#but it’s always felt like just a movie thing to me

[1-800-adore-me]

Nonsexual Dominance with Caleb 🍎

Since Caleb has been around you ever since you could remember your childhood, his presence was always lingering around your person. He was like an anchor - strong, dependable, and who you knew would always hold you down if life began getting hectic. It was the norm for you to depend on him since he was your safe place. When you were younger, he was the perfect study buddy to have and now that you've moved into his home, he was now the perfect roommate. You didn't notice it at first since he was always around you as kids but once the two of you reunited and began living with each other again, you've started to notice how much his presence dominated your life.

Everywhere you two went out in public, he had his large hand on your back. - “Just a safety measure, pipsqueak. Wouldn’t want you to get lost in the crowd, hm? You’re just so small that I’m afraid you’ll fly away if I’m not around you,” He’d reassure. You don’t tell him that you could feel a stark contrast when he isn’t around and doesn’t have that warm hand of his behind your back - that familiar spot that he loved to rest his hand on felt cold and lonely without him. In reality, he loved the feeling of your walls being down when you felt safe with him. It made him feel needed, wanted, and dependable from you, his darling. 

You noticed that he always seems to be making the decisions. Even if you make suggestions, his words always make you string along with whatever he says - like that one time when he was washing your hair with his shampoo and you said you liked it, in which he replied that he would buy one for you to take home. Another moment was when you asked Caleb if you should wear a black or white dress for one of his events - which he then chose black that day. Seeing you rely on him makes him happy. - “Just relax that overworked brain of yours and let me decide for you, okay? You can rely on me, princess.” After a hard day, it was especially comforting to have Caleb plan out the evening once you get back home from a mission. - "You look worn out, sweetie. Here, why don't you relax at the dinner table and I'll make your favorite, okay? Then after that, we can finish that movie you've been dying to finish and head to bed early so you can recharge more."

Regarding your wardrobe, half of it was from Caleb at this point. When he came home, he would have a shopping bag in his hand, along with that gentle smile on his face. - “Look at what I got today, honey. I was passing by a store and I just knew that you would look gorgeous in it. When have I ever been wrong about my fashion choices regarding you?” - He’d let out that familiar, warm chuckle as you ran towards him with an enthusiastic smile. You would give him a small fashion showcase, walking and strutting down the living room in your brand new clothing that he was generous to gift you. One of your favorite everyday tops was from Caleb, as well as your new jewelry that you would now always be seen with. 

“Oh, this? Caleb gave me another jacket! Isn’t it gorgeous!?” You would squeal to your friends on FaceTime, showing off the beautifully crafted jacket that seemed to fit you just right. Due to your excitement, you wouldn’t notice Caleb peeking from your barely cracked open door, grinning to himself as he drank your reaction like a dehydrated man. His heart always felt full whenever you wore anything he bought as he knew that you were wearing him. His things that he bought for you. It was an arousing sight, seeing his claim all over you and you just take it with that adorable, naïve smile on your face - “No way, Caleb! Thank you so much! I’ll be sure to show this to my friends whenever I can!” By this point, your friends should already associate the majority of your wardrobe with him.

Another thing with Caleb was that he was insistent on making sure you had proper rest. He was always a worry-wort before you moved in, making sure to call you once he knew the clock was reaching your bedtime in order to make sure you were taking care of yourself. - “Mind explaining why you’re still up even though it’s 30 minutes past your bedtime, princess? …Oh, you were ‘just’ waiting for me? I can tell that you’re lying to me. You’re staying up because you wanted to watch a new episode from that show you’re binging, huh?” You would give a defeated sigh, wondering if Caleb had another evol that could read minds at  this point. Once you moved in, it was common for him to set the bedtime for you. - “You should go to sleep now, pipsqueak. I can see eyebags developing under those pretty eyes of yours. I’ll put you to bed now, okay?” He would effortlessly carry you off the couch with those strong arms of his and lay you into your shared bed, tucking you in so neatly that your drowsy eyelids were already closing by the time he was done. He would soothe you to sleep with a small hum as he stroked your soft locks, making sure that you were deep asleep before heading to bed himself. If you were stubborn and still wanted to spend time with him even though you were fighting off the urge to sleep, he would laugh at your adorable attempt and shush you with another bad bedtime story. - “You always tell me that I tell bad stories. But who’s the one who always falls fast asleep when I tell one, pipsqueak?” No matter what, it would always end up the same. The last thing on your mind before you’d drift into a slumber would be his gentle, hushed voice. 

[kaiser1ns]

#. A KISS TO PROVE IT

featuring 𝗶𝘁𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝘀𝗮𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff + slight suggestive. for him kissing wasn't special, but his actions told you otherwise.

You are thirteen. A teenager—well, at least at the start of teenage life. Watching movies where the main characters share their first kiss has become fascinating. What’s so special about kissing, anyway? Do you just walk up to a random boy and kiss him, or do you tell the friend sitting next to you that you want to try it?

"Sae, do you know anything about kissing?" you ask, glancing at him as he remains glued to the TV, watching yet another football game.

"Huh? You mean that disgusting thing adults do when they love each other?"

Love each other? The thought rolls around your mind. Do you really have to love someone to kiss them?

“Well, I think it’s romantic,” you counter.

He finally looks at you, leaning slightly closer. “What’s so romantic about swapping germs with someone else?”

Typical boy—he doesn’t get it.

But what if? What if you kissed someone you really, really liked? What if he was the boy sitting next to you, holding your hand like he is now, his curious gaze waiting for an answer? Would it still be disgusting? Or would it be... something else?

“When a boy and a girl fall in love, they do more than just hold hands or visit each other’s houses,” you murmur, your cheeks heating under his stare.

At your words, Sae lets go of your hand, and you suddenly wish you hadn’t said anything, but then he speaks.

"Do you want to try?” he asks but you don’t answer. You can’t. Your heart is pounding, but he leans in before and... It’s quick, awkward, and ends almost before it begins—a brush of lips that leaves your mind with questions.

“That’s it?” he asks, skeptic and unimpressed by the mere act of kissing. You’re stunned silent, your lips tingling. But Sae, who is never satisfied, leans in again. “Let me prove it—kissing is gross.”

This time, it’s slower, more deliberate, and definitely less awkward. It’s warm, it’s strange, and you can’t help but think he’s wrong. It’s not gross at all. This time, the kiss lingers, as if he’s trying to understand why you find it so fascinating. The world seems to fade away for a moment, until—

The front door slams open.

“I’m home!” a familiar voice echoes through the house, followed by hurried footsteps. Sae pulls back instantly, his expression blank as if nothing happened.

Rin appears in the doorway, stopping dead in his tracks. He blinks at the two of you, then points at you and Sae accusingly. “Why is Nii-chan eating her face?”

You want the ground to swallow you whole.

Sae groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Rin, stop saying stupid things.”

As Rin bounds away, laughing, you sit frozen, your cheeks on fire. Sae exhales, leaning back on the couch like it never happened. “See? Disgusting,” he mutters, though his tone sounds less sure now but he still reached out to hold your hand.

Some things, it seems, are better left in theory.

When Sae left for Spain, it felt like your heart had been ripped out. The boy you’d spent so many afternoons with, arguing, laughing, and most importantly sharing your first kiss, was gone. And the distance between you, one thing remained certain: Sae was your first love, and you fully intended for him to be your last.

Now you are seventeen, in a cozy hotel room, sitting on the plush couch, it feels like no time has passed. He’s here again, leaning into you, and the world-famous athlete—Itoshi Sae the pride of Japan, playing for Re Al is nowhere to be seen.

To you, he’s just Sae. The same annoying, sarcastic boy who always got under your skin, except now.

His lips are on yours, firm and demanding, as if making up for lost time. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer, and you don’t resist. How could you, when you’ve been missing him just as much?

His mouth trails down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin, and you let out a soft sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair. “You’ve been gone too long,” you whisper, between kisses. Sae pauses just long enough to smirk against your lips. “Not my fault you’re terrible at long-distance relationships.”

You roll your eyes, but the playful retort dies on your tongue as his lips find yours again, hungrier this time. He’s missed you—he doesn’t need to say it; it’s in the way he kisses you, the way he is finally claiming his most important prize.

“Still gross?” you tease, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, his expression softens. “Very gross,” he says, before pulling you back into another kiss, as if trying to prove his point all over again.

You melt into him, your heart pounding as your hands clutch his shirt, desperate to close the space between you. It’s overwhelming, messy, and intense, but neither of you care.

Right now Sae isn’t Japan’s treasure. He’s yours.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[ghouljams]

I work at a florist. I hate Valentine’s Day. 40 guys all calling the night before and 80 more day of, all panicking because they forgot. I’m admin- I don’t make the arrangements, but I write the cards. Eugh… having men, grown men, joke with me about the sexy (gross) nicknames they give their girlfriends. They want *me* to write their cards because my hand writing is better or whatever (your girlfriend knows your hand writing is shit, write it yourself!)

One guy went on and on about why he calls his girlfriend his pink energizer bunny- cuz she goes all night long! Yuk, yuk…. Yuck. Let me go hurl in the trash can. Another was quoting Romeo and Juliet cuz nothing’s more romantic than the love story of two 11 year old kids.

My mom owns the shop so, I don’t get to leave until *everything is done*

…would they understand if I came home with chocolates (I work next to a candy shop, it’s quite dangerous) then passed out? Happy v-day bubs… let’s take a nap together. I brought leftovers from the celebration we threw for a successful Valentine’s Day for the staff! (Brazilian bbq!) Is that romantic enough? I’m not asking for a story. Just, would they mind if I did this?

…I’m tired… I’m not directing my crankiness towards you. Ily…. You’re one of the only things making me smile during this hell week. ILY Ghoulie-goo

That sounds awful but also so funny. Maybe I'm an asshole too though because I just walk into the shop and grab a couple dozen flowers to make my own bouquet on the busiest day of the year...

Anyway I kinda love the idea of texting Ghost periodic updates from flower shop hell, sending him the worst cards you've had to write, the guys that come in looking for your cheapest option, reminding him you're bringing home chocolate so he absolutely should not buy any, and you don't even want to smell a flower when you get home.

Which is good for Ghost because he's always operated with a quiet kind of affection that's hard to buy gifts with, or even celebrate holidays like this with, because he's never been one for grand displays. It's nice that he doesn't have to remember valentines day since you spend the week leading up to it complaining about it. It's nice that he can wander to the butcher and pick up a few good steaks to cook, and he doesn't have to mess around pretending he knows anything about flowers. It's nice that you both can sit in front of the telly afterwards and dig your fingers into a box of chocolates that neither of you paid for and pass the ones you don't like back and forth.

"Coconut," Simon grunts.

"Ooh gimme." You open your mouth for him to deposit the halved chocolate square on your tongue. Some action movie you'd wanted to watch plays a rainbow of colors over your face as you chew happily, and Simon doesn't think he's ever felt more comfortable, more happy with someone in his life.

[fortunapre]

PAIRING: hamzah x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you and hamzah have been close friends forever, but during one of your routine movie nights, things get heated and confessions are made…

WARNINGS: 18+, no piv, dry-humping, fingers do things, making out, cussing, female reader, mentions y/n

this was supposed to be fluffy but fortunately for you i think im ovulating

[PT. 1] _fortunapre’s.iphone.series_ 2.2k words

“First of all, what game are you playing?” You asked, grabbing both bowls of ice cream that you prepared and heading to the couch where you and Hamzah were watching Star Wars.

“Uh, does it matter? This is a once in a lifetime chance I'm giving you to be in my video!” Hamzah teased, making a face like he thought you were insane.

You playfully hit his shoulder and laughed. “Well considering some of your videos are… questionable to say the least, I’m gonna need more context.”

Hamzah just spooned ice cream in his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. While you laughed and looked back towards the TV, he kept his eyes on you, admiring. Tonight was one of your guys’ monthly ice cream nights that you started since you met about 6 years ago. Ever since you were teenagers, you both have been side-by-side. The best of friends.

Hamzah took notice of your pajama shorts, large t-shirt, and messy hair. He had no idea how your most disheveled look still made him stare.

You felt his gaze and looked at him, but before you caught him, Hamzah looked back at the tv.

Now it was your turn to admire. Hamzah had always looked effortlessly hot in your eyes, but movie nights especially. Something about his careless look made your heartbeat a little faster. Like this view of him, in pajamas, with strands of dark, curly hair flying everywhere, was only made for you. Especially when he wore his glasses.

This secret staring match lasted the whole movie.

Usually, when movie night ended and the icecream was finished, Hamzah would talk a bit and then head home. It always killed him to leave you.

However, this time, Hamzah planned on telling you something he’d been hiding from since he met you. He wouldn’t back out of it this time

To stall, and make the night continue, he started with a simple converstation. “Wait, so do you want to be in the video or not, ‘cause I completely understand if it’s too much. I know me and Martin can get, like, kinda weird but it's what the viewers like so…”

Hamzah was rambling and you knew that if you didn’t stop him now he’d go on forever. You leaned over, and quickly put your hand over his mouth, shutting him up. You were both already situated with your legs basically pressed together, so reaching him was no problem.

“You’re rambling, Hamzah.” you laughed and kept your hand over his mouth. “And yeah I guess I’ll be in a video.” You tried to seem bossy by pointing a finger into his chest “But it we better be playing Sims or Episode.”

Then you realised just how many places you were touching him…

Teasing in your guys’ relationship was the norm, but recently, it has started to feel more like flirting than friendly teasing. There’s been a lot more… tension.

He stopped talking when you covered his mouth and smiled underneath your hand.

Recently, everything you do has felt more like flirting, now that you think about it.

At first it was innocent, a few touches and remarks, because it felt comfortable. Now, though, something hotter brimmed underneath everything.

Maybe you took it too far sometimes, with very obvious innuendos and such, but you couldn’t help yourself when it came to him. However, in the back of your mind, there was that voice reminding you that Hamzah is probably just being friendly and you were overthinking it.

You didn't want to take that chance, so you never brought up the obvious shift between you two.

You kept your hand on his mouth a bit longer than was probably normal, but the look that Hamzah was giving was almost magnetic. There was something in his eyes that was brand new, and raw. He lightly grabbed your wrist and moved to hold your hand instead, his eyes still locked on yours.

It was silent until he opened his mouth, deciding to speak up.

Now, Hamzah decided. Now he would tell you. “Y/n, there’s something I’ve been meaning to-”

“You should really start wearing your glasses more.” You winced internally at the accidental compliment/confession that slipped out.

“What?” He had a physical reaction to your sudden outburst and started laughing. “What’re you talking about? My glasses? What, why?” He seemed super nervous , and you could tell by his familiar awkward smirk from when we he’s flustered. If only he knew what that slight upturn of his lips did to you.

His laugh, your proximity to each other, and his just overall look meant your insides were basically jelly. He was still holding your hand, and once you realized it, the rosy blush spreading up your neck was inevitable.

“Don’t tease, you obviously know why.” You answered, looking away to try and hide the blush.

“Yeah?” He asked, in the most sensual voice you’ve ever heard from him, while looking down at your intertwined hands.

You were extremely surprised by the sudden deepness of his voice but decided to hide your reaction. Instead, you rolled your eyes and sat up to take your bowls to the sink. You needed to get away before you let your impulsive thoughts get the best of you.

He let you walk away, contrary to what his mind was reeling with, slowly dropping your hand as you moved away.

He watched you as you walked, with his eyes on the way your shorts were slightly riding up, and how your legs were on full display.

You set the dishes in the sink and turned to head back but were surprised with Hamzah’s towering figure.He followed you into the kitchen and was standing right infront of you. He was situated with one hand on the back counter and the other on the island, blocking your way out.

Instead of arguing, you just put a hand on your hip, and looked at him. Nervousness consumed your mind as you fully realized just how close to you Hamzah was standing. Instead of moving away, however, you stayed close, catching his familiar, minty scent. You looked back into his eyes-His eyes that held the exact same searing gaze as earlier. He seemed to make nonverbal promises. Of what? You weren’t sure but how he was looking was almost dirty.

“Y/n, what I was saying earlier…” Hamzah began again but briefly stopped for a second and looked at you expectantly.

“What?” You asked confusedly why he stopped.

“Oh, just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to rudely interrupt me again.”

You scoffed and faked hurt, “rudely?! I complimented you!”

“Yeah, I guess.” His smirk was back and his eyes were on yours. If it was anyone else, eye contact would have made you look away. Except Hamzah isn’t just anyone, and his eyes were like pools you could drown in.

He moved an inch closer, testing the waters. When he saw a slight pink to your cheeks at his closeness, he gained sudden confidence.

“Don’t let me leave tonight.” He suddenly spoke.

You were taken aback with his words, “What, like lock the doors? Are you going to transform at midnight or something?”

He let out a breathy laugh, but his tone never shifted.

“You know what I mean, Y/n.” A deep breath. “Let me stay. Let me show you what I…”

“Hamzah. Of course you can stay over. I’d never push you-”

“No, y/n that’s not…”

A beat of silence passed until you softly spoke up.

“What, Hamzah?”

“Let me show you what I think about everytime I’m near you.”

His words were ringing in your ears and your entire body almost had a physical reaction to what he was insinuating.

“Let me show you what I’ve been imagining for the past 5 damn years, Y/n.”

You were stunned, because 5 years? That’s almost for as long as you’ve known him.

“5 years…” You tested the words out loud and it was like an award winning melody to your ears.

“Yeah, 5 years. Actually scratch that. 6 years.” He stood closer, and spoke quieter. “Since I saw you for the first time I’ve been holding back from you. From admitting how I feel because I was afraid I might lose you.”

Like a dam, you broke. Anything along those lines were exactly what you’ve been wishing for, and here those words were, out in the open.

Finally,

You grabbed the front of his hoodie with surprising strength and pulled him down to your level.

Before you could follow through and kiss him, you just held his lips near yours instead.

You both shared one breath, staring at each others' lips. You stayed like this, too afraid to ruin the moment if you went too fast. Just the whisper of Hamzah’s lips against yours filled you with an insane amount of need.

However, Hamzah took the invite of your pouty lips and closed the distance for you.

Unable to contain the years of built up desire, you kiss his back. Hard.

He almost stumbles forward as you pull his hoodie closer to you. He smirks into the kiss at your eagerness and you swear that simple action could make you drop to your knees if he wasn’t holding your waist.

His fingers were digging into the fabric of your t-shirt, basically molding into your waist. It’s like you skipped the slow-getting-hotter part of the kiss and immediately skipped to fully making out.

Hamzah licked the inside of your mouth, making you release a quiet mewl from the back of your throat.

He parted from your lips, barely. Just enough distance to catch your breath before he dove back in. It was almost feral, the way he moved from your lips to your cheek to your jaw. He grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you up. Your immediate reaction was to wrap your legs around him and hold him as close as possible.

Right now, being chest-to-chest, literally holding one another wasn’t close enough.

He slowly carried you back to the couch while making small licks and bites along your throat.

He placed you on the couch and immediately followed, covering your body with his.

“Y/n…” He spoke your name with a deep rumble, into your shoulder before kissing your pulse under your jaw.

You unlatched your lips to take off his glasses and setting them beside you. You would have loved for him to keep them on but you could tell how annoyed he was getting with them when he tried to kiss you.

He watched your movement carefully, and let a mental picture of how hot you looked under him.

When you came back to him, he immediately put his lips back to the spot on your neck that he figured out was the sweet spot where you made the most noise.

“Hamzah..” you answered, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it up, signalling you want him to take it off.

“You sure?” He asked you, looking in your eyes for the first time since you started kissing. He took note of your red cheeks and matching swollen lips. He was so absolutely obsessed with you.

“Hamzah, If you couldn’t tell, I also have feelings for you and want you to go back to kissing me.” You teased him. “Without your shirt though” you smiled innocently and pulled his shirt up to reveal his chest.

“Such a smartass.” He smiled and pulled his shirt completely off and discarded it somewhere behind you. He was still smiling as he reconnected your lips, and the feel of his grin in your kiss made you smile as well.

The whole thing was unreal.

You felt so…happy in the moment, like nothing could compare. Like this is all you’d ever wanted and needed.

He slowly lifted the hem of your shirt as well, exposing your soft skin and thin bra. He could see the peaks of your nipples poking through the fabric and the image made him want to kiss every part of you he’s never seen.

To be truthful, any sight of you made him want to kiss you like that, but specifically right now, his pulse was very prominent in the lower part of his body from the current view.

You sunk your teeth lightly into his lower lip, and he replied by kissing you harder. He couldn’t hold back his desire at one point, when you started letting out breathy moans into his mouth- he jerked his hips against yours. You really felt just how much he needed you just then. The small pressure from his growing erection against you made you throw your head back and grind along lift your hips to meet his.

He started slowly grinding into you until you were full on dry-humping each other.

If Hamzah felt like this with clothes on, you only wondered what he felt like-

Your thoughts were interrupted by Hamzah grabbing your ass, then moving his hands along the back of your thighs. He lifted them up so you could wrap them around his back.

He rutted faster against you, and you swear you could feel his full length against you now. Your panties were soaked at this point and the wet spot growing on the front of his grey sweats showed that you had the same effect on him.

He sighed into your ear, both arms now propped on each side of your head. “Fuck, i’m gonna come in my pants from you, gorgeous.”

You let out a soft whine at the pet name and dragged your nails down his back, undoubtedly leaving scars. “Then just come like this, Hamzah. Show me what I mean to you. Like you prosmised.”

Erotic noises escaped your lips from the insane friction. You arched and dragged your hands back up his back and into his soft curls, tugging lightly.

“God, why haven’t we done this before” Hamzah sounded pained as he whispered, shutting his eyes tight from the upcoming sensation.

“I have no fucking idea. We were both too much of pussies to admit anything.” You replied in between short breaths.

He chuckled, but basically choked on his laugh when you reached into his pants to properly feel him.

“Yeah,” He agreed, and kissed you roughly, smashing his lips into yours and making your teeth clash at times.

“Fuck I’m..” You started to warn him, but he already knew.

“Me, too.”

He shifted the smallest bit but for some reason his new position made the friction ten times stronger. Hamzah’s hard bulge was hitting the perfect spot that made your panties rub against your clit in a way that made you gasp.

“Holy shit Hamzah” you gasped and arched your back to meet his chest. He laid more of his weight on yours, feeling your nipples through your bra.

“wait before we…” He looked you in your eyes and silently asked to take your bra off by slowly pulling down a strap from your shoulder.

“take it off of me, Hamzah.”

He wasted no time and took off your bra, exposing the peaks of your nipples. He immediately moved a hand to play with your breasts, giving each of them attention. “God, you're beautiful. even better than I imagined.”

His words made you want more so you arched you back again, making him shut his eyes tight at the friction.

“Fuck, baby,” he said softly.

He kept one hand next to your head, where he held himself up and moved the other from your breast to rub you through your shorts. “Hamzah please..please touch me”

He slipped a teasing finger past the waistband of your shorts. But you were done with foreplay and just needed him. His hand went past your underwear, finally reaching where you needed him.

He tested it by swiping two fingers along your folds.

“so wet f’me, yeah?”

“yeah…please Hamzah.”

“don’t worry baby.” At the same time he spoke he sunk two of his fingers into you, curling them at the perfect speed, while using his thumb to rub your clit.

how he was so good at this, you had no idea.

You wanted to please him as well, but when you looked at his tent, a wet spot was already extremely prominent.

“hey,” he turned your focus to him.

“Just let go baby. I'll come with you. seeing you like this….having you like this is already getting me off so bad.” his strokes became faster and your breathing got harder.

Before you could release, he took his fingers away and replaced them with rough grinding of his hips again.

Seconds later a feeling so strong washed over your body, draining you and your mind. Hamzah came right after you. The connected spot between you was soaking and warm with both of your come leaking through your pants.

“Jesus, Y/n if thats what its like with clothes on I can't wait until-”

“Yeah.” You laughed short with your eyes closed at the familiar words- he practically said out loud what you’d been thinking the whole time. “Trust me, I'm suddenly very impatient to find that out.” You admitted with a smile and opened you eyes, looking at him through your lashes.

Fucked out and sweaty Hamzah was breathtaking. And now he was yours to admire, without any secret staring.

Hamzah kissed you softly, still with passion but not as feverish. He slowly moved you both into a sitting position before he stood up with you in his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“What I said I would,” Is all he said. You were a bit confused until he spoke again.

“I'm gonna show you…” He kissed you long then finished his sentence. “I’m gonna show you i’ve imagined every fucking day.”

Your body grew immediately hot again.

“Alright. Show me.” You said quietly into his ear, nibbling it once as he carried you upstairs and into your bedroom. “But you might need to tell Martin your gonna film the video another day…”

He smiled big with his perfect teeth and shook his head with laughter.

He must be hallucinating because there’s no way he’s about to fuck the girl of his dreams.

a/n:

PT 2? Series mention list?

[stxrsniolo]

ㅤㅤִㅤㅤ ݁ ꉂ fresh love drop ᴖ ֽ ㅤᷭ

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺⠀⠀gather round, for what you're about to read is as soft as a feather's touch: it's fluff, my lovelies, where hearts swell and smiles are sure to bloom. enjoy the warmth.

you knew chris had a big heart, but you hadn't expected him to go this far. fresh love, his casual clothing brand, had always been a passion project, but this time, he wanted to do something special, something that would mean as much to him as it did to you: he decided it was time to make your relationship public, and what better way than through his art, his clothes? he took photographs of your eyes, capturing every shade, every nuance; he was obsessed with getting the colors just right for this drop, and when he couldn't find the exact shades in fabric, he didn't hesitate; he paid someone to custom dye the material. yeah, it was an extra expense, but compared to what he and his brothers made, it was a drop in the ocean, yet it meant the world to both of you. chris had you kiss a piece of paper with lipstick on, and that imprint became part of the designs - a literal kiss from you on his clothes, god, he even went the extra mile to create a heart from the union of your and his thumbprints, adding both your fingerprints to some designs, symbolizing your connection. but to make it even better and knowing you're neurodivergent, he made sure the fabrics were not just comfortable but ideal for you. some pieces were oversized, others had a boxy fit, and there were cropped options too, ensuring everyone could feel at ease and stylish. the photoshoot day arrived, and you were both buzzing, the studio was decked out with racks of clothes in colors that screamed 'you'. the photographer, a chill friend of chris's, had this smirk like he knew what was up. the place was lit with soft, natural light, with big windows showing off the city skyline, making the whole scene feel like a movie set. chris was in his element, guiding you through poses, his hands gentle but firm on your waist, his laughter infectious. "You look incredible in this," he said, holding up a hoodie that matched one of the exact various shades of your eyes, the fabric soft against your skin. you laughed, spinning around, the oversized fit making you feel free, comfortable. "Only because it's inspired by me," you teased, but your heart swelled with pride. the photographer snapped away, capturing moments of you alone, showcasing each piece, the light playing off the vibrant colors. then came the shots of chris, his playful side coming out, striking poses that made everyone laugh, his own designs fitting him like they were made for him, because in a way, they were. but the best part? the couple shots. when it came to them, chris pulled you close, his arm around you, both in matching hoodies with the thumbprint heart on the chest. "look at us, we're like walking art," he whispered in your ear, making you giggle like a schoolgirl. the warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh fabric of the clothes, it all felt so right. the photographer directed, "okay, get cozy, let's see that connection." you leaned into each other, foreheads touching, eyes locked, the moment feeling both intimate and exciting. chris would whisper silly things, making you laugh, the camera capturing those genuine moments of joy. you tried different poses, some silly, some serious, all capturing the essence of your playful, loving relationship. there was this one where you were both laughing, chris's arms around you from behind, his cheek pressed against yours, the camera catching that genuine joy, it was like every click of the shutter was a memory being made. throughout the shoot, there were breaks filled with laughter, snacks, and chris checking in on you, making sure you were comfy. "you're killing it, babe," he'd say, his eyes full of admiration as he adjusted a hoodie here, a beanie there, always ensuring you felt good, his goofy side coming out to make you laugh even when you were tired. "i just love you so damn much, babe," he'd say, his eyes full of admiration.

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺ᅟ⠀ i appreciate the love shown through reposts, but let me be clear: my tales are not to be copied or adapted without a whisper to me first. my words are my treasure, and i guard them jealously.

my murder of crows: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz

in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist.

[borathae]

BTS Reaction: Breakfast in Bed

Anonie said: Sibiuuu I'm back 😚😚😚 thank you so much for all the other reactions, I'm so happy yippiee 😚 neow listen kween 👉🏾👈🏾 Bangtan's reaction to getting breakfast in bed? I just think it would be so fluffy and sweet 👉🏾👈🏾

Genre: Fluff

Gender: not-specified

Wordcount: 3k

a/n: anonie my love! this is exactly the kind of content I lose my shit over gaaah i LOVE!! this got so insanely fluffy and romantic i'm so happy but also omgmgm listen 😔 the thought of having a lover? and surprising them with breakfast in bed? i cry because it's not my reality 😔

Namjoon

CW: hinted “night after” trope, bsf2l!AU

This is the first time he stays at your place. You and he aren’t new per say. As a matter for fact, you were best friends before you became more. Namjoon always said that friends can’t become lovers until he fell for you. Namjoon was also at your place before, many times actually, but he never slept over. Especially not as your boyfriend. After a, well, after a very nice night. 

He traces the spots you touched last night, reminiscing with closed eyes how it was to be with you. Namjoon always thought that love making was only thing of movies. Sex stems from humans and humans are too flawed the create something as innocent as love making. Then he laid with you and felt your breath against his neck and Namjoon finally got it. 

He opens his eyes before his racing heart can overwhelm him. He sits up.

“Holy fuck”, he presses out, touching his own chest to make sure that he was still alive. His heart never raced as much before. So this is how it feels like.

You have some books on the bedside table. Namjoon reaches for one of them in order to distract himself from the massive butterflies in his stomach. He begins reading, glasses perched atop his nose while his tummy continues to tingle.

The books is about philosophy and art. No wonder he fell for you. An art exhibition is only truly enjoyable when he visits it with you. Philosophy only really makes him want to think if he knows that he can share his thoughts with you later. Nature is truly only relaxing if he knows that you get to be next to him. Falling in love with you was as easy as breathing. 

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Namjoon lowers the book, giving you his full attention. His hair is messy, his glasses sit on his nose very prettily. He isn’t wearing a shirt, honey skin kissed by the sunlight entering your bedroom.

“I am. Good morning. Damn, you are really beautiful”, he says, tummy fluttering.

“Thank you. You are beautiful too.”

Namjoon watches you close the distance, “what are you carrying?”

“Breakfast. I thought I could impress you. You know, first night together and all that.” You explain, putting the tray on his lap. “Let me know what you think of it.”

Namjoon studies it, feeling lost for words. You aren’t his first relationship and yet you are the very first person to ever make him breakfast in bed. Well, except for his parents when he got sick as a kid, but this was totally not the same thing. 

“You’re quiet. Does this mean you don’t like it?” you ask quietly.

“What? No, I love it. I’m sorry, I just can’t believe it, that’s all.” 

“Wait till you taste it. I really put my whole breakfastussy into it.”

He cracks up, scrunching his eyes. You snicker, swaying from side to side giddily.

“If that’s the case, I have to try it. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

You put on some music in the meantime. It is the same vinyl you listened to last night. 

Your eyes meet shyly. His heart is racing as much as yours is. The memory of last night is so sweet.

“Is it okay if I put on some music?” you ask.

“It's more than okay. You're fucking perfect”, he assures you.

“Nice”, you return to bed, getting comfortable on your side. You sit cross-legged, snatching some of the food to snack on.

But Namjoon can’t concentrate on breakfast. All he sees is you.

He finally gets it. Namjoon finally goddamn gets it.

He takes your hand, squeezing it gently. You stop munching, meeting his eyes in curiousity.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, thumb tracing your knuckles, “I know, first morning kiss and us being in the middle of eating and all, but maybe?”

You giggle, nodding your head. “Yeah, I’d really like to kiss you too”, you confess and close the distance to do exactly that.

Seokjin

“Wakey wakey to some brekkie”, you coo, entering the bedroom with a tray full of food. 

Seokjin, your boyfriend and occasional private chef, gawks at you in surprise as the roles are reversed this morning. He was already awake, scrolling on his phone, when you entered the bedroom. 

“You made me breakfast?” he asks, voice dripping in disbelief.

“I did and it’s your favourite. Now careful, there’s lots on there.”

Seokjin stares in pure shock, feeling his heart speed up. His ears are flushed. 

“Wow, I mean, wow. I love it, but why?”

“Why? Because I want to treat you, that’s why.”

“I see”, he murmurs and lowers his head shyly, ear flushing even harder. “Thank you, wow.” 

You snicker, climbing on bed.

“Now try it, pookie. Before it gets cold.”

“I don't even know where to start. Everything looks so good.” 

“Maybe this? I made it with extra love.”

“Wah, you and your cheesy lines.”

You laugh, “I learned from the best”, you tease, nudging his soft cheek.

Seokjin lets you because you are the only person he allows touching his face. Because he loves you and trusts you. And because your touch is always placed so gently. 

“Then I guess I have to start with this”, he says and picks up the chopsticks.

You snicker beside him, making him sneak a glance at you. You are so adorable to him right now. 

Seokjin lowers the chopsticks, meeting your eyes. He looks at you in ways you have never seen on him. Serious, intense and deeply in love. 

“What?” 

“Just making sure that this is real. You’re so perfect.”

“Be quiet.”

You fluster, lowering your head. The racing of your heart increases when he tilts your head back up with two fingers under your chin. His brows are lifted in a gentle invitation to open your mouth and take the bite he offers. 

Of course you take it, heart truly losing it when he wipes the corner of your mouth and licks his finger. 

Whatever happened to your goofy boyfriend right now, please don’t let it end. Don’t misunderstand, you love his dorky side, but this is changing you as a person. He is so attractive right now.

“Is it yummy?” he asks, gazing at your lips as he caresses your chin.

“It is. Wow, you just made my heart race.”

Seokjin grins lopsidedly and leans closer, “good.” He whispers and kisses your lips with such seriousness and emotion that your heart begins racing yet again.

Yoongi

Yoongi is already awake when you enter the bedroom. He is staring at the wall, trying to come alive on the lazy Saturday this way. Like most mornings, his hair is dented at the back and sticks up messily. It’s a cute look especially paired with his puffy cheeks and barely open eyes.

“Oh? You’re awake? Perfect. Brb”, you say after sticking your head into the room to check on him.

Yoongi acknowledges you with a hum and smacks his lips. He sits, waiting curiously for you to come back while his sleepy eyes run over the dimly lit room. 

You return with something in your hands and a goofy grin on your lips.

“Good morning, darling.”

“What’s this?” his voice is still raspy from sleep.

“Breakfast in bed. It’s raining today and I wanted to be romantic.” You put the tray on his lap. “Tada.”

Yoongi scans his eyes over the array of his favourite breakfast food. You even made him an iced Americano and put together a small flower bouquet with flowers from the garden. 

Yoongi feels so giddy that he could burst. But he is also a little shy about being openly giddy (and very sleepy), so he sits and stares while his heart races unbearably. 

“What do you think?” you ask him, running your fingers through his hair.

“You did this for me?” he sounds in disbelief. 

“Of course I did.” You peck his cheek. “You deserve it and I love you.”

“Thank you. This makes me so happy”, he says and begins eating with flushed cheeks and a giddy smile.

“And? Is it good?” 

“It is. I love breakfast”, he gushes and puts his arm around your waist to pull you close. 

You sit down on the edge of the bed, giggling happily when he kisses your cheek. His eyes sparkle in adoration once he pulls back.

“Thank you for this. I’m very happy.”

“It's because I love you.”

“I love you too.” He closes his eyes and rests his head on your shoulder, giving your waist a soft squeeze, “Thank you.”

You love how Yoongi shows affection, melting in fondness. You hug his head, giving it a little kiss.

“Anything for you, baby.”

Hoseok

“Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday to you~” 

You are entering the bedroom singing and dancing. Hoseok, who is already awake and merely thought that you went for a shower, gawks at you with an open mouth and widened eyes. He even startled a little at first, still clutching his imaginary pearls.

“Happy birthday my Hobi babyyyy~ happy birthday to you.”

You stop by his side, grinning down at him. A purple birthday hat adorns your head. 

“Happy birthday, baby. I hope you’re hungry, I made you breakfast.”

Hoseok giggles, dropping into the sheets to kick his feet. He covers his face behind his hands, looking so adorable that you have to giggle with him. 

You love making him happy. Happiness suits him so well.

“Wow baby, I can’t believe it. This is perfect. I love it”, he gushes, sitting up so he could hug you. Very aggressively if one might add.

“Careful, the food.”

“Yeah, right. Sorry. Show me.”

You put the tray on his lap, eliciting another giggling fit from him. 

“I love it. Thank you. This is the best birthday ever.”

“And it is just the beginning. I have so much planned. So many presents to give you”, you say and lean down to hug him, giving him a big smooch as you do, “I’m gonna treat you like a king today, baby.”

Hoseok leans into your embrace, closing his eyes for it and squeaking giddily.

“Thank you so much. Wow, wait. I need to take pictures. And videos!”

“Do that, my cutie.”

Jimin

CW: hinted "night after" trope but make it flirty

He is supposed to stay in bed and let you surprise him. But of course he doesn’t. Although you made sure to sneak out before he wakes up, you suddenly find yourself in the kitchen with his arms around you and his chest against your back.

“Mhhm smells like breakfast. I’m so hungry already”, he purrs sleepily, using his lower register for it as his soft lips nibble on your neck. He rubs your tummy and waist softly, “what are we making?”

“You are not making anything, you are supposed to be in bed. Goddamn it, my plans are ruined.”

“What plans?” 

“I wanted to use your sleeping-in-tendencies to my advantage and make you breakfast in bed. But of course you have to wake up timely today.”

Jimin chuckles, kissing your ear. 

“I’m sorry. Last night knocked me out deep enough that I feel well rested.”

“Noted. I know what to do next time I want you to relax.”

“Please do, I’ll turn into your devotee.”

You chuckle, but tingle a moment later when Jimin sucks on your skin gently.

“Last night was amazing”, he purrs, kissing a path up to your ear so he could tickle it with his lips, “was it good for you too?”

“It was and you’re teasing”, you say, barely wanting to keep your eyes open. He feels so good.

“I’m not. I’m reminiscing.”

“You are totally teasing”, you laugh, “and you’re not supposed to. You’re supposed to go back to bed. I’m almost done.”

“But the kisses.”

“No buts. Breakfast in bed.”

“At least let me carry something. It’s the least I can do after ruining the surprise.”

“No. Back to bed now. I’m the one to romance you today.” You turn around and shove at his bared chest gently. “Hop, hop. I’m not asking again.” 

Jimin takes your hands and pulls them to his lips for a kiss, giving you flirty eyes.

“One kiss before I leave, to thank you for cooking.”

“Fine, one kiss. And then I’m sending your cute butt back to bed.”

Taehyung

He knows that you are awake, floating in a state between sleep and awareness. The sound of you doing something in the apartment is his background music, increasing the cozy state he is in. The bedroom windows are open, letting in the warm morning breeze. The curtains dance in the wind and the sun shines onto his skin. He isn’t wearing a shirt because he gets hot easily. The sun feels really good. Warm. It’s a nice, deep warmth. The kind of warmth which gets rid of muscle aches.

Life couldn’t get any better than this. You suddenly enter the bedroom and life actually does get better than this. A lot better. 

“Oh crap, your eyes are open”, you say, halting in your once confident steps.

Taehyung smiles at the view of you, “good morning.”

“Good morning, hey. You weren’t supposed to be awake yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted to surprise you.”

“With what?”

You pull flowers from behind your back.

“For me?” he gasps and sits up, stretching his arms out to you. 

“Yeah for you. I meant to put them on the bedside table next to you, so you’d wake up to them”, you explain as you trott to his bedside and put the flowers on their planned spot. You pout.

“But they’re so beautiful. Don’t be sad.” He assures you in a soft spoken voice, holding your hand. “I love them.”

“My surprise though. It’s ruined.”

He kisses your knuckles, “no, it’s not. It’s the most perfect surprise ever.” 

“There’s even more.”

“More?” he sounds in disbelief, following you with widened eyes as you leave again.

“Soon.”

Taehyung gazes at the flowers while he waits for your return. His heart is racing. This is such a romantic surprise and he loves these kinds of surprises.

“Eyes closed”, you announce your return.

“They’re closed.”

“And no peeking.”

“I’m not.”

He listens to you come closer again, then suddenly feels a weight on his lap.

“Okay, open them.”

Taehyung instantly gasps, eyes wide and tummy bursting in butterflies. 

“You made breakfast in bed?”

“I did.”

“Darling, oh my god. I don’t know what to say. This is…wow, it looks so yummy.”

You climb onto bed and sit down next to him, picking up a little strawberry which you tipped into whipped cream. 

“Open up.”

Taehyung takes in the strawberry with the cutest, most adorable expression, sending your heart into overdrive.

“Gosh, I have the cutest boyfriend ever”, you gush, caressing his cute little cheeks. 

Taehyung scrunches his nose giddily, leaning into your touch. His eyes are sparkling. 

“Open up. I’m feeding your adorable butt today.”

Taehyung giggles, letting it happen with a racing heart. He loves when you pamper him.

Jungkook

You and he went out with his friends last night. It got late and the two of you got drunk. He stayed over at your place, sleeping with no shirt on and his hair a total mess. Judging by how loudly he snores, he must be sleeping very well. You slept well too, despite the alcohol. Luckily for you, or perhaps because of your clever precautions of drinking lots of water, you don’t feel hungover. Just hungry. Really hungry. But you are also lazy and don’t want to leave bed. You have been staring at your boyfriend obsessively ever since you woke up.

You are so lucky. He is so handsome and he was so lovely last night. He kept close to you at all times and made sure you felt welcome with his friends by always including you in the conversation. He even borrowed you his jacket when you got cold and held your hand as you walked home. 

Jungkook snores especially loudly next to you, startling himself awake with it. He lifts his head, staring at the sheets with empty eyes.

“Good morning”, you chuckle, ruffling his hair.

“Hmhornming isf imf snorim ismsloud”, he mumbles something unintelligible and drops into the pillow again. His eyes close. His lips part. He fell back to sleep. He is so funny without even trying.

“Okay, you’re a sleepy head. Guess I gotta eat without you”, you decide and roll out of bed. 

Breakfast is prepared quickly and you return with your tray of food. You just about sat down when Jungkook lifts his head again. He is frowning sleepily, pouting.

“Good morning. Again”, you tease.

“Food?”

“Yes, this is food.”

“For me?”

“Do you want food?”

He nods his head. You already knew that he wouldn’t last long next to the smell of food, but this is a new record of how quickly he wakes from it. Doesn’t matter, you already prepared his tray in the kitchen.

“Sit up then.”

Jungkook obeys, grumbling and groaning as he does.

“Hungover?”

“Little.”

“This should help. Here we go.”

“Thanks.”

You leave the room to get his tray (which is now your tray because you gave Jungkook the first one) and return to Jungkook munching on his breakfast happily. His hair is a mess and his eyes are still puffy, but he looks happy. And a lot less hungover. 

You get on bed next to him, halting in your attempt to eat when he stubs your arm with his fingers.

He is looking at you with the puppiest puppy eyes ever.

“Yes?” 

“Did I take your food?”

“No, I planned for both of us.”

“You can have more if you want to.”

“It’s perfect for me. Just eat, baby.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Eat, baby.”

Jungkook holds your hand, “thank you for this. And for last night. I really appreciate everything you do for me and I love spending time with you.”

“I love it too, baby.”

He squeezes your hand, “and I love you.”

“Wow, you.” You and he didn’t exchange the big L-word yet. “You really mean it?”

“I mean it. A lot.”

“Kook, wow. I love you too.”

[takuma-talkz]

Please please PLEASE I need the smuttiest fic with daisuke stat!! I've pretty much read all the daisuke content I could find and omg I need MORE!!!!

it can be headcanons or a one shot. literally anything I just need it to be smut pretty please 🥺

Preferably afab reader but im absolutely okay with gn reader ofc!

He's just so adorable I fiend for daisuke content

sincerely, 🌺anon

My Girl is Filthy!

AKA Daisuke founding out that his girlfriend is a tumblr writer <3

requested: Smut

Reader: Female

A/N: I saw this request yesterday before I went to bed but I was eepy :( / wrote this while listening to Chase Atlantic.

IF YOU REQUESTED SOMETHING FROM ME, IM WORKING AS FAST AS I CAN🎀

Daisuke returned just a few months ago from his stupid internship in space.

You were his amazing girlfriend, who waited for him this whole time.

Daisuke loved and respect you so much. His mom and dad loved you too.

To everyone, you were the most sweet, loyal and innocent girl ever.

just don’t let them see your phone. Specially that little dark purple app called Tumblr.

on tumblr, you were known as Cinna_Rites You were known for your oneshots about your boyfriend under the alias, DJ.

but you just don’t write any kind of onshots. You were the most filithest, arousing content around.

You always touch yourself to the content you write, imagining it was your boyfriend actually doing those nasty things to you. But you’re too shy.

even when Daisuke returned home from space. you were ready for your first time having sex with him but you just couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to fuck you.

Currently you were showering while your boyfriend was setting up for movie night. Daisuke had the snacks, the sodas and the blankets all ready. He paused when he saw your phone vibrating on the coffee table. He’s conflicted about looking at your phone without you around. He feels like he’s invading your privacy.

but he remembers countless of times where you expressed it was okay for him to touch your phone.

Daisuke and you have the same password for your phones. He unlocks your phone and sees…

99+ notifications from Tumblr?!

why were you on tumblr?

tumblr doesn’t exactly have the most safe-for-work reputation. He opens the app and now sees why you’re on this app.

Now, he knew you were good at writing but the nasty shit you have been writing on this app was something else.

He closes the app and turns around to put it back on the table. He’ll just act cool and ask you later about it. Just as he looks up, he meets wide, embarrassed eyes.

“Daisuke, I-i can explain!” You try to excuse yourself from the embarrassment.

He waves his hands in defense. “No, baby! Relax, it’s okay! I shouldn’t have been peeking in the first place!”

The entire time. Daisuke sat an uncomfortable distance away from you. You hated it. You pause the movie to face him.

“Daisuke, please don’t shy away from me.” You played with your hands in your lap.

he cups your face. “Baby, I’m sorry. It’s just, I-uh”

he cleared his throat. “I’m not gonna lie. I wasn’t expecting you to match my freak like that.”

you giggled. No matter how embarrassed you were he proceeded to make you laugh.

“You had been gone and I wanted you to be my first time. This was the best way I could vent my urges properly.” You explained and told him everything about how you felt about his internship.

“I’m sorry you felt that way, baby.” Daisuke pulls you close. “Trust me, I’m never doing any of my mom’s suggestions ever again!”

his hand slipped under your shirt. “Do you still feel that way? Do you still want your first time to be me?”

“Oh, baby —fuck.” Daisuke groans, head falling back against the couch.

currently, you are between his legs. Lapping at the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue around it slowly. You were being careful, remembering back to the tutorial video you watched.

Breathe through your nose, cover your teeth and use your tongue.

You felt your panties dampen. You tap his thigh to get him to spread out a little more. He gives you more room to work, and you take in more of his cock. Bobbing your head along his length, he huffs and groans fighting the urge to thrust his hips into your warm mouth.

You put his hand on your head, urging him to use your mouth to pleasure himself.

“You sure?” Daisuke held back a whimper.

You moan on him, giving him a thumbs up.

He smiles, pushing down on your head just a little to fit some more inches in your mouth. He moans louder, guiding your head to the way that makes him feel good.

“Pop off, baby. I don’t wanna cum yet. I wanna try eating you out.”

You took a deep breath, after releasing Daisuke’s cock.

“It tastes funny.” You giggled, as he laid you against the couch.

Your panties were gone and your legs were on either side of his shoulders. He kissed your clit softly and you moaned softly.

“Daisuke—! Ah, too much—!” You whimper, trying to push his head away.

He sucked at your clit, releasing it just to flick it again with his tongue. His fingers pump in and out of you. Daisuke moaned into your pussy, he’s in love with the taste of you.

“Fuck, baby—so fuckin’ good.” He reaches up to pull at your nipple. You convulsed and clench around his fingers, pulling at his hair.

Daisuke pulls back. “I want more so bad but I want you cumming on my cock more.”

You both share a passionate kiss before he lines up his cock with your entrance.

“Wait, can I choose the position?” You asked timid, scared he might say no.

“Of course.” He smiles, watching as you get up and turn around. Bending over the couch’s arm to support your weight with your ass facing him.

“From behind?”

“yeah, it what I mostly write about.” Your embarrassment grew.

He chuckles and kiss the back of your head. He spent a few good minutes stuffing his cock into you. He groans, fully bottoming out inside of you.

“Oh Dai, please move—please!” You grind back against Daisuke, he puts a hand on the back of your neck and the other went to hold down your wrist.

Daisuke thrusts at a steady pace inside of you. He moans at the feeling of moving along your walls.

With his hand on the back of your neck, it was hard for you to moan properly. Broken gasps and moans escaped you, you throw your hips back against him.

“Dai—ah! I can’t take! Can’t take it—! It’s too much!”

“You’re so strong, baby. You can—fuck—take it, I know you can.” Daisuke adjusted his leg to thrust faster. He leaned over your figure.

“Was this one of the situations you wrote about?” Daisuke chuckles.

He drags you more on the couch, and places both on the back of your head and pushes your head into the couch. Hips driving into your ass faster now.

You scream but it’s muffled. You swing your arms back to push his hips away, but it doesn’t to anything to deter him.

The ever building coil your stomach snaps unexceptedly. You squirted all over his dick and he groaned loudly.

He pulls out and cums on your ass. He pulls you against his chest and kisses your temple.

“I love you so much, babygirl. Thank you for letting me be your first time.” He nuzzles into your neck.

You chuckle lightly. “Love you too, Dai.”

[thatone16216]

The few reader-inserts I've tried writing and have saved drafts always have a sprinkle of my personality in it. Mostly in terms of humor and how they get along with the people around them. I do that for every character I write, whether it be a reader-insert, OC, or an actual fandom character (though obviously I keep the fandom character true to their actual canon self it's more just some reactions to things and such), but I've been told I have a big personality, and there are so many layers to it that I sprinkle small bits of my own self in depending on the story and who the character is.

My first story I wrote (and so far the only one I've completed) was a Slytherin fanfiction. The OC was named Sabrina, and the way I had made the group of people she was friends with act and associate with each other was a lot like how I myself had acted with a group of friends I had a while ago.

I have a Eustass Kid x reader book in the works, but I'm trying to figure out how to give the reader a likable personality and make her into your average girl, both with physical descriptions and how I describe their extracurriculars and likes/dislikes. Girl is a rich cheerleader who wants to be more than just a rich cheerleader kind of thing. Reader is honestly, right now, a basic white girl and I'm trying to change that because I know that's probably not what most people want to read.

Even recently I read a one shot that was Katsuki Bakugo x Reader and the trait of the reader and the plot point of that story was that the (female) reader is afraid of horror movies and Bakugo comforted her. There was so much hate aimed at the fact that the reader was made to be afraid of the movie even though that was literally the entire point of the story. I honestly felt bad for the author at that point with how much hate I was seeing. Especially because even though it may not have identified with everyone, I identified with it, especially as someone who hates horror movies 😂

Its honestly kind of what makes me occasionally turn a x Reader story into a X OC story because I begin to turn the reader into a version of a person that not everyone would like. I write one-shots that are x Reader and they're generally well-received, but there have been a few people who have told me that the version of the reader I wrote is inaccurate and I may as well make them a whole different character because it is so off from that specific person (even though these one shots were either something I came up with while bored or something someone suggested to me)

Came across another post that talked about reader inserts needing to be a blank slate. So after blocking said user I have things to think about and say hmm.

[kpop-reactions-povs]

Seventeen - Their S/O feeling sad because they overwork and spend less time with them

S.Coups

You barely get the words out before he’s already pulling you into a tight hug. His grip is warm and steady, almost like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. "I’m so sorry," he whispers, his voice thick with guilt. "I didn’t realize how much I’ve been missing with you." He pulls back and cups your face, his eyes searching yours. "From now on, no more late-night meetings without a call. And this weekend? It’s just us." He kisses your forehead softly. "You’re my priority."

Jeonghan

He notices the sadness in your voice even before you finish speaking, his playful smile fading. "Oh no, I’ve messed up, haven’t I?" Jeonghan sighs, tugging you down onto the couch beside him. His fingers intertwine with yours as he leans his head on your shoulder. "I’m sorry, love. I got caught up with everything... but nothing’s more important than you." A sly grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "How about we ditch everything and have a lazy day tomorrow? Just us, blankets, and snacks."

Joshua

Joshua listens carefully, his face calm but his eyes full of concern. When you finish, he gently takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. "I’m really sorry you felt this way," he says softly. "I’ve been so focused on work that I forgot to focus on us." He pauses, a small smile forming. "How about a date night? Like, a proper one. Dinner, music, and then a walk under the stars?" His voice is full of warmth. "We’ll make it a weekly thing, I promise."

Jun

Jun’s eyes widen as you tell him how you’ve been feeling. "Why didn’t you tell me sooner?" he says, his voice full of concern. Without waiting for an answer, he grabs your hand and pulls you into a spontaneous hug. "We’re fixing this right now." The next thing you know, he’s planning a whole day of fun—roller skating, ice cream, and watching silly movies until you’re both laughing too hard to breathe.

Hoshi

The moment he realizes you’ve been sad, Hoshi’s face falls. "Wait, wait, you’ve been feeling like that because of me?" He practically throws his phone on the table and rushes to sit beside you. "I’m such a fool," he mutters, hugging you tightly. "I don’t care how busy things get. I’ll always make time for you." His next plan? A surprise adventure date filled with random dancing, stuffed animals, and your favorite food.

Wonwoo

Wonwoo doesn’t say much at first, but you can tell he’s taking every word to heart. He nods slowly, his brow furrowing as he processes everything. "I didn’t mean to make you feel that way," he says quietly. "Thank you for telling me." Later that evening, he invites you to a calm, quiet bookstore date and insists on buying you whatever catches your eye.

Woozi

Woozi’s eyes flicker with surprise, and then... guilt. "I’ve really been that absent?" he asks, almost to himself. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "I’ve been so focused on music… but you’re the song I should never forget." He takes your hand. "I’ll do better." True to his word, you find yourself spending more time in his studio—together, side by side—and he even writes a sweet little tune just for you.

DK (Seokmin)

His eyes immediately fill with worry. "Wait, really? Oh no, I’ve been a terrible boyfriend!" He wraps you in the biggest hug, his warmth practically melting your sadness. "I’ll make it up to you, I swear!" He’s already grabbing his phone to plan a full day of fun—picnics, karaoke, and the cheesiest rom-com marathon you’ve ever seen. All while sneaking kisses and making sure you never stop smiling.

Mingyu

Mingyu looks heartbroken as you speak, his face falling with each word. "I’ve really hurt you without meaning to," he says, his voice low. "I hate that." He stands up and heads to the kitchen, returning with your favorite comfort food. "Eat first. Then, we’ll talk about how to fix this." He sits beside you, his hand never leaving yours. "We’re a team, okay? I’ll do better."

The8 (Minghao)

Minghao listens carefully, his expression thoughtful. He doesn’t interrupt once. "Thank you for telling me how you feel," he says calmly. "I didn’t realize how distant I’d been." He takes your hand and looks you in the eyes. "Let’s take a break together. A little escape. Just us." A couple of days later, you’re strolling through an art gallery, his fingers brushing yours every so often, a peaceful silence settling between you.

Seungkwan

"Oh no, no, no," Seungkwan says, his eyes already shining with tears. "You’ve been sad because of me?" He pulls you into a warm hug, patting your back soothingly. "I’m so sorry! That’s not okay. I’ll make it up to you." True to his word, the next day, you wake up to flowers, your favorite snacks, and a whole day of pampering. He won’t stop reminding you how much he loves you.

Vernon

Vernon’s quiet for a moment, thinking carefully before he speaks. "I’m really sorry you felt that way," he says softly. "I didn’t mean for work to take over." He gives you a shy smile and pulls you into a gentle hug. "Let’s set some time aside every week for just us, yeah? Like a standing date?" He’s already making a mental note to stick to it.

Dino

Dino’s eyes widen in shock. "You’ve been feeling like that? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?" He grabs both your hands and squeezes them tightly. "I’m so sorry. I’ll do better, I promise." He grins suddenly. "Let’s go out right now. Anywhere you want." Before you know it, you’re singing your hearts out at karaoke, laughing so hard it hurts, and feeling like the most important person in the world again.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 29- 'Silver Linings' | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 13.3 k

The day was warm enough to justify iced coffee, the first sign that summer was creeping in, even if your heart still felt winter-cold in places. The condensation of the cup, the only thing tethering you to reality as Trent circled around his big black Range Rover, his strides casual, confident. He pulled the door open for you with a smooth ease, leaning in slightly, his hand outstretched.

“Thank you,” you mumbled softly, your fingers slipping into his, reluctant to leave the cocoon of the leather seats, the faint hum of the car still lingering.

“The world for you,” he whispered like a promise, pulling you gently into his space. His arms wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to him for a brief second, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “Look so good today, pretty girl.” He cooed. You couldn’t help but let out a small sigh, your heart fluttering even as anxiety gripped the edges. His hand found yours again, fingers laced perfectly, grounding you as you made your way through the quiet streets, iced coffees in hand. The coolness of the drink was refreshing, but your nerves were sharp, your senses on high alert. Every passerby felt like a shadow lingering too long, every sudden sound making you flinch ever so slightly. Trent noticed—he always noticed. Without a word, he gently tugged your hand, steering you off the main path.

“T…” you pouted, your voice small. “Please, can we just go home?” You begged. His grin was boyish, cheeky, the kind that always chipped away at your walls. 

“Nah, nah, nah. A few errands for me.” He said. You shot him a skeptical glance, his playful smirk giving him away. These weren’t errands. Still holding your hand, he led you down a quieter street, your steps syncing with his as you approached a small, tucked-away flower shop. The door chimed softly as he pushed it open, the faint scent of fresh blooms and damp earth greeting you like a gentle wave. The cool, dewy air inside was oddly comforting, mingling with the sweet floral notes that softened the ache in your chest. Trent didn’t say much as he browsed, his fingers trailing over petals like they were fragile treasures. You watched him from a few steps behind, his athletic frame moving with an ease you envied. He stopped at a bunch of carnations, glancing over his shoulder with a cute smile. You shrugged, your lips betraying you with a small curl, warmth creeping in despite yourself. He turned back around to continue browsing, walking past your favorite flowers without pause. You felt your face fall into an unintentional pout, a quiet disappointment tugging at your heart. But, of course, Trent knew that. He let out a soft, cheeky giggle—the kind that made your heart ache in the best way—and doubled back, heading straight to the colorful peonies he pretended to ignore. His fingers plucked two bouquets, holding one higher than the other, inspecting them like a man making the most important decision of his life. He switched them, furrowed his brows dramatically, then shot you a sideways glance. “I think a pretty girl like you would tell me she wants the white ones…” he mused, his grin spreading. “But I know you better than that. I know you want pink. So tell me I’m right.” You giggled softly, unable to resist, your heart warming under the fragile armor you’d built. You nodded, reaching for the pink peonies as he tucked the white bouquet back into its water-filled bucket.

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly, your voice softer now, less guarded. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

“Alright, let’s go,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a soft anchor. “Got a lot of errands to run.” You smiled as he kissed your nose, then your lips—a fleeting press that felt like sunshine breaking through clouds. The bouquet crinkled softly between you, a small, beautiful thing blooming in your hands, just like the space he’d carved out in your heart.

The bell above the tiny flower shop chimed softly as you stepped out, the fresh bouquet cradled gently in your arms like it was a fragile piece of your heart. The delicate pink peonies brushed against your chest, their scent a subtle comfort, grounding you in the moment. Trent reached around you to hold the door, his arm brushing past you, his hand braced above your head in an effortlessly sexy way. The stretch of his toned forearm, the casual strength in his stance—it was enough to make your heart skip, even now. You giggled softly, a sound Trent immediately turned towards, flashing you that boyish grin that melted through your nerves. But unbeknownst to you both, just beyond the safety of your shared bubble, cameras waited. Subtle clicks hidden in the sounds of the street. Lenses trained on you like shadows you couldn’t quite shake. Trent didn’t notice—or maybe he didn’t care. He pulled you into his arms unphased, wrapping you up against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hands slid to your waist as he swayed you back and forth gently, humming some mindless tune against your temple. It wasn’t about showing off, or proving anything, he was completely consumed by you there at this moment. It was just Trent being Trent—soft, playful, yours. You sniffled, your eyes betraying you as gratitude welled up. It wasn’t just the flowers—it was the way he got you out of the house without making it feel like a task, how he’d been patient with your nerves, never once letting go of your hand like it was his own anchor too. You let out a soft giggle, muffling it into his chest, your words spilling out before you could catch them.

“I love you,” you whispered, raw and real, your voice trembling slightly. Trent froze just for a second, like those words hit differently today. Then he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with the same tenderness he always showed you. His lips met yours in a kiss that was slow and soft, filled with everything he couldn’t put into words. The cameras caught it all—the bruises still marring his knuckles from the fight with Josh, the faint sheen of tears in your glassy eyes, the vulnerability stitched between you like invisible thread. When he pulled back, his hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb sweeping gently beneath your eye as a single tear betrayed you, slipping down.

“One more thing, that okay?” he whispered, his forehead pressed lightly against yours. You nodded, a tear sliding over your lash line. Trent caught it with the pad of his thumb, his touch feather-light. “No more, please,” he cooed gently, his voice a balm against the ache.

“Sorry,” you giggled softly, shaking your head, embarrassed by your own emotions. Trent just smiled, lacing his fingers with yours again, tugging you gently down the street. The city blurred around you as you followed him, his warmth a constant at your side. A few steps later, you noticed a shimmer—a familiar glint catching the sunlight from a shop window. 

“Gotta getcha some new wings,” Trent murmured behind you, his breath warm against your ear as he pressed soft kisses along your neck playfully.

“What are you on about?” you asked, turning to face him with a confused smile. But Trent just grinned wider, spinning you back around with a gentle tug on your shoulders. His arms wrapped tight around you from behind, his chest firm against your back.

“Trust me,” he whispered, guiding you step by step toward the door; the logo etched in elegant script on the glass: Van Cleef & Arpels causing your heart to skip. The logo etched in elegant script on the doors: Van Cleef & Arpels. Your heart skipped.

The soft slide of the boutique door faded quickly, swallowed by the plush quiet of the boutique, where the air was thick with understated luxury—hints of polished marble, fresh-cut florals, and the faintest trace of expensive perfume. Trent’s large frame moved effortlessly beside you, his presence grounding even in the delicate chaos of your thoughts. Without missing a beat, his hand slid low around your waist, fingers curling over the swell of your ass in a way that felt more protective than cheeky, though with Trent, it was always a little of both. His grip anchored you, steady and familiar.

“I’m here to meet with Melissa,” Trent murmured to the associate standing near the door, his voice low, smooth, and effortlessly charming. The name lingered in the air, unfamiliar to you, and you turned slightly in his arms with a furrowed brow, your curiosity piqued. Trent just smirked, his thumb tracing lazy, comforting circles over the fabric of your dress where his hand rested. His grin was the kind that told you he was up to something, but you couldn’t yet piece it together. The associate led you toward a sleek elevator, the soft hum of instrumental music filling the quiet as you both stepped inside. Trent’s hand never left your body, his thumb’s gentle rhythm on your hip a silent reassurance. The ride was brief, yet your mind raced with questions, each floor you passed adding another layer of anticipation. When the doors slid open, a chic woman with sleek, dark hair and an effortless air of sophistication greeted Trent like an old friend.

“Hello, love,” she beamed, leaning in to give him a quick hug, her lips brushing his cheek with the kind of ease that spoke of familiarity. Your brow furrowed again, a flicker of something unfamiliar rising in your chest—not jealousy, exactly, but confusion mixed with a fragile vulnerability. “And you, hun. Nice to meet you, finally,” Melissa added, turning her warm smile toward you. Finally? You wondered, still you managed a polite, shy smile.

“Nice to meet you,” your voice soft, the words sticking slightly in your throat. Trent’s hand tightened gently on your waist, as if sensing the shift in your mood. He didn’t offer an explanation, just guided you forward with that same easy confidence, his thumb now stroking soft, invisible patterns against your skin. Melissa led you both into a private room tucked away from the boutique’s bustling floor. The space was intimate yet extravagant—plush velvet chairs, delicate crystal glasses filled with sparkling water, and the faint glimmer of jewelry cases lining the walls like hidden treasures. Despite the beauty around you, your mind was tangled in quiet confusion.

Trent settled into one of the velvet chairs with an ease you envied, his legs sprawling slightly, into a mildly inappropriate yet still sexy and charming spread, reaching one hand to rest casually on your thigh, grounding you. Melissa chatted with him effortlessly, catching up on details you weren’t privy to, her laughter soft and melodic. You sat quietly beside him, your fingers nervously tracing the condensation on your glass, your heart beating in time with the steady rhythm of his thumb against your skin. Then Melissa’s tone shifted, her voice softening as she turned to you.

“So, I’ve had been speaking with Trent, and hun, I’m sorry you lost your favorite necklace,” she said gently. Your heart clenched, the words landing like a quiet echo against the fragile walls you’d built around that memory. Lost. Such a simple word, yet it held none of the violence that had stolen it from you. The ghost of that night flashed behind your eyes—Josh’s anger, the sharp yank, the sound of metal snapping against skin. You swallowed hard, the memory bitter on your tongue, but you nodded with a tight smile, understanding. Trent wouldn’t have told her the truth. Some things were meant to be buried under softer words. Melissa’s hands moved with practiced grace as she slid a small, velvety green box across the polished table toward Trent.

“Trent…” she paused, her voice soft with something like reverence. Trent’s fingers brushed over the box before he opened it with delicate care, as if the contents were fragile enough to break under the weight of anything less. 

“Baby…” His voice dropped to a whisper, rough around the edges in a way that made your chest tighten. You couldn’t help it—your eyes shut, your head shaking slightly as a soft sniffle escaped you. The emotion crept up faster than you could control, knotting itself somewhere between your throat and heart. The box, the weight of this moment, the realization of what he’d done—it all pressed against you. Melissa, sensing the shift, stood quietly. 

“I’ll give you a moment,” she whispered, her exit as graceful as her entrance, leaving you in the cocoon of Trent’s unwavering presence. Trent didn’t hesitate. His hand reached for the arm of your chair, pulling it closer until your knees bumped his. His other hand slid up your thigh, warm and steady, his thumb tracing slow, soothing lines like he could rub away the ache beneath your skin. His eyes searched yours, soft and filled with that kind of love that didn’t need words to be felt. He turned the box toward you, revealing the delicate white gold butterfly pendant filled with diamonds nestled inside. It caught the light, glinting softly, beautiful in its simplicity. Just like your old necklace—but different. New. A symbol of something that had been broken and made whole again, even if the scars still lingered. 

“I thought maybe… it’d be best if we got you this one,” Trent whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Silver linings and that.” Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached out, brushing over the pendant with a touch so light it barely made contact. The tears welled, uninvited but undeniable, blurring the edges of the world around you.

“Silver linings,” you echoed softly, your voice a fragile thread woven between the past and this tender present. Trent’s hand slid higher, cupping your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. His thumb brushed over your cheek, catching a tear before it could fall.

“Under all the clouds, there’s still us,” he whispered, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I’ve got you. You’ve always got me to be that shimmering silver lining in your life. So I know this is something new, a little different than the last one, but…” His voice faltered, catching on the weight of his own emotions.

“It’s perfect,” you whispered, cutting him off gently, your fingers curling around his wrist. “It’s somehow even better.” You said inspecting the necklace, it was the same but incredible different, it was no longer gold, no, but a tangible silver lining like he said. His eyes met yours then, locking in that quiet way that made the world disappear. It was just you and him, suspended in this fragile, beautiful moment where nothing else mattered. “T…” you breathed, your hand sliding up to rest against his cheek, your thumb tracing the faint stubble there. His eyes softened even more, if that was possible, like your voice alone could steady his heart. “You’ve always been my silver lining,” you whispered, your forehead pressing against his, your breath mingling with his. A soft laugh escaped him, low and filled with a warmth that wrapped around you like a blanket. 

“Yeah, I know, baby. And you’ve always been mine. My perfect, beautiful girl.” His lips found yours then, a kiss so soft, so full of unspoken promises, that it felt like another thread weaving the two of you together. When he pulled back, his thumb was already there, chasing the tears that slipped free despite your best efforts. 

The door clicked softly behind Melissa as she returned, her heels a faint rhythm against the polished marble floor. But Trent didn’t move. His hand stayed on your cheek, his eyes still on you, as if he needed just one more second to memorize the way you looked in this moment—heartbare and beautiful, the reflection of everything he’d ever wanted. The gentle hum of the luxury boutique’s private room seemed to fade into the background as she crossed the room, her hands cradling a smaller green box this time—sleek, square, and impossibly delicate in her grasp. She moved with the effortless grace of someone who’d done this a thousand times, but there was something different in her smile now, something softer, knowing. 

“And I think we need this too, right?” Melissa teased lightly, breaking the still silence, her eyes flicking between you and Trent, carrying a warmth that suggested she was more than just a sales associate in this moment. She knew. Maybe she always had. Trent reached for the box without hesitation, his hand brushing hers briefly, his fingers steady despite the soft tension hanging in the air. The box was small—too small—and your heart did something funny, a fluttering, anxious skip like it wasn’t sure whether to brace for impact or melt on the spot. Logically, you knew what it wasn’t. But that didn’t stop your mind from racing, imagining a future that didn’t feel so distant anymore. A future where he’d hold a box like this for a different reason. But when he flipped it open, the breath you’d been holding escaped in a quiet gasp—not of disappointment, but awe. Inside, nestled against the plush black velvet, was a ring. A breathtaking, delicate piece that caught the light and scattered it like fragments of a dream. Two diamond-encrusted butterflies, their wings spread as if mid-flight, perched side by side but so they’d sit between your fingers on a slim band of white gold—the perfect match to your new necklace. It was more than beautiful; it was symbolic. A quiet echo of resilience, transformation, and the way Trent always saw the best in you, even when you couldn’t.

“Yeah, we need this, hmm?” Trent murmured, his voice lower now, intimate, like it was just for you. He lifted the ring from its cushion carefully, like it was fragile, sacred. His fingers, rough with faint bruises still healing from that night, contrasted against the delicate shimmer of the diamonds. And then he reached for your hand. His touch was featherlight, almost reverent as he cradled your smaller hand in his. His thumb brushed over the back of it softly, tracing invisible lines, as if memorizing the feel of your skin. Then, with a tenderness that made your chest ache, he slid the ring onto your index finger. But he didn’t let go. Instead, his hand lingered, his thumb drifting down, trailing along the soft curve of your ring finger. His touch was deliberate now, not just affectionate but meaningful, charged with something deeper. You looked up at him, curiosity blooming in your eyes, only to find him already staring at you—his gaze steady, warm, and filled with an intensity that stole the breath right from your lungs.

“Pretty girl,” he whispered, his voice rough around the edges, thick with emotion. His thumb grazed over the bare skin of your ring finger, slow and deliberate, like he was anchoring himself to this moment. “Promise me you’ll let me put a ring on this finger one day instead.” The words hit you like a soft crash—gentle but overwhelming. Your chest tightened, your throat closing up as tears prickled behind your lashes. You could barely breathe, could barely think beyond the pounding of your heart in your ears. But somehow, you managed to nod, your chin trembling just slightly as your eyes filled with tears. A soft sniffle escaped, unintentional and fragile. And then—from across the room—a second sniffle. But it wasn’t yours. You both turned your heads, and there was Melissa, trying to discreetly wipe the corner of her eye with the edge of her manicured finger, her composure cracking just enough to make you both laugh softly through your tears.

“Sorry! Sorry!” she blurted out, her face flushed with embarrassment, though her smile was warm and genuine. She waved her hand dismissively, trying to play it off. “It’s just… he’s been coming here for years, buying and buying for this dream girl, talking and talking about this dream girl. He really loves you, sweetheart.” Her words hung in the quiet room like a tender thread, pulling at something deep inside you. Your chest ached, but it was the good kind—the kind that made you feel like you might burst from how full your heart was.

“And I really love him,” you whispered, the words slipping out effortlessly, like they’d been sitting on the edge of your heart, just waiting for the right moment to fall. Your voice wobbled slightly with the weight of emotion, but you didn’t care. Trent’s face softened even more—if that was possible—and he reached for you, his hand cupping your cheek with the same gentleness he’d held the ring. His thumb brushed away a stray tear that had escaped, his touch warm and grounding. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

 “Yeah, I know, baby,” he whispered softly, his eyes closing for just a second, like he needed to absorb your words, let them settle in his heart. “And you’ve always been mine. My perfect, pretty girl.” His lips found yours then, soft and warm, tasting faintly of lingering coffee and something sweeter—like promises woven into quiet moments and futures not yet spoken aloud. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was an anchor, grounding you both to this exact moment, where love wasn’t just said—it was felt, deep and undeniable. When he finally pulled back, his thumb traced the curve of your jaw, his eyes never leaving yours. “We’re gonna get out of this together,” he whispered, and somehow, you believed him completely. 

Trent’s jaw clenched as he stared at his phone, the harsh glow of the screen reflecting in his dark eyes. The headline glared back at him like an accusation: 

'Trent Alexander-Arnold, Seen Amidst Rumors: The Liverpool Right Back Involved in Cheshire House Party Bust-Up with Manchester United Players.'

His thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating before he zoomed in on the photos attached. There you were—his girl—captured unknowingly, your smile soft, bouquet of flowers clutched to your chest like a fragile shield. It should’ve been tender, beautiful even, but all he could see were the faint bruises along your neck and the healing cuts on his knuckles, marking the war you’d been through. He sighed, his chest tightening, a cocktail of frustration and guilt swirling inside him. The world had no idea what really happened. They’d never understand the layers beneath a headline or the story behind a photograph. You glanced up from where you sat at the foot of the bed, your fingers gently massaging his feet, grounding yourself in the simple act of touch. Lately, it was the only thing that kept you steady—skin against skin, reassurance nestled in every brush of your fingertips. But you noticed the shift in his demeanor immediately, the tension rolling off of him in waves. Your heart stuttered with that familiar pang of anxiety, the fragile part of you whispering he’s mad. You didn’t know why—that voice rarely had a reason—but it was loud enough to hollow your chest.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice a fragile thread in the quiet room. Trent’s eyes snapped to you, and his heart clenched at the look on your face—wide, innocent, unsure. He wasn’t mad. He could never be mad at you. But there was something else lingering beneath the surface—worry. A gnawing, relentless worry that had been camped out in his chest since that night. He quickly softened his expression, masking the heaviness with a small smile, trying to tuck away the frustration for later.

“Nothing, pretty girl. Just read a shit article,” he murmured, tossing his phone to the side like it didn’t matter, even though it did. Not the words, but the way they made him feel—powerless to protect you from the narratives spun outside of their little bubble. You nodded, lips parting slightly with a quiet ‘Oh,’ your gaze dropping, the innocence in your face pulling at something deep inside him. It hit him like a punch—the way you shrank inward, even slightly, made his heart ache. He hated that. Hated seeing you fold into yourself like that. Fix it, his mind screamed.

“Hey,” Trent said softly, reaching down to brush his knuckles against your cheek, “how come your hands feel so good on me, huh?” His smirk was lazy, playful, but there was an undercurrent of desperation to make you smile. Your giggle came like a balm, soft and airy, melting the tension just a little. You ran your hands up from his shins, over his knees, and up his strong thighs, tracing the muscles beneath the fabric. You hummed softly, letting your hands slide back down to his ankles with a teasing grin.

“Maybe because they’re meant to be on you,” you whispered, a playful glint in your eyes as you leaned down to press a kiss against his ankle. Trent groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the pillows, his grin widening. 

“Yeah? That’s interesting because I’m certain mine are meant to be all over you.” He reached for you then, his fingers curling in that familiar come here motion that you never could resist. “C’mere, baby.” You didn’t hesitate. You crawled up the bed, straddling his hips, desperate to be wrapped in his warmth, to feel his gaze on you like it was the only thing anchoring you to the world. His hands found your waist instantly, fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt. He tugged you closer until your chest pressed against his, your heartbeats syncing like they always did. His hand trailed up your back, fingers slipping beneath the fabric to touch your skin directly, his warmth seeping into you. His other hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone softly, as if you were something fragile he was terrified to break. “You okay?” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. You nodded, but the truth was tangled somewhere between yes and I don’t know. Trent’s lips found yours before you could overthink it—soft, slow, patient. Like he had all the time in the world to kiss away your fears, to rewrite every ugly headline and shadow with nothing but his touch. His fingers tangled in your hair, his other hand anchoring you to him, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. You melted into him, letting his warmth seep into all the broken places, his love pouring into the cracks. You didn’t need to say anything. You didn’t need to explain the ache in your chest or the fear in your heart. Because he already knew. He felt it too as he kissed down your jaw, moving further down. Trent's breath was warm against your neck, his stubble grazing your skin as he nuzzled in deeper, his hands sliding down the curve of your back until they found their destination-palming your ass with a possessive, gentle firmness that made your breath hitch. His grip was grounding yet electrifying, sending a pulse through you that left your skin tingling. "Mmm, yeah, see," he hummed against your skin, his voice low and rough with desire alluding that he was right, your hands on him felt good, and his on you…even better.You tilted your head, giving him more access, your fingers gripping his curls, tugging just enough to earn a soft groan from his chest.

"Yeah, perfect. Made just to be in your hands," you whispered back, your lips brushing the shell of his ear before your teeth grazed it, nibbling softly. Your hips instinctively rolled into his, the heat between you both igniting like a spark to dry timber. Trent was losing it. You were fucking him up, and bad. He tried-God, he tried-to keep his mind organized, to compartmentalize everything. To stay in control. But with you, there was no control. You unraveled him. Every. Single. Time. His brain was a mess: he was worried about you, scared because he cared so deeply it terrified him, angry at the world for hurting you, sad because of the weight you both carried... and yet, under all of that, simmering like a steady flame, was the ache-the raw, desperate need to have you. Every time you pouted at him, every time your hands wandered like they were now, sliding under his shirt, tracing the taut muscles of his abdomen, he crumbled like a man undone. A poor soul under the spell of love. And it wasn't just lust. It was deeper. It was you.

Trent's hands dragged back up, fingers splaying across your ribs, moving higher until they cradled your face with a reverence that made your chest tighten. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, as if memorizing the feel of you, anchoring himself. Then his lips found yours again, and it wasn't soft—not this time. It was desperate, messy, like he was trying to kiss every thought from your mind, to replace every scar with his touch. His tongue met yours, and the world disappeared. There was no worry, no fear, no past-just the heat of his mouth, the taste of him, the way he felt like home. All of Trent's worrisome thoughts washed away, replaced by you.  With ease, he rolled you over, his strong arms guiding you until your back hit the mattress, his body hovering above yours. His knees bracketed your hips, his hands on either side of your head, caging you in, but not in a way that felt confining. No, it felt safe, like he was shielding you from the world. You opened your eyes briefly, needing to see him, to take him in. The hallway light bled into the room, casting a soft, golden glow over his face. His features were carved in shadow and light-the sharp lines of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the dark, intense focus in his eyes as he looked at you. He looked like something celestial, like an angel who'd somehow fallen into your bed.

"I wanna feel you," you whispered, your voice breathless, trembling with emotion and need. You reached for him, pulling him back down, desperate for his lips, his weight, his warmth.

"I'm right here, baby," he murmured against your mouth, the words a vow. As if to prove it, his hand slid under your shirt, fingertips grazing the soft skin of your stomach, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His touch wasn't rushed. It was patient, intentional, like he was writing love letters across your skin with nothing but his hands. There was something sacred in the way he touched you-gentle yet with purpose, as if to say these hands, his hands, would never hurt you. Trent's weight settled more fully against you, grounding you, his chest pressed to yours, heartbeats syncing in a rhythm older than time. The warmth of him seeped into every cold corner inside you, filling spaces you didn't even realize were empty. Your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, needing more, needing him. You pulled it over his head, tossing it aside without a care, your hands immediately returning to explore the expanse of skin revealed-his chest, the dip of his collarbone, the ridges of muscle along his abdomen. You traced every inch like you were trying to memorize him with your touch alone. Trent groaned softly, his head dipping to kiss along your jaw, down your neck, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below your ear that made you gasp. His hands roamed too, not a single inch of your body left untouched as he undressed you, his fingers slipping beneath fabric with a practiced ease but a lover's patience. The room was filled with nothing but the sounds of your shared breaths, the soft rustle of sheets, and the occasional whispered name-baby, pretty girl, mine. Because that's what it was. Raw. Real. Not just sex. It was Trent grounding you with his body, his touch, his love. And you, giving him every broken, beautiful piece of yourself, knowing he'd hold them like treasures, never something to fix -just something to cherish. Trent's lips were soft but insistent against your skin, moving with reverence along the slope of your neck and the delicate line of your collarbones. Each kiss felt like a whispered promise, a tender reminder of his devotion woven into every brush of his mouth.

"You're so beautiful, baby," he murmured, the warmth of his breath fanning across your skin, igniting something deep within you. His voice was low, rough with emotion and desire, sending a shiver down your spine. The urge to be closer-to feel every inch of him, to drown in him-became unbearable. Your hands moved on instinct, desperate and shaking slightly as you rid him of the last barriers between you. Trent didn't rush you; he let you set the pace, his dark eyes soft and heavy-lidded with affection as he watched you, his hands gently roaming over your body in silent encouragement. Once he was bare, he settled between your legs, the warmth of his skin against yours grounding you in the present, in him. His hands traced up your thighs, his fingers spreading slightly to grip the soft flesh with a possessive tenderness that made your breath hitch. But then, instead of moving forward, he reached for your hands, tangling his fingers with yours. The simple act felt intimate, grounding, a silent reassurance that he was there-not just for this, but for everything. Trent lifted himself slightly, just enough to trail kisses down your body, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring you. When his mouth found your tits, he gave them his full attention-lapping, sucking gently at your nipples until you arched into him, a soft moan spilling from your lips, raw and needy. But it wasn't enough. Not tonight. Not when the weight of everything felt like it could crush you, and he was the only thing holding you together. You tightened your grip on his hands, tugging gently but with urgency, needing him to look at you. When his eyes met yours, you saw the love, the concern etched into every line of his face.

"Baby, no. Need you inside me," you whined, your voice thick with desperation. The words slipped out unfiltered, raw and aching. Trent's brow furrowed slightly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

 "Are you sure? Pretty girl,, I need to make sure you're wet enough, I don’t want to hurt you," he whispered, his voice soft but firm, filled with that familiar protective edge. His caution wasn't just about comfort-it was about love. He never wanted to hurt you, not in any way, especially now when you were so fragile.

“I don't care," you breathed, the need spilling over into your voice, cracked and trembling. You didn't want space, didn't want slow. You wanted him. All of him. Trent didn't argue. Instead, he kissed you-a deep, grounding kiss that stole your breath and gave it back all at once. His hand released yours, moving between your legs with a touch so careful it broke your heart a little. His fingers slipped through your folds, testing, exploring, his touch sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. The contrast of his tenderness against your desperation made your pulse quicken, your hips arching into his hand instinctively. When his fingers finally brushed your clit, it felt like a spark igniting inside you, sharp and electric. Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you again, his fingers working skillfully, his touch both soothing and igniting.

"I've got you, baby. I'm here," he whispered against your skin, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below your ear, pressing soft kisses there. His words were more than comfort; they were an anchor, pulling you back from the overwhelming sea of emotion threatening to drown you. “I love you so much," he breathed, his voice a warm murmur in your ear, each word sinking into you like a balm. His praises wrapped around you, holding you tighter than his arms ever could. But despite the heat building, the ache deepening, you couldn't reach that edge. You were wound too tight, your body vibrating with need, but something kept holding you back. Frustration mixed with desperation, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Relax, f’me baby. I'm here, just relax, you’re with me," he whispered again, his voice steady, his hands gentle. But you didn't want to relax. You wanted more-needed more. Your hands shot up, tangling in his curls, pulling him back to you. 

"T, just…please," you whimpered, your voice breaking. His eyes met yours, dark and filled with something fierce-love, lust, devotion, all tangled together. Without another word, he shifted, positioning himself at your entrance, his hands cradling your face as if you were something sacred. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

"I've got you, let’s just go slow here, baby," he whispered again, and this time, it felt like a promise etched into your skin. He definitely wanted to fuck you but it needed to be grounding, loving, not rushed. It couldn’t be rushed because he never wanted to make you feel like any of this, you and him, was fleeting. 

"I need you. Wanna be close to you. Please,T,  I need you." Your voice was a fragile whisper, trembling with desperation and longing as your hands roamed over Trent's body. You traced the hard lines of his muscles, feeling them tighten beneath your fingertips with every soft brush, every fleeting touch. His skin was warm, the faint sheen of sweat forming from the heat between you two, making him feel even more real, more tangible-something you could hold onto when everything else felt like it was slipping through your fingers. Trent's eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with desire as they swept over you. His gaze wasn't just hungry-it was reverent, like he was drinking you in, memorizing every curve, every freckle, every soft line of your body. You could feel the weight of his need in the way his chest rose and fell, the tension in his jaw as he swallowed hard, grounding himself in the moment. He exhaled and without another word, he wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your entrance. The sight alone made your breath hitch, your heart racing like it was trying to escape your chest. Your hands instinctively found his biceps, fingers digging into the warm, firm flesh as if he was the only thing anchoring you to reality. He pushed into you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, watching every flicker of emotion cross your face. A low whimper escaped your lips, your head falling back against the pillows as your legs instinctively spread wider, welcoming him, pulling him in deeper. The stretch was overwhelming, that perfect mix of pleasure and pressure that had your nails digging into his skin. And then he was fully inside you, buried to the hilt, and it felt like the world had narrowed down to just this-just him.

Your chest rose with a shaky breath, and before you could stop it, a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. It wasn't sadness. No, it was something else entirely-an overwhelming wave of vulnerability, release, and the safety of being seen, truly seen, by someone who held you like you were precious. Unfortunately, you think you’d cried just about every time you’d had sex lately. It wasn’t a bad thing but the  first few times it happened, Trent had panicked, pulling away with fear etched into his features, thinking he'd done something wrong, stopping immediately. But it wasn’t sadness you were experiencing, it was a release, a vulnerability and yet safeness he gave you in these intimate moments. And now he understood. He didn't flinch. He didn't question. Instead, he leaned down and pressed soft kisses to your cheeks, tasting the salt of your tears as if it was something sacred.

"I'm here. I've got you," he whispered against your skin, his voice a soft, grounding hum that wrapped around your heart like a warm blanket. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer until there was no space left between you, until your bodies were tangled so tightly you couldn't tell where you ended, and he began. His chest pressed against yours, the steady thump of his heartbeat syncing with yours, a rhythm only the two of you knew.

Trent moved slowly, each thrust deliberate, savoring the connection, the closeness. His hips rolled into you with a steady, intoxicating rhythm, not rushed, not frantic-just right. His hands found your face again, cradling it gently, his thumbs brushing over your flushed cheeks as if grounding himself in your presence. His forehead pressed against yours, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. "You feel so good, baby. Fuck. So perfect," he murmured, his words like a soft caress, his voice thick with emotion and desire. It didn't take long before that familiar coil of tension began to build in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter with each of his praises, each slow, deliberate movement. His words were like fuel, igniting every nerve ending, pushing you closer to the edge. "That's it, baby. You're doing so good for me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Your body trembled beneath him, your hands shaking as you threaded them into his curls, holding on like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your head fell back, a soft, broken whine escaping your lips as the tension snapped, crashing over you in waves of bliss. It wasn't just an orgasm-it was a release, a letting go of everything you'd been holding onto, every fear, every ache, every unspoken word. You felt his breath hitch against your neck, the warmth of it washing over your sensitive skin as he buried himself deeper, chasing his own release. His name fell from your lips in a breathless chant, and then he was there, moaning your name like a prayer as he came, his hips stuttering against yours, spilling inside you. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths mingling, the faint thrum of your heartbeats still racing. Trent didn't move, his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you like he could shield you from the world. And maybe he could. Maybe he already had.

You stayed like that for what felt like both a passing moment and an eternity, tangled together in the fragile afterglow of intimacy. Trent’s weight was a grounding comfort, his chest rising and falling against yours, his skin slick with the sheen of effort and emotion. The soft hum of your breathing was the only sound filling the dimly lit room, save for the faint buzz of life beyond the walls—a distant car passing, the occasional creak of the old floorboards settling. Eventually, Trent shifted slightly, resting his forehead against yours. His stubble tickling your skin, his skin against yours sticky with sweat and warmth. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart slowly syncing with yours, the rhythm steadying, grounding. His thumb brushed softly against your cheek as he murmured, his voice hushed but carrying the full weight of his heart.

“I love you so much, baby.” He whispered. The words settled over you like a blanket, warm and safe. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, his lips lingering there as if he didn’t want to pull away. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he began to lift himself off you, his hands bracing on either side of your body. But the moment his warmth started to leave, panic flickered like a spark in your chest. Your legs tightened around his hips instinctively, holding him in place with a soft, desperate squeeze.

“Please don’t leave me.” You begged meekly. The words tumbled out in a breathless whisper, raw and trembling. Your voice didn’t carry fear of him leaving for good, but rather the immediate absence—the fear of space, of cold air replacing his warmth, of being alone even for a second. It wasn’t rational, but fear never was. Trent froze instantly. His body stiffened above you before he slowly lowered himself back down, his weight pressing into you just enough to ground you again. His hands cupped your face with gentle urgency, his thumbs brushing away the faint sheen of tears you hadn’t realized had gathered.

“What are you talking about, baby?” His voice was a low whisper, full of concern and something else—something deeper. His brows furrowed as he studied your face, searching for the source of the fear hidden in your eyes. Your lips parted, but no words came out. How could you explain it? That the shadows of Josh’s cruelty still clung to you like smoke, invisible but suffocating. That the dark parts of your mind whispered fears louder than reality. That Trent had become your anchor, and the thought of floating even an inch away felt like drowning. Trent’s thumbs traced soft circles on your cheeks, coaxing you back from the edge of your spiraling thoughts. His voice softened, turning into a promise wrapped in warmth.

“I’m not leaving. I’m just gonna get something to clean you up. Then I’ll be right back, yeah? I’m here. I’m right here.” You nodded slowly, though your grip didn’t loosen right away. His eyes never left yours as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips—a silent vow stitched between the softness of his mouth and the warmth of his breath. When he finally pulled back, you let your legs fall away from his hips, your heart thudding in protest even as you tried to steady yourself. Trent got up, his steps quiet as he moved toward the en-suite. The absence of his touch left a chill in its wake, the bed suddenly too big, too empty. You pulled the sheet up around you, not for modesty but for comfort, clutching it like it could somehow replace the warmth of his skin. But it couldn’t. Nothing could.

In the ensuite of the room, Trent flicked on the light, the harsh brightness casting sharp shadows on the cool tiles. He moved mechanically, grabbing a soft cloth and running it under warm water. But as he reached for the towel, his eyes caught his reflection in the mirror. He paused. For a second, he just stared.

His face looked the same, but the person staring back at him felt unfamiliar. His shoulders slumped under an invisible weight, his chest tight with emotions he didn’t know how to name. It hit him all at once—a clarity he hadn’t asked for, didn’t want. Post-nut clarity, he might’ve joked under different circumstances. But this wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t funny. He sighed, gripping the edge of the marble counter with one hand, the other still holding the damp cloth. His mind raced, thoughts unraveling faster than he could catch them. You needed him—that much was obvious. But the part that twisted his gut was how much he needed you back. And that scared him. Because it wasn’t just support anymore. It wasn’t just love. It was dependency, tangled in a way that blurred the lines between healthy and… something else. Something fragile. He didn’t want to be a crutch. He didn’t want to be the person you clung to simply because you were running from someone else. He wasn’t Josh, but was he just the next chapter in the same story? But even as those thoughts swirled, he knew the truth. He couldn’t pull away. He didn’t want to pull away. The idea of not being wrapped around you—of not being the one who made you feel safe—was unbearable. The thought of walking back into that bedroom and seeing you asleep without him there sent a pang through his chest, sharp and unrelenting. So, he didn’t linger in the bathroom. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, trying to shake off the heaviness, and returned to you like a man drawn by gravity itself. As soon as he stepped back into the room, your eyes found his, wide and glassy, your hand reaching for him without hesitation. Trent crossed the room quickly, climbing back into bed before you could even whisper his name. You pulled him into you immediately, your arms wrapping around his neck, your face burying into the crook of his shoulder. His heart cracked a little, feeling how desperately you clung to him—but it also mended in the same beat, because he needed you just as desperately.

“I’m here,” he whispered against your hair, his arms wrapping around you tighter. “I’m not going anywhere.” And maybe that was the problem. Or maybe it was the answer. But for now, it was just reality.

The soft hum of the television filled the living room, its flickering light casting faint shadows across the walls. Trent was slouched comfortably on the sofa, his arms draped around you entirely as your body molded into his, your cheek resting against his chest. His fingers moved absentmindedly through your hair, the repetitive motion soothing both you and himself. You were fast asleep, your breathing slow and even, but your grip on the hem of his hoodie remained tight, as if even in sleep, you couldn’t bear to let go.

The front door creaked open, and Jack’s footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor as he entered. Trent glanced over his shoulder, his face lighting up with casual ease.

“Oh hey, bro. Didn’t know you’d be at home today,” Trent greeted, his voice low so as not to wake you. He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you, though his hand never left your hair. Jack froze in the entry of the room for a beat longer than necessary, his jaw tightening as his eyes landed on the scene before him. There was something about it—Trent’s relaxed posture, your fragile form curled into him—that made Jack’s chest constrict. He wasn’t sure if it was protectiveness, or just plain concern.

“Erm, yeah… I didn’t know you’d be here, bro,” Jack replied, his tone clipped, the emphasis on you not subtle. He dropped his gym bag on the floor, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped further into the room, his gaze flickering between you and Trent. Trent, oblivious to the tension tightening in Jack’s shoulders, just shrugged, his attention drifting back to the muted football highlights on the screen.

“Well, I was dropping her off, and then she wanted me to stay, so we chilled for a bit and then she just passed out. Was knackered so…” The casualness in Trent’s voice grated on Jack’s nerves. He clenched his jaw, forcing a tight smile, nodding like it didn’t bother him. Like it wasn’t gnawing at the edges of his mind how much Trent had been here—with you—every day, all the time.

“Yeah, yeah. Cool. All good,” Jack muttered, his words stiff but subtle as he moved past the sofa, his eyes lingering for just a second longer on the way your fingers were curled into Trent’s hoodie, like it was the only thing tethering you to safety. But it wasn’t just safety anymore, was it?  Jack had gathered that you were scared to be alone. That part wasn’t surprising. The fear was real, raw, and understandable after what happened with Josh. But it was the way you weren’t just seeking comfort—you were seeking Trent. Only Trent. You’d built walls around yourself, sure, but instead of bricks, they were made entirely of him. And Trent? He wasn’t helping. If anything, he was reinforcing them, brick by brick, without even realizing it. Jack headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge just for the sake of doing something, anything, to occupy his hands. The cold air hit his face, but it did nothing to cool the frustration simmering beneath his skin. He grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap off with more force than necessary, the faint pop echoing in the silence.

From the living room, it was like he could still somehow hear the faint, rhythmic sound of Trent’s fingers threading through your hair, your being entirely dependent on that touch. It was such an innocent gesture—gentle, comforting—but to Jack, it felt like a line being crossed. You hadn’t slept apart since that night. Jack had noticed. You sat on the floor of the gym while Trent worked out, your eyes never straying far from him, like he was your anchor in a storm. You showered together, ate together, breathed together. It was as if you’d become an extension of each other, and Jack didn’t know if that was beautiful or terrifying. Probably both. When he came back into the living room, leaning against the doorway with the bottle in hand, he watched Trent for a long moment. Trent glanced up, offering an easy smile, but Jack didn’t return it.

“You staying for dinner?” Jack asked, his voice casual, but there was an undercurrent—something sharp beneath the words. He wasn’t mad at Trent, he just was concerned and he was trying to keep his emotions in that lane, trying his best to not let them merge into one of frustration. Trent glanced down at you, still asleep, your grip unrelenting. He gave a small, fond chuckle. 

“I mean… guess it depends if she wakes up hungry.” Trent responded. Jack forced a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Right.” he quipped. The silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Jack wanted to say something—needed to say something. But what? That this wasn’t healthy? That maybe you both needed space? That Trent wasn’t a bandage for wounds that needed time to heal? But when Jack looked at you, peaceful for the first time in what felt like weeks, and when he saw the way Trent held you with such unconscious care, the words caught in his throat. So he said nothing. Just twisted the cap back onto his water bottle and walked away, the weight of worry following him down the hall.

It had been days like that and Jack’s was spinning out. He didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore but he was beginning to struggle and he didn’t know where to turn. But then, he did turn, he turned his car into that familiar neighborhood…

The kitchen was filled with the soft clinking of mugs being pulled from the cupboards, the kettle’s gentle hiss a steady background hum. Dianne moved with practiced ease, pouring hot water over the tea bags nestled in the delicate porcelain cups, her back turned to Jack as he sat slumped at the kitchen table. His elbows rested on the worn surface, fingers gripping his hair, his jaw tense with unspoken worry.

“I just… I don’t know, Di. She clings to him,” Jack muttered, his voice low, as if saying it too loudly might make it more real. He glanced up, his eyes not those of the grown man he’d become but of the little boy Dianne had watched grow, the one who used to scrape his knees and run to her for comfort. His vulnerability hit her chest like a stone, but she said nothing yet, giving him the space he seemed to need. She slid a cup of tea toward him, the steam curling between them like fragile threads, waiting to be woven into words. Jack stared at it for a beat before continuing, his fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic as if it could ground him. “Like… all she does is stay glued to his side. Which I get, I do. She’s been through a lot, and he makes her feel safe. But in a month, when he leaves for preseason, what’s she going to do? Collapse?” His voice cracked slightly, frustration laced with fear. He wasn’t just worried about you—he was terrified. Terrified of watching you fall apart and not knowing how to catch you. Dianne’s heart clenched. She took a sip of her own tea, not to delay her response but to give Jack room to breathe. She knew better than to fill silence too quickly; sometimes, it wasn’t empty space—it was a place for someone to find their words.

“Oh, hun…” she finally murmured, her voice a soft balm, warm and steady. She reached out, resting her hand gently over his. Jack’s shoulders sagged a little under her touch, the tension loosening just enough for him to keep going.

“And in a way, I think he likes it too,” Jack added quietly, his gaze distant, as if he could see you and Trent in his mind’s eye—inseparable, tangled up in something more complicated than just love. “I don’t mean that he likes that she’s sad.” Jack quickly tried to rectify his words. 

“I know. Keep going.’ Dianne gave him a gentle encouraging smile.

“Sorry….Like, I know she’s fine if he’s there. But what happens when he has an away game on Sunday and Champions League that Tuesday? He’s not here.” His words grew softer, thinner, like they might break under the weight of his fear. The reality of Trent’s life crashing down hard on Jack, a reality Dianne knew well, missed birthdays, holidays spent on flights, weeks away at a time, something Jack wasn’t sure you could handle, not in the state you were in now. Dianne’s thumb rubbed a slow, comforting circle over his knuckles.

“He is for her, though,” she said gently. “Maybe he can’t always be physically here, I know that but he’s there for her in ways that matter. Always has been. And so are you, Jack. Especially in those moments when he can’t be.” But Jack’s jaw tightened. His grip on the tea mug grew firmer, his knuckles white. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “It’s like… she’s trying to fix things using him, and he’s too close to stop her. She can’t get better like that” The words hung heavy in the air, thicker than the steam rising from their cups. Dianne frowned slightly, her maternal instincts kicking in. She’d known something was off, but Jack’s words pointed to something deeper, something darker. Better from what she wondered so she asked. 

“Fix what, hun?” she asked softly, her voice a thread pulling gently at the edge of a fraying sweater. Jack froze. His heart raced, a cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck. No one knew. No one could’ve know. Not about Josh. Not about what they’d all found out about and especially not about the night that triggered everything. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry despite the untouched tea. His eyes dropped to the table, blinking rapidly as his vision blurred.

“Di… it’s been so scary,” he whispered, the words trembling out of him like fragile glass. His voice broke completely then, a tear slipping down his cheek before he could stop it. Dianne didn’t hesitate. Although, mentally she paused because she hadn’t seen Jack cry in years but she was swift nevertheless. She moved around the table quickly but softly, dropping to her knees beside him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She held him tight, like she had when he was small and scraped up from the world. He clung to her for a moment, burying his face into her shoulder, letting the weight of his worry leak out in silent sobs. She didn’t ask anything more right then. She just held him, her heart breaking not just for you, but for Jack—bearing the burden of a secret too heavy for one person to carry alone.

The quiet hum of the kettle filled the space between them, but Jack barely noticed it. His hands trembled slightly around the mug, the tea inside long forgotten, growing cold, hence the new brew. Dianne remained by his side, her hand still resting gently on his shoulder after his tears had ebbed, grounding him with the warmth only someone who’d loved him his whole life could offer. Jack wiped at his face roughly, like he could scrub away the vulnerability. But it was too late—the dam had broken, and there was no patching it up now. His chest felt tight, his heart pounding like it was trying to escape. He stared at a spot on the table, as if avoiding her eyes might make the words easier.

“I—I didn’t know how to say it. I still don’t,” Jack started, his voice hoarse from the emotion that had just torn through him. “But I can’t keep holding it in. It’s—it’s eating me alive, Di.” Dianne nodded softly, her face calm, though her heart raced with quiet dread. She knew whatever was coming wasn’t small. She reached for his hand again, her touch a silent permission to continue, no matter how messy the truth might be. Jack swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around hers. “It’s been going on for longer than anyone had known. With her. With Trent. I mean—” He let out a bitter laugh, one without humor, shaking his head. “At first, it was just… betrayal. That’s what I felt. Like—how could they? My best mate, my sister… sneaking around like that. I felt like the biggest idiot, like they’d made me the punchline of some joke I wasn’t in on.” His voice cracked, the resentment still simmering beneath the grief, tangled up in everything else. “But that—that’s nothing compared to what came after… what came before.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, as if the memories were too sharp to face head-on.

“I just found out this lad had been hurting her… It was so much worse then I could’ve ever imagined. It makes me nauseous. And when we went to some party one night… Josh—” Jack’s throat tightened, and he paused, his jaw clenching. The images flashed uninvited: your tear-streaked face, the bruises already blooming, the haunted look in your eyes. You were barely there, just a shadow of yourself, clinging to Trent like the only thing keeping you from slipping away. “He tried-,” Jack couldn’t forced the words out, his voice dropping to a whisper like saying it would make it worse. “At this party. I couldn’t get there fast enough— It was awful but it had been going on long before this and I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t know.” The guilt was thick in his voice, choking him. “And T… he was there, he helped, he always helps so I dragged her out of there and held her but  when I looked at her in my arms sobbing… she wasn’t even her anymore. And now weeks have passed and she’s still not there. She’s like shattered glass, Di. Just—just pieces of her left, scattered all over Trent’s fucking chest in the living room like he is the only thing holding her together.” His hands trembled harder now, the mug rattling against the table until Dianne gently pried it from his grip, setting it aside. She didn’t say anything yet, just listened, her heart pounding but her face calm, giving him the space he needed. Jack’s breaths came in ragged pulls, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. “And now? Now it’s like she’s disappeared into him. Like she can’t breathe unless he’s in the same room. I get it—I get it. He makes her feel safe. But it’s like she’s drowning, and instead of learning how to swim, she’s just clinging to him like a fucking life raft.” His voice broke again, softer this time, filled with something closer to heartbreak than anger. “And I don’t know how to help her. I don’t know if I can. I feel like I lost her that night, Di. And the worst part? I miss her, but I don’t even know if she’s still in there to miss.” The silence that followed was heavy, filled with all the words he couldn’t say. Dianne sat quietly for a long moment, her heart aching—not just for you, but for Jack, for the boy she’d helped raise who now sat crumbling before her. She’d known fear before, known grief. But this? This was watching two people she loved disappear in different ways—one fading into someone else, the other drowning in guilt he didn’t deserve to carry. She finally reached out, cupping Jack’s face gently, her thumbs brushing away the fresh tears he hadn’t realized were falling. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady. “You’ve been carrying all of this by yourself for too long. I’m glad you’re here because you’re not alone.” Jack let out a shaky breath, nodding because it was true. Dianne leaned back slightly, her hands resting over his. “Listen to me, okay? She’s still in there. Your sister—she’s in there. But right now, she’s lost. She’s holding onto Trent because she’s scared, because that’s the only thing that feels solid. But it doesn’t mean she’s gone. It just means she needs time. And she needs you too, Jack. Not the version of you that feels like he’s failing her. The version that’s always been her safe place, even when she forgot how to ask for it.” Jack’s face crumpled, the words hitting something tender. He nodded again, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “And Trenty?” Dianne continued gently. “He’s not the enemy here. He’s scared too. Scared of what happens if he lets go. You both are. But she’s going to need both of you—not to be her crutches, but to remind her how to stand on her own again.” Jack let out a breath, the tension slowly bleeding from his shoulders. It didn’t fix everything. It didn’t erase the fear. But it helped. It helped to say it out loud, to have someone sit with him in the mess without trying to clean it up right away. Dianne gave his hand one last squeeze. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Together.” Jack nodded with a pout. 

Dianne still hadn’t seen Trent since Jack came over to her home and broke down, filling her with worry, empathy, desperation to help, and eagerness to see Trent. She’d texted him asking if he could stop by their house, pulling a mum card saying she hadn’t seen her baby boy in too long. The comforting scent of home-cooked food filled the cozy kitchen, mingling with the faint trace of Dianne’s floral perfume that lingered like a memory. The soft hum of the kettle boiling like it always did in the background was the only sound apart from the faint shuffle of Trent’s footsteps as he entered his mum’s house, his frame casting long shadows across the familiar walls.

“You alright, Mum?” Trent greeted her with that familiar, boyish grin, his voice warm but carrying a trace of exhaustion he couldn’t quite mask.

“Better seeing my Trenty,” Dianne cooed, pulling him into a tight embrace, her hands lingering a second longer than usual against his back, as if she could squeeze the worry out of him—or at least into herself. She kissed his cheek softly before pulling away, her eyes subtly scanning his face, searching for cracks beneath his charm. “Hungry, hun?” she asked, her tone light and motherly as she led him into the kitchen. Trent nodded, sinking into the chair at the table where he’d eaten countless meals growing up, the same one Jack was crying at mere days ago. Dianne busied herself at the stove, filling the space with chatter about the neighbors—the old woman next door who’d finally caught the stray cat sneaking into her garden, the teenager who’d crashed his bike trying to impress a girl. Trent chuckled softly, grateful for the normalcy, the simplicity of it all. But Dianne’s eyes never stopped observing him, even as her hands moved with practiced ease. When she finally set the plate in front of him, she didn’t let go right away. Her fingers lingered on the edge of the plate, overlapping with his.

“Trent…” she said softly, her voice dropping the playful lilt, replaced by quiet caution. Her eyes shifted from his face to his hand—the one gripping the plate. Bruised knuckles, faint swelling, and small cuts, poorly healed because he’d likely ignored them. Trent stiffened slightly, trying to pull his hand away, but Dianne’s gentle grip held for just a second longer.

“Mum, I know…” he muttered, already sliding into defense mode. “It was just a stupid scrap.” He shrugged, as if that would minimize it. Dianne released the plate but didn’t move from her spot. She sat across from him, her face calm but her eyes sharp, seeing more than he wanted her to. 

“Well, you know how I feel about a scrap,” she replied, her tone soft but firm.

“Mum…”  Trent groaned, shaking his head like a kid caught doing something he knew better than to do.  Her gaze didn’t waver as he began to take a few bites of food. 

“Don’t ‘Mum’ me, Trent. You think I don’t see it?” She gestured gently toward his hand, then to him as a whole. “It’s not just that. You’re carrying something, hun. More than you’re letting on… You don’t do ‘scraps’” She quipped. Yes, Trent as a boy would mess about with friends, definitely get into his fair share of squabbles with his brothers, but as an adult, a professional in the public eye… he was being naive thinking he could get away with this one.  He opened his mouth to argue, but then his phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with your name. He glanced at it instinctively, the message simple but heavy. 

'I really miss you, T. Come back xx'

 He left you to pop to Dianne’s but promised he’d be right back. But a half hour since he left you was too long. Dianne didn’t miss the shift in his expression—the tension in his jaw softening, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as if the words alone were enough to tether him.

“You’ve been glued to her…” Dianne stateed quietly, her voice gentle, not accusing. Just observing. She watched the way Trent’s thumb hovered over his phone, his chest rising and falling with a sigh he didn’t even realize he let out.

“She needs me,” he said finally, his voice low, almost like he was justifying it to himself more than to Dianne.

“And you need her,” Dianne added softly, not as a question but as a truth laid bare between them. Trent swallowed hard, finally setting his phone down without responding—just yet. He stared at the plate of food, but the appetite had faded. His fingers traced the rim of the plate absently.

“I don’t know how to be without her anymore,” he admitted after a beat, his voice quieter, raw. “She’s been through so much, and if I’m not there… I feel like she’ll break. But it’s not just about her. It’s me too. I feel like—I don’t know. Like if I’m not with her, I’m the one falling apart.” Dianne’s heart clenched, but she stayed composed, reaching across the table to rest her hand over his. 

“Trenty,” she whispered, her thumb brushing against the bruised skin on his knuckles. “You’re both trying to be lifeboats for each other when neither of you know how to swim in this.” Trent’s eyes glistened, but he didn’t cry. He just nodded slightly, his throat too tight for words. “I’m not saying pull away,” Dianne continued gently. “But love isn’t about saving each other from drowning. It’s about teaching each other how to float, even when you’re apart.” Trent finally looked up at her, his defenses lowered, his heart exposed in a way only a mother could manage.

“I don’t know how… I can’t see her hurt anymore.” he whispered. “It’s killing me. I can’t manage it. Manage her like this” He muttered as Dianne squeezed his hand gently. Dianne’s heart was breaking for her son and for you but she remained quiet, hoping he would confide in her, letting him open up and want her help but Trent was too stubborn. Stubbornness born from fear of being away from you any longer when his phone buzzed again. 

‘Need a cuddle and my T. Miss you so much, baby. Please’

They were mushy, down bad, almost gaslight texts but to you and to Trent they read merely honest, loving, and unfortunately just sad. The tension in the room hung like thick fog, invisible but suffocating. Trent’s knee bounced under the table, fingers drumming against the wood, restless as he read your message on his phone sat beside his half-eaten plate, the text burning into his thoughts like it was etched into the screen. The pull to leave was overwhelming, like gravity itself was tugging him toward you.

“I gotta go, Mum. Sorry. I’ll come back when I have some time. Thank you for—” Trent started, his voice rushed, already halfway out of the conversation in his mind. But Dianne cut him off, her voice sharp but steady. 

“Trent, I know you’re running off to her. And it wasn’t a stupid scrap. You fought someone for her.” She finally just cut to the chase. He’d been beating around the bush, not divulging why* he needed to be near you. Her bluntness caused Trent to freeze mid-motion, the words hitting him square in the chest. His jaw clenched, and he shot her a glance over his shoulder, surprised she knew—though, deep down, he shouldn’t have been. Dianne always knew more than she let on. But he didn’t have time to process it, didn’t have time to ask how she knew. All he could think about was you.

“Just… please. I’ll talk to you another time,” he snapped, the edge in his voice sharper than he intended, frustration and anxiety blending into something brittle. He raked a hand over his curls, his pulse racing faster with every second. “The fucking lad got arrested for what he’d been doing. I had to do something, alright? And I have to go do something now…” His words came out harsh, fueled by the lingering anger he carried like an undercurrent beneath everything—at Josh, at himself, at the whole situation. His chest felt tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the room. Dianne sighed softly, her face etched with worry, but she didn’t press. She watched him stand, grabbing a hurried bite from the plate, chewing as if it was just a mechanical necessity. He moved on autopilot now, driven by instinct more than thought. 

“Another time, please,” Dianne spoke gently, full of understanding but equally measured hurt. 

“Yeah, yeah. Another time, Mum,” he muttered, voice softer this time but still distant, like he wasn’t fully present. And he wasn’t he was mentally out the door as he grabbed his keys from the counter with one hand while the other reached out to kiss her cheek—a rushed, distracted gesture. “Promise. Thanks for the food. Love you.” He chirped. He was already halfway to the door when Dianne’s voice followed him, quiet but filled with layered emotion. 

“Tell her I’m thinking of her.” Trent hummed in acknowledgment, not trusting his voice to hold steady, his hand tightening around the keys as if gripping them could somehow ground him. He didn’t look back as he slipped out the door, the air hitting his face like a slap, but it did nothing to ease the storm brewing inside him. He needed to get back to you. That was the only thing that mattered right now.

The door clicked shut behind him, but Trent didn’t hear it. His footsteps were automatic, mechanical, as he made his way to the car. He didn’t remember sliding into the driver’s seat, didn’t register the familiar feel of the steering wheel under his fingers or the soft hum of the engine roaring to life. The world outside Dianne’s house blurred into a smear of colors as he pulled down the drive, his mind caught somewhere between the past hour and the ache growing steadily in his chest. The road stretched ahead, but Trent’s thoughts twisted inward, tangled and messy. At first, all he could feel was the pull of you—need to get back, need to see her, she’s waiting—but as the miles ticked by, something started to shift. A flicker of doubt. A ripple in the current that had carried him so blindly these past weeks. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. Maybe this isn’t good. The thought hit him harder than he expected, like slamming into a wall he hadn’t realized was there. His jaw clenched, and he blinked against the sudden sting behind his eyes. Maybe there’s a line we’ve crossed without even noticing. Because loving you wasn’t the problem. No, that was the easiest part of all. It was as natural as breathing, as inevitable as gravity. He could never love you any less—not now, not ever. But maybe, just maybe, the way you both clung to each other wasn’t healing the hurt. Maybe it was preserving it. Keeping it alive like a fragile thing cradled between your bodies, feeding off your shared vulnerability. His chest tightened as he thought of the way you reached for him in your sleep, how your breath would hitch if he wasn’t close enough. The way he could barely last an hour without checking his phone to see if you needed him. It wasn’t just you. It was him too.

There was nothing better than the comfort you found in each other—your soft giggles when he peppered your face with kisses, the warmth of your body tucked against his, the way your fingers sought his even in the quietest moments. Those things weren’t wrong. They were perfect. But if you stayed wrapped in that cocoon for too long, if you never loosened the grip, you’d both risk getting stuck—fused to the very pain you were trying to move past. What if I’m not helping? The thought rattled around in his mind, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. What if I’m just holding her in place… and holding myself there too? A shaky breath escaped him, his fingers flexing on the wheel. The ache wasn’t just for you anymore—it was for him too. For the boy who didn’t know how to stop loving you so hard it hurt, for the man who was terrified that stepping back even an inch would feel like abandonment. But he had to find a way. Not to love you less—that was impossible. But to love you better. To help you heal, even if it meant figuring out how to stand beside you without holding you up like a crutch. Even if it meant learning how to breathe without needing to fill his lungs with the same air as you. His foot eased off the gas slightly as the realization settled in his chest like a stone. He didn’t have all the answers. Not yet. But he had to find them. For you. For him. For both of you. As he pulled into your street, his heart pounded—not just with the urgency to see you but with the weight of everything he’d just uncovered inside himself. His hands trembled slightly as he turned off the ignition. I love her. That part was solid, unshakeable. But maybe love isn’t just holding on. Maybe, sometimes, it’s learning how to let go—just enough to let the light in behind those dark clouds that seemed to be following you.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - potentially The Final Chapter xx

[rekino2114]

If I'm not too late, could I please ask for Valentines prompt 17 with M!Reader and Makima rewatching their wedding video (bonus points if it's with their child Nayuta)?

Love your work!

You and makima rewatching your wedding video

Pairing:makima x male reader

A/n:this takes place in the nayuta daughter au

Valentine's prompt#17

Prompts list

If there's one thing makima loves....then it's you but if there are two things she loves...then it's you and nayuta, but somewhere on that list is watching movies.

She always liked movies, but especially now that she has someone to watch them with she loves those moments even more, and she doesn't mind rewatching for the 7th time whatever Disney movie nayuta is currently obsessed with. She even buys her daughter merchandise of them that she brags about to everyone at school.

But her favorite "movie" to watch is by far your wedding video. Just remembering that day causes her heart to beat faster than usual, and watching it is just amazing it feels like reliving that beautiful moment, so much that it had become a tradition to watch it on valentine's day, even after nayuta was born.

"Daddy, mommy, the movie is about to start"

Makima giggled and placed nayuta into her lap while using her other hand to pull you closer to her

"It's not a movie nayuta, it's a recording"

"Oh......of what?"

"Of the best day of my life"

"*gasp* it's when I was born right?"

"No, sorry sweetie, that's the second best day of my life"

"Then what's the first one?"

"Just watch and see"

Nayuta started eating the popcorns you made her, which had way too much butter to be considered a light snack but quickly coughed because of the gasp she emitted when the video started playing

"It's you mommy! And you're a princess!"

"Oh am I?"

"Yeah, yeah, that dress is definitely a princess one"

You smiled and looked at the video, makima really looked beautiful in her black dress. She always looked beautiful but on that day she was special just like everything else

"Seems like I'm not the only one who liked that dress"

"I think I know exactly why you liked it, dear"

"Can you blame me? You looked stunning"

The video continues with makima walking down the aisle and coming face to face with you

"*gasp* it's daddy too!"

"Yes and he looked stunning too"

Makima gave you a loving look that you reciprocated and got even closer to you, continuing to watch the TV attentively

"What are you doing now?"

"Reciting our vows"

"What does that mean?"

"It's like.....promises that you make to the person you love and that you have to keep forever"

"Really? Forever? Isn't that tiring?"

"It's not, it's just promising to love each other forever and in any condition, and saying how much their love changed you"

"Daddy changed you?"

"More than you can imagine"

Makima continued stroking her daughter's hair while watching the video, she remembered all of it like it was yesterday. the joy she felt seeing you there,the music, the people, she just felt pure happiness in that moment.

When you read your vows to her, she felt so loved and genuinely happy. All your promises and declarations made her heart and soul warm, and her eyes water a bit. However, she vowed herself not to cry during such a moment, so she didn't. She had a lot of experience in hiding her emotions, but of course, she didn't hide the widest smile she ever gave to you, she wanted you to see how happy you made her, it was only when the ceremony was over and you were alone in your room that she truly cried tears of pure happiness while vowing to love you and never leave you again, she felt loved and she wanted nothing more than to give you that love back, she wanted you to see all the emotions you made her feel, the pure happiness and love you made her feel bot through smiles and tears.

Just watching the kiss again and thinking about it made her feel exactly like that again.

"*gasp* daddy! Mommy is crying"

Makima snapped out of her thoughts and touched her cheek, how did she not notice the tears until now?

"Are you alright makima?"

She looked to her right to see your concerned face, the face of the person she loved and wanted to give the world to, the fact of the person who she had a child with, the face if the person she married.

She wiped her tears and looked at you with a wide pure smile, very similar to the one she gave you on the day that was playing on the tv

"It's nothing darling, I'm just so happy"

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Glen Powell Imagine: From Scream Queens to Twisters

The press tour for Twisters had been a whirlwind—city after city, interview after interview, question after question. But for you and Glen? This wasn’t your first rodeo.

You’d known each other for nearly a decade, ever since you starred in Scream Queens together. You, the lead actress who carried the show with your razor-sharp delivery and undeniable screen presence. Glen, your on-screen love interest who played the cocky yet charming character that fans adored. Off-screen, that chemistry had turned into something real. Now, years later, you were both back in the spotlight, co-leading a major blockbuster—and still just as in love.

Sitting side by side on a plush couch during yet another interview, Glen’s arm draped casually along the backrest behind you. The interviewer grinned, looking between you both.

“Okay, let’s talk about the elephant in the room,” they said. “You two have played love interests before, back in Scream Queens.”

You smirked, knowing exactly where this was going. “Oh, we remember.”

Glen chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean, that was my first taste of working with her, and let’s be real—I was doomed from the start.”

The interviewer laughed. “So you knew back then?”

“I knew back then,” Glen confirmed, stealing a glance at you. “But she took her sweet time figuring it out.”

You nudged him playfully. “I had priorities.”

“Uh-huh,” Glen teased. “Big TV star, rockstar, multi-award-winning artist—you had things to do before settling for me.”

The interviewer’s eyebrows shot up. “I wouldn’t call Glen Powell ‘settling.’”

“Oh, I know,” you said, reaching over to rest a hand on Glen’s knee. “I just had to make him work for it.”

Glen grinned, placing his hand over yours. “And now she’s stuck with me.”

The interview moved on, but the knowing glances, the way he absentmindedly played with the rings on your fingers, the way you leaned into his touch—it was all there. You weren’t acting. You never had been.

Later That Night – Hotel Balcony

The city skyline stretched before you, lights twinkling as you sipped your drink. Behind you, Glen stepped onto the balcony, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest.

“Another day, another round of ‘How did you two fall in love?’” you mused.

Glen chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “You’d think they’d know by now.”

You turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. “They just love the story.”

He smiled, brushing his fingers along your cheek. “I do too.”

You tilted your head. “Oh yeah? What’s your favorite part?”

Glen pretended to think. “Probably the part where I got to kiss my rockstar crush on national television every week and then somehow convinced her to date me in real life.”

You laughed. “And now we’re here.”

“Now we’re here,” he echoed, leaning in until your noses brushed. “Bigger movie, bigger stage, same love story.”

You smiled against his lips. “And you’re still trying to charm me.”

Glen smirked. “Always.”

And when he kissed you, it felt just like it had back then—like a scene you never wanted to end.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Hi I was wondering if you'd be able to maybe write fluff about Bucky and his dog tags? Like he leaves them at your place after a movie night in hopes you wear them and you did and he gets all proud and happy that you openly are his but subtly? Thank you love your writing!

Engraved

Bucky x Y/N

Warnings: None, just fluff.

Movie nights with Bucky Barnes had become a comfortable routine. It wasn’t something you’d planned, not exactly. The first time, he’d just shown up at your apartment, an old VHS copy of Casablanca in hand, and mumbled something about how you “needed to be properly educated.”

One movie turned into two, then three, and before you knew it, Friday nights were permanently reserved for the two of you—him stretched out on your couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on his chest, and you curled up beside him, legs tangled together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Last night had been no different. He’d fallen asleep before the end credits rolled, his weight warm and solid against your side. You’d thought about waking him, but the sight of him—peaceful, unguarded—was too rare to disturb. Instead, you’d thrown a blanket over him and let him sleep while you quietly cleaned up. It wasn’t until morning, after he’d mumbled his goodbyes and disappeared out the door, that you noticed what he’d left behind.

His dog tags.

You found them resting on your coffee table, the thin silver chain catching the light. Your fingers ghosted over the cool metal as you picked them up, the engraved letters sharp and familiar. James Buchanan Barnes.

You weren’t sure if he’d left them by accident or on purpose, but the thought of him wanting you to have them sent warmth pooling in your chest. They were his, but they felt like him, like some quiet claim he’d placed on you without needing to say a word.

A smile tugged at your lips as you slipped them over your head. The weight of them was steady, grounding. It was different from wearing a necklace, less decorative, more meaningful. Intimate. The kind of thing you’d have to be willing to explain if someone asked. The kind of thing that meant something.

Bucky showed up later that evening, knocking on your door like he always did—two short raps, a pause, then another. You pulled the door open to find him standing there, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, eyes flickering over you like he was cataloging every detail. It took him a second to notice, but when he did, his breath hitched.

His dog tags, resting against your collarbone, nestled into the valley between your breasts like they belonged there.

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, he stepped closer, fingers brushing the metal where it lay against your skin.

“You’re wearin’ ‘em,” he said, voice softer than usual, almost awed.

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was. “Yeah.”

A slow grin crept onto his face, something warm and proud flickering behind his eyes. “Look good on you, doll.”

Heat crept up your neck, but you didn’t look away. “Guess that means they’re mine now.”

Bucky huffed out a breath, something caught between a laugh and a sigh. His thumb traced over the engraving, barely there. “Guess it does.”

The moment stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. The dog tags were subtle, not an obvious declaration, but Bucky had never needed words to make himself clear. He was looking at you like you were the best thing he’d ever seen, and it hit you then—this was his way of showing you were his. Not in a possessive way, but in a quiet, steady kind of love that didn’t need to be shouted to be real.

Bucky ducked his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then another to your cheek. When he pulled back, his grin was still there, softer now, but just as proud.

“Keep ‘em safe for me, yeah?”

You smiled, fingers curling around the cool metal. “Always.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment before he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch, his usual spot already claimed as he made himself comfortable. You followed, perching on the arm of the sofa as he reached for you, his hand wrapping around your wrist before tugging you down beside him.

“You really like ‘em, huh?” he murmured, fingers brushing over the chain again, as if reassuring himself they were still there.

You nodded. “I do. Feels… right.”

Bucky exhaled, something deep and satisfied in the way his chest rose and fell. “Yeah, it does.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the weight of his hand against yours, the warmth of his body close beside you. Then, with a chuckle, he nudged your shoulder. “So, what’re we watchin’ tonight?”

You smirked, reaching for the remote. “Hope you’re ready, Barnes. It’s a rom-com kind of night.”

He groaned, but the way he settled in, arm draped over your shoulders, told you he didn’t really mind. Not if it meant spending the night with you, dog tags and all.

——————————————————————————————————

Heyy, I love doing fluffy little fics like this! I hope you enjoyed it ❤️

[mrs-stans]

INTERVIEW: Sebastian Stan on Curiosity, Confrontation, and His Oscar Contenders

Sebastian Stan has had a wild twelve months that I strangely found myself a small part of.

Stan received critical acclaim and awards attention for two films: A Different Man, where he played an actor with a facial disfigurement, and The Apprentice, where he played a young Donald Trump. Both performances are intricately detailed and precise, evading stereotypes and caricatures amidst shifting themes and tones. They also encapsulate a common theme in his work that I first noticed in Fresh: exploring characters’ darker impulses that others either miss or deliberately ignore. Despite their acclaim, both films struggled with distribution and promotion, with The Apprentice facing lawsuit threats and industry hesitance to engage with the film. He went viral after revealing that he couldn’t participate in Variety��s Actors on Actors series because other actors’ publicists didn’t want them discussing the newly-elected president. (My tweet describing the situation as reprehensible went viral, too.) Despite the blowback, Stan remained upfront and outspoken, fashioning himself as a fearless, principled artist during a fraught political and cultural moment.

Stan’s unique position and detailed approach to his work were reinforced in my interview with him for AwardsWatch, conducted days after he won the Golden Globe for A Different Man and before his Oscar nomination for The Apprentice. It was a full circle moment of sorts for me, after advocating for A Different Man since seeing it in April, interviewing Matia Bakalova for The Apprentice, and meeting director Aaron Schimberg following a screening in New York. During our conversation, I sensed that he wanted to meet his moment in time responsibly, emphasizing how important curiosity and empathy were to the human condition. Given his challenges in releasing and promoting his films, I also sensed, through our few interactions, how genuinely moved he was by the support and recognition he’s received. (Case in point: he was incredibly generous with his time when he didn’t have to be.) It’s near-impossible not to be thrilled for him and the acknowledgment of his talent and thoughtfulness.

My goal in publishing this interview in full is for others to sense what I have about Sebastian Stan over these past twelve months by giving him the space to share his journey, in this awards season and in the larger context of his complex career.

[NOTE: This interview has been slightly edited for clarity.]

It’s an embarrassment of riches to say you are in two awards-contending films, The Apprentice and A Different Man. What has the experience been like for you this season?

It’s been very surreal. You never really know the outcomes of any film when you go and make them. You’re always just hoping they turn out well, especially if they’re shot under crazy circumstances, which both of these films were. A Different Man was 24 days, still in COVID, in New York, and it was just running and gunning to try and make the day, every day. And [Aaron] was trying to shoot it on film, and he had these beautiful one-take shots, which required everybody in the crew to be on the same page. And then The Apprentice, I’ve been trying to get going since 2019, and every time we got close, it fell apart. [So] you hope people will watch it. And when you get into this wild time that is the fall, where you’ve got so many films coming out and major studios contending like Netflix, Amazon, and Apple, and everyone’s got their horses in the race, so to speak, you don’t know if your movie will cut through.

A Different Man had an interesting journey. It’s amazing because Aaron and I kept saying, “Look, somehow we’re at the Gothams, and then the Gotham thing happened.” Or, “Wow, we’re at the Globes,” or, “Wow, we got to Berlin.” There were all these signs that this film was connecting with people, but it felt like we always had to be the cheerleaders to A24 about it [and say], “Let’s keep going.”

With The Apprentice, it had no marketing. When we finally got the movie from, basically, not being almost censored, we had two and a half months of trying to get the film out with any marketing, like billboards on Sunset Boulevard or anything like that. So when you get to the Globes, and I’m sitting there, and I’m going, “Wow, this actually happened with both of these films,” you can’t help but feel grateful because this is the win. This is probably as good as it’s going to get. And then, obviously, anything that happens after that is an amazing moment, but in terms of getting both films seen, it helps to have those moments.

How do you feel after winning the Globe? I’m sure there’s probably some vindication or celebration of the fact that this film you championed was recognized in the first major event of the season.

It was incredibly gratifying for many reasons. One, for the film and getting more attention to it. Two, for the film’s subject matter. It’s not an easy, simple film. It’s beautiful, complex, funny, and tragic and speaks to such big questions and themes. When you look at films like that, there aren’t a lot out there. You want to encourage people like Aaron Schimberg to keep working and making them, for people to keep looking at Adam Pearson as an actor first and not as somebody with a disfigurement, and to envision him in [other] ways. I think that’s what this movie does so brilliantly; for that purpose, it’s amazing.

For me, at 42 years old, having been around and doing this for 20-somewhat years, you’re always hoping that you’re going to be up there someday and thank some of these people. I could’ve been up there for an hour, you know? So many people have contributed to my life, and you just want to highlight everybody. But it was a nice moment for my mom and the close people in my life.

But then it was scary because…we woke up the next day, and 24 hours later, these fires were happening, and suddenly, we were in a different world, and we’ve been in a different world since. It’s been hard to look back at that because it’s been crazy watching so many people lose their homes, people that I know.

Hopefully, everything’s been okay for you.

Yeah, everything’s okay. Fortunately, everyone’s okay, but there are friends and people we know who have lost their homes and everything…or just the entire neighborhood, especially in the Palisades area. It’s really difficult to wrap your mind around it. Mother Nature…I don’t know if there’s anything more humbling than that, right? We all end up being put in the backseat, and none of it really matters at that point. We’re all in the same boat, you know? But hopefully, we’ll get a little bit better today.

I really hope so. Now, getting into your career and these films, do you see any similarities between the two roles of Edward/Guy and Donald Trump?

I do because, to me, I feel like they are two different forms of narcissism, two different forms of extreme narcissism. When I think of narcissism, I think of denying and suppressing who we really are and inventing another person. If you want to look at psychological terms, you call it the super-ego. When the distance between your true self and this other invented version you’re putting forward continues to grow because you’re constantly suppressing and lying about yourself, you have to create a bigger and bigger lie. It starts to have consequences that affect you and the people around you.

Edward is a singular person in his own world, [while Trump] happens to be a political figure who is meant to be a leader and an authoritative figure, meant to be an example to other people. His reach and how he inspires certain people goes much, much further. I’ve always seen both films as a denial of reality and a loss of humanity. That’s what the Trump story is to me. It’s what happens when you completely abandon empathy and morals and are only trying to fuel and feed this one particular need, and you have no regard for consequences that affect other people. Everything’s transactional as long as he can keep his lie alive.

What I see in Trump is a very broken, pained, paranoid, insecure little boy. I don’t say that to simply go, “Yes, he’s human, and you should feel bad for him.” I also say that to highlight the flaws that might get in the way of this person having power, moral authority, and so on. I don’t know if that’s the person I would necessarily trust, you know? Even in these horrific fires, instead of offering solutions, he’s sitting there and using what’s happening in California to serve his story and narrative, point fingers, and assign blame. It’s horrific to me.

With Edward, he feels that he’s made a mistake denying or suppressing himself, but he’s not connecting with that, and, as a result, he ends up becoming kind of a monster himself. Everything revolves around what has been taken from him, but he never assumes responsibility for the fact that he surrendered rather than someone having taken it from him. There are these complex themes that I think are relatable and interesting, and I don’t know if people connect that with those two movies, but I was able to speak about them for the last few months.

What I find fascinating about your career, and correct me if I’m wrong, is that I think you’ve selected characters who have some form of inner darkness beneath the “Sebastian Stan of it all.” I think you’ve done a great job communicating that darkness and how it manifests and festers in different ways. Sometimes it’s loud and funny and exciting, like in Pam and Tommy, and sometimes it can be dark and insidious, like in The Apprentice, Sharper and Destroyer. Is that something you’ve been actively seeking?

I think I have been curious about gravitating towards things that feel complex or I don’t quite understand right away because I find that’s how people are. I think sometimes, when we have discomfort with certain films, the pity of that discomfort can translate into ignoring something altogether because “I don’t want to go there.” Sometimes, it’s something we haven’t confronted yet or don’t want to confront. To me, one of those is that we are not perfect people. People are flawed and are all susceptible to going in very different ways.

I think we all walk around with some version of an angel and a devil on each shoulder. Every day is a decision we make to go out in the world and either hurt or try to help somebody, even in a small way. Like, you go and get a cup of coffee, and maybe you smile at the person, or you don’t even look at them. We’re conscious of things; we’re not conscious of things.

I’m always trying to learn more about myself. I don’t think of any roles as particularly reflective of me, necessarily, but I like surprising myself. I think that’s what I’m supposed to do as an actor: keep exploring humanity and its diversity. I love when there are these roles that feel closer to the truth, that it’s not always black and white, that it’s not always just a good guy and a bad guy. It’s complex. Unfortunately, there are very good people in the world who don’t have the tools and sometimes end up hurting others. There are also sometimes psychopaths that can reflect one good quality, and you wonder if somebody in their life had supported that quality more, would it have been different? I think that’s what’s interesting to me: just how big the scope is in terms of being a human.

Digging into the films themselves, we can start with The Apprentice; I spoke with Maria Bakalova last month, and she told me — and I was blown away by this — that the scene where Donald breaks down after Fred Junior’s death was largely improvised. I’d love to know how you conceived that moment.

I think that was an experience that’s so reflective of my process and how I approach this work. You can go home at night and do all this preparation. You prepare for months before and hope you get there, and you surrender to the director, the other actors, the moment, the scene. You envision things sometimes going a certain way, but almost nine out of 10 times, they don’t go that way. There’s something else happening, and it’s always about staying open to that.

In the script, there was always this moment with Donald being alone in the bathroom and breaking down, and then Ivana walks in and finds him and he quickly cleans himself up and says, “Nothing happened.” We shot it a couple of times, and there were takes where that happened. Then there was another take where, in the moment, I froze, and that was the truth of the scene. Maria walked in, and I knew we weren’t shooting the scene we were supposed to. But we still stayed in it and explored what happened. Fortunately, as was the process with the whole movie, Ali kept rolling, and thankfully, it carried us into the bedroom. We got into bed, and she put her hand on my hand. And then suddenly, all that [emotion] started to happen in that moment. Then I jumped and punched the wall, which didn’t make it into the film, but you had this moment before, which did.

That’s the beauty of this work, what I love about it. If you stay open, there’s a way it can go where you didn’t see it going that ends up being closer to the truth. And you want it always to be as close to the truth as possible.

What aspect of Donald Trump were you most excited and scared to explore?

It’s a really great question; thank you for asking that. I feel actors have to stay curious. I think the creative language is more powerful than any language we have on this earth. No matter where we come from, what we believe, how we were raised, or what language we speak, it’s the one thing that I feel, human to human, we can get to if we can allow ourselves to stay curious.

For me, I thought, “I really want to let me try and find out who this person is.” Going back in time and looking at some of the early footage [of him], I saw a vulnerability and insecurity there that I didn’t know existed, that seemed to be buried down deep underneath this pile of bravado, this carefully curated, Clint Eastwood-like, Zoolander stare down that we’re getting. There was a real person there at one point. I wanted to know more about that and how he became what he became.

I think what scared me the most was, knowing that he’s so well-known and in our faces everywhere, that I felt it was almost near-impossible to get anyone even to spend two hours trying to figure out who this guy was. He’s been done so many times. There are so many caricatures and impressions of him, and these mannerisms that he has now, the way he speaks, the lips, everything… I had to pick and choose how to filter that out through two hours so that people could connect with and believe in the reality and not be disconnected because of what they know.

What helped was that, when he was younger, he was less. There was a lot less of what you see now, those things that have built over time. His voice didn’t sound like he does now; his mannerisms weren’t as specific. That was the challenge and fear, just knowing that if I do a little too much too soon, I’m going to lose everybody. I’m just going to be thrown in there as just another kind of impression.

You’ve spoken about growing up in Romania during the collapse of the Soviet Union, experiencing political unrest and dissent. Did any of those personal experiences shape your performance of Trump or how you approached the film overall?

Yeah, totally. I think this idea about the American Dream that I, my parents, and everybody else in Romania at the time were dreaming and talking about was what I was trying to explore with [the film]. It’s about Trump and Roy Cohn, but it’s also about this ideology. What does it really do to a person? I think we see this over time. There are plenty of examples… if you look at Elon Musk… he keeps growing stronger and bigger, and there’s this idea of power corrupting absolutely. You can make your own thoughts about what he’s become, but there’s something about this American Dream.

When I came to America, my mom said, “We’re here now, and I’ve sacrificed my life, and you have to make something of yourself because you’re going to have this opportunity that so many kids are not going to have. You’re lucky that we got this far.” This is something that 100% helped me, but it’s complicated. I hear that; it drives me, but I also feel this burden of responsibility and this pressure of, “What if I fail? What if it doesn’t happen? How do I deal with this?”

I find that many people in this business, and Silicon Valley and Wall Street, you see people getting more money, accumulating more things or more awards, or they get there, and it’s never enough. There’s always something else, so they have to get another thing. If you’re nominated once for one Oscar and don’t get nominated for another 10 years, then you’re in the “one-time-only club.”

This is, to me, part of the story of The Apprentice. When is it enough, and what does it do to a person? So I think my journey through Vienna and coming here and trying to understand what it means to be an American, growing up in America, 100% influenced me with that part, and probably also drove me to do it.

Moving to A Different Man, the first thing that struck me was how you retain Edward’s physicality while playing Guy while also performing what Guy imagines being a person who never had a physical disability or disfigurement is like. Could you walk me through that process?

On a technical, scientific level, our muscles hold memory. It’s why, sometimes, people talk about improving posture and how standing up straight and walking into a room can influence mood, and there’s a lot of research into that. So, even though you’re dying your hair, losing weight, going to the gym, or [doing] whatever else to feel like you belong more, it doesn’t necessarily change the muscle memory that you carry. There are certain things and traumas over time that will always be there. You may still react to something the same way years later, depending on how much work you’ve done.

For me, [there was] trauma that came from the prosthetics and walking around the city. When I was walking around, I was so self-conscious. I felt people walk by me. Some would look, some would ignore me, but everything in my body was telling me to go in. All I wanted to do was go into myself, get through that street, and get to my destination as quickly as possible. So, as a result, I was walking a certain way, and I felt powerlessness, and I realized that was not going away for Edward.

Edward changes his physical appearance, but he’s never confronted any of the things he feels most in pain about on an internal level, so those things will continue. He might get better and go, “Oh, wait, people don’t look at me that way anymore, so I can actually be this guy.” But when he’s not conscious of it, he’s just falling right into who he was because there was no growth there for him.

It was also important for me to keep certain things about him that were recognizable from an audience standpoint that they’ll see later. I love what you said because I don’t think many people have picked up on Edward as Guy is Edward’s idea of what he should be like as an “able-bodied person.”

The other piece that helped me was speaking with this amazing woman, Elna Baker, who wrote a book about losing nearly 100 pounds. She lost all this weight, and suddenly, she was walking down the street and noticing men and women looking at her. She was finally the person she envisioned herself to be or felt she was. Over time, she started to miss her old self, to the point where she was missing people gawking at her and how heavy she used to be. I thought it was so interesting that this transformation for her didn’t ultimately pay off as she had hoped, that the inner peace, calm, and self-acceptance were not there. She talked about how there were things that she could do that she had never done before, but they weren’t fulfilling her in any way.

In a similar way, I think Guy ends up going down this path that he thinks will supply him with all these things that he’s watched other people have for years, but it’s actually made his life quite boring.

For me, one of the year’s best scenes is when Guy watches Oswald do karaoke and then watches the audience react to Oswald in a way that Guy doesn’t expect. I’d love to know what you were thinking at that moment because it was gorgeously acted, and you were communicating rank devastation through your eyes.

I appreciate that. I never really thought at that moment about how much that scene would ultimately mean. But I think it’s the first time Edward is confronted with this reality and denial of self in a very real way. A lot is happening there. I think he’s fascinated and curious. I think he’s looking for validation. I think he’s hoping that other people will judge Oswald the way he’s judging Oswald in that moment because judging Oswald helps keep his own lie alive.

At one point, he sees these two girls laughing and feels, “Oh, they’re laughing. Okay, good. I made the right choice. They’re laughing as they should because they would laugh at me.” But actually, you don’t even know if they’re laughing at Oswald. So I think it’s a lot of fear and fascination, and he can no longer run from what he’s been denying, which is, “Oh, this could’ve been me. I could’ve owned myself, and perhaps I would’ve been fine.” I think he’s dealing with that, and from that point on, it starts to grow until the end of the movie, when he murders the physical therapist. It keeps growing because of the desperation of trying to maintain the lie of, “No, no, no, I did the right thing,” and it continues to spiral out of control.

That scene is about somebody who’s in total ownership of themselves, which, by the way, I feel Adam is like in life, which is incredible. And then you have somebody who unfortunately realizes they’ve made the biggest mistake of their life.

I’m glad you brought up Adam because his performance is extraordinary, and I wish it were being recognized more this season. But you did thank Adam in your Golden Globe speech for “his trust.” How do you two work together to establish that trust, and how did it manifest on screen?

I think with anybody you’re about to go into the trenches with, we met before, and kind of sussed each other out a little bit, and I just felt, “This is going to be great. This is going to work out.” We were both on the same page about what we wanted here. With Adam and A Different Man, I really felt that he was going to be this lighthouse for me, in terms of trying to understand how to approach this and how I should, in a way, best represent him. I was really in service to him and Aaron.

There was a lot of conversation around how he grew up, his childhood, and his experiences, what he encounters daily online. When we go back again to what we said at the beginning about the loss of humanity, sensitivity, and empathy that’s transpiring online between people, how we attack other people anonymously. It’s like, where do we get that from? Maybe people in power are giving permission to do that, you know? So, the fact that Adam can go out there every day and outwit any of these people and that he’s had to do that for so much of his life is very inspiring and shows how brave he is.

I wanted to understand how one gets to that point. I knew that [Adam] was very different from Edward, but it was also about creating Edward’s past and background. Unlike Adam, who fortunately had a really strong support system with his mother and his family, all we know is that Edward’s mom had passed, and we don’t really know what else transpired. There are many cases that I found researching online of people with disfigurement or different kinds of disabilities who had been abandoned, orphaned, or never had that support system from their families. So, it was interesting, but I felt that whatever I was going to do would always have to be in step with Adam and, of course, Aaron.

One last question to wrap up: what do you want people to take away from these two films?

I still feel, and I was saying this on Sunday night, that there is discomfort around these subject matters that confront us on a level we’re afraid to go to. I think both films do that, and I hope people don’t turn the other way. I don’t believe it’s always ill-intentioned towards disability and disfigurement. I think sometimes people are curious, but they’re afraid of being curious, and they’d rather just look the other way and not confront anything. I’m saying this as someone who’s learned that from Adam. Curiosity is okay. It’s okay to be interested. That’s why I had a little kid come up to me when I was in the prosthetics and was very okay and engaging because that was pure curiosity. There was no judgment yet.

At the same time…there were times when Adam and I were trying to do press together, and we couldn’t… they’d rather only have me. There were things like that that are still not ill-intentioned, but they didn’t want to go there because they didn’t quite know how to deal with [the situation]. As a result, nothing happens.

With The Apprentice, obviously, there’s fatigue and a lot of emotions, and none of that is wrong, but we have to be conscious of that part that leads to fear and indifference. I’ll hear people go, “I’ll watch this after the election.” Well, the world might be very different by that point. It feels a little bit like kicking the can down the road and not confronting reality.

I think this is a unique situation because… we’re confronting something as it’s happening. We’re not waiting 5-10 years after we’ve digested everything. We can look back at the mistakes we made and [whether] that was the right call, and I think that’s what put people in the hot seat. But as I referred to the creative language, it’s about staying curious and open to keep us informed, human to human.

There’s a lot that both of these films are talking about: narcissism, empathy, the loss of self, and acceptance. You’re not necessarily going to get these things from Wikipedia, your email, a news channel, or somebody else telling you on TikTok. You’re going to get that from experiences with other people. When you’re having kids growing up, especially now, with phones and laptops that they’re basically chaining us to, human-to-human connection and empathy are something we have to keep protecting and nourishing. We can do that through movies, books, and art. Not AI algorithms that feed a certain kind of “selective free speech,” but things that reflect how complex [life] is so that we can have an experience. That’s valuable.

I was lucky enough to be in two complicated films that I think were confronting people in certain ways. We’ve been seeing that some people got it, and others aren’t ready for that yet, but I’d rather be on that side than the safe side.

[hypnonerd1095]

To add to this, let me add a personal story. It's been long enough now that it should be fine. I don't remember the names of anyone involved anymore anyway so it shouldn't reveal any identities.

Pretty early on in my hypnokink exploration I was in a hypnokink chatroom where someone came to the group seeking help with exactly the kind of issue mentioned here. This was... 13 years ago? 14 maybe? I'm not sure exactly.

They'd been through a lot of brainwashing and conditioning and this enabled their partner to be increasingly abusive towards them. Now hypnosis isn't pure mind control, but when combined with emotional manipulation, physical abuse/threats, and financial dependence? It was BAD

She eventually managed to run away and find a safe place, then came to us for help deprogramming her because she felt a strong urge to return to him despite everything. And an intense sense of guilt for trying to escape her master, courtesy of conditioning.

It was scary to see. I was still a teenager at the time, I'd only just started learning to perform hypnosis myself. I'd tagged along into the side-chat room to try and learn more. And that experience stayed with me. I saw the absolute worst that hypnosis can do to someone, not by itself, but it was hypnosis that helped establish their relationship, and hypnosis that helped it get as bad as it did.

We helped her, but it wasn't easy. And it wasn't quick. That night alone was hours of hypnosis and suggestions to start undoing the damage. By the end, she was at least no longer tempted to give herself up. But fully helping her recover? That took a lot longer than one night. I wasn't there for every session, I was still too inexperienced to do all that much to contribute. I did what I could when nobody more qualified was around. Mostly just reinforcing what the others did.

As far as I know, everything did eventually work out. But this experience has stuck with me ever since. I harp on hypnosis safety a lot, I reblog educational posts and I actively advocate for consent and healthy boundaries

I know it's easy to dismiss these warnings. "It's just kink" or "it's just play" isn't an unreasonable impression to get, especially if you're not the super suggestible type. Like me, I've never been so deeply entranced that I couldn't easily reassert control and protect myself. But I've met plenty of people who need specific hypnotic programming to have that same ability because they go way deeper and don't have that same awareness.

But trance is an actual psychological state. Hypnosis has actual techniques to induce trance. And trance can be used to cause actual effects on someone? It's powerful enough that they sometimes use it as a painkiller for childbirth or dentistry!

We use hypnosis for kinky fun, and that's great! And I'm not trying to scare anyone by saying it's actually this super scary thing. Used responsibly, it's perfectly safe! But that's the key, you need to be responsible with it.

So please, make sure you're educated on how to be safe with hypnosis. Both as a subject and a tist. Avoid bad actors when they're revealed, establish firm boundaries, check the contents of files before you use them if you're susceptible.

And for the love of god, if you're going to enter a long-term hypnotic brainwashing dynamic with someone irl (or online too of course, but ESPECIALLY irl)? VET THEM THOROUGHLY. They might not be able to control you like it's some kind of movie mind control, but they can do some serious damage. Make sure you trust the person absolutely before putting yourself in that position.

Take the steps you need to ensure that our kink play always remains as just play and nothing more.

How dangerous is hypno kink really?

The problem with trying to classify how dangerous hypno play is that different types of hypno play have different risk profiles.

Hypnotising your partner casually for relaxation or party tricks is absolutely very low-risk. This is why I often advertise hypnokink as easy to learn and fun in the bedroom. Tricks like this are easily learned in one workshop and it just opens up so many kinky possibilities.

Intense hypnotic roleplay scenes and edgy sadomasochistic scenes are about as dangerous as shibari and impact play, as in the bottom will need aftercare because they may not be able to care for themselves for a while. The top might need aftercare too btw, I know I've certainly had my moments. Play like this might lead to trauma, despite everyone's best intentions. Now you all know I believe in RACK. I'm not going to say you shouldn't do it. I'm telling you that if you want to do this, you should figure out the risks and the precautions you could take to mitigate those risks. Inform yourself.

Now… Conditioning and brainwashing play, including but not limited to personality play, addiction play and/or online files, can be life-destabilisingly dangerous. Absolutely high risk! And unfortunately, this danger is freely available online with no one to provide a safety net or aftercare. It's hard to tell the "harmless" online files apart from the ones that could fuck you over, especially as a beginner. It's hard to tell the friendly online hypnotists apart from the culty abusive doms that could fuck you over. And it's hard to find help when you've become the victim of one.

If you didn't know, now you know.

[scaramionee]

A long rant about something that's been eating my mind from the inside out so here we go (TW: Might be Controversial)-

Sometimes, I'm just very normal about James Potter and Lily Evans but then I'm not. So growing up, I watched the hp movies first so I never quite had any interest in their relationship, they just seemed like a tragic straight relationship to me so I never bothered with it. But then I read the books and I went immediately like this- "No wonder James Potter worshipped Lily Evans, I would too." Like, this woman is the legit reason why the whole harry potter thing started, and to see the fact that most of the time she's just blatantly ignored or being stripped out of her original identity to be a strong independent lesbian (I don't have any problem with her sexuality, people can imagine her with whomever they like but it kind of ridicules Lily's motherhood in some way) who absolutely either hates James Potter or Insults him for fun just bcz he has a crush on her or being a side chick for James's steamy cheating romance flings hurts me more than I think it should.

I get it, the marauders fandom wholly embraces the fanon so dearly to them like a warm blanket because of many obvious reasons, but sometimes I think we just totally miss the point of this whole franchise. It's obvious that jkr sucks at writing romances which is why most people don't get the spark of canon ships like romione, hinny and remadora but completely missing the point about Lily being a mother figure in Harry's life and as a lover figure in James's life truly pisses me off a lot. Even though everybody is allowed to dislike certain ships because not everybody has the same taste, but I think we miss the fact that Lily was always more than just a mother and a wife in a way that molded her into what she wanted to be.

The reason why I'm completely enamored by Jily is not because it's just a canon ship which literally started Harry Potter, but because the way Lily Evans just had an effect on everyone who crossed their paths with her. Professor Slughorn himself was so besotted with her, Professor Minerva McGonagall teared up at the news of her departing because who wouldn't like her? She's so brave, so full of joy and laughter that she always forgot her own pain in favor of sucking the pain out of another. James was indeed quite taken aback by her beauty and charm, but I'd like to think it developed into something more after seeing the way she treated her close individuals. Lily was the younger sibling, and because she was a witch, she constantly faced harsh behaviors from her elder sister for being a "freak" according to her sister's standards. She may have had an inferiority complex, and she also hanged out a lot with snape, despite facing discriminations in Hogwarts for being friends with a half-blood poor Slytherin. She was willing to change snape, always defending him left and right but it never worked out in the end. Which left her feeling very defeated, she gave up because she felt like she was not worth it, maybe those bullies were right and she really was just a mudblood. And James, developing a crush on her while continuously harassing snape didn't help either. But if we analyze James's character, knowing that he literally took in Sirius just so that he could escape his abusive family, he knew that Lily was downrightly getting used and snape was taking advantage of her kindness and her stubbornness, he knew it because Sirius was in Lily's place once too, always constantly reminded of how they were never enough, so he wanted to save her ( in his own pathetic loser way ofc ) I think there are many hints of Lily noticing James quite a lot because if you really claimed to hate your enemy then why were you so bloody obsessed with the way how their hair looked like after playing quidditch hmmm 🤨🤨

But not just that, let's also talk about how she literally single handedly MADE THE JAMES POTTER, the absolute arrogant toe-rag quit bullying and hexing people for fun, knowing that he's been like this for the most of his life, but he decided to change for her just like a snap of a finger! Not only that, but she also quickly befriended Sirius in a way that he literally turned out to be her future son's Godfather and the secret keeper. The absolute hold she had on the marauders really needs to be studied!

The love James and Lily had for each other was an act of rebellion in it's own way, because back in that time, muggleborns were seen as scums of the earth and inferior to the wizarding society. But James literally went against every single pureblood tradition just to be with someone he loves and believes with his whole heart. That was always the main point. The reason why both of them were so cherished. He literally went up against Voldemort without a wand not just because of his son, but also for Lily, who he absolutely trusts with his whole life, the only person worth loosing the pureblood title for, the only person worth taking the risk of taking the Avada curse to his heart, he just loved her so beautifully, just like the way she always deserved. And Lily, oh lily, always saw the good in everyone, but saw the best in James, decided to sacrifice her life for their one and only son out of pure love and devotion. And the sacrificial love was so strong that the strongest dark wizard of all time succumbed to his own curse and it tore apart a piece of his soul in revenge of separating the two soulmates whom were always destined to find each other and get woven together in every single timeline. It changed the tide of the entire war. She ended it single handedly.

Yes, she was depicted as a girl who was just a close friend of snape, as a sister who's facing discriminations from her own elder sister's profound jealousy, as a lover and wife of James Potter, as a mother of Harry Potter- the boy who lived. But I think there's so much beauty in every single role she was depicted in. It gives us a glimpse of how much impact she had on everybody around her, how much she meant dear to everybody who cared for her, of how much diverse and forgiving person she was, of the way she was always a reassuring shadow around harry even though she was no longer present in the mortal world. No, motherhood doesn't make her one dimensional or boring, it only enhances her ability of loving people the way they deserve. It makes her so complex, but so powerful at the same time. She was a proud mother, and a lover, a friend, and a woman.

Lily Evans, what an absolute Goddess you were. And you'll always be. No other fictional character ever had a hold so strong on me the way she has.