’re gonna do this together, sunshine, and once I get there, I won’t let go of your hand for a single moment; hell, you can break every one of my fingers and I still won’t let go.”

The conviction in her husband’s voice brought on a fresh wave of tears, but she felt herself begin to calm down and even managed a weak chuckle. “I’ll have to remember that when it’s time to begin pushing.”

“There she is. I’ve gotta hang up now and give Dr. Prince a call but before I do, someone wants to wish you luck.”

There was rustling on the other line before Carina’s exuberant voice filled the silence. “Good luck, Mama!”

(Y/N) beamed. “Aw, thank you, lemon drop! Be a good girl for your Uncle Bucky, all right?” The toddler babbled out an indistinguishable reply that caused her to giggle while Steve regained control of his cell phone. “Well, I tried.”

“Bucky’ll be fine; all he’s gotta do is feed her some Dino Nuggets and put on Fantasia and she’ll be out like a light.” Steve chuckled before sobering once again. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” (Y/N) ended the call and released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her anxiety ebbed by her husband’s soothing reassurances; this isn’t like Sakaar, she told herself as she finished off her coconut water, Steve’s going to be right there with you this time. Spotting Scott’s backpack hanging off one of the dining room chairs, she realized he’d left the room sometime during her call and her brow furrowed as she glanced around to see where he’d gone. “…Scott?”

“Yep, I’m right here!” After a moment, Scott re-entered the dining room with a packed hospital tote and her handbag slung over his shoulder; he was clutching a bundle of clothes in his hands and upon further inspection, she realized that it was a pair of maternity leggings, underwear and a sanitary pad. “When Maggie’s water broke, she was pretty stubborn about changing her clothes before heading to the hospital. I tried telling her that the nurses wouldn’t care about a little amniotic fluid and she…well, let’s just say that I was extremely lucky not to have ended up at the bottom of the San Francisco Bay that day. But what can I say? I was young and pretty dumb back then.”

Smiling, (Y/N) carefully stood and accepted the bundle. “Well, I’m glad that your ex-wife resisted the urge to kill you. Thank you, Scott, for all of this, and I’m so sorry if this ruins yours and Hope’s evening.”

“Nah, we were just gonna break out the suits and go have a beer at the top of the Empire State Building.” Scott shrugged good-naturedly. “This is way more exciting than that!”

Sometimes I forget just how strange my life is, (Y/N) thought to herself with an inward chuckle, giving Scott a chaste kiss on the cheek and heading to the guest bathroom to change while he mopped up the puddle on the floor, the God of Mischief helped me deliver Carina and now Ant-Man is escorting me to the hospital. She was adjusting her legging’s elastic waistband and imagining Captain Marvel accompanying her to the pediatrician when she felt her first true contraction, the sudden pain wiping the smile off her face and causing her anxiety to return in full-force.

“I know, gumball, I know you’re very eager to make your appearance and we can’t wait to finally meet you…” (Y/N) cradled her swollen stomach and smoothed a hand over its swell. “But I’d really appreciate it if you can wait until your Daddy’s there with us. Please, for me?”

There was a series of knocks on the bathroom door and Scott’s muffled voice calling out, “You ready for this, (Y/N)?”

She gave herself a moment to compose herself and took another deep breath before opening the door and giving her friend an overly-cheerful smile. “Not at all! What about you?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely! Yeah, I’m totally not internally freaking out and imagining getting stuck in traffic and having to deliver a baby in the backseat of my rental car.” Scott’s teasing grin faltered under the weight of her unimpressed stare. “Oh man, you’re not gonna kill me and dump me in the Hudson River, are you?”

“Of course not, Scott, don’t be silly,” (Y/N) smirked despite herself and patted his chest as she brushed past him. “The East River’s much more convenient.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over an hour later, (Y/N) was fully checked in at NYU Langone and had been assigned a room in the L&D wing; the friendly and thoughtful nurses who filed in and out of her room were a far cry from the Grandmaster’s stoic personal healers, and the typically unpleasant beeps of medical machinery and the sterile smell helped set her mind at ease. She was in the earliest stages of labor – only two centimeters dilated and experiencing the occasional contraction – but because her water had already broken, Doctor Prince recommended that she stay at the hospital and wait for active labor to begin; Scott stayed by her side the entire time, allowing her to squeeze his hand whenever a contraction crept up on her and talking her ear off to distract her from Steve’s noticeable absence.

“Yeah, my publisher says that the title of my book needs to have ‘pizzazz.’ Who even says ‘pizzazz’ anymore?”

(Y/N) chuckled and slipped another ice chip into her mouth. “You think your publisher’s bad? Every time I start writing a book, Greg tells me that any title I come up with needed to have a certain ‘je ne ce quoi’ to it and he always insists on using an obnoxiously exaggerated and borderline offensive French accent.”

Scott laughed. “No, really?”

“Yep, he goes full Inspector Clouseau. I’d ruthlessly mock him for it, but I’m pretty terrible at coming up with book titles and he always helps me workshop good ones-” The tell-tale cramping sensation of a contraction caused her to grip Scott’s hand tightly and squeeze her eyes shut as she forced herself to breathe through the pain. “Holy shit, that was a strong one! When did they say they were going to give me the epidural?”

Her friend glanced over at the clock hanging on the wall. “In about an hour; they said they wanted to wait until you’re at about five centimeters.” She nodded wordlessly, her gaze fixed onto the clock as her palms began to sweat in nervousness; her thoughts were beginning to spiral again and she couldn’t stop herself from imagining one horrible possibility after another. What if Steve had gotten into a car accident? What if Kingpin finally discovered the part they played in helping Clint and Kate against the Tracksuit Mafia? What if another alien invasion was happening right outside and she wasn’t there to help him? What if-? “Hey, did I tell you that Cassie started an underground fight club at her high school?”

“What?” (Y/N)’s head whirled around to look at Scott and the impish grin on face caused her to burst into embarrassed laughter. “You’re having a lot of fun keeping me out of my own head, aren’t you?”

“Of course! I’m the master of misdirection, remember?” He pulled a deck of playing cards out of his jacket pocket and brandished them. “But I think I’ll save the slight-of-hand magic for when things really start to heat up.”

“Well, that’s something to look forward to…” Grimacing in discomfort, (Y/N) reached for her hospital bed’s remote and adjusted its position; she breathed a sigh of relief when her back pains lessened but frowned when she noticed the contemplative expression on Scott’s face. “Did you come up with another book title already?”

Her friend shook his head. “No, I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that Loki – you know, that scary-hot war criminal who almost ruined the Time Heist – that he was the one who helped you out during Carina’s birth.” A regretful look crossed his features as he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up-”

“It’s okay, Scott, really,” (Y/N) quickly reassured him with the briefest of smiles. “Right now, it’s kind of hard not to think about that day. Nat told you all about my little unwanted vacation to Sakaar, right?”

“Yeah, she said you accidentally touched a magic bowl in Doctor Strange’s house while you were there with Thor and Loki looking for their dad, and they got trapped there after falling off that Rainbow Bridge. I told her that it sounded like a bad round of Mad Libs and she just gave me that scary silent death glare of hers.” Scott shuddered at the memory. “Yeah, not my funniest joke. She told me that you and Loki agreed to work together to find a way home, but that you went into labor before you could and Loki helped you deliver Carina.”

(Y/N) set her empty cup aside to cradle her bump, taking comfort in her baby girl’s restless movements. “It’s a gross oversimplification of what happened, but pretty spot-on. Loki was there for me, and he made sure that I wouldn’t give birth frightened and alone in a strange place; Carina and I owe him our lives, and I wish that the rest of the world had gotten to know him the way we did before he…” She swallowed thickly and set her mouth in a firm line to keep from tearing up. “Anyway, from the moment I found out I was expecting this little gumball, a part of me’s been afraid that Steve…that he wouldn’t be here with me again. That’s pretty stupid, huh?”

“C’mon, (Y/N), your feelings aren’t stupid. You and I know better than anyone that it takes time for trauma to heal.” The uncharacteristically subdued expression that crossed Scott’s features and caused her to frown in concern. “Just when my life was finally getting back on track, I got trapped in the Quantum Realm for five years; it was only five hours to me but when I got out, Cassie was suddenly a teenager and half the world was just…gone. And yeah, I was terrified out of my mind, even after I tracked you guys down and we started planning the Time Heist. We brought everyone back and saved the world in the end, but I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve spent the past couple of years afraid it’s all gonna go away again.”

(Y/N)’s heart clenched in sympathy at the older man’s honesty. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

Shaking his head, Scott rubbed his free hand soothingly along her forearm. “It’s not something I really talk about, so how could you know? Besides, it’s been easier to handle ever since I started writing my book; I think it’s really helped me put my post-prison life into perspective, and it’s even given me an opportunity to reconnect with Cassie.”

“I’m happy for you, Scott.” She managed a smile before looking out the room’s window at the dusk slowly beginning to settle across Manhattan’s skyline. “I just wish I’d found a way to manage my own fear, too.”

“You know what? I think you’re gonna get over it sooner than you realize.”

“What do you-?” (Y/N) turned her head in time to see the door swing open and Steve burst into the room; his clothes were disheveled and his brow was glistening with sweat as he panted with exertion but in that moment, he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “Steve!”

Steve was at her bedside in a flash, pulling her into his arms and holding her tight as she buried her face in his neck and clung to him. “I’m here, sunshine, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” He suddenly pulled back, a panicked look filling his azure eyes while he took in her appearance. “I didn’t miss anything, did I?”

“No, sweetheart, I’m only two centimeters dilated and they haven’t even given me an epidural yet,” (Y/N) patiently explained and the tension in Steve’s posture relaxed; her husband’s presence instantly put her at ease, an almost giddy grin breaking out across her face as he pressed tender kisses onto her sweaty forehead. “All you missed was filling out some boring paperwork and a nurse asking me for my autograph mid-contraction.”

Chuckling, Steve brushed her hair behind her ears and slipped his hand into hers. “I’m sorry I missed that. I would’ve been here sooner but after I dropped Cari and Indy off at Bucky’s, I got stuck in traffic driving out of Red Hook; I think they’re might’ve been some police activity down at the docks again but whatever the hell it was, it must’ve knocked out the cell towers.”

Scott pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hummed in surprise. “Yeah, you’re right. I was beginning to wonder why I hadn’t heard anything from Hope…” They exchanged a knowing look as (Y/N)’s grip on Steve’s hand subconsciously tightened. A month earlier, they’d gotten word from Kate Bishop that someone blew up Wilson Fisk’s entire armory in Red Hook and since then, they’d both been paying careful attention to the crime boss and his operation’s activities in Brooklyn; it was widely known that Kingpin was a vengeful and volatile man, so it was easy to surmise how he’d react if he learned that they’d had a hand in thwarting his attack on Christmas Eve. There’s always a chance he might not retaliate against someone as famous as an Avenger, (Y/N) thought to herself, trying her hardest not to think about the well-known journalist he’d allegedly murdered. “I should probably head back to the hotel so she won’t worry.”

“Of course.” When their friend got to his feet, Steve reached across the bed and shook his hand. “Thank you, Scott, for looking after (Y/N) and Talia. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“Hey, you risked literally everything to help me get Hope, Hank and Janet back; I’d say we’re pretty even.” Scott smile widened as he turned his attention to (Y/N) and held his fist out for her to bump. “You’re gonna knock this out of the park, (Y/N)!”

(Y/N) tapped her knuckles against his and beamed up at him. “Hell yeah, I am. Thank you for everything, and tell Hope that I said hi!” After saying his goodbyes, Scott grinned and backed out of the room with an encouraging double thumbs-up, and (Y/N) looked at her frazzled husband with playful suspicion. “You didn’t ditch my baby in the street and run all the way here, did you?”

“Nope, I parked your baby in the first open spot I found in the hospital’s parking garage and then I ran. And thanks to that episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air we watched the other week, I took the stairs so that I wouldn’t wind up trapped in the elevator while you were in labor.” Steve pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable, that familiar spark of fire she’d fallen in love with flickered in his azure eyes as he gripped her hand in his. “Are you ready to meet our little girl?”

Overwhelmed by a surge of pure adoration for the man sitting at her bedside, (Y/N) cupped his cheek and smiled when he leaned into her touch. “I’m ready for anything, sweetheart, so long as you’re by my side.” The corner of Steve’s lips curved upwards into a loving smile at that; just as he moved in for a kiss, a sudden contraction caused her to squeeze her eyes shut, pain rippling throughout her entire body. “Sonofabitch!”

“It’s okay, baby, just keep breathing. Nice and easy, like we practiced together in our Lamaze class,” Steve soothed, copying her breath pattern and guiding her through the discomfort. “You’re doing fantastic, (Y/N), just like that.”

After the contraction finally ebbed away, (Y/N) sighed in relief and opened her eyes to meet Steve’s distressed gaze. “I swear to God, the next time a nurse steps foot in this room they’d better be here with my epidural.” Her irritation shifted to concern as she took in his pained features, and it wasn’t until his eyes flicked down that she realized her hand was still crushing his in an iron grip. “I’m so sorry, Steve! Are you all right?!”

Steve’s fingers threaded around hers and prevented her from drawing her hand away from his while an impish grin began to spread across his face. “I can do this all day.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the early morning of Independence Day, Natalia Austen Rogers-(Y/L/N) made her much-anticipated arrival. Throughout the entirety of (Y/N)’s labor, Steve was her pillar of strength; he fetched her cups of ice chips, massaged her calves whenever they began to cramp, offered her a steady stream of encouragements and allowed her to squeeze his hand during each and every contraction. Steve’s unwavering support throughout (Y/N)’s labor continued when it finally came time to push, his clear soldier’s cadence laced with reverence as he relayed the doctor’s orders to her and wiped the sweat from her brow; there were tears of joy in their eyes when Doctor Prince held up the squirming newborn for them to see and while (Y/N) tiredly held her against her chest, a proud Steve cut her umbilical cord and tucked a blanket around her tiny body, the trio savoring their moment of peace as a family.

Natalia, much like her illustrious namesake, was a calm and observant baby. Unlike Carina, she entered the world quietly and without any fuss, curiously studying her surroundings with wide (Y/E/C) eyes; while she possessed the same hair and eye color as her mother and sister, her facial features heavily favored her father, right down to her plump bottom lip and the dimple on her left cheek. After the doctor and nurses left the room, the newborn napped contently against Steve’s bare chest and (Y/N) watched the heart-warming sight for as long as she could before her own exhaustion overtook her. She slept until Natalia’s first feeding and after their daughter’s hunger was satiated, it was time to notify one of their closest friends of their very special delivery.

“She’s beautiful, Booksmart, just like her Mama,” Sam cooed, beaming on the other side of the FaceTime at Natalia, who stared in wonderment at the image displayed on her father’s cell phone. “She’s got her Daddy’s dimples, though.” He tore his eyes away from his goddaughter to shoot Steve a grin. “One helluva birthday present, huh, Steve?”

“The best present I could ever ask for.” Steve smiled proudly and pressed a kiss onto (Y/N)’s cheek. “But (Y/N) was the one who did all the hard work; seeing her go through what she did last night was truly a life-changing experience.”

(Y/N) smiled. “You were everything I needed and more, sweetheart. We did it together, just like we said we would.”

They both leaned in for a kiss but a sudden whimper from Natalia caused (Y/N) to readjust her hold on the newborn and murmur gentle assurances as she wriggled around. “You’d better get used to that, honey-bun; your parents are so lovey-dovey they put 90’s rom-coms to shame.”

“For a guy who shamelessly takes credit for our entire relationship’s existence, Birdbrain, you sure do complain about it a lot.” With a head-shake and a good-natured roll of her eyes, (Y/N) adjusted Natalia’s cotton hat and allowed her tiny hand to clutch her finger. “How’s Buenos Aires?”

“Hot as hell, but gorgeous. Our mission last night went off without a hitch and Joaquin and I are scheduled to leave late tonight, so I’ll be there around this time tomorrow to meet my new goddaughter. Speaking of which, has the cutie-pie met her little sister yet?”

“Not yet, we’re gonna wait to introduce Cari to Talia until we come home tomorrow, where it’s more private.” Steve’s tone remained light, but there was a tense edge to his words. They trusted the discretion of the medical staff at NYU Langone but knew that the longer they stayed at the hospital, the higher the chance that the paparazzi would catch wind that a famous Avenger had just given birth and descend upon the hospital in a desperate attempt to photograph the family; and if that’s what they’ll do for a photograph of my daughters I can only imagine what they’ll do if they ever realized who their father really is, (Y/N) thought to herself as she exchanged a look with her best friend and pursed her lips. “Bucky promised to make lasagna for dinner so try not to be late, Cap.”

Sam perked up at that. “Bucky Barnes’ world-famous lasagna and my best friends’ cute little baby? I wouldn’t miss it for the world, man! I’ve gotta go and make sure Joaquin’s up and at ‘em; we’ve got a mission debrief scheduled at noon and that kid had the bright idea of doin’ tequila shots last night…”

They said their goodbyes – with Sam promising to bring souvenirs home for (Y/N) and their daughters and a celebratory cigar for Steve, and (Y/N) shooting her best friend a hardened glare – and once they ended the call, Steve set his cell phone onto the bedside table and held his hands out. “Ready for a break?”

“Yes, please.” (Y/N) pressed a kiss onto Natalia’s forehead before carefully placing her into Steve’s waiting arms; she relaxed against the pillows and took in the sight of Steve quietly telling their daughter all about her godfather, her smile brightening when his gaze met hers and she saw the unconditional love shining brightly in his azure eyes.

Before either of them could speak, there was a knock on the hospital room’s door and a moment later, Scott popped his head around the door and he gave them a little wave. “Hey guys! The nurse at the front desk said you’re accepting visitors?”

“Of course, come in…” (Y/N)’s eyes widened as she watched the older man carry an enormous vase of sunflowers, a stuffed teddy bear dressed as Uncle Sam and an insulated lunch bag into the room and nudge the door closed behind him. “Oh, Scott, you shouldn’t have!”

“Why not? After all, it’s not every day my awesome superhero friends have a baby! Oh, Hope’s attending a seminar right now, but she wanted me to tell you that she’ll stop by for a visit this afternoon.” Scott breezily spoke, setting the vase and the patriotic teddy bear down on the window’s ledge and offering the lunch bag to (Y/N). “I’m sure the food’s tasty at a swanky hospital like this one, but I figured you guys would appreciate some lunch from Tikka Indian Grill, seeing as you missed out on it last night.”

(Y/N)’s stomach started to rumble as she eagerly unzipped the bag, flipping open its lid and groaning in delight when the mouthwatering aroma hit her nose. “You, Scott Lang, are my favorite superhero.” She withdrew the take-out boxes with one hand and pointed a stern finger at her husband with the other. “Do not tell Sam I just said that, capiche?”

“Capiche, but given the unique circumstances I think he’ll understand,” Steve chuckled, shooting her a fond smile before glancing over at Scott. “Thank you, Scott. Would you like to meet Talia?”

Scott enthusiastically nodded and practically leapt across the room to sanitize his hands; after rubbing a liberal amount of hand sanitizer into his skin, he sat in the hospital room’s armchair and allowed Steve to carefully ease the newborn into his waiting arms. “It’s nice to meet you, Natalia! My name is Scott, but most people just call me Ant-Man. You’re stinking cute, you know that? You’ve got your mom’s hair and eyes and…aw, you’ve got your dad’s dimples! Yep, those are definitely America’s dimples.” (Y/N) and Steve exchanged matching looks of amusement as he settled down onto the bed beside her. “You know what’s kinda weird? You were born on the Fourth of July and share a birthday with your dad, who was formerly Captain America, your Uncle Sam – you know, like Uncle Sam – is our new Captain America, and your mom writes historical-fiction novels centering around American history.” Scott, whose eyes had widened in manic realization while he spoke, looked up at the pair and huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “That’s all gotta be a crazy coincidence, right?”

Steve slung an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders as an unbothered smile played on his lips. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my hundred and seven years, Scott, it’s that there’s no such thing as a coincidence.”

“I’ll second that,” (Y/N) interjected, giving her husband a chaste kiss and resting her head in the crook of his neck. “It’s kind of hard to keep believing in coincidences after you do things like befriend gods, sorcerers and witches and help break the causal structure of our spacetime to achieve time travel.”

“Huh.” The older man blinked away his uneasiness and smiled down at Natalia. “As you can see, the world’s a very strange place, my little Lady Liberty, but you don’t have anything to worry about. Your parents are awesome, butt-kicking superheroes and you’ve got so many honorary super-powered aunts and uncles out there who’ll help ‘em look out for you. Me, I’m just a little guy who uses a suit to shrink and grow, but you know what they say: you should always look out for the little guy.”

(Y/N), who’d been lulled into a sense of tranquility by the warmth of Steve’s embrace and Scott’s sweet words, blinked her eyes open and looked over at their friend and smiled to herself. “You know what, Scott? I think you might’ve just found the perfect title for your book.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Scott's the best, isn't he? Much like how Bruce is dubbed The Strongest Avenger in Thor: Ragnarok, I hereby dub Scott Lang as The Nicest Avenger lol thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5 

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist 

Superhero Snapshots: "Hawkeye" Masterlist

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @fanficfandomlove @momc95 @savedbystyle @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @outoftheregular @junipermurdock @mads-weasley @username23345 @crist1216 @capswife @lilmschild @crowleysqueenofhell @mary1raven @groovy-lady @ljej95 @toostrangerkid @prettysbliss

[see-arcane]

Okay so he does not write for 17 days from the 6th of June.

Now I understand that Mina compiled only writings that have to do with Dracula. Aside from the beginning where she establishes that she is to go to Whitby with Lucy and by including the proposals she introduces their relationship to three of the key players for the hunt. After that, she does not include any correspondence that may exist between herself and Lucy until they unite in Whitby, because it would naturally be just personal letters about "unnecessary matters" that she mentions in the prologue.

But I wonder if Jonathan has kept journaling to keep himself sane like he has said writing does, but she thought that there is nothing in there that gives new information about vampires and the Count. Like she included about how he tampers with mail, setting it on fire, but it is important to cover the reason why they all thought Jonathan was safe all that time. The theft of his belongings is also important to explain later why he got nothing to remind him about himself when he got amnesia for weeks. So there may be more things he wrote but she didn't think they add anything to the narrative.

Could be! Though my theory tends to lean towards a combination of paranoia, despair and practicality keeping him from writing anything other than what we see.

Paranoia - Every time Jonathan takes the journal out is a chance for Dracula to catch him at it. It’s a gamble whenever he uses a moment of questionable ‘privacy.’

Despair - Much as writing can distract from misery, sometimes you’re just too miserable to make yourself put anything down when everything is either the same or a worse flavor of horrible. I wouldn’t be up to recording every bit of psychological torture on a daily basis in his shoes.

Practicality - Limited amount of pages. Potentially only one pen with its set amount of ink left. I don’t see him risking using up either on anything other than noteworthy events that add to his store of information. General vampire hell shenanigans can go unwritten.