#mine are always grainy

[creationdreamobservation]

Red, White & Royal Blue [2023]

[khaotunq]

When the chance presents itself, I have to grab it with both hands. First Kanaphan as Kant (The Heart Killers, 2024-25)

[omegalerc]

there is something so omega in a bar surrounded by a bunch of alphas about this video

[ijustwannabecool]

Come Home With Me

Lewis Hamilton x Wife!Reader

Summary... After a chaotic race weekend, Lewis skips the afterparty for something better: a quiet café, a shared vegan wrap, and your thighs brushing under the table. You’re just trying to be normal for one night—but nothing about being with Lewis Hamilton is ever really normal. And maybe that’s the best part.

trigger warnings: fluff, swearing, brief fan interaction, stress mentions, post-race tiredness, domesticity, casual fame realism, pure husband energy.

--

The hoodie he gave you this morning is way too big, and that’s exactly why you love it. It still smells like champagne and his cologne, even after a full day in it.

“Come on, babe,” Lewis grumbles, tugging your hand as you pass a narrow stone street near the marina. “Let’s duck in here. M’starving.”

He’s right. He is starving. And not in the dramatic, I-forgot-to-eat-my-snack-bar way. He’s just raced for two hours in 90-degree heat and skipped the afterparty entirely.

So now it’s just you and him, tucked into a corner booth at a sleepy café that smells like garlic and fresh bread.

His curls are tucked under a cap, hoodie zipped halfway, fingers intertwined with yours under the table like he has no plans of letting go—even to eat.

“Falafel wrap, sweet potato fries, ginger ale,” he says confidently when the waiter comes by. “Extra tahini.”

You blink. “You knew my order?”

He smirks, nudging your foot under the table. “I know everything about you. Try me.”

You shoot him a playful look. “Okay. What was the name of the cat I had in uni?”

“Mochi,” he answers without hesitation, popping a fry into your mouth. “Used to sit in the window waiting for you, even when you were out all night studying. You cried for three days when she passed.”

You melt. In the booth. Fully liquify.

But just as you're about to tease him back, you spot a girl in the next booth. She's trying not to stare. There's a phone in her lap, barely tilted your way.

Lewis squeezes your hand tighter and leans in close, whispering, “Just me and you tonight. Eyes on me, baby.”

--

POV – Sofia (18), café worker in Monaco I almost died when he walked in. Like actually had to go into the back for a second to collect myself. Lewis Hamilton. In our café. With his girl. Sharing fries.

But what got me was how normal they were. Laughing. Teasing. She fed him a bite of her wrap and he literally kissed her palm after.

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t post anything.

Not every moment is for the world. Some are just for them.

--

You barely make it back to the hotel before he’s all over you.

The second the door clicks, Lewis’s hands are on your waist, mouth at your neck.

“I didn’t say it earlier,” he murmurs, pulling the hoodie over your head, “but you looked so good today. Could barely focus on the damn race.”

You giggle, but it turns breathy when he lifts you onto the bathroom counter, his hips slotting between your thighs.

“You’re gonna let me thank you properly, yeah?” he whispers, voice rough with want.

The shower is running by the time he gets you both undressed. Your back hits the cool tile while his mouth is hot on your skin.

“You take such good care of me,” he mutters as he sinks to his knees. “Let me take care of you.”

He’s curled around you afterward, both of you in robes, tangled on the couch with a half-eaten bag of kettle chips between you.

His eyes are half-lidded. Tired. Soft. At peace.

“You know,” you murmur, “someone in that café definitely clocked us.”

Lewis hums. “Let ‘em talk. You’re mine. Always have been.”

And when the news alerts start to roll in—grainy photos, blurry sightings—he just laughs.

“They didn’t even get my good side.”

--

🌤️ The Next Morning

The sun slips through the sheer hotel curtains, casting golden stripes across the bed.

You're still half asleep when Lewis props himself up on one elbow, kisses your cheek, and murmurs, “You awake?”

“No,” you mumble, shifting closer.

He chuckles. “Wanna come with me to the paddock today? Just for a bit. Say hi to the engineers. Wear your hoodie.”

You yawn into his chest. “Only if you promise to feed me waffles first.”

“Done.”

You open one eye. “And kiss me like you did in the shower.”

His grin is lazy and smug. “Oh, that’s definitely done.”

[prettygirl-gabi]

Do I Look Like Her?

Fandom: Women’s Basketball (WNBA/NCAA)

POV: A’dahlia Bueckers- Paige Bueckers (OC Daughter)

Summary: A’dahlia Bueckers, navigates legacy, pressure, and identity while forging her own path—on and off the court.

Inspired by “Do I Look Like Him” by Tyler, The Creator

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom

She said that I make expressions like her.

My legs to my shoulders and my chin like her.

My waist and my posture like her.

But I’m not her.

I never had a dad. Never needed one either.

Mama always said I was made with love—and science.

IVF, a little planning, a little hope.

And two women who loved each other enough to raise someone like me.

And still—sometimes—I stare in the mirror and wonder:

“Do I look like her?”

The answer depends on the day.

When I was five, I liked watercolors more than sports.

At six, I was a menace on the monkey bars.

Seven? Softball. I quit after two games.

Eight? Soccer. I was too aggressive.

Nine? Volleyball. I liked the shoes more than the game. And maybe because mama, played it professionally.

But ten… ten was basketball. And that stuck.

I’d always watched Mom—Paige—on TV. Even the grainy high school tapes. Her passes, her footwork, the way her eyes scanned the floor like she saw the game in slow motion. It was mesmerizing.

But I didn’t start playing for her.

I started because it felt right. Like home.

By middle school, people already had something to say.

“She moves like Paige.”

“She has her jump shot.”

“She’s probably been training since diapers.”

Not entirely wrong. But they never mentioned Mama. Never asked if she taught me how to box out or scream for rebounds or ice after games. Never asked if Mama was the one who dried my tears when I missed open layups.

The spotlight was always angled at my mom.

The echo of her name louder than mine.

It got worse when film started circulating. Scouts clipped highlights. Blogs started making “Next Bueckers?” videos. Videos of side-by-side footage comparing my no-look passes to hers.

I watched one of those videos in my room late one night. The screen split down the middle: Mom in her UConn days on the left. Me on the right.

We both drove left, spun, step-backed, pulled up.

We both made the shot.

I should’ve felt proud.

Instead, I whispered:

“Mama, I’m chasing a ghost. I don’t know who she is.”

Mama came in holding a basket of folded laundry. She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at the paused video.

“She’s not a ghost,” Mama finally said. “She’s your mom. And you’re not chasing her—you’re learning from her. Big difference.”

“But everyone thinks I’m chasing her,” I muttered. “And sometimes I do too.”

She set the laundry down and sat beside me on the bed.

“I’ve never lied to you, baby. And I never will. But you need to believe me when I say: you are your own person. You came from both of us, but everything you’re building is yours. Not Paige’s. Not mine. Yours.”

The first time I cried after a post-game interview, I was sixteen.

I’d dropped 31 points, 8 assists, and 6 steals in a playoff game. We won by twenty. But the reporter smiled and asked me:

“So, what’s it like trying to fill your mom Paige’s shoes?”

I laughed at the time. Polite. Poised.

But the second I got home, I slammed the bedroom door.

“I’m not filling anyone’s shoes,” I said through tears when Paige came to check on me. “I’m wearing my own.”

Paige sat on the floor with me, her knees pulled to her chest.

“I know,” she said. “I know how hard it is when people don’t let you just be. I went through that too��� I just had to prove myself as Paige. Not as someone’s daughter. But you—” she looked up at me, eyes soft, “you have to prove yourself as more than my daughter. And that’s a whole different fight.”

I wiped my nose with my sleeve.

“I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough unless I’m you.”

She pulled me into her lap.

“A’dahlia, I don’t want you to be me. I want you to be you. And for what it’s worth… I think you’re already better.”

I don’t think people realize what the last name Bueckers carries.

In airports. In gyms. On game day programs. It’s a crown and a curse.

A brand I never asked for, but one I refuse to run from.

Because somewhere deep down, I’m proud.

Proud that Paige Bueckers is my mom.

Proud that Mama believed in me when I didn’t.

Proud of the late nights, the tears, the drills, the ice baths.

So yeah, I started watching film again.

Not to compare—but to study.

I watched mom’s vision, her feel for tempo, her movement. I broke it down, built it back up, and mixed it with my style.

I’m stronger than she was. Faster in transition. More vocal on defense.

And I pass like her, sure. But I shoot like me.

Senior year came like a thunderstorm—loud, fast, and impossible to ignore.

Every school you could think of wanted me.

Stanford. LSU. South Carolina. Duke. UCLA. Oregon. UConn.

The hardest part? Nobody asked if I wanted them.

They just assumed UConn.

Assumed it was destiny.

Assumed I wanted to wear Paige’s number and relive her legacy.

But I didn’t tell anyone my answer.

Not mom-Paige.

Not Mama.

Not even myself—not until the night before Signing Day.

I was in the kitchen, sitting at the counter, staring at the five hats on the table. I’d narrowed it down to UConn, Stanford, LSU, South Carolina, and Duke.

Mom walked in and paused.

“Need help?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Already decided.”

She sat beside me. “So why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

I chuckled softly.

“Because maybe I have.”

She didn’t respond, just waited.

“I’ve spent so long asking myself if I look like you,” I said. “Not just my face, but… how I play. How I lead. How I move on the court. But what scares me most is that people won’t see me. Just… the ghost of Paige Bueckers.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look hurt. Just said gently:

“You gave me love and affection, attention, protection. I would never miss something I’ve never had.”

I looked at her, surprised.

“That’s the song I’ve been listening to.”

She nodded.

“I know. Mama played it the other night. She cried.”

I swallowed hard.

“I would never judge you,” I whispered. “Cause everything worked out. I mean it.”

A long silence passed.

“You’re not my shadow, A’dahlia,” Paige finally said. “You’re the sun. Bright as hell. Blinding sometimes. But always yours.”

I didn’t announce my decision until the cameras were rolling. Gym packed. Teammates buzzing. Five hats on the table.

I stared at them, hands steady, mind clear.

And I picked up the navy one with the silver letters:

UCONN.

Gasps. Cheers. A few people even stood up. The cameras snapped. Mama cried.

Then I saw mom bury her face in her hands.

And I smiled.

Not because I was following my mom.

But because I was writing the next chapter of my story.

That night, we sat on the back porch. Me, Paige, and Mama. Just us. Moonlight cutting across the yard, a breeze teasing the hem of my sweatpants.

“I didn’t choose UConn because of you,” I said quietly. “I chose it because it’s where I can become the player I want to be. The leader. The person.”

Paige leaned her head on my shoulder.

“Then you picked right.”

Mama nodded, voice thick with emotion.

“You’re everything we dreamed of,” she whispered. “And nothing we expected.”

I smiled through a sting of tears.

“I’m everything I strived to be,” I said. “So, tell me… do I look like her?”

They looked at each other.

“No,” Mama said.

“No,” mom echoed.

“You look like you.”

So maybe I make expressions like her.

Maybe I move like her.

Maybe our footwork is twins.

But I’m not her.

I’m A’dahlia Bueckers.

Made with love.

Built with fire.

And chasing no one but myself.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[starsinthesky5]

I've been watching videos of Taylor at the children's Hospital from last year and all I'm thinking about is songbird doing that in a Cincinatti hospital and it being so sweet. She's the first lady of Cincinatti your honour

a/n: this might have been one of my favorite things to write out. this concept is so :(

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

she's is absolutely serious about her charity work and philanthropy. giving back to her community is one of the most important things to her, especially now that she’s in a position to do something about the causes she’s always cared about. she doesn’t just post the links or sign the checks—she shows up, rolls her sleeves up, and works.

she’s deeply involved in youth mental health advocacy—funding school programs, hosting quiet music therapy sessions, personally partnering with child psychologists to create resources for kids navigating grief, anxiety, or trauma. she’s a soft place for so many to land. the kind of person who will read through every letter sent to her team from a worried parent or a hurting teen, and figure out a way to respond, to help.

and food insecurity? that’s close to home for both her and joe. they’ve seen what hunger does to a family. they remember. and she and joe put real money and heart into community food banks, his foundation, student lunch programs, meal kits for families during the holidays—always quietly, always intentionally.

her name's on programs and articles now, sure. but it’s also on the mouths of the kids at the shelters who light up when she walks in.

because she goes. regularly.

like to the children’s hospital in cincinnati—where the nurses and staff just smile when they see her name on the visitor log. she usually shows up in a soft cardigan, no makeup, her hair up with a bow. guitar case over her shoulder, tote bag full of handmade care packages in hand. she brings notes for the parents, bracelets and stickers for the kids, books for the rooms.

and it’s not a media event. it’s never performative. no press, no announcements. she doesn’t let her team record it. the only footage that exists is a few grainy phone videos from starstruck nurses or overwhelmed parents who post about how kind she was, how she remembered their kid’s name weeks later, how she sang lullabies to the babies in the NICU.

she sings for them, but more importantly—she sits with them. cross-legged on the floor beside hospital beds. reading storybooks aloud with funny voices. letting a five-year-old decorate her face with butterfly stickers. holding hands with a scared teenager and asking, what’s your favorite song right now?

sometimes when she’s at the hospital, the kids ask her about joe in the shy, giggly way kids do—“is he really your boyfriend?” or “he’s my favorite quarterback ever!” and she just beams, leans in like she’s telling them a secret, and says, “mine too,”. they light up when she pulls up a silly picture of him in her phone—usually something where he’s got bedhead or a grumpy face—and they all giggle together like it’s the funniest thing in the world. one little boy once asked if joe could come visit too, and when she said maybe next time, he asked if joe liked fruit snacks, so he could save him some. she texted joe immediately. he showed up two days later with a whole box.

speaking of, when joe comes with her? it's so special.

he doesn’t like attention. but he loves her. and she’s the one who got him to be more hands-on with his foundation in the first place. more than just a name or a face—she inspired him to show up. to go to the shelters. to play catch with the kids from the food programs. to give the teens at the mental health center someone who listens, not just someone who donates.

when they go together, it’s not a spectacle. joe’s quiet in the background—handing out juice boxes, playing uno, helping a little kid build a lego castle while she sings a lullaby across the room. they leave with drawings tucked into her tote bag and little friendship bracelets on both their wrists.

and yeah, cincinnati knows.

they call her the first lady of the city with so much love it doesn’t even feel like a nickname—it feels true. like she’s theirs, and they’re hers. and joe? joe just grins when people say it. because she wears that title so naturally, so gracefully, like she was always meant to.

because even with all the fame, the shows, the stadiums full of people screaming her lyrics. this is who she is. someone who shows up. someone who gives. someone who cares.

and she brings him with her. and teaches him how to care even louder.

[snekdood]

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/worldviews/wp/2015/04/14/map-these-are-the-worlds-least-religious-countries/

https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2015/06/which-is-the-most-peaceful-country-in-the-world/

also

light blue is least democratic, dark blue is most. kinda seems to align a lot better with the "most peaceful countries" map. turns out the problem is any ideology being twisted for nefarious reasons and not religion specifically and exclusively. I mean, look at fucking china.

#Opinion http://dlvr.it/T8kCbl

[kitty384]

In His Arms, Everything's Safe

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You come home to the quietest, most beautiful moment: Bucky slow-dancing with your baby daughter in the kitchen, reminding you that in his arms, everything really is safe.

Warnings: Fluff, domestic softness, parenthood, tears of the happy variety, gentle vintage vibes

The house is quiet.

That’s the first thing I notice when I step inside—no crying, no cartoons, no clattering dishes or tiny sock-covered feet sprinting across the hardwood.

Just soft music.

Something familiar. Old. Grainy vocals and piano gently slipping through the air like the house itself is humming.

I set the grocery bag down quietly on the counter.

And then I hear it:

Bucky’s voice. Low. Gentle. Humming along.

Curious, I peek around the corner into the kitchen.

And that’s when I see them.

Bucky’s barefoot, wearing sweats and an old white T-shirt that clings just a little too well to his back. His hair’s pulled half-up, messy, and he’s got our daughter tucked against his chest—her head resting under his chin, her tiny hand fisted in the collar of his shirt.

And he’s dancing.

Slowly. Carefully. Just rocking her back and forth in time with the music, feet gliding over the tile like he’s done this a thousand times before.

The record playing is old—real vinyl, one of Steve’s gifts from a few birthdays back.

The Andrews Sisters are singing softly through the speakers, something about dreams and moonlight and missing someone.

And Bucky?

He’s smiling.

Not his usual smirk.

Not the grin he wears when she babbles nonsense or throws mashed peas.

But something quiet. Full. Like this moment—right here—is something sacred.

And he doesn’t know I’m watching.

I don’t move.

I just… stand there, frozen, hand pressed to my heart, watching the two of them.

Our little girl is bundled in her favorite yellow onesie, blinking sleepily against his chest, soothed completely by his voice and warmth.

And Bucky—my Bucky—looks completely at peace.

Like nothing outside this kitchen exists.

Like this is the only world he needs.

He spins once, slow and careful, making sure to keep her tucked close.

Then he says, soft and almost shy, “You’re a good dancer, sweetheart. You get that from your mom.”

She lets out a sleepy coo.

And he chuckles. “Yeah, I agree. She’s the prettiest thing I ever saw.”

Tears sting my eyes.

Because he means it.

He always does.

After another verse, he finally catches me watching.

He blinks—then smiles wider, cheeks flushed just slightly. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I whisper.

“She fell asleep on me again,” he says, like an apology. “I didn’t want to put her down yet.”

“You better not,” I murmur. “You’re the only person who can get her to nap past thirty minutes.”

He shifts her just a little, kissing her forehead. “She likes the music.”

“She likes you.”

His eyes flick to mine. “You like me?”

I cross the floor to him. “I love you.”

I press a kiss to his cheek, then rest my hand over hers on our daughter’s back.

“She gets this from you,” I whisper. “The way she melts in your arms. The peace.”

He shakes his head slowly. “I think she’s just smart.”

“Smart enough to know she’s safe.”

That makes him pause.

His eyes glimmer.

And then he leans down and kisses me, soft and sweet, like he has nowhere else to be.

We stand there for a long time—him rocking, me holding onto both of them, the music playing gently in the background.

Our daughter breathes steadily between us, hand still curled in her dad’s shirt.

And for the first time in days—maybe weeks—I don’t feel tired.

I just feel home.

Later, Bucky tells me he used to dance like that in the ‘40s.

In the kitchen. With his little sister Becca. With his ma.

“I thought I’d forgotten how,” he admits, voice soft in the dark as we lay in bed. “But when I held her, it just came back.”

I smile and kiss his shoulder.

“You didn’t forget,” I whisper. “You just didn’t know you’d need it again.”

And when I wake up to music playing again the next morning—I already know where I’ll find him.

Masterlist

Request

[mononijikayu]

chapter (1) — rumours.

GENRE: alternate universe - actors/celeb au!

WARNING/S: not safe for work (nsfw), r-18 and above, singers au!, romance, fluff, minor angst, slow burn, humour, slice of life, will they won't they, light-hearted, flirting, playful, possessiveness, teasing, explicit content, possible, kissing, sexual content, innuendos, drama, feels, hurt/comfort, falling in love, love, happy ending, actor/singer! sukuna, actress/celeb! reader;

WORD COUNT: 3k words.

NOTE: this was a request by a good friend of mine here, midnight-138; honestly, this was fun to write but i realized it wasn't going to be fun without a series happening. since jjk ended, i like to think its just a tv show with actors and everything. anyway!!! enjoy it!!!

masterlist

hey lover! series

SOMEHOW, ITS VERY COMMON TO HEAR YOUR NAME IN ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING. Headlines are always buzzing about your on-screen chemistry with your beloved co-star Ryomen Sukuna in Jujutsu Kaisen.

The two of you are practically inseparable on set, sharing private jokes and glances that fans swear could only belong to people who are more than just co-stars. Every Instagram post and tag, every red-carpet, every bit of interaction sends social media into a frenzy.

A blurry paparazzi photo of the two of you leaving a restaurant together? Uproar. Sukuna’s hand on your back at a press event? Uproar. Matching accessories spotted in your latest selfies? Uproar.

Fans dissect every interaction, convinced that something more than friendship is brewing. Because why wouldn't they? Everything felt like a clue. Everythjng felt like it was a mystery that needed to be solved when it comes to you two.

But the worst part about it is that you and Sukuna remain silent. Neither confirming nor denying anything. When asked about your relationship during interviews, you both just smile—maybe even exchange a playful look, adding fuel to the fire.

You leave fans in a constant state of guessing, teasing them with cryptic posts that seem like inside jokes only the two of you could understand.

In the quiet privacy behind the cameras, though, whether there’s truth to the rumors or not is a secret only you and Sukuna hold close. And maybe that’s part of what keeps everyone so hooked.

As social media explodes with theories, fans take it upon themselves to become full-time detectives. Suddenly, every frame from behind-the-scenes footage becomes evidence.

"Did you see the way Sukuna passed her the water bottle? That’s definitely a boyfriend move." People zoom in on grainy images like they're solving a mystery for the FBI.

A single, innocent tweet of yours like, "Had sushi today!!! 🍣🥢" is met with immediate chaos:

"GUYS, DIDN’T SUKUNA POST A PICTURE OF CHOPSTICKS TWO DAYS AGO?? THEY’RE EATING TOGETHER, CONFIRMED!!"

"Sukuna wears black, she’s wearing black. THEY’RE MATCHING."

"Doesn't she live in the East Side and Sukuna has a shoot in New York too? I bet he slept at her place, that's why they're together!"

You can't even breathe without someone connecting it back to Sukuna. Once, you posted a picture of your mother's cat, and someone commented, "Wait, Sukuna said in an interview last year that he likes cats. Coincidence?? I THINK NOT."

And the funniest part? You and Sukuna seem to be in on the joke. And still, STILL, not confirm anything. Not one thing. NEVER.

At every red carpet event, you both manage to “accidentally” coordinate outfits or just happen to walk into the venue within seconds of each other. On set, you pass him your coffee to share and the fandom collectively loses its mind. Yet, in interviews, your answers remain as vague as ever:

“So, there’s been a lot of talk about you and Sukuna. Are you two seeing each other?” The interviewer asks you, a certain mischief in his eye.

You looked at Sukuna, who raises a teasing brow. “We see each other every day on set, yeah.”

Sukuna grins back at you. “Sometimes even during lunch. At your trailer."

"Well, depends on the day." You added, grinning back. "I mean, sometimes we get messy in there so...."

Your fandoms spirals further.

Of course, fans don’t stop. A blurry photo surfaces of someone who might be you two walking through a park, closely packed together in a very close skinship The comments section erupts:

"THAT’S THEM. SUKUNA POSTED A PICTURE OF THOSE BENCHES A WHILE AGO!!!"

"No way, that could be anyone!"

"Look at the way they walk. That’s dating posture."

"Dude, it's just two blobs in a park."

"Only their blobs could look that in love."

Eventually, the theories get so wild, people start making compilation videos of “proof.” You sit back, watching them, popcorn in hand, thinking, They really think they’ve got us figured out.

But until the day you decide to spill the beans—or not—the internet will just have to keep guessing. And you and Sukuna? You’re having way too much fun letting them.

One day, you both find yourselves in a meeting with the producers, and the topic of fan theories comes up. They’re considering incorporating some of the drama into the show. With how your characters are, it was very easy to just make it happen.

“You guys are basically a couple already in their eyes. Why not lean into it?” one of the producers suggests, chuckling.

Sukuna leans back, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, what you’re saying is we should start holding hands on screen? I mean, don't we do that already?"

You can’t help but laugh. “i mean that depends, you know? Only if we get matching outfits. I’m not going out there without a coordinated look.”

The producers are writing down ideas, completely serious. “We could do a whole segment on you two fighting each other and you know......sexual tension. Very exciting.”

"We already have that anyway." Sukuna snickers back at the producer. He looks at you. "I mean......have you seen how we get down?"

"Yeah, we don't need anything to be scripted." You grinned back at Sukuna before standing up, walking towards him and placing a kiss on his cheek. "I have to go sit at the make up chair first. Bye!"

In that moment, even Jujutsu Kaisen's producers weren't sure. Are you guys datng or not?

And Ryomen Sukuna refused to say anything. He merely smiled. Proudly.

Later, during a shooting break, you and Sukuna can’t stop giggling about it. “If we did that, the fandom and our fans would explode.” you say, shaking your head. “We’d really end up causing a generational fall out."

Sukuna smirks, “Let them have their fun. I’m sure they're enjoying how we have fun too."

➽───────────❥

PROMO SEASON CAME AROUND FAST. And even during this time, you and Sukuna were never escaping the allegations. At one of the major press eventa later that month, you both decide to play with fire once again. Once more, rumors were little but they burnt like wildfire.

At exactly 9:00 am, you had to be there in the agency building to get ready. You show up wearing a shirt with a giant cartoon cat on it, and since Sukuna and you have the same agency, when Sukuna arrives, he’s wearing a matching shirt with a dog. The cameras flash, and you both strike a pose, arms crossed, looking like a bizarre couple straight out of a sitcom.

The internet goes wild.

“ARE THEY ADOPTING A PET TOGETHER?!”

In the frenzy, you hear someone yell, “What’s the cat’s name?”

You look at Sukuna, who gives a dramatic sigh. He snickers. “Guess we'll have to say something about our pet, darling.”

You both exchange a look, trying to suppress your laughter. “Oh, but don't we already have Noodle?” you suggest.

"We do.” he replies back, mischief in his eyes. “But only make sure you only feed him on your side of the bed.”

The whole thing spirals into a hilarious Twitter thread: “Sukuna and (Y/N) are definitely getting married and adopting a cat named Noodle.”

This entire thing creates media frenzy. Because what do you mean there's a marriage? And not to mention, a cat? That makes it even more serious!

The following week, you’re both asked to do a Q&A session with fans at a media event.

The moment someone asks, “So, is Noodle a real cat?” you both exchange a look, then burst out laughing.

“Listen, Noodle is a very busy cat.” you respond, trying to keep a straight face. “He’s got modeling gigs and a busy social life. And very busy building his collection of balls. He’s basically the star of our lives.”

Sukuna adds looking at you. “Yeah, he’s too good for us. He's definifely giving us a run for our money in acting. Oh, if you can visit our house and see his acting chops! He'd replace me as Sukuna!"

By now, the memes have taken over. “Noodle the cat is the real star of Jujutsu Kaisen” trends on Twitter, complete with fan art and even a fake merchandise line.

Every time you and Sukuna scroll through the latest memes together, it feels more like you’re in a sitcom than reality.

And it happened again when you both came live on Instagram after a long shoot together. You were eating convenience store ramen together. 

“We should probably just embrace the whole ‘cat dad’ angle for you, bub.” you suggest one evening while going through a particularly funny thread.

“Only if you’re down to play the role of the supportive girlfriend.” he teases.

“I’d do it for Noodle!” you laugh.

At the end of the day, the speculation continues, but now, it feels like a shared inside joke. And who knows? Maybe there’s a little truth buried in the fun.

Until then, you and Sukuna are happy to keep the mystery alive, letting the fans run wild with their theories while you enjoy the antics of being in the spotlight together. And just be together.

➽───────────❥

YOU DON'T LIKE PRESS TOURS. Because they get longer and longer the more you're in them. But it's part of your job and you can't ignore it.

As the promotional campaign for Jujutsu Kaisen heats up, the marketing team decides to do a special segment where you and Sukuna read some of the most outrageous thirst tweets from fans live on social media.

You both gather in a cozy studio set, a couple of drinks in hand, ready to dive into the wild world of fandom obsession.

The camera rolls, and the host introduces the segment with a laugh. “Today, we have two of the hottest stars from Jujutsu Kaisen! Let’s see what the fans are saying about them.”

The first tweet pops up on the screen:

“Why do I want to fight Y/N just to get a date with Sukuna? Like.....Let me touch those pecs too, Y/N! #ThirstyForSukuna”

You smirk and turn to Sukuna, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like I've got some competition, buddy. Who knew you’d be a heartthrob?”

Sukuna leans back, feigning nonchalance. “What can I say? I’ve got that bad-boy charm everyone just falls for, you know?"

The next tweet scrolls by:

“Y/N could step on my neck and I’d thank her for it. #JJKThirst”

You nearly choke on your drink, laughing uncontrollably. “Wow, I’m basically a neck-stomping goddess now?”

Sukuna grins, “I might need to step up my game. Do I have to start practicing neck-stomping moves?”

You grinned. "Why not? We can start now, baby boy."

"Hang on, lemme kneel in front of you."

The host chuckles, and the viewers can feel the playful tension in the air. The next tweet appears:

“Why is Y/N so cute? I just want to put her in my pocket and carry her around. #ProtectY/N”

You lean over and poke Sukuna playfully. “Looks like I’m the cute one. What are you going to do about it?”

“Pocket-sized? I’m pretty sure I could lift you up and carry you around. I’d be the pocket protector.”

The host raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “This is some serious couple energy right here!”

More tweets flash on the screen, and they’re getting wilder:

“I’d let Sukuna ruin my life and then ask for more. #JJK”

“Y/N and Sukuna need to date in real life. They have undeniable chemistry!”

You read that one aloud, rolling your eyes dramatically. “It’s not like we don’t have undeniable chemistry, right? I mean, we just got it, you know?"

Sukuna leans closer, lowering his voice, “You’re right. It’s almost like we’re living in a rom-com, and I’m just waiting for the big confession scene.”

The chat is blowing up, and you can see fans losing their minds over the playful flirting. Comments like, “THEY’RE SO IN LOVE!” and “CAN THEY JUST DATE ALREADY?!” flood the screen.

Next up is a tweet that reads, “Y/N can do no wrong. I’d let do anything for my queen to step on me! #ThirstyForY/N”

You turn to Sukuna with a playful smirk. “Looks like I have my own little army. How do you feel about that?”

He leans back, crossing his arms. “I’m not worried. They can love you all they want, but who’s the one sharing sushi with you?”

The two of you break into laughter as another tweet rolls in:

“Okay, but if you and Sukuna don’t end up together by the end of JJK, I’ll riot.”

You look at Sukuna, eyes wide. “Looks like we’re starting a revolution!”

“Right? How about we take the revolution to the next level? You and I should go on a ‘date’ for the cameras and really stir things up.”

“Imagine the tweets! ‘The romance is REAL!’” you exclaim, giggling.

By the time the segment wraps up, fans are in a complete frenzy. The host turns to the camera, “You’ve seen the tweets, now let’s see what the fans will do with this energy. You guys are absolutely hilarious!”

As the cameras stop rolling, you and Sukuna lean back, grinning at each other. “You know, I think we just made a lot of people’s dreams come true,” you say, still buzzing from the fun.

Sukuna winks. “Just wait until the next promo event. We’ll really give them something to talk about.”

With the buzz of excitement surrounding you both, the thrill of flirting, and the chaos of fandom, it’s clear that the jokes and playful banter only add fuel to the fire of the romance rumor mill, and you’re both having the time of your lives

As the promotional segment wraps up, you and Sukuna step off set, still riding the high from the chaotic energy of the livestream.

Fans are already trending the hashtag #YandSForever, and you can’t help but pull out your phone to check the latest tweets.

“Look at this one, Su!” you say, reading aloud. “I need Y/N and Sukuna to take a couple’s selfie like right now. Make it happen!” You smirk. “Should we make that a thing?”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “A couple’s selfie? What, are we going to match our outfits again?”

“Absolutely! Let’s go full rom-com with hearts in the background.” You both burst into laughter, and he nudges you playfully.

“Okay, but only if we can throw Noodle into the picture for added cuteness.” he says, mock-serious. “Can’t let my cat-dad image fade. After all, we have a three soul family!”

As you’re scrolling through the tweets, you come across one that reads, “If Y/N and Sukuna were a snack, they’d be the whole charcuterie board—gorgeous, a little salty, and definitely irresistible.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Okay, that’s actually pretty clever.”

“Salty, huh?” Sukuna leans in closer with a smirk, “You think they’re implying something about me?”

“Only that you’re a snack, Sukuna.” You wink, enjoying the banter as you both stroll through the studio’s backlot.

Suddenly, someone yells, “Hey! Are you two dating, or what?” It’s one of the crew members, clearly getting in on the joke.

You both pause, exchanging a look. “We’re.....interesting, right?” you say, nudging Sukuna.

He smirks, “Yeah, just interesting. Especially together. Interesting together as we definitely share sushi and matching outfits.”

The crew member laughs, shaking his head. “You’re both ridiculous. Just make it official already!”

You can’t help but grin, feeling a mix of warmth and excitement at the thought. As you continue walking, you check your phone again and see another trending tweet:

“Sukuna’s hand on Y/N’s back at the premiere was a whole mood. I’m not okay.”

“Hey, I think we were just trying to navigate the crowd.” you say, laughing as you elbow Sukuna. “Or maybe I was just trying to keep you from tripping on your own ego.”

He feigns shock, placing a hand over his heart. “My ego is as solid as my acting skills! But it’s nice to have someone as cute as you around to keep me grounded, darling."

Your cheeks flush at the compliment, and you decide to lean into it. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure to keep your ego in check. Maybe I’ll start charging a fee for my services.”

“Oh? What’s the rate?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“A dinner date sounds fair. Noodle can join too!”

Just then, another crew member walks past, overhearing your banter. “Wait, are you two actually going to have a date? I’ll start a betting pool.”

Sukuna leans in, whispering dramatically, “How much are they betting on us? Better be big money we can share.”

You break into laughter again. “I’m betting they’ll think we’ll end up together by the end of the season. That’s practically a guarantee.”

As you walk back to your trailer, you can see fans gathering outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of you both.

“Looks like we’ve got an audience, Su!” you say, glancing at the growing crowd.

Sukuna gives you a sly smile. “Let’s give them a show.”

You both step out onto the steps of your trailer, and the fans cheer, holding up their phones to capture the moment. Sukuna eagerly wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as you both pose for a picture, flashing playful grins.

The fans go wild, shouting your names and yelling for you to kiss.

“Maybe next time, guys! I'm hungry!” you shout back, grinning. “Tough luck but you’ll have to settle for selfies!”

"Yeah, everyone!" Sukuna whispers, a sly smile on his face. "Can't let my darling be hungry now, can't I?"

You both pose for a few more pictures, enjoying the energy and excitement radiating from the crowd. As you glance at Sukuna, you can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline.

This might just be a fun little game for you both, but with every shared laugh and inside joke, the lines between friendship and something more seem to blur just a little more.

Later that evening, you’re scrolling through Twitter again, and the excitement of the day sinks in as you read the latest updates:

“I’m not saying Y/N and Sukuna are endgame, but… I’m not NOT saying it either.”

“Someone tell me how I can apply to be the third wheel on their sushi dates! #LifeGoals”

“Can’t wait for the upcoming JJK season! Also, please, can they just kiss already?”

You smile, a mix of joy and mischief bubbling up inside you. With Sukuna by your side, the adventure has only just begun, and you can’t wait to see where it all leads. After all, isn't that the fun?

[rafesbimbo]

Exclusive Access pt.2

Warnings: PART ONE, 18+, wc: 600, suggestive, stalker vibes (like very stalkery), dark themes? innocent!reader, rafe is #obsessed, reader is lowk naive, NOT PROOF READ !!!

pairing: Jealous!Rafe Cameron x Camgirl!Reader

It was supposed to be over.

One night.

One mistake.

Five thousand dollars and a guilty conscience you couldn't scrub clean.

You tried to move on.

Tried to pretend you hadn't spent hours with a stranger whispering filth into your ear, making you touch yourself like you were already his.

Tried to pretend you didn’t like it.

But Rafe didn’t disappear.

He lurked.

Watched.

Messaged.

And when you started streaming less — pulling away, panicking —

he noticed.

"Where’s my sugar?"

"You hiding from me?"

"You’ll come back."

"You always do."

You blocked him once.

Only once.

The next morning, a bouquet of blood-red roses showed up at your apartment door.

No note.

Just a single word written on the card in messy black ink:

"Mine."

You told yourself it was a coincidence.

Told yourself it was a mistake.

You lied.

The night you saw him — really saw him — you were working a late shift at the diner.

Rain poured down in heavy sheets, the world outside your window blurred and grey.

He slipped in quietly.

Took a booth in the back.

Hood pulled low.

Hands loose on the table.

Eyes locked onto you.

You didn’t notice him at first.

Didn’t feel the burn of his stare.

Not until you passed by with a pot of coffee and he said, low and casual:

"Hey, Sugar."

Your whole body jolted.

You turned — and there he was.

Real.

Bigger than you imagined.

Broad shoulders stretching his jacket, messy, brown hair damp from the rain, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed hard, throat dry.

Your fingers tightened around the coffee pot.

"Rafe..." you breathed, barely audible.

He didn’t move.

Just leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of the booth, looking you up and down with lazy, predatory interest.

Like he was imagining how easy it would be to reach out and take you.

"Missed you," he drawled.

"You miss me too, sugar?"

You shook your head.

Tiny. Weak.

He laughed — a low, dark sound that made your thighs clench helplessly.

"Lyin’ ass," he murmured. "You been thinking about me every night."

"I can smell it on you."

Heat crawled up your neck.

You looked around — but the diner was practically empty, the rain keeping everyone away.

No one was paying attention.

No one would help you even if they did.

Rafe leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous purr.

"Go ahead, sugar. Walk away."

"Pretend you don’t want me."

"But you know where to find me when you stop lyin’ to yourself."

He didn’t touch you.

Didn’t grab you.

Didn’t force you.

He just let you feel him.

His presence.

His obsession.

Wrapping around your ribs, squeezing until you could barely breathe.

You stumbled back, muttering some excuse about work, retreating toward the kitchen — heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it.

You didn’t look back.

You didn’t have to.

You could feel his eyes on you the whole way.

Later that night, tucked into your tiny apartment, you found another message waiting for you.

No words.

Just a video file.

Your hands shook as you pressed play.

The video was dark.

Grainy.

At first you didn’t know what you were looking at.

Then you realized —It was you.

Filmed through the diner window.

Wiping down tables.

Tying your apron.

Tugging nervously at the hem of your skirt.

Underneath the video, one line of text:

"You can run, sugar. But you’ll always be mine."

this is just the beginning! btw i love love love feedback! so dont be afraid to let me know ur ideas!!

Taglist : @hanneh69, @xoxobellamy , @marinrscomplex , @love-4-rafey-lando

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with his Preggo Wife #9: At the Beach

Can be read with others in series or alone

Summary: You're not too confident at the beach with your body, but Joel's got the best remedy

Warnings: Super fluff!! Some sexy time at the end, unprotected sex, car sex, failed sex, fingering, 1 spank, heavier descriptions of pregnant body 

18+ ONLY

- - - -

You complain how hot it is, the grainy sand stuck on on your thighs, the hot sun blistering your sensitive skin, the onlookers you fear are gawking at your enormous size. The fact you have to wear a bikini now despite always having worn a full piece before the baby train docked. But it just wouldn't fit, and you had to buy a NEW (and even larger sized) two piece to accommodate your must larger figure.

 All of it makes you want to barf and hide in a closet. At the very least wrapped up in a towel—but of course, one towel doesn't even cover over your mid section anymore either!

Not that he's complaining. Joel pulls his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose to let all the light in and, with no shame, gets a glorious look at you as often as he can. You wearing a two piece with your accentuated body now so drastically changed because of him, just absolutely showcasing the evidence of your love making has him struggling to keep his cock down in his trousers. He wants to put his hands all over you and tell everyone yeah, this body? this belly? This woman? You see her? Mine. 

You didn't want to come to the beach. Okay, you did, like, yesterday, when you were scratching his arm off and begging to go sun bathe and wear your new sandals, but clearly, Joel couldn't recognize when you changed your mind last minute in the car ride without actually verbally telling him. He was so busy humming his little 70s tunes on the radio, glancing smiles at you and putting his warm hand on your fat thigh. Completely unaware, despite your reassuring smiles, that you wanted him to turn around right now and go home. Why couldn't the man just read your mind? Why do you have to explain everything to him word for word?

So here you are, a million degrees under the baking sun, sand in your sandals with the whole world of beautiful people apparently on this beach too. You stand there awkwardly, rubbing your arms hoping to shrink down to an ant and scurry away.

Trying to get to your knees is difficult at best, uncomfortable and pathetic, before settling on your bum with that massive tummy in the way of everything. You spread your legs and, fuck, you look like you might as well be pushing this baby out right now in this bloated birthing position. Could they kick you off the beach for looking like this???

Joel doesn’t pay any attention at all. He gets right to being a boy and digging a big hole in the sand like a 14 year old, despite his cracking knees and shifting groans from all the movement he’s got to do.

At least someone here is having a good time.

He carefully scoops the sand with his thick palm, making a smooth, rounded cavern. He even brought a tape measure, which he uses around your tummy first, strangely, and you don't even question it.

Once the hemisphere is dug to his satisfaction, smoothed over with his calloused fingers, he sits back and waves to you. 

You're picking little grains of sand off your moon-sized belly.

He coughs again, and you finally look up.

"Ta da!" He boasts proudly.

You throw your hands up defeatedly at his extremely unimpressive hole. "Okay?"

His lips draw tightly to a thin line, doubt crossing his face. “Wait, just—c’mere. Best part."

He grabs your hands and helps you to lie forward so that your belly has room to dip into the hole. And just like that, for the first time in months, you're lying on your front again.

It’s as if a massive ache in your back is suddenly relieved. "Oh my god! This feels amazing!" You cheer. The pressure your baby had been putting on your lower spine suddenly disappears, and all that weight is so perfectly supported by the carefully measured cradle he dug in the sand. It's been so long since you were in this position, you had dreams of the day you could again.

"Joel, you're—“

"Fuckin' amazin', I know darlin'."

He plants a special cooling pillow in front of you so you can rest your chin above the sand, no strain on your neck.

You sigh loudly, and extremely long, not even aware that it sounds like a pornographic moan.

"Behave, you," he tsks with a raised brow, his whispers tickling your ear.

"Mmmm.”

You wave him off, suddenly enjoying the warm heat of the sun on your bare back.

He lathers your exposed skin with gentle sun screen, massaging your shoulders, neck, sides. He takes special care to realllly rub your butt, 'so you don't burn.' Puts an umbrella over you too for good measure. With the reassuring feeling of Joels hands working out your muscles all over you, the crashing sound of waves in the distance and chirping seagulls, and feeling like you aren’t heavily pregnant for the first time in months, you quickly succumb to a nap.

-

Later when he's got food, double fisting some hot dogs, he sits you up and rubs the sand off your belly with a clean cloth. Joel scarfs the first one down, ketchup drooping down his wrist.

But you’re too distracted, and when you tell him its okay, he eats yours without a second thought. You laugh a little. Poor thing probably got baked under the sun too busy taking care of you.

He chews loudly, jaw working close with the amount of meat and mustard and bread bulging out. You lick your thumb and wipe away the droop of condiment spilling from his lips.

He playfully chases your hand with a bite, growling.

you shake your head. “You fucking weirdo.”

“Mmm. My pretty fuckin’ girl.”

His eyes rake over your body—skin radiant in the sun, so smooth and shiny from the oily sunscreen he had smoothed over you. Like something out of a dream. His dreams, to be exact. Not so appropriate dreams he may have already had after only the first week of dating you, and thinking about the day you might be exactly as you are—pregnant with a his ring on your finger.

Delirious with the sight of you, he leans in and starts kissing you, then groping and suckling alll down to your bloated belly.

"Joel, stop, people are gonna see!"

"Let them see, you're so fucking sexy right now.”

"STOP.” You grasp him a bit more firmly to pull his hungry mouth away from going any further down south. “We're not having sex right now. That's final. Now keep your bad boy parts in your pants.”

He pouts and grumbles, drawing away like a scolded child.

You watch as a group of kids play in the water and laugh, or two young girls collect more sea shells than their little hands can carry. Your hand absent-minded rubs over your belly, wondering what your baby is thinking right this moment. If she had thoughts. If she was listening and seeing through you, and feeling what you might be feeling right now.

Joel watches you. He can see that sense of distant longing in your eyes. 

Remembers when you first started dating, mid 20s and so young, and the first thing you said was you weren't sure about kids. He kind of knew he wanted at least one, but the more he got to know you, the more he was willing to give that idea up if it meant he got to keep you for the rest of his life. It took five years after you got married before he found you trembling but bravely presenting him a positive test, and he had to fight himself to keep all his emotions at bay in case you didn’t want this. You were so quiet, so unreadable. He wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk about it or not. 

Until you both went to your first ultrasound, and from that minute you saw the little blob on the screen, and the nurse said “meet mom and dad!” Your lives changed. The whole car ride home you were babbling excitedly about baby names, the color of the nursery, what your child might look like (you hoped she or he would look like Joel). 

You’re quiet right now like you were that day. He follows your eyes to the scene of all the kids playing together, their parents watching over and encouraging the sandcastle building or warning not to go too far out into the water: a happy family.

"I want more,” you say quietly, not really even addressing Joel as your eyes are stuck forward.

He just chuckles and shakes his head. “Baby, we still are working on getting one. Gotta wait before we can have another."

"I want her to have a sibling,” you mumble, holding your belly with both hands delicately.

He bends down and kisses your hand resting atop your swell. “I’ll give you as many as you want.... so long as it doesn't exceed two.”

Your head snaps back. “Three.”

"If there's 2, then that's 4 of us, which is the perfect number to sit at any restaurant. 4 is right. Plus a normal car sits 4 people comfortably. Do you really want a third baby being subjected to a middle seat?"

"Mini van?"

"We ain't getting a mini van. Over my dead body.”

"Well we can't use the truck!”

"Ya can put a baby seat in the truck."

You giggle at the imagery. "You've thought about this a lot haven't you, Mr. Miller?”

He's going off about why 4 also is the perfect number in most rollercoaster carts, but you can't help but just look at him, smiling warmly to yourself that you get to call this man yours.

“—I love you."

He stops mid sentence. A little jumped, but never surprised by your words. He caresses your cheek lovingly, his soft lips finding yours. "I love you too," he mumbles just hushed enough for only you to hear.

Your foreheads touch, as if you wanted your minds to meld into one. You kiss him again, then again a little more firmly. And more. Again, more—more, again. Until you're making out with him a little too passionately, your hand drifting south to his caress his Daddy belly and his Daddy parts—

He hand grabs your wrist to stop you. “Honey,” he warns. There’s a glint in his eye that is just barely keeping his mature brain functioning. With your tits all swollen and hefty with milk, spilling out of that poor excuse of a bra and begging for attention, along with your ass spilling out of that g-string-looking triangle hiding your more than likely wet flower... He’s unsure if he can't keep his erection at bay if you keep acting like this while looking like this.

"I want you," you breathe, your lips crashing on his.

"I want you too,” he hums between your insatiable teeth biting along his tongue. “But..."

"But?"

"You said no sex at the beach."

"I know. I'm waiting for you to get off your lazy ass and take me in the truck."

-

Joel had never packed shit up quicker in his life. He’s bunched up bottles and towels and sunglasses and whatever junk he had brought all up in a towel with one arm and ran barefoot to the parking lot, his other hand dragging you as you wiggled excitedly behind him. He throws it all in the truckbed and unlatches the door for you, helping you up with a quick smack to your sandy asscheek. He gets in and rolls up the windows. Not bothering to check if anyone is around. 

You pull him close and start shoving his shorts down.

Its hot and rushed and promising—until you quickly realize your baby does not want any truck-fucking business happening because there's no possible configuration the two of you can get in to have sex with the sheer size of your tummy in the way.

He can sense the tears of frustration welling in your eyes, immediately caressing you as he buckles you in and revs the truck to life. 

“It’s okay, its okay, it's okay, we'll have car sex again after she's born, how's that? Just a beautiful girl you are. Too sexy like this. Need to do it on a comfortable bed, that’s all. Can't have ya all to myself whenever I want, huh?"

You nod, desperate to suck up all your tears. Quite frankly you know that you ugly cry, and Joel knows you ugly cry, and you don’t want to ugly cry. You remember that your pussy is wet and waiting to get home so he can spoil you properly.

He continues to adoring rub over your belly, a constant affection of his touch reminding you to stay level. With one hand gripping the wheel, eyes trained forward, he glides down over your naval and urges you to part your legs.

You slip back a bit, giving him the widened access he needs to dip his middle under your bikini bottoms and between your slick folds. You moan loudly, hips arching forward to get more of his finger rubbing along your swollen clit.

“Joooeeeeeel,” you whimper impatiently. He can’t dip any more than an inch of his finger in you due to the stretch of his arm over you belly. Instead, he swipes along your slit, gathering your wetness and smearing it on your nub.

"Ahhh, oh sweetheart, you’re just drippin' me." He retracts his hand and plunges his finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue over and over and sucking your juices clean off with a pop.

You eye his bulge stabbing through his trousers. "I wish I could suck you off right now." You whine, squeezing your achy breasts and hoping he can steal a glance at you.

"Mmm, those were good times, huh?"

You groan, frustrated. Turns out the baby was cock blocking you in numerous ways from doing things you enjoyed in your youth. Your “youth” feeling like it just a few months ago when driving BJs were your favorite way of nearly getting pulled over.

Eventually you do get home, and you throw the seatbelt over. This baby was NOT stealing truck-fucking from you. Not. Today. 

Joel can’t stop your rush. You’re clambering over the dash, knee pressing into Joel’s bulge painfully and elbowing his chest trying to get into a position.

"Okay wait—just—OW! Hon—s-urgghh— HOLD ON.”

You maneuver him to sit at the center of the back seat, with your back facing him and ass hovering over his cock. He’s protectively holding your waist in your squatting position. You sit back slowly, moaning as he penetrates your slit. With both hands on either side of the front seats shoulders in front of you, you begin gently rocking and bouncing.

He holds your belly, guiding you up and down, back and forth on his dick

"Fuck. Fuck, I love you, Joel. I cant wait—nnmmm—to have your baby!"

He grumbles in agreement, watching the space where his length disppears into your sopping cunt and comes back wet and shiny from your arousal.

It feels fantastic after waiting so long, being so pent up and needy for each other since—like 20 minutes ago.

And There's about 18 more seconds of this before you're slowing down. Joel can feel it too: the awkward clench, slipping out of you every few seconds, creaking in the truck's seat, the wet scratchiness of the sand still wedged there, your hand on your back from the pain, unable to bounce on him with the weight of you, the overall struggle that’s paving way for very shitty, very uncomfortable, very unsatisfying sex. You stop altogether and sit in his lap with his cock impaling you, almost casually.

"I'm tired,” you sigh in defeat, out of breath.

Joel just nods behind you. He kisses your shoulder blade and helps you off him.

Baby: 1.

You: 0

“Bed is still open, if ya want it…” you mumble into his whiskered cheek before planting a soft kiss.

His excitement jolts him into a frenzied leap out of the truck. “Bathroom, then bed, and I expect to see your legs spread and naked.”

You giggle and the two of you part in different directions in the house.

Joel quickly uses the bathroom before tripping over his clothes while stripping, eager to finally make you cry about how good he’s going to pleasure you.

Only to find you nestled on the couch curled up with your hand perched under your cheek, drooling into the pillow. Even despite your sunkissed skin, the dryness of your lips from the salty ocean air, the sand you complained between your folds and wedged up your ass by your bikini didn't matter. As the afternoon warm sun bleeds from the drapes lulled you to a gentle rest, secure and safe in your own home. 

Joel kneeled beside you, cupping your cheek soothingly.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

You stir slightly, smiling with a hazy half conscious state. "I know," you respond cheekily, before nuzzling into his hand again and falling back asleep.

Joel stays there for hours, one hand resting over your belly, just watching the woman he's fallen so hard for, wondering what in the world he's done to deserve such a blessing.

- - - -

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[sqtorux]

7 minutes, not in heaven just yet but still heavenly

“after death the human brain lives on for seven minutes to replay its best memories”. nanami can't help but think about what his last seven minutes would look like.

nanami had recalled you telling him about a silly trend going around about people making videos of what their presumed 7 minutes just before their complete death would be like.

as reluctant as nanami was to think of either of you dying, he finds himself pondering upon two questions: what would your and his last seven minutes look like?

one of the question was answered by you a few seconds later. “hm mine would probably be all with you, and some with my family… maybe our colleagues as well.”

at that time, it warmed his heart immensely even after knowing full well his best memories were with you too.

the other question however, wasn't answered. it was in the form of a revelation.

nanami was tired. his body and mind just barely holding onto the thin string of his duties he told himself to finish before succumbing into the lure of resting.

he was sure he was in an underground train station fighting and slashing disfigured humans with the little strength he has left but why did it also feel like dancing?

dancing? ah yes gliding through the air under the warm sunshine in … a beach? a beach in malaysia yes you had always wanted to go there with him.

the grainy sand beneath his feet and the cool air blowing through his clothes and into his skin made nanami feel like he was in paradise, just not yet though because you weren't here.

you weren't here.

suddenly he wasn't in a beach anymore. the grainy sand turned into hard concrete and the warm sunshine was replaced by luminescent artificial lights. he was no longer dancing but grasping into his cursed tool, the blood of hundreds dripping down from it.

and yet you were here. the distress and horrified expression on your face made his heart ache. nanami observed you panting in exhaustion, you must have ran.

and finally there were tears flowing from your eyes, all the way down your cheeks and onto the hard concrete floor. he wishes he could wipe them away and hold you tighter than he ever did before.

but he couldn't bring himself to move. a hand was on his shoulder, the hand of the cursed spirit who was responsible for the numerous disfigured humans he had forced himself to kill.

he called out to you meekly observing how your body forces itself to look into his eyes despite freezing in place.

“i’d always save the last dance for you.” he hears himself say. he wanted to make things right and apologize profusely for ever letting you cry so painfully like this, especially over him.

“i don't think i have 7 minutes.”

mahito’s idle transfiguration would've allowed some level of consciousness to the humans he disfigured but nanami wasn't just a human. he was a sorcerer and neither was he disfigured.

“... 7 seconds.” and then he was gone.

the world was never fair. it was always ruthless and ugly but amidst that, it was also kind. kind enough to let you meet nanami.

but in a moment like this it felt like the world was purposely allowing you to feel this way, just so it could chew you up and spit you out only to step on you and laugh at your misery.

nanami’s last 7 seconds were with you, his beloved. perhaps returning to the sandy beach with warm sunshine, playing blissfully in the sea water, its currents pushing you both a little more closer, falling in love a little more deeper.

wrote this in a haze i need u all to suffer with me. i miss kento sm i will curse gege to no end </3

[bamgyuuuri]

Hi Amia mylove <3 How are you? hope you feeling well.xoxo So I saw you post that we can make a request sooooo here i am... I was listening a taylor swift song (aka Sl*t) and melt at the "In a world of boy he's a gentleman" and I was wondering If you could make a yeonjun or taehyun pov about it. here's a little suggestion <3 The dazzling lights of the Fashion show danced across the venue, casting shimmering reflections off the luxurious fabrics and golden décor. I was there, dressed to impress, trying to soak in the grandeur of it all. Yeonjun/Taehyun was also in the crowd, exuding effortless charm as he mingled and enjoyed the spectacle.

But midway through the show, the weight of everything overwhelmed me, and tears began to blur my vision. Just when I thought I could slip away unnoticed, a gentle yet familiar voice interrupted my spiral.

"Are you okay?" Yeonjun's / Taehyun's warm eyes met mine, his concern genuine.

I nodded, though my shaky breath betrayed me. Instead of walking away, he stayed, his presence grounding me. He didn’t push for answers; he just stayed, silently offering comfort.

Minutes passed, and slowly, my tears subsided. Yeonjun's/Taehyun's, noticing the calm returning to me, gently patted my head with a soft smile. "You're strong," he whispered before disappearing back into the crowd, leaving me with a heart pounding louder than ever. And the rest is all you can think<3 Love your story and the way you ADD the aesthesis pics relatable with the vibe too. Takecare <3 Jia.

⤷ flamingo pink, sunrise boulevard ┈ cyj.

pairings and tags. stranger!yeonjun x fashiondesigner!reader ft. bestfriend!yunjin . strangers to ??? slowburn . mentions of reader being anxious . yeonjun just being the sweetest man ever . yunjin too!! reader has imposter syndrome . meet cute . fond!jun . not 100% proofread!

word count. 10.5k

short note ... JIAAA omg this ask is so wonderful omg thank u so much for sending me this 🙏 your suggestion alone is already so good are you kidding?!?! i got carried away again help i’m so sorry it took so long T_T still, i hope you like it <3

the world of high fashion had always been more than a dream; it was an obsession. 

growing up, you’d fill every scrap of paper you could find with sketches of flowing gowns, structured suits, and intricate details that you imagined would one day captivate an audience. while other kids talked about their favorite celebrities, you admired designers, memorizing the way their collections evolved over the seasons.

you’d sit for hours in front of a tiny screen, watching grainy videos of runway shows, completely mesmerized. the way the fabric moved under the lights, how each design told a story, and the applause that followed—it all felt like magic. you dreamed of the day your creations would make it to those very runways, carried with grace by the world’s finest models.

but as you grew older, reality set in. 

talent alone wasn’t enough. you needed money to attend the right schools, connections to open the right doors, and the kind of opportunities that didn’t just fall into anyone’s lap. no matter how much you poured your heart into your work, the glittering world of high fashion remained frustratingly out of reach.

still, you didn’t stop creating. despite the constant reminder that you didn’t have the right pedigree or the right financial backing, you kept sketching. your tiny apartment became a refuge, the four walls an oasis where your imagination was free to roam without limitations. 

the clutter of fabric swatches, sketchbooks, and sewing supplies was a sign of your dedication, even if no one else saw it. it was in that small space, away from the world’s judgment, that your designs took shape. here, you were free to imagine worlds, to dream up creations that could make people feel something, even if those dreams never materialized into anything more than the pages of your sketchbook.

it was one of those quiet afternoons, the kind where the golden light of the sun filtered lazily through your windows, casting long shadows across your desk. you sat hunched over your sketchbook, pencil in hand, lost in the flow of your thoughts as you worked on your latest design.

but then, just as the idea you were sketching started to come to life, a sharp knock broke through your concentration. you paused, glancing toward the door with a furrowed brow. it was unusual to get visitors, especially during the middle of the day.

at first, you thought it was just a neighbor—maybe someone needing to borrow something or asking for a quick favor. you returned to your sketchbook, dismissing it as nothing more than a small interruption. but then, a second knock came, this time even louder, more insistent. your head snapped up, and you could hear the unmistakable sound of a voice calling your name, bright and full of energy.

"open up! it’s me!!" it was yunjin, her voice unmistakable and full of excitement, as though she had just walked in on the biggest surprise. the sound of her knocking grew more playful—she was determined to get your attention no matter what.

you sighed, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. you hadn’t expected a visit, but yunjin was the kind of person who could show up unannounced and immediately make everything feel lighter, even if you hadn’t been in the mood for company. shaking your head affectionately, you pushed your chair back and stood up.

when you opened the door, yunjin stood there, a whirlwind of energy and excitement. she had a bag of snacks in one hand, her phone and handbag on the other, and an expression that was equal parts mischief and joy.

"finally!" yunjin exclaimed, bursting through the door before you even had a chance to greet her. “i was starting to think you’d locked yourself away for good, like some kind of mysterious artist living off nothing but coffee and existential dread. tell me you’ve eaten something today.”

you raised an eyebrow, rolling your eyes as a laugh bubbled up. "hello to you too, yunjin. and yes, i’ve eaten. thanks for asking, mother."

“oh, sure you have,” she said with a dramatic eye-roll, tossing a bag of snacks onto your counter with the flair of someone who had just conquered a great battle. "because the last time i visited, you were living off instant noodles and the sheer willpower of your creativity."

you crossed your arms, feigning offense. “hey, instant noodles are versatile!”

“sure they are,” she replied, not missing a beat as she rummaged through the bag like a woman on a mission. “well, lucky for you, i brought real food. pastries, chips, and—wait for it—fancy chocolates from my trip last week! you’re welcome.”

you laughed, shaking your head as you closed the door behind her, watching her make herself right at home. yunjin had always been like this—chaotic, energetic, and somehow always knowing when you needed a little bit of sunshine in your day.

“so, what’s the occasion?” you asked, leaning against the counter with a raised brow as she went about unpacking her treasure trove of snacks.

"what, can’t a girl visit her bestfriend without an ulterior motive?" she said, batting her lashes and feigning innocence in the most exaggerated way possible. "besides, what more could you possibly need?"

“well, maybe a chance to finally finish my sketches without being interrupted by you and your endless energy?” you teased, but the smile on your face betrayed you.

“impossible,” she replied with a dramatic gasp. "i bring joy, creativity, and snacks—not interruptions."

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “not when that best friend is currently occupied and you’re… you know, you.”

she gasped again, clutching her hand to her chest. “wow, the disrespect,” she said, feigning hurt. “but fine, if you must know, i do have a reason for being here.”

“i knew it,” you teased, though you couldn’t help but lean in, genuinely curious. “what is it?”

yunjin paused dramatically, glancing over her shoulder as though deciding how to reveal the greatest secret she’d ever had. her eyes gleamed mischievously, and she drew in a deep, theatrical breath, making sure to keep you hanging on every second. “you know how we talked about that crazy, exclusive fashion show happening next week?”

you nodded slowly, your mind already running through the possibilities. of course you knew about it—how could you not?

everyone in the fashion world had heard whispers about the event, the kind of event where designers showed off their best collections, where the elite mingled in their designer clothes. you’d followed every piece of news you could, dreaming of one day being part of something like that. “yeah, i remember. sounds… well, incredibly out of reach, but i do look forward to seeing snippets of the show online.”

she raised an eyebrow, her gaze filled with a spark you knew so well. "you think so?" she asked, her tone lighter, teasing. "well, i might have... something that could change your mind about that."

you tilted your head, your curiosity immediately piqued. “what are you talking about?”

yunjin didn’t answer right away. instead, she began rummaging through her bag, her hands diving in and out of the various pockets with exaggerated slowness. you watched, your breath catching in your throat, as her movements became more deliberate, each second of suspense building higher. her grin stretched wider as if she was savoring every moment.

you raised an eyebrow, amused, but also growing impatient. "seriously, just show me already."

she finally seemed to have found what she was ‘looking’ for, her fingers brushing against the envelope you hadn’t noticed earlier. your gaze locked onto it as she slowly pulled it out, the sleek, pristine exterior catching the light as if it were glowing in her hands. her expression was unreadable now—calm, composed, as though she was holding something sacred.

“this,” yunjin says, drawing out the moment to an excruciatingly slow pause, “is your ticket to one of the most exclusive fashion shows of the year.” her grin returned in full force, her excitement palpable, though she made no attempt to rush you. she just let the silence build as you tried to process what she was saying.

you blinked rapidly, unable to wrap your mind around it. "wait, are you—" you started to ask, but the words caught in your throat.

“oh, yes,” yunjin said, cutting you off with a wink, “a friend of mine owed me a big favor, and the first person i thought of when the opportunity came up was you, so..” she added, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, “you’re going.”

your heart stopped. you stared at the envelope, disbelief swirling inside you. this couldn’t be real. “no way,” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly. “are you serious?”

yunjin’s grin only grew wider as she held the envelope out toward you, her excitement now matching yours, if not surpassing it. “absolutely serious. next week. front and center, you’re going!”

you glanced at the envelope, your fingers suddenly feeling too cold to touch it. everything you had dreamed of seemed so much more intimidating now that it was right in front of you. the thought of standing among the glamorous people at the show, of being seen, made your stomach churn.

you gulped as you finally found the courage to speak. “but what if... what if i don’t belong there? what if i embarrass myself? i’m not.. i’m not even sure i’ll fit in. i don’t even know what to wear—what if i’m not dressed properly for something so important?”

yunjin’s expression softened as she noticed the self-doubt clouding your tone. gently, she cupped your face with her hands, guiding you to meet her eyes. “hey,” she said, her voice calm yet full of conviction, “listen to me. you are more than enough to be in that world. more than enough. you’ve got the talent, the passion, the drive… everything it takes. don’t let anything trick you into thinking otherwise.”

her thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, her touch tender yet firm, as if to emphasize every word. “you’ve worked so hard for this, and you’ve earned it…! the world’s ready for you. you just need to believe it too.”

you tried to process her words, but the nagging voice of doubt still lingered in your mind. sensing your hesitation, yunjin’s smile softened even more. “if you’re worried about the outfit, you don’t need to stress about that either. i’ve got your back. i’ll help you pick something that not only fits perfectly, but makes you feel just as confident and amazing as you truly are, okay? you’ve got this, i promise.”

you blinked, the weight on your chest starting to lift just a little, replaced by a sense of warmth. her belief in you was like a steady anchor, grounding you, soothing the swirl of anxiety that had taken over your thoughts.

“thank you, yunjin,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as a lump formed in your throat. “i... i’m more than thankful.. i owe you a lot...”

yunjin’s smile returned, this time brighter and filled with warmth. she reached out and ruffled your hair playfully. “you don’t have to worry about that. i’ve got you, always. now, let’s get you ready to own this moment, yeah? we've got lots to do!”

with her confidence bolstering yours, you could feel a flicker of excitement slowly replacing the doubt. yunjin’s belief in you was more than just comforting—it was empowering. for the first time in a long while, you let yourself imagine that maybe, just maybe, this dream could be real. ꒰🍦꒱

the next few days blurred into an endless cycle of preparation. sketches, plans, and ideas occupied your waking hours, but amidst all of it, yunjin remained your anchor—a constant source of energy and reassurance. when she declared it was finally time to shop for the perfect outfit, you knew you were in for an adventure.

“i’ve cleared my whole day for this,” yunjin announced the moment you stepped into her car. she was wearing her usual bold confidence like a second skin, her oversized sunglasses perched atop her head. “today is all about you, and i won’t rest until we’ve found the one.”

“the one?” you echoed, buckling your seatbelt. “sounds like you’re taking me wedding dress shopping or something.”

“same thing, babe,” she quipped, tossing you a grin. “except instead of walking down the aisle, you’ll be strutting into a room full of people who need to know how incredible you are.”

her words settled in your chest, warm and reassuring, but before you could respond, she floored the accelerator. yunjin didn’t just drive; she commanded the road, weaving through traffic with a confidence that matched her personality.

the first store she dragged you into was as intimidating as you’d feared—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and racks of clothing that screamed “luxury.” the air even smelled expensive, a faint mix of bergamot and something floral. yunjin took one glance around and immediately zeroed in on a display of sequined dresses.

“you know,” you mused as you glanced around, “this place has incredible tailoring. look at that dart placement on that jacket—it’s genius.”

yunjin rolled her eyes fondly. “of course you’d notice the stitching before the silhouette. come on, focus. we’re not here to critique; we’re here to conquer.”

she dragged you toward a rack of outfits, pulling out pieces with the fervor of someone on a treasure hunt. “this,” yunjin then declared, plucking a vibrant emerald-green gown from the rack and holding it against you. “imagine walking into the show in this. jaws would drop.”

you raised an eyebrow, eyeing the dress skeptically. “jaws would drop because they’d think i’m trying to blind them.”

yunjin rolled her eyes, thrusting the dress into your arms. “try it on. trust me, you’ll look like a goddess.”

you sighed but complied, disappearing into the fitting room. when you emerged, yunjin gasped dramatically, her hands flying to her mouth. “oh my god. you’re stunning!”

“i look like a disco ball."

“a chic disco ball,” she corrected, circling you like a fashion critic. “but okay, maybe this isn’t the one. next!”

the shopping spree continued in a similar fashion—yunjin pulling outrageous outfits, you reluctantly trying them on, and both of you dissolving into laughter more often than not. at one point, she handed you a pair of neon yellow boots and insisted they were “the future of fashion.”

“yunjin, these look like construction worker boots dipped in highlighter,” you said, holding them up as though they might bite.

“and that’s why they’re iconic!” she shot back, her grin wide. “come on, just try them on. i need to see how they look with those pants you’re wearing.”

you groaned but slipped them on anyway. when you stepped out of the fitting room, yunjin burst out laughing so hard she nearly doubled over, clutching her stomach. “oh my god,” she wheezed, “you look like a high-fashion traffic cone.”

“you’re the one who told me to try them!” you shot back, kicking one foot out in mock frustration. “this is your fault.”

she wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing. “okay, okay, i admit it. maybe those were a bit... much.” then, her expression softened, and she stepped closer, fixing the hem of your sweater. “but seriously, you’re making everything look good. even those boots. you’re incredible.”

her sudden sincerity caught you off guard, and you felt a small, embarrassed smile tug at your lips. “you’re only saying that because i’m letting you drag me around like a dress-up doll.”

“nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “i mean it. you’re going to own that fashion show. they won’t know what hit them.”

with her words buoying you, you followed her through store after store, trying on an endless array of dresses, suits, shoes, and accessories. yunjin’s playful critiques kept you laughing the whole time.

“too sparkly. you’re not auditioning for a pop group,” she said of one dress.

“too boring. you’re not a corporate intern,” she dismissed another.

“now this—” she held up a dramatic cape-like jacket, “this says, ‘i am the moment.’”

“this says, ‘i’m about to take flight,’” you countered, shaking your head.

but amidst all the jokes and theatrics, there were moments where yunjin’s care for you shone through. when you hesitated to try on a fitted dress, worrying it might not suit you, she gently nudged you forward. “just try it,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “you’ll see what i see.”

and when you emerged wearing the dress, her reaction wasn’t over-the-top or playful this time. she simply smiled, a warm, genuine smile that made your chest tighten. “you’re beautiful,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “you belong there just right.”

you stared at her, momentarily at a loss for words. “thank you,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t thank me,” she said, squeezing your hand. “just believe it.”

as the day wore on, the two of you eventually found the outfit—a sleek black dress with intricate detailing that was both elegant and bold. when you tried it on, you knew immediately it was the one.

yunjin clapped her hands together, beaming. “there it is! you’re going to look so good in this. it’s perfect.”

“you really think so?” you asked, turning to check the mirror for the hundredth time.

“no, i know so,” she said, her confidence unwavering. “and when you walk into that show, every single person in that room is going to see what i’ve seen all along—that you’re amazing.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “you’re too much sometimes, you know that?”

“and you love me for it,” she shot back, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “now let’s get out of here before i bankrupt us both.”

as you left the store, bags in hand, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, a little braver. with yunjin by your side, the once-daunting prospect of the fashion show now felt... exciting. and as she launched into a story about some guy who’d cut her off in traffic earlier, you realized how lucky you were to have her by your side. ꒰🍦꒱

before you knew it, the day of the fashion show had arrived. the morning sun streamed through your apartment windows, casting a golden glow on the carefully chosen outfit hanging nearby—a testament to days of preparation, laughter, and yunjin’s unyielding faith in you.

though she couldn’t physically accompany you, her words of encouragement replayed in your head, steadying your nerves like a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“you’re going to kill it,” she’d said, her tone carrying a conviction that felt foreign to your own heart. “every single person in that room will wish they were as talented as you. just remember that.”

you replayed her words in your head like a mantra as you stepped out of the taxi, but the sight that greeted you made your stomach drop.

the venue was alive with energy, a level of grandeur you hadn’t quite prepared yourself for. flashing lights from paparazzi cameras created a chaotic strobe effect, casting fleeting shadows on the impeccably dressed crowd. there were celebrities you vaguely recognized, important figures with an air of effortless elegance, and designers moving with a sense of purpose that made your every hesitant step feel painfully out of place.

your chest tightened as you clutched the sleek envelope in your hand, the weight of it suddenly unbearable. “okay,” you whispered to yourself, taking a shaky breath. “you can do this. yunjin believes in you, so… you believe in you too.”

but your pep talk was cut short when someone brushed past you, their shoulder colliding with yours hard enough to make you stumble.

“sorry,” you mumbled instinctively, though the person didn’t so much as glance in your direction, their focus elsewhere.

your cheeks burned, even though no one else seemed to notice the exchange. pulling your bag closer to your side, you attempted to regroup, scanning the crowd for any indication of where you were supposed to go.

but there were no clear signs, no friendly staff member waving you toward an entrance. just a thrumming mass of glamour and purpose, every single person moving with an ease you envied.

you hesitated at the base of the grand staircase leading to the main doors, uncertainty rooting you in place. should you just walk in? was there someone you needed to check in with first?

gathering what little courage you had left, you decided to follow a group of attendees who were flashing similar envelopes to yours at a security guard near the entrance. their polished confidence made you feel like a lost child in comparison, but you forced yourself to mimic their movements.

“invitation?” the guard asked when you approached, his tone curt but professional.

you fumbled with the envelope, nearly dropping it in your haste to hand it over. “here—sorry—here you go,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

the guard scanned it with a practiced efficiency before nodding. “straight ahead, through the main doors,” he instructed, already turning his attention to the next person in line.

you murmured a quiet “thank you” and stepped inside, only to be immediately overwhelmed by the sheer opulence of the space.

the venue was breathtaking, a gilded labyrinth of elegance and extravagance. golden chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, their soft glow casting a warm light over the sea of attendees. the hum of conversation filled the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses.

your earlier nerves returned with a vengeance as you tried to navigate the room, clutching your bag like a lifeline. every step felt tentative, as though you were walking on eggshells, terrified of drawing attention to yourself.

you scanned the crowd for any indication of where you were supposed to go, your eyes landing on a table near the back where a few attendees were collecting what looked like name cards. relief flooded you as you headed in that direction, only to falter when you realized there was a long line.

“of course,” you muttered under your breath, taking your place at the end of the queue.

when it was finally your turn, you stepped up to the table, your anxiety flaring under the attendant’s sharp gaze.

“name?” she asked briskly, her tone clipped but not unkind.

you stammered out your name, feeling your cheeks flush as she flipped through the cards with an almost agonizing slowness. each passing second stretched longer, the weight of her silence pressing down on your chest.

finally, she found your card and handed it to you with a curt nod. “row c, seat 13,” she said before turning her attention to the next person in line.

you stared at the card in your hand, a mix of relief and dread coursing through you. “row c,” you murmured to yourself, your voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

now came the next challenge: finding it.

the seating area was a maze of rows and sections, each one more crowded than the last. you wove through the throng of attendees, muttering soft apologies as you accidentally bumped into shoulders and bags. every misstep felt amplified, your nerves magnifying the smallest of stumbles.

“excuse me,” you said softly, trying to squeeze past a particularly dense group of people. when they didn’t move, you tried again, louder this time, only to be met with indifferent glances.

your frustration bubbled just beneath the surface, but you swallowed it down, determined not to let it show. instead, you approached a staff member stationed near the aisle. “hi, um, can you point me to row c?” you asked, your voice laced with desperation.

the staff member gestured vaguely to the left. “over there, by the center aisle.”

you nodded your thanks and hurried in the indicated direction, only to find yourself once again weaving through clusters of people. your pulse quickened as you scanned the rows, your eyes darting between the seat numbers and the impatient glances of those around you.

just when you were about to lose hope, you finally spotted your seat. never have you ever felt this glad to see the number 13 in your life. a wave of relief washed over you as you sank into the plush chair, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield.

your heart was still racing, but for the first time since arriving, you allowed yourself to take a deep breath. you’d made it. barely, but you’d made it.

as you adjusted your posture, trying to appear more composed than you felt, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered, maybe you do belong here after all.

you now watch as the venue slowly fills up with people, the hum of conversation around you growing louder and more animated with each passing moment. the seats beside you begin to fill as well, the air charged with an excitement you’re not entirely sure you can match.

your hands grip the edge of your seat as you try to steady your breathing. it should be comforting to see others settling in, but instead, it only makes your chest tighten. the reality of the moment is starting to sink in: you’re here. the event is real. and soon, you’ll be sitting through a show filled with people who belong to this world, while you’re still wondering if you truly do, too.

your thoughts spiral, every worst-case scenario playing out in your mind. what if someone talks to you? what if you say something wrong? what if you trip on your way out?

“okay, stop,” you mutter under your breath, shaking your head as though you can physically dislodge the anxiety from your mind. you take a deep breath, willing the oxygen to calm your racing heart. “you’re fine. you’re fine. it’s just another room of people, that’s all.”

but just as you’re beginning to regain some semblance of control, your nerves decide to betray you in the most inconvenient way possible.

you feel the telltale pressure building, and your stomach drops. of course the anxiety wasn’t enough—now you have to pee.

you glance around the venue, trying to locate the restrooms without looking too obvious about it. but the thought of weaving through the growing crowd again makes you want to crawl under your seat and hide.

“great timing,” you mutter sarcastically, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “just perfect.”

you sit there, locked in an internal battle that’s as ridiculous as it is frustrating. your mind races through every possible consequence of leaving your seat. what if i lose my spot? what if someone takes it? what if i come back and look completely out of place? but none of those worries are quite as pressing as the growing discomfort making it increasingly hard to sit still.

you cross and uncross your legs, trying to buy yourself a little more time, but it’s no use. the urge is only getting stronger, and you know you can’t wait until after the show.

“ugh, fine,” you groan under your breath, earning a curious glance from the person sitting two seats away. you shoot them an apologetic smile before rising reluctantly to your feet. “just my luck,” you mutter to yourself as you gather your courage and step into the growing tide of people.

navigating through the crowd feels like threading a needle—while blindfolded. you weave your way through clusters of people, murmuring “excuse me” after “sorry,” but your politeness doesn’t seem to be contagious.

a sharp elbow clips your shoulder, and a tall man doesn’t even glance back as he strides past. “oh, sure, it’s not like i’m here or anything,” you grumble under your breath, rubbing the spot.

as you inch closer to the hallway that leads to the restrooms, a pair of women standing in the middle of the walkway are too engrossed in their conversation to notice they’re blocking the path. you hesitate for a moment, then clear your throat gently.

“um, excuse me,” you say, trying to sound as polite as possible.

they both glance at you with identical raised eyebrows, as though you’ve just interrupted a royal decree. one of them steps aside with a huff, the other muttering something you can’t quite catch—but it doesn’t sound kind.

“thank you so much,” you say with a tight smile, though your tone drips with sarcasm. they don’t respond, already turning back to their conversation as if you don’t exist.

you sigh, pushing forward and silently willing yourself to get through this without any further incidents. but as you turn the corner, another hurdle awaits—a woman balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other. she’s standing directly in front of the sign pointing to the restrooms, completely oblivious to the fact that she’s blocking the way.

“excuse me,” you try again, louder this time.

she glances up, frowns, and moves just enough for you to squeeze by, muttering something about “people in a hurry.”

“yeah, sorry for having basic human needs,” you mutter under your breath as you finally spot the restroom door like it’s a beacon of hope in a stormy sea.

the second you finally finish your business, you feel the sudden relief of having taken care of that problem. you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart. but as you wash your hands, the booming sound of music filters through the walls. the show is starting. right now.

you glance nervously at the mirror, quickly dabbing at your face to fix any stray smudges of makeup. with shaky hands, you apply a final coat of lipstick, then press your palms against the countertop to steady yourself.

okay, okay, you’ve got this. the show’s starting, but you’re still here, still in it. still feeling a strange sense of excitement that makes your heart race even faster. the overwhelming mix of anticipation and nerves makes you feel lightheaded, like you could burst into action any moment.

with a deep breath, you push the door open and make a beeline for the hallway, your steps quickening as you feel the pressure of time.

but as you reach the end of the hallway, you freeze.

the venue was already packed.

no way.

the moment you step back into the main room, it’s like hitting a brick wall of bodies. people are everywhere—standing in groups, chatting animatedly, glancing at their phones, adjusting outfits, and striding toward their seats. you try to push through, but it’s like swimming upstream.

the sea of people presses in from all sides, making every step feel like a struggle. you try to sidestep a couple who are blocking the narrow path ahead, but they’re moving in tandem, oblivious to your presence. perfect.

your anxiety was beginning to creep back up again. i’m never going to get back to my seat at this rate.

you glance over at the packed rows, scanning for your spot, but there’s no way to tell where you’re supposed to go. your seat is just another tiny speck in the ocean of people.

you start moving in the direction of the seats, but it’s like trying to navigate through a dense fog. the buzz of chatter and the low hum of the music overwhelm your senses, making it even harder to focus. you have to keep reminding yourself that you’re actually here, that you’ve worked so hard to get to this point, but the sheer chaos around you makes it feel like you’re suffocating.

why is this so difficult? you think, frustration starting to bubble up. i should be enjoying this, right?

every time you think you’re getting closer to an opening in the crowd, someone else steps in front of you, forcing you to backtrack or dodge around them. this isn’t happening right now, is it?

as you tried to push through the crowd again, your determination was slipping with each passing second. you could feel the panic rising in your chest, and despite all the preparation, despite all the effort yunjin had put into getting you here, you felt utterly lost. 

this was supposed to be the moment. you thought, but the weight of the situation was crushing you, and even yunjin’s encouraging words were starting to feel distant, like they didn’t belong in this overwhelming mess of people and lights.

you tried to steady yourself, but the crowd was relentless. and then, without warning, your heel caught on someone’s foot, and you were falling, knees slamming against the hard floor with a painful jolt.

you barely had time to register the fall before the sound of laughter from nearby voices filled your ears. you quickly glanced up, hoping for some sign of help, but no one made a move to assist you. the people around you seemed too preoccupied with their own lives to even notice you struggling.

a lump formed in your throat as you slowly pushed yourself up, hands shaking as you planted them on the floor to lift yourself back to your feet. each movement felt like a struggle, like everything was working against you. your breathing was shallow, your heart racing in your chest.

you stood there for a moment, hands gripping the edge of the nearest chair, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts spinning through your mind. you could hear the music in the distance, the thumping bass marking the beginning of the show.

it’s starting. it’s really starting.

but all the excitement you’d felt earlier evaporated into a thick fog of frustration and helplessness. the models were already walking down the runway, the crowd shifting in their place to watch, but all you could do was stand there, neck craned, doing your best to balance on your toes, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of anything, but it was impossible. the people in front of you were taller, wider, blocking every possible view.

your shoulders slumped as the tears threatened to spill over. this was it. all this preparation, all the effort... for nothing.

your breath hitched as you felt the tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. this was the moment where everything seemed to fall apart. you couldn’t see, you couldn’t even get to your seat, and you were starting to feel like an imposter in the midst of all these people who belonged.  a shaky exhale escaped your lips as you glanced around, searching desperately for something—anything—to hold onto. but all you saw were backs turned to you, figures moving seamlessly, like they were all part of a rhythm you couldn’t quite catch. the room felt like it was swallowing you whole, and the tears blurred your vision, making the dazzling lights above seem like distant stars. you bit the inside of your cheek, a futile attempt to pull yourself together, but even that wasn’t enough. the weight of it all was crashing down, and for a moment, you thought you might drown in it.

but before you could spiral any further into your self-doubt, a gentle but firm hand suddenly landed on your shoulder, making you freeze in your tracks. the touch was unexpected, like an anchor that yanked you out of the chaotic whirlwind of your thoughts, pulling you back from the brink of complete panic. your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, everything else disappeared—the crowd, the overwhelming noise, the pulsating lights of the venue. it was just that hand, warm and steady against your skin, grounding you in a way that felt both foreign and comforting all at once.

you turned, startled, and found yourself looking up into a pair of dark eyes, calm and steady, as though they could see right through the chaos in your head. there was something in the way he looked at you that made everything, just for a second, seem less daunting.

“hey,” he said, his voice low and reassuring, “you alright?”

you blinked up at him, unable to speak at first. the confusion, the stress, your glossy eyes, the overwhelming feeling of being out of place all mingled together, but his calm presence was like a lifeline.

he offered you a small, comforting smile. “you look like you could use a hand.”

you swallowed hard, still trying to calm the rapid thud of your heart, but the tightness in your chest refused to loosen. the noise around you felt deafening now, and you could feel the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. you blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but the room was spinning, the air suffocating.

“i—i’m sorry,” you stuttered, your voice shaky as you attempted to explain, the words tumbling out in a rush. “i’m... i’m lost. i can’t... i can’t find my seat, and i don’t know how to—i... i’m not supposed to be here. i-i can’t see anything, and everything’s so crowded, and i just—” you stopped, the words sticking in your throat, feeling hopelessly tangled. your hands trembled at your sides, and your breath hitched in your chest.

a concerned look immediately fell upon the man’s face, his brows furrowing as he watched you struggle to steady yourself. without hesitation, he reached forward, gently taking your trembling hands in his own. the warmth of his palms against yours was grounding, and he brought your hands together, holding them securely in his grasp.

“hey, hey,” he said softly, his voice steady and low, “it’s okay. just breathe for me, alright? just one deep breath. in through your nose, out through your mouth.”

his thumbs brushed lightly over the backs of your hands as if to anchor you further, his touch firm yet reassuring. “it’s alright,” he continued, his tone calm and measured, “you’re okay. i’ve got you. take it one breath at a time.”

you hesitated, your chest still tight, but his steady presence made it easier to focus on his words. closing your eyes briefly, you forced yourself to follow his instructions. a deep inhale through your nose, then a slow, shaky exhale through your mouth.

“there you go,” he encouraged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “one more for me. just like that. in... and out.”

you repeated the process, your breaths gradually evening out. the storm of panic that had consumed you began to ebb, leaving behind a fragile sense of clarity.

“that’s it,” he said softly, his hands still holding yours. “you’re doing great.”

you opened your eyes, the sting of tears still present but no longer overwhelming. his gaze met yours, steady and full of kindness, and for the first time that night, you felt like you weren’t entirely alone.

the man offered you yet another one of his gentle smiles before his free hand disappeared into his pocket. he pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, holding it out for you to take, the motion so natural and considerate that it caught you off guard.

“here,” he said softly, as though he knew you were on the verge of refusing. “it’s clean, don’t worry.”

you sniffled, hesitating for a moment, but the kind look in his eyes left you no choice but to accept. “thank you,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you took the handkerchief.

it felt soft and well-cared-for, and you pressed it gently against your cheeks, wiping away the tears that clung stubbornly to your skin. as your vision cleared, you instinctively looked up to return the handkerchief, but then...

oh.

your breath caught in your throat as you got a proper look at him for the first time.

he was... wow.

the kind of breathtaking you’d read about in novels or seen in perfectly lit photoshoots. his features were sharp and refined, yet there was something warm and approachable about the way he carried himself. his dark eyes held an undeniable depth, a mix of intensity and softness that made it hard to look away. his hair framed his face effortlessly, and the hint of a grin playing on his lips seemed almost out of place with how gentle he’d been just moments ago.

as if sensing your flusteredness, the man let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and surprisingly soothing. his head tilted slightly, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he nodded in understanding. "it’s okay," he said gently, his voice carrying an unspoken reassurance that he wasn’t judging you. "just making sure you’re really alright."

you managed a small smile, your heart still beating a little too quickly—not just from the chaos of moments ago, but now from the way he was looking at you, like you were someone worth paying attention to.

just then, the commentator’s voice echoed through the venue, announcing the next set of pieces about to grace the runway. the subtle shift in the atmosphere reminded you where you were, though it didn’t stop your stomach from flipping nervously all over again.

“looks like we don’t have much time,” the man said, his gaze flicking toward the direction of the commentator’s voice before returning to you. without hesitation, he extended his hand, palm up, his fingers slightly curled in invitation. “come on. let’s get you somewhere with a better view.”

you stared at his hand, your breath hitching slightly as hesitation crept in. could you really trust him? this stranger who had been kind to you when no one else even noticed? your fingers twitched at your sides, uncertainty coiling in your chest. what if this was some elaborate prank? or worse, what if you embarrassed yourself even more by blindly following someone you didn’t know?

but then you looked up, meeting his gaze again. his eyes were steady, unyielding yet soft, as if silently telling you that it was okay. there was no rush, no pressure—just the quiet reassurance of someone willing to help.

with a deep breath, you slowly reached out, your hand brushing against his before you fully placed it in his. his grip was firm but careful, his warmth grounding you instantly.

“there we go,” he said, his lips curving into a gentle smile, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “trust me, you won’t regret it.”

꒰🍦꒱

as he led you through the crowd, weaving effortlessly between clusters of people, you couldn’t help but cast a skeptical glance around. the farther you went, the more unfamiliar the path seemed, and unease began to bubble in your chest.

“uh, where exactly are we going?” you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty as you noticed the thinning crowd around you. the lights grew dimmer, and the sounds of chatter and camera flashes faded into the background.

he glanced back at you, his smile still intact but now carrying a hint of mischief. “someplace better.”

“better?” you echoed, eyebrows furrowing as you looked around the increasingly exclusive-looking hallway. “this... doesn’t look like a public area.”

he chuckled lightly at your tone, the sound rich and melodic. “just trust me,” he said again, his grip on your hand steady as he led you past a velvet rope that you were almost certain regular attendees weren’t allowed to cross.

“this is off-limits, isn’t it?” you pressed, your voice dropping to a whisper as your eyes darted around, half-expecting someone to stop you. “are we going to get in trouble?”

“relax,” he said, his tone reassuring but laced with amusement. “you’re with me.”

“and who exactly are you?” you muttered under your breath, half to yourself, but he must’ve heard because he chuckled again, this time more quietly, as though enjoying your skepticism.

finally, after navigating a winding staircase and passing through an unassuming doorway, he stepped aside and gestured for you to step forward. you hesitated, peering inside, but the sight that greeted you left you momentarily speechless.

the balcony lounge stretched out before you, a space elevated high above the main floor. plush seating and dim lighting exuded exclusivity, while the glass barrier at the edge provided a breathtaking view of the entire venue.

“wow,” you breathed out, unable to stop the word from tumbling out as you stepped closer to the glass barrier. the view was breathtaking—perfect in every sense. from here, you could see the entire venue laid out like a grand tapestry. the runway stretched out in a seamless line, illuminated by artful lights that bathed it in a radiant glow. models moved gracefully, their outfits shimmering like living art, and the audience’s reactions created a living pulse that filled the space.

your fingers lightly brushed against the cool glass as you leaned closer, your wide eyes drinking in every detail. “this is... unbelievable. it’s perfect,” you murmured, almost to yourself, as though afraid the words would break the magic of the moment.

behind you, the man watched, his grin growing. he leaned his elbows on the railing, his posture casual, but his gaze was anything but. he seemed entirely captivated—not by the view of the runway, but by you.

his amusement deepened as you watches you press a hand over your heart, still marveling at the scene below. the way you took it all in, so openly and earnestly, made him forget, for a fleeting moment, where you even were.

he let his gaze linger—on the way the soft lighting kissed your features, the faint remnants of tears you’d wiped away earlier adding a delicate vulnerability to your expression. he found himself studying the small details: the curve of your lips as you whispered to yourself, the way your fingers traced the glass as though committing the view to memory.

but then you turned abruptly, catching him mid-thought. your eyes, still wide with wonder, locked with his. his breath hitched slightly, but he masked it with a sheepish chuckle, pushing himself off the railing.

“you still didn’t answer my question,” you said, tilting your head slightly. there was a curious sharpness to your tone, but it was softened by the lingering gratitude in your gaze. "who are you?"

his grin returned, wider this time, his earlier moment of surprise replaced by easy charm. “ah, you caught me,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “my name's... yeonjun.”

he extended a hand towards you once more, his movements fluid and confident. “and you are?”

you nodded slightly in acknowledgment, offering your name as your hand met his, your voice steady but carrying a thread of bashfulness. his fingers were warm against yours, the handshake firm yet oddly gentle. the touch lingered for a fraction longer than necessary, a subtle pause that neither of you commented on. when you both pulled away, you cleared your throat, the small noise cutting through the charged silence.

the quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried a certain weight, filled with the quiet sounds of the fashion show below. the models moved like art in motion, their outfits catching the dramatic lighting as they walked with precision and elegance. the audience’s murmur blended with the music, creating an atmosphere that was both electric and intimate.

you leaned slightly against the barrier, completely taken by the view. the exclusivity of the lounge afforded you an unobstructed panorama of the venue, and for the first time all night, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be. the glistening runway, the precision of the models, the applause—it all felt surreal, like stepping into a dream.

beside you, yeonjun shifted slightly, his arms resting lazily on the railing as he turned his gaze toward you. his expression softened as he took in the way your eyes sparkled, your awe so apparent it made his lips curve into a fond smile. you were so wrapped up in the scene before you, that you didn’t notice his gaze lingering. he couldn’t help but wonder if you even realized how effortlessly captivating you looked in that moment. “so,” you spoke suddenly, breaking the quiet with a slight turn of your head toward him, completely unaware of the way he quickly snapped his eyes back to the show. “how do you even know about this place? and how are you able to be in such an exclusive part of the venue?”

yeonjun blinked, his lips quirking into a mischievous smile as he leaned back, his hands casually resting against the railing. “ah, you’ve caught me,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of teasing. “let’s just say... i have my ways.”

your brow furrowed, crossing your arms in playful disbelief. “that’s it? ‘i have my ways?’”

he chuckled, the sound deep and warm, his shoulders shifting slightly as he leaned closer to you with a grin. “well, what else do you want me to say?” he teased, his voice low and smooth. “i can’t just give away all my secrets in one go.”

you raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. “you’re not exactly giving away any secrets.”

“true,” he conceded with a shrug, the glint of amusement never leaving his eyes. “but that’s the fun of it, isn’t it?”

“the fun of being vague?” you countered, though there was an undeniable twinkle of curiosity in your gaze. “so, what exactly do you do? are you in fashion too? a model? designer? photographer?”

yeonjun hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin in mock contemplation. “why don’t you take a guess?” he said, his tone teasing, clearly enjoying the vagueness.

you rolled your eyes, though you couldn't suppress the small smile that tugged at your lips. “this is ridiculous. you’re impossible.”

“impossible?” yeonjun repeats with a smirk, clearly unfazed by your challenge. “nah, i’m just... fun.” he flashed a wink, his voice smooth as honey. “besides, who wouldn’t want to leave a little mystery?”

you rolled your eyes, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. "you sure love being mysterious, huh?" the question was playful, but you couldn't shake the sense that there was more to him than he was letting on.

yeonjun just chuckled softly, and there was something about the sound—rich, smooth, and unhurried—that made it feel like the world around you slowed for just a second. it was like you were both in on some private joke, sharing the moment despite the crowd around you. you didn’t mind the silence between you two; it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was just peaceful, like the calm after a storm.

just then, the third set of pieces emerged on the runway, and your breath caught in your throat as you took in the intricate details, the stunning designs. you couldn’t help but feel a thrill rise up inside you as you watched the models glide down the runway. the way the fabric moved, the way the pieces complemented the models' bodies—it was all so... perfect.

you leaned forward slightly, eyes sparkling with excitement as you pointed out the dress that had caught your eye. “look at that one,” you said, your voice filled with awe. “the fabric—it's so delicate, but the design is so strong. and the color, it’s not just a plain red. it has this... depth, like layers of crimson blending together. the pleats on the skirt, the texture—it’s all so well-thought-out.”

yeonjun’s gaze flickered toward you, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise as he watched you closely, as though trying to figure out how you could notice all these details with such intensity. “you really know your stuff,” he remarked, his voice thick with amusement. “how can you notice all those details? most people wouldn’t even see half of that.”

you paused mid-rant, your excitement temporarily muted by the attention. your cheeks flushed slightly as you felt a sudden wave of self-consciousness. “well,” you said, hesitating for just a moment, “i... i’m acatually an aspiring fashion designer.”

yeonjun’s eyes softened at that, and there was a flicker of something in them—something... intrigued, maybe? he leaned in just a little, his posture shifting to show more interest. “an aspiring designer, huh?” he repeated, his tone surprisingly gentle for someone who’d been so teasing moments ago. “i should’ve known. there’s no way anyone could appreciate the details as much as you do unless they had an eye for design.”

you blinked, caught off guard by how understanding he sounded. you glanced down at your hands for a moment, suddenly feeling a little more vulnerable. “i’ve been working on some of my own pieces, but, you know... still figuring things out.”

yeonjun seemed to notice your hesitation, and his expression softened even more, though there was a glimmer of something playful in his eyes. “figuring things out is part of the process,” he said, his voice rich with warmth. “trust me, i’ve been there too.”

you glanced up at him, surprised by how genuine he sounded. “you have?” you asked, almost disbelieving.

he gave a small nod, his gaze briefly turning distant, as though lost in a memory. "yeah. the fashion world isn’t as easy as people think. but the ones who stick with it... they make it in the end."

there was a brief pause, and you took in his words, the weight of them settling on you. you weren’t sure why, but something about him made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t so far from your dream after all.

“thanks,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. it was more than just gratitude—it was a quiet affirmation that maybe you were on the right path, after all. ꒰🍦꒱ as the models continued to walk down the runway, you couldn’t help but get lost in the details of every piece. each look had its own story to tell, and you felt an overwhelming urge to share that excitement with someone, anyone.

yeonjun, fortunately, was right there, listening with quiet amusement as you rambled on.

"oh my gosh, look at that one!" you exclaimed, leaning slightly forward, pointing to a model in a simple yet striking gown. “the draping is just... it’s absolutely flawless. see how the fabric hugs the body and then just cascades out at the bottom? it’s almost like it has a life of its own. like the material is alive, you know? and the way it catches the light—"

yeonjun nodded, still watching you with that soft smile. “i see it. you’re right, it’s like the fabric is moving with the model, almost like it’s breathing with them.”

you looked at him briefly, surprised at how well he was following along. “exactly!” you said, your voice full of excitement. “and see the next one? the detailing on the neckline—it’s so delicate but intricate at the same time. the tiny beads embroidered around the collar, it adds this elegant touch, almost like it’s a necklace built into the fabric.” yeonjun could only chuckle lightly, amused by the way your eyes lit up every time you spotted something new.

you pointed again, this time at a model in a dress with a sharp, angular hem. “look at the sharpness of those edges! it’s almost architectural, like someone sculpted the fabric into that shape. it gives such a bold, confident vibe!”

yeonjun chuckled softly, watching her animated gestures with a twinkle in his eye. “hmm, you're spot on. such sharp, clean lines.”

“right? and the fabric choice, too. it has this stiffness to it, but not in an uncomfortable way—more like it’s meant to stand up on its own.” you beamed, caught up in the details.

his eyes softened. “you really notice everything, huh?"

you waved him off, already distracted by the next model. “oh, and this one! the way the sleeves puff out like that, it’s so dramatic but playful at the same time! and the fabric’s so airy—it looks like the model’s floating in it!”

yeonjun's gaze stayed on you, amused. “floating, huh? you make it sound so magical.”

“it is magical!” you responded, almost laughing at how much you’d already gotten lost in the runway. “and look at this one—look at how the waist is cinched so perfectly, giving the whole outfit such a nice structure, but it doesn’t feel too stiff. the way it moves... it's like it was made for the model’s body.”

yeonjun smiled, nodding. “i couldn't agree more.”

as the show continued, you kept going, pointing out the minute details that caught your eye, from the slight pleats on the edges of a sleeve to the way the fabric billowed out like a cloud. yeonjun simply listened, always agreeing with a small nod, a quiet “mhm” or “i see it,” but mostly, he just watched you, the way you effortlessly lost yourself in the designs.

you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d felt so... alive. It was as if you were standing right in the middle of a dream, and you weren’t afraid to look at every single detail that made it so perfect.

and yeonjun? well, he just couldn’t take his eyes off you.

once the event came to its dreaded end, you couldn’t help but let out a long sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly in disappointment. you pouted just a little, your lips forming a soft, almost melancholic curve. “i miss it already,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, as if the emptiness left by the show weighed heavily on you. “it feels like it ended too soon.”

yeonjun, who had been watching you the whole time with that subtle, amused smile, chuckled softly in response. it was a warm sound, almost affectionate, as if he found your sincere reaction endearing. "yeah, it’s always like that,” he agreed, his voice rich with fondness. “time flies when you’re caught up in something that amazing.”

you sighed again, almost as if you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something so beautiful had come to an end far too quickly. "i wish i could’ve stayed in that moment a little longer. it felt... perfect."

yeonjun’s smile widened just a bit, and he leaned against the railing, his gaze flickering between you and the slowly clearing crowd. "you made the most of it, though," he said, voice steady and reassuring. “not many people would’ve appreciated every little detail like you did. that’s something special.”

you glanced over at him, a soft blush rising to your cheeks at his words. "i guess i got a little carried away," you admitted with a shy laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. the thought of how you had been rambling with excitement made your heart skip a little. "but, i mean, how could i not? it was all just... breathtaking."

his eyes softened at your response, and he gave you a playful, knowing smile. "it’s nice to see someone so passionate about it," he said, his voice light but carrying a layer of sincerity. "you really got lost in the moment."

as the last few guests started trickling out of the venue, the noise around you began to swell, the sounds of chatter and the click of high heels filling the air. the once intimate atmosphere of the show now felt overwhelming with the crowds, the room suddenly feeling far too cramped.

yeonjun’s eyes scanned the space briefly, his expression thoughtful. then, without missing a beat, he looked back at you and raised an eyebrow. "i know a less crowded way out," he said, his voice calm amidst the growing chaos. "let me lead you out. wouldn't want you getting lost in this crowd."

you glanced around at the sea of people, their voices blending together in a cacophony, and immediately felt a little more anxious. you didn’t want to get lost in the rush of people, and his offer seemed like the perfect solution. after a moment of hesitation, you finally let out a soft breath and placed your hand in his, your fingers brushing against his palm with a fleeting but comforting touch.

“thank you. again,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the quiet sincerity of it making you feel strangely grounded in the midst of everything.

he gave your hand a light squeeze, his smile growing just a little warmer, more genuine. "anything for the most enthusiastic fashion designer slash critic i know," he teased lightly, his tone playful but kind.

you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling an unexpected warmth blooming inside you. you wanted to ask more, know more about him, but the moment felt so peaceful, and for once, you were content to just be present.

with a subtle nod, yeonjun led you through a quiet, hidden exit, avoiding the growing crowds of people who were starting to spill out into the streets. the path he guided you down felt like a secret, and somehow, you didn’t question it. instead, you were more than glad to have met someone as kind-hearted as him on what was turning out to be one of the most important days of your life.

once you were out of the building, the bustling noise from the show seemed so far behind you. yeonjun, still holding your hand, walked with a calm ease, his presence making the city’s energy feel just a little more bearable. his touch was like an anchor, steady and reassuring.

“let’s get you to a car,” yeonjun said as he turned toward a sleek limo waiting nearby. you blinked in surprise as he casually waved to the driver, the gesture effortlessly commanding attention.

you paused, a small frown tugging at your lips as you shook your head. “what? oh, i couldn’t possibly—”

but yeonjun wasn’t having it. with a playful smile, he waved off your hesitation. “oh, come on,” he said, his tone coaxing yet gentle. “it’s not every day i get to be this chivalrous.” he gestured toward the car with a teasing glint in his eyes. “besides, you’ve earned it.”

before you could protest further, yeonjun ushered you toward the limo with a gentle hand on your back. you sighed, defeated by his insistent kindness, but in that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. his warmth, his attentiveness—it was all so comforting.

as you climbed into the car, you took a deep breath, sinking back against the plush seat, the quiet hum of the limo's engine making everything feel just a little bit surreal. once you were settled in, you turned to yeonjun, your eyes filled with gratitude.

“thank you, yeonjun,” you said again, your voice filled with so much gratitude that it almost felt like the words themselves couldn’t fully express what you were feeling. “really. for everything,” you continued, your gaze soft and sincere. “i don’t even know how to explain it, but… i honestly wouldn’t have made it through today without you. you made all the difference—more than you could know.”

yeonjun gave a small, dismissive shrug, his eyes glinting with an almost mischievous gleam. “it’s nothing, really” he said casually, though there was something in his voice that suggested he truly meant it. “if it's any consolation, your company and your little rant was something i truly enjoyed.”

the words, simple as they were, made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t quite expected. you nodded, smiling softly. but before you could say anything else, yeonjun’s expression shifted, becoming slightly more serious. “well then, see you soon.”

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[goblinontour]

This Love Starved Heart Of Mine

he’s tired…

warnings: dad!alex, fluff, talking, eventual smut, handjob, fingering, fucking

word count: 8.6k

The stains on his slacks were a mystery he had neither the energy nor desire to solve. A smudge of something pale and sticky on his thigh could’ve been formula. His knee was streaked with something brown — coffee, maybe, though it was too far down for that to make sense. He wouldn’t dwell on the rest, the older stains faded into the fabric, their origins forgotten or ignored. He couldn’t remember. He didn’t care. The smattering on his shirt, though — that was fresh. A pale orange, probably from the mashed sweet potato Poppy had decided belonged anywhere but her mouth.  

He stared at the mess on his chest as if it were an accusation. He’d wiped it earlier, hadn’t he? Or maybe that was yesterday. God, he didn’t even know anymore.  

What he did know was that he couldn’t do this. Not alone. He’d thought he couldn’t do it at all, but this — this endless symphony of crying, cooking, cleaning, existing — was definitely impossible solo.  

The hum of the range hood over the stove grew louder, like a dull roar against his temples, even though it had been on for barely five minutes. A pot of something — a soup he was loosely following a recipe for — bubbled on the back burner, the spoon lying crooked in the pot like it was waiting for him to do something.  

But he couldn’t.  

Alex’s hands trembled over the cutting board, the knife clenched too tightly in his grip. He was halfway through dicing carrots — well, maybe a third of the way, if he was being honest. The pieces on the board were uneven, some chunks too big, some practically shaved. He didn’t care. None of it mattered.  

Because from the baby monitor propped precariously against the salt shaker, Poppy’s cries sliced through the air. Loud and clear. He didn’t need the video feed to know what it looked like. She’d be on her back, her face red and scrunched, little fists flailing at the unfairness of the world.  

The sound stabbed through him, sharper than the knife he was holding. He’d always thought it was supposed to get easier, that eventually, he’d adjust to…to everything. But it hadn’t. If anything, it felt worse. More oppressive. More constant.  

He set the knife down — or tried to. Instead, the blade sank into the cutting board, embedding itself with a soft crunch of wood. His chest heaved as he leaned forward, both hands gripping the edge of the counter.  “I can’t do this.” he muttered, his voice shaking as he stared blankly at the baby monitor. His reflection glared back at him in the dark screen, overlaid with the grainy image of her squirming. His words came again, quieter this time, barely audible over the din of the kitchen. “I can’t- fuck, I can’t-”  

None of it felt like enough. He wasn’t enough.  

And then, faintly at first, he heard the familiar rhythm of your footsteps in the hallway.  

“Sorry it took so long, baby.” you murmured, your voice drifting into the kitchen like sunlight after a storm.  

Alex straightened instinctively, though his body still felt stiff and leaden. Relief hit him in a wave, so fast it almost made him dizzy. The mere sound of you was enough to pull him back from the edge. You stepped into the kitchen, shrugging off your coat and tossing it toward the back of a chair. Your gaze landed on him, and you froze.  

“Hey, Al.” Your tone shifted immediately, soft and careful in a way that made his throat tighten. “You alright?”  

He nodded too quickly, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to meet your eyes. “Yeah…yeah.” His voice cracked on the second ‘yeah’ but he didn’t stop. He needed to say something, anything, to deflect. “You should-” He gestured vaguely toward the baby monitor, holding it up in one hand like it was a lifeline. “She’s-”  

You didn’t wait for him to finish. “Yeah.” Kicking off your shoes, you crossed the room in three quick strides. He watched as you disappeared up the stairs, your voice softening as you murmured something — maybe to Poppy, maybe to yourself. He couldn’t tell.  

His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands like it might help clear the fog in his brain. The wailing had stopped. Just like that, the silence felt louder than the crying ever had.  

Fuck, Alex, you can’t think the world’s gonna end every time, he thought, the words landing sharp in his mind. He took a shaky breath and forced himself to push — push past the weight, push himself up, both figuratively and quite literally. His hands braced the counter as he straightened, his legs stiff.  

The knife still stuck out of the cutting board, its edge caught in the groove it had made. He reached for it, his grip careful, and plucked it free with a soft scrape. For a moment, he just stared at the mark left behind, his thumb running over the shallow scar in the wood. He could fix it, probably. Sand it down, oil the surface — make it like new again.  

Maybe.  

Maybe it didn’t need replacing. Maybe things could be solved and not thrown away so easily.  

He’d fix it.

Before he could linger too long on the thought, he heard your voice, soft and full of that almost-laughter you got whenever you talked to her.  

“Say hi to Dada.” you murmured.  

It wasn’t quite the over-the-top baby voice you’d both sworn you’d never use. You’d laughed about it, once — vowed you wouldn’t be those parents, with their ridiculous high-pitched cooing and singsong nonsense. But then she had arrived, and somehow, somehow, you both caught yourselves doing it. Even Alex.  

She cooed back, her little voice bubbling like carbonation in a glass. His chest still felt tight, the remnants of earlier panic clinging stubbornly to him, but he moved toward the sound. Slowly, carefully, like it was fragile and he might shatter it if he got too close.  

Her arms flailed, fingers curling and uncurling in something that looked almost purposeful. Joy, he thought. She was happy. Not just generally, but specifically. Happy to see him.  

“Where’s Dada?” you asked her, like she might actually answer.  

And she did.  

With an awkward jerk of her chubby arm, she pointed directly at him. Her smile grew impossibly wider, her face lighting up in a way that still caught him off guard every time. It was a real smile, a choice, not just a reflexive grimace. His breath hitched, his throat tightening as the thought hit him harder than it should have. He never got used to it — the way she could do something so simple and make him feel like the floor was falling out from under him.  

He reached for his jaw, grabbing it and tugging, trying to snap himself out of the trance. His fingertips pressed hard into his skin, the roughness of his calluses grounding him.  

“Hi.” he said, his voice cracking a little. 

“She missed you.” you said gently, your gaze flicking between him and Poppy. You weren’t teasing, not like you might’ve been on another day. You knew exactly how fragile he was in that moment.  

Alex swallowed hard, willing himself to keep it together as he stepped closer. He reached out, his hand brushing her tiny fist before letting her grab his finger. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone so small. She tugged, babbling incoherently, her gaze fixed on him with such intensity that he felt like he might unravel.  

“I missed you, too.” he whispered, his words directed at her but meant for both of you.  

Poppy let out another happy noise, a gurgle that morphed into something closer to a giggle, and she leaned forward, her little arms reaching toward Alex, fingers curling and uncurling as if she was trying to grab him through the air.  

“You wanna go to Dada?” you said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Say daaaa-daaa.” you coaxed, drawing out the syllables in that sweet, singsong way.  

Alex’s lips curved upward, though he tried not to make a big deal of it. He crouched down slowly, the strain in his lower back making itself known with a sharp twinge. His already misaligned spine didn’t thank him for it, but he pushed through, lowering himself until his face was level with hers. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her little body, to smell the faint powdery scent of baby lotion and something vaguely milk-like clinging to her.

“Come ‘ere, Pop.” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly, as though speaking too loud might scare her off. “Come to Dada.”  

“Da-da.” you repeated, nodding encouragingly at her as if she might mirror your enthusiasm.  

Instead of saying the word — or lunging into Alex’s arms like some moment of cinematic perfection — she smacked him square in the face.  

Alex froze, his mouth slightly open in surprise, the sting of her palm radiating across his cheek. She’s got a mean right hook for someone who can barely hold her own bottle, he thought. He blinked at her, and then at you, his hand coming up to rub at the spot, which hurt only faintly, not as much as the blow to his pride.  

“She gets that from you.” he muttered, casting you a sidelong glance.  

“She does not.” you said, though your laughter betrayed you. “Don’t take it personally.” you said, trying to sound serious. “She slaps me all the time. It’s how she says ‘I love you.’”  

“Great. So instead of words, we’re raising her to communicate through violence?” She was grinning wide, her chubby cheeks pink with delight, completely oblivious to her crime. “Well, maybe I deserved that one.” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he reached for her again. “Come ‘ere, you little gremlin.”  

He kissed your cheek, a quick, grateful press of his lips, before turning his attention to her. “Hiya, Pop.” He pressed his lips to her cheek, warm and impossibly soft, before nuzzling his nose against her temple. She let out a happy squeal, her hands finding his face again. This time, instead of slapping, her fingers grabbed at his nose, her little nails scratching lightly as she babbled something unintelligible. Her eyes were wide and bright, her gummy smile so wide it made his chest ache.  

“She loves you, you know.” you said, leaning against the counter as you watched them. 

He glanced up at you, his brows furrowing slightly, though his lips stayed pressed to her cheek. “Yeah?”  

“Yeah.” You smiled softly, crossing your arms as you tilted your head. “You’re her favourite person. I’m a little jealous.”  

“Yeah.” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “She’s mine too.”  

“Dada.” you said softly, testing it again as you smiled at the two of them.  

Alex raised a brow, looking down at her. “What do you think, Pop? You gonna say it?”  

Her face scrunched, lips parting as if she were about to make some grand declaration. There was a tiny pause — just enough for Alex to feel a flicker of hope. Then she let out a loud, enthusiastic noise that was more of a squawk than a word, clapping her little hands against his chest as if to punctuate her babble.  

“Close enough.” he said, his voice soft with amusement as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.  

But you weren’t about to let it go.  

“Daaa-daaa.” you tried again. You leaned in a little, your hands gesturing toward Alex like he was the most exciting thing in the world. He was, even if he couldn't see that. “You can do it, Pop. Say Dada!” She blew a raspberry, the sound wet and loud, making Alex snort. “She’s close.” you insisted, crouching down beside him. “Come on, baby.”  

Alex sighed, shifting Poppy in his arms as her attention drifted to his shirt collar. She grabbed a fistful of the fabric, tugging at it like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. He glanced at you, a faint crease forming between his brows. You always had this unshakable belief that she was on the verge of something amazing — every coo, every wave of her little hands filled you with anticipation. He admired it, that optimism of yours. But today, it made something heavy settle in his chest.  

“Say it, Poppy.” you encouraged, wagging your fingers at her. “Daaa-daaa.”  

He rolled his eyes but didn’t stop you, though he felt the faintest pang of guilt as you kept trying. You were so patient, so persistent, and he didn’t want to rain on your optimism. Still, after the god knows which round of those exaggerated two syllables, he couldn’t help but interject.  

“She’s not gonna say it.” he mumbled, almost to himself.  

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.  

“She’s not gonna say it.” he repeated, his voice quiet but firmer this time. “She’s a baby. She doesn’t know what we’re saying.”  

“She’s so close.” you said gently, your smile faltering just a little.  

“She’s not.” he replied, shaking his head as he looked down at her. “She’s just…she’s not there yet.”  

You glanced at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “But-”  

“Love,” he interrupted, tilting his head toward you, “she’s probably tired of us pestering her. Let’s give her a break.”  

You frowned slightly, watching him. He wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on the floor now, his shoulders tense.  

“Alex.” you said softly.  

He didn’t respond. He shifted Poppy in his arms, holding her a little closer, though he couldn’t shake the weight pressing against his chest. Why do I care so much? he thought, annoyed with himself. He couldn’t stop the spiral — thoughts tumbling over each other, picking apart every small failure.  

Maybe I’m not doing enough. Maybe she doesn’t know because I’m not around enough. Maybe she doesn’t…

“Alex.” you said again, firmer this time. Your hand found his shoulder, snapping him out of it.  

He looked up at you, his brow furrowed, and you saw it then — the faint sheen of worry in his eyes, the way his jaw was set too tight, like he was bracing for something.  

“She’ll get there. You know that, right?”  

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

You sighed, your shoulders drooping slightly, but you nodded. “Alright.” you murmured, brushing your fingers against Poppy’s cheek. “We’ll stop, Pop. No more pressure.”  

But just as Alex opened his mouth to thank you for relenting, a small, hesitant sound broke through the quiet.   

Both of you froze.  

Alex’s eyes widened as he stared at Poppy, who was now grinning up at him like she knew exactly what she’d just done.  

“Did she-?” His voice trailed off, his heart pounding as he glanced at you.  

“She said it.” you whispered. “She said it.”  

Alex barely heard you, the words sinking into his chest like pebbles dropped into a still lake. She said it, the syllables echoed faintly in his mind. He wanted to laugh, to smile, to do something to match the moment, but his body didn’t seem to know how to react. Afraid to breathe too deeply in case it all shattered.  

“Dada!” she said again, louder this time, her tiny voice wobbly but unmistakable.  

That broke him.  

Alex felt something catch in his throat, a sharp mix of disbelief and joy. His chest tightened, his heart stuttering before kicking into overdrive. Slowly, as if afraid of startling her, he looked down at her, her wide, shining eyes staring back up at him. His smile spread slowly, unbidden and unstoppable, until it felt like it might split his face in two.  

“Good girl.” he whispered. He leaned forward to press a kiss to her warm cheek. “That’s my girl.” he murmured, barely audible as his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.  

“She’s a genius.” you said, half-laughing, half-crying. Your voice snapped him out of the trance just enough for him to notice you were leaning into him, your head resting lightly against his shoulder.  

He should’ve been relieved. He was relieved. But the edges of the moment started to fray as his mind looped back on itself, until his hand twitched against Poppy’s back, his fingers moving in a restless, uneven rhythm.   

“Alex.” you said softly, your voice cutting through the noise in his head.  

He blinked, looking up at you with wide eyes, like he hadn’t even realised he’d drifted away. “Hmm?”  

Your brows knit together just slightly as you studied him. “She said it.” you repeated, more gently this time, as if trying to coax him back to the present. “You heard her, right? She said it, and she’ll keep saying it.”  

He nodded, his lips twitching upward in an attempt at a smile. “Yeah. I heard her.” 

“It’s okay to let yourself enjoy it, you know.”  

Alex let out a soft, shaky laugh, his head bowing slightly. “I’m trying.” he admitted.  

You gave him a small, knowing smile, your fingers brushing against his. “I know you are.”  

Then, with the same quiet authority that always managed to steady him, you said, “I’ll take over dinner.”  

He hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the stove where the pot still bubbled quietly. “It’s almost done.” he said automatically, his voice trailing off.  

“Seriously.” you interrupted, your hand squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Go sit down. You’ve earned it.”  

He looked at you then, really looked, and saw the understanding in your eyes. Not pity, not impatience — just a steady reassurance that he didn’t have to carry everything on his own.  

Alex exhaled slowly, his shoulders loosening as he nodded. “Alright, alright.” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint, grateful smile.  

“Good.” You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek before stepping toward the stove.  

“Alright, Pop.” he said softly, turning toward the living room. “Let’s go relax, yeah?”  

Alex settled onto the couch with a quiet groan, leaning back into the cushions as he adjusted Poppy in his lap. Her bright eyes met his again, and he smiled despite himself, the heaviness in his chest beginning to lift.  

“You’re a little genius.” he murmured, brushing his fingers over her curls.  

Poppy responded with a loud, cheerful babble, her tiny hands smacking against his chest like punctuation marks. Before he realised what was happening, one of her fingers poked at his cheek, then slid up toward his nose.  

“Hey, what are you-” Alex started, but his words cut off with a muffled grunt as she, determined as ever, managed to wedge her little fingers into his nostrils. “Christ, Pop.” he muttered, squirming as he tried to gently guide her hand away. She giggled in response and shoved harder. He groaned, his face scrunching comically. “You’re relentless, aren’t you? Just like your mum.”  

Despite the discomfort, he didn’t make her stop right away. He let her tug and poke and prod because…well, because she was his. His little girl, with her impossibly tiny fingers and her boundless energy and her smile that made his chest ache in ways he still didn’t fully understand.  

“Alright, that’s enough now.” he said softly, finally grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re gonna rip my big nose off, you little gremlin.”  

She squealed in delight, her legs kicking against his lap as she laughed. Alex couldn’t help but laugh too, shaking his head as he adjusted her so she was sitting more comfortably.  

“Are you hungry, Pop?” he asked, tilting his head to look at her more closely. “Hmm? Is that why you’re trying to dismantle me? Did you miss dinner while I was busy mucking about in the kitchen?”  

Poppy tilted her head in response, mimicking his gesture with such accuracy that it caught him off guard.  

“You missed Mama, didn’t you?” he said, his voice softening as he brushed a hand over her hair. “You always get a bit grumpy when she’s not here, huh? Me too, you know. Yeah? You missed her loads, didn’t you? I get it. She’s the best, isn’t she?”  

She clapped her hands in agreement, her face lighting up.  

“She’s clever, that one.” Alex continued as he leaned in slightly. “Always knows what to do. Keeps me from completely losing it most days.” He sighed, his thumb gently tracing circles on her little hand. “Don’t tell her, but I missed her too.”  

She made another noise, high-pitched, and Alex chuckled. “Yeah, you’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you? Don’t need words when you’ve got that smile. You know,” he murmured, “you’re kind of the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”  

Poppy didn’t respond, of course, but the way she rested her head against his chest — her little fingers curling into his shirt — felt like answer enough. 

You called him over, your voice warm and light but tinged with that familiar sense of knowing. “Alex, come here. Dinner’s ready.”  

He shifted Poppy in his arms and stood with an exaggerated groan, the sound somewhere between playful and genuine. “Getting old, Pop.” he murmured, glancing down at her. “You’re not making this any easier, you know.”  

“Is it okay?” he asked as he approached the table, nodding toward the pot on the stove.  

“Yeah, it’s good. Smells amazing.” you said as you sat down. “Can’t wait to eat, I’m starving.”  

He smiled faintly at your words, placing Poppy in her high chair before lowering himself into the seat next to you. “Eat, eat. I’ll try to get her to eat something too.” he said, nodding toward the little one.  

“You need to eat too, baby.” you replied as you placed a plate in front of him.  

Alex didn’t respond. He was looking at you, his gaze quiet and intense in a way that made you pause. There was something in the way he watched you that felt almost fragile, like he was trying to memorise the moment before it slipped through his fingers.  

“Alex.” you prompted gently, but he still didn’t look away.  

He blinked, as if suddenly realising he was staring, and shifted his focus to Poppy. She had taken one of his fingers into her mouth, nibbling on it. He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t mind.  

“I know,” he said softly, “but can we just…”  

He trailed off, his free hand brushing over Poppy’s curls as his jaw tightened.  

“Alex-” you began, but he cut you off, his voice trembling slightly as he turned back to you.  

“She said it.” he whispered, the words barely audible. His eyes, glassy with unshed tears, met yours, pleading and vulnerable. “She…don’t start that now, please.”  

Your mouth opened to respond, but his expression stopped you. There was a rawness in his face that you recognized too well — a deep, unspoken fear that if you brought it up, you’d ruin the delicate balance of the moment.  

“Okay.” you said finally.  

Dinner was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled in like a heavy fog, where the occasional clink of cutlery against a plate felt unnaturally loud. Poppy babbled here and there, filling the silence with her tiny, nonsensical words, and Alex smiled at her, like always. But his energy was flagging. He was tired, worn thin in a way that even you could feel across the table. You knew he was trying, trying for you and for her, trying to keep the atmosphere light. And it worked, sort of, enough to make it through the meal. But you could see the strain beneath it, the cracks that threatened to show when he thought no one was looking.

That smile didn’t follow him when the day finally wound down and the two of you climbed into bed. Under the covers, where the quiet wasn’t tempered by the background noise his face fell into something harder. That look you’d come to dread, his “mad kitten” look, as you’d called it, where his lips pressed into a tight line, like he was physically holding himself together with sheer will.

The dark made it worse. It always did. Shadows obscured the warmth in his features, leaving behind that stubborn jawline and the glassy glint of his eyes when he didn’t blink fast enough.

“Al…” you whispered, trying to coax him out of it.

You could feel him debating it, using the dark as a shield, letting the silence stretch between you.

“I’m fine.” he said finally.

“You-”

“I’m fine.” he repeated, cutting you off quickly, but not sharply. “I promise.”

There was a note of insistence in his tone, as if he needed to convince you, or maybe himself, that it was true. Before you could press further, his body shifted. He moved toward you, wrapping his arms around your middle and twisting you into his grip with that quiet urgency that always made your chest ache. His chest pressed firmly against your back, the heat of him bleeding through the thin fabric of your shirt and you could feel his breath against your shoulder like he was trying to regulate it but failing.

“I’m just…tired.” he murmured, the words muffled as his face found the crook of your neck.

His sigh followed, long and drawn-out, like it was pulled from somewhere deep. His arms tightened around you, his hold becoming almost unbearably heavy. It wasn’t just physical — you could feel the emotional gravity of him, like he was sinking into you, clinging to you to keep himself afloat.

“You don’t have to hold onto it all by yourself, you know.” you said, your voice a quiet plea in the dark, placing your hand over his arm, your fingers tracing slow circles against his skin.

“I’m not.” he whispered after a long pause, his voice barely audible. “I’ve got you.” Bittersweet and honest in a way that made your throat tighten. You turned slightly in his arms, just enough to see the edge of his face.

“I’m here.” you said, your hand moving up to brush against his cheek. “I’m always here.”

Alex closed his eyes at that, his head dipping slightly as if the weight of those words was too much. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder, his grip on you never loosening. “I know.” he said again, softer this time, almost like a prayer.

“Baby?” you called softly. Alex’s body was pressed so firmly against yours that you could feel every rise and fall of his chest. The way he rubbed himself against you sent a subtle shiver down your spine that you tried, and failed, to hide.

“Mhm?” he hummed in response, his voice thick with exhaustion but carrying a gentle warmth. He pressed his face into your neck again, nuzzling you like he couldn’t get close enough. “You smell nice.” he murmured.

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “I missed you today.”

His palms roamed your body, spreading warmth wherever they touched. He wasn’t in a hurry — it was almost absentminded, the way his hands explored. Slowly, they began to search for the hem of your shirt, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin — hesitant, like he was trying to go unnoticed, unsure of himself.

You knew what that meant — he was testing the waters, weighing his own energy against his desire, afraid to disappoint you or himself if he couldn’t deliver. 

“Alex?” you asked gently, your hand brushing against his side.

“Yeah?” he replied, his voice quieter this time, muffled by the way his face stayed buried against you.

“Do you wanna…?” you suggested, leaving the rest unsaid but entirely clear.

His breath hitched, just for a second, and then he groaned softly, twisting himself further into you. His face ducked lower, pressing into your shoulder like he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. “Yeah, but…I’m so fucking tired.” he admitted, almost apologetic.

You felt him stretch his legs, his body shifting as he intertwined them with yours, wrapping you up in his warmth and his weariness all at once. He sighed again, though this time it was more of a soft, frustrated mewl, a sound that broke your heart a little.

“Can we do it in the morning?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know I’m better in the mornings…at night, I just…I get too in my head, and I can’t…” His words trailed off, lost somewhere between exhaustion and vulnerability.

You didn’t need him to finish. You understood.

Your hand found its way to the back of his head, your fingers threading through his hair, scratching lightly at the roots. It was oilier than usual, and you knew that detail alone was enough to bother him, though you wouldn’t dream of holding it against him. You could feel the weight of the week, of the day, in the way he leaned into your touch.

“I have to go to work again early for some-” you began. The sentence was interrupted by a deep stretch and a groan, his body shifting again to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. 

“How early?” he asked, his voice still groggy.

“Early.” you said, the word carrying a hint of regret as your fingers continued their soothing motions.

“Fuck…” He sighed, the sound dragging out as he let himself sink deeper into you. “Okay.” His hands slid back under your top, the roughness of his palms contrasting with the gentle way he touched you. They skimmed over your ribs, fingers spreading wide to take in as much of you as they could. Slowly, he began to push the fabric upward, revealing more of your bare skin, but he hesitated just short of pulling it completely off.

“It’s fine, Al-” you started, not wanting him to feel pressured. Your hand came up to gently push him away, but he caught your wrist lightly.

“No, no…” he murmured, shaking his head. His brows furrowed, and he shook his head slightly, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the base of your throat. “I can- I want to. I just…” He trailed off, exhaling shakily as his eyes dropped to the space between you, as if his body wasn’t cooperating the way he wanted it to.

“Need a hand?” 

He let out a breath, half a laugh, half a sigh, and nodded. “Yeah.” 

You reached for the hem of your top, tugging it over your head and letting it fall to the floor beside the bed. Alex’s eyes lifted, softening instantly as they took in the newly bared skin. He swallowed hard, his lips parting as his hands reached for you again. His lips followed the curve of your chest, pressing slow, reverent kisses to the soft swell of your breasts. His stubble scratched against your skin, and you couldn’t help but gasp when his teeth grazed and nibbled on the delicate skin just below your collarbone.

“Fuck…” you murmured, his grunt in response muffled against your chest. He kissed the same spot again, as if trying to chase away the faint sting with warmth.

Your fingers slipped down then, over the planes of his stomach before slipping to the waistband of his boxers. He tensed slightly, almost imperceptibly, but didn’t stop you. Slowly, you slid your hand inside, fingers brushing against him. He was soft beneath your touch, his body warm but still reluctant to respond. You stroked him gently, giving him time, your movements slow and deliberate. He twitched slightly, but not as much as you both hoped.

“Shit.” he muttered, voice strained and tinged with frustration. “I’m sorry…I-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head against you. “I just- I’m sorry. I’m so fucking tired, and I-”

“Hey.” you interrupted softly, your free hand coming up to thread through his hair again. You scratched lightly, feeling the tension in his body as you worked to soothe him. “Don’t apologise.”

“I just can’t get my head right.” he said, his voice tight. He sighed heavily, his breath shuddering against you. “I want to- fuck, I really want to, but…”

“But nothing.” Your fingers continued to stroke him lightly, not to pressure him, but to reassure him, to remind him you weren’t in any rush. “It’s okay, Alex. We’ve got time. It’s not a race.”

He let out a soft groan, half from the sensation of your hand and half from the weight of his own thoughts. “You’re too good to me.” he muttered, pressing another kiss to the top of your chest.

“I love you.” you replied simply. “That’s not gonna change just because you’re tired. You’ve been running yourself ragged all day, Al. Your body’s just trying to catch up.”

He let out another sigh, this one softer, and tilted his head up to look at you. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted as if he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words.

“You’re allowed to be tired.” you added, your thumb brushing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, but I wanted to…I wanted to be good for you.” he murmured, his voice cracking slightly on the last words.

“You are good for me.” you said, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “You always are.”

As if testing himself, his hips shifted slightly against your hand. “I’m trying.” 

“I know.” you replied, kissing him again, this time on the lips, reminding him that this wasn’t about performance or expectation but the two of you. His lips trembled against yours, but he kissed you back, his hands finding their way to your hips. He held you firmly but tenderly, his thumbs stroking small circles into your skin.

“I’ll get there.” he murmured, his voice thick but steadier now. “I’m gon’ do my best…” his lips brushing the curve of your neck “to fuck you good.”

“Yeah?” you whispered.

“Promise.” 

He let out a low, shaky groan as his hand squeezed your arse, pulling you closer against him. His lips returned to your chest, latching onto the soft flesh with a warm, open-mouthed kiss that sent a shiver through your spine. His hips bucked gently into your hand, still soft but slowly responding, the friction encouraging him more than he might have expected. 

“Talk to me.” he murmured against your skin, punctuating his words with another kiss, this time right over your heart.

“About what?” 

“Anything.” he gasped, his breath catching when you tugged just a bit harder. His head tilted back slightly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he tried to stay focused. “Anything to distract me from thinking too hard.”

“Okay, let’s see…” you started, the rhythm of your hand unbroken as you searched for something that might pull him out of his head. “How about the fact that she said her first word today?” you offered, your voice lifting slightly as you rubbed your thumb along his length.

Alex let out a short laugh, half-gasping as his hips moved with more intention now. “You think I forgot?” he asked, his tone teasing despite the breathlessness. “I’ll be telling everyone about that for years, love. Even strangers in the queue at Tesco.”

“Yeah?” you grinned, leaning down to kiss his temple. “Bet you’ll exaggerate it too. ‘Oh, she looked right at me, so serious, and said ‘Dada’ like she was delivering some grand speech.’”

“She did though. You saw her. Our girl was bloody profound.”

“She had food all over her face.” you countered, laughing softly.

“That’s just charisma.” he replied, his voice softer now, though his hips bucked again, more firmly.

“Uh-huh, sure.” you teased, your fingers sliding down further to cup him gently, eliciting a groan that vibrated against your skin.

“More,” he mumbled, his voice husky.

“More talking or more touching?” you teased, your hand giving him a firmer stroke, feeling him start to harden properly against your palm.

“Both.” His hips moved in small, involuntary motions against your hand, but he still wasn’t quite where he wanted to be. “Something else this time. Anything- just not…”

“Not what?” 

He let out a shaky laugh, his head shaking slightly. “Not about her.” he admitted, his voice low and embarrassed. “Feels weird…when you’ve got your hand on my dick.”

You laughed and Alex groaned again, though this time it was out of exasperated affection. “Fair point.” you teased, giving him a soft squeeze that earned you a sharp inhale. “Okay, let’s think…”

“Yeah, think of something good.” he muttered, his lips trailing a line of warm, lazy kisses down the side of your neck. “Something sexy or ridiculous, just…”

“Alright,” you said, “remember that time we got locked out of the old flat because you thought you could ‘jimmy’ the door with a credit card?”

“Oh, come on, don’t remind me.” he groaned, though there was a smile in his voice. “I was just trying to impress you.”

“You were trying to impress me by breaking into your own flat?” you teased, your thumb brushing over the sensitive underside of his cock, drawing a quiet gasp from him.

“It almost worked.” he said, mock-defensively. 

“It really didn’t.” you replied, laughing softly. “We ended up waiting outside for two hours until your mate showed up with the spare key.”

“Yeah, and you still went out with me after that.” he shot back, his lips curling into a smirk against your skin.

“Only because you bought me chips and promised never to try anything that stupid again.” you countered, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw.

He hummed in response, his lips seeking yours for a lazy, lingering kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. “I’d buy you chips every day if it meant I’d get to keep you.” he murmured against your lips.

“That’s very sweet.” you said softly, “but you don’t need to bribe me with chips. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good…because I’m not sure what I’d do without you.” he whispered. “Morning’s overrated anyway.” he mumbled with a smirk, his confidence finally peeking through, making you laugh softly as he pulled you even closer.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. The first tentative stroke of his fingers over your folds pulled a quiet sound from your lips, a soft sigh that made his chest tighten. “Yeah? Mhm…you’re real wet.”

He hooked a leg over your waist, tugging himself closer and shifting his weight to make it easier to manoeuvre. With a grumble, he raised his arms over his head, his eyes flicking down at you with a playful tilt to his brow. “Help me take off my shirt.” — somewhere between impatient and endearing.

You chuckled softly, reaching up to grip the hem and pulling it up and off. His messy hair stuck up at odd angles from the friction, and you couldn’t resist brushing your fingers through it as he leaned back down, his lips grazing your jaw.

With the shirt discarded, Alex’s attention shifted back to you. His hand pushed your panties down just enough to free his wrist, not bothering to remove them entirely as he slid his middle finger into you. The stretch was perfect. His hips rutted gently against your thigh, seeking friction as he worked his finger deeper into you, his cock hot and heavy, twitching with every little noise you made. 

“That’s good, Al.” you moaned again, your hips moving against his hand, trying to take more of him.

“Yeah? You like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, his voice strained but steady. He added a second finger, the stretch making you cry out sharply, and he groaned in response. “Mhm…so tight.” he said, his hips jerking reflexively, his arousal growing harder to ignore.

“Just…more.” you gasped, arching into his touch as his thumb pressed against your clit, circling.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” he whispered, his words muffled against your skin as he kissed and nipped at the flesh, his scruff leaving a warm, tingling trail in its wake. His fingers moved faster now, just enough to drag a broken moan from your lips.

“Alex…” you breathed, the sound of his name on your lips making his hips jerk harder against your thigh.

“I’ve got you.” he whispered, “I’ll take care of you, love. Just let me make you feel good.”

You arched into his touch, your hands moving to push his boxers down over his hips. He groaned softly as the fabric slid away, freeing him entirely. His cock was still firming, enough to feel hopeful again.

“Yeah…” he breathed, his voice low and thick as he worked his fingers deeper into you, the sound of them going in and out suddenly louder. “That’s my girl…all wet for me. Missed this.” he mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled and hazy. “Missed ya.”

You nodded, unable to form words as his pace quickened, the rhythm of his fingers a barely restrained desperation. “Fuck…you’re perfect.” he whispered, his lips grazing yours in a fleeting kiss that left you aching for more. 

Despite the ache in his shoulders and the subtle burn building in his forearm, Alex kept his focus on you. The way your body moved, the sounds you made — it was all the motivation he needed to push past the weariness settling in his bones. His jaw tightened briefly, a hint of exhaustion flickering across his face, but he blinked it away before you could see. He made sure you didn’t. Every time his movements faltered for even a second, he redirected you — his thumb brushing over your clit with just enough pressure to steal your breath, his lips peppering your neck with kisses that made your body shudder.

Your hands slid down his back, your nails grazing lightly over the curve of his spine, and he hissed softly. “You’re gonna make me come before we even get to the good part.” you teased, your voice shaking slightly.

He chuckled, the sound low and rough, as he kissed you again, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl. “This is the good part.” he muttered. He curled his fingers inside you just right, and your body tensed, your breath hitching audibly.

“Alex…” you whimpered, your head falling back against the pillow as his thumb pressed harder.

“That’s it.” he murmured, his voice steady despite the faint tremble in his arms. “Let me hear you, love.” You gasped again. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “That’s my girl. Let go for me.”

And you did. Your body arched into him as you came, your moans filling the room as he worked you through it, fingers slowing but never stopping. He kissed you softly, his lips lingering against yours, letting you ride it out at your own pace.

“Beautiful.” he murmured, his voice thick with awe as he finally withdrew his hand. His fingers glistened in the dim light when he brought them to his lips, his eyes locked on yours as he licked them clean. A low groan escaped him at the taste, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leaned back in.

“Alex.” you whispered, your voice still shaky as you reached for him.

“Shh…” he said softly, shifting his weight to pull your panties all the way off. His movements were just a fraction slower than usual, his body heavier as he repositioned himself between your thighs, but he masked it. 

When he slipped inside of you, a soft gasp escaped him, his breath hitching as his shoulders gave the faintest shiver. He paused for a moment, his forehead dropping briefly to your collarbone as he adjusted to the warmth of you, the closeness. It was almost as if he needed a second to collect himself, to process the way you fit around him so perfectly. His focus seemed inward, like he was trying to keep himself tethered, to keep from drifting too far into his thoughts, the drag of him inside you unhurried, as if the intimacy itself was enough to sustain him.

“Al…” you whispered, brushing your hands through his hair, tugging gently to pull his face closer to yours.

He didn’t respond, just shifted forward until his chest was flush against yours, his arms wrapping tightly around your back. His movements grew lazier, his thrusts almost absent-minded, and then he stilled entirely, buried deep inside you as he pulled you tighter against him.

“C’mere.” he murmured and hooked his leg around your waist, the strength in his arms holding you securely as he twisted his body, rolling the two of you onto your sides. The shift was gentle. You went willingly. He kept you close, his arms curling tighter around your back, and when you settled, he pressed his forehead to yours. His gaze was soft but so heavy with unspoken truths that it made your chest ache.

“You okay?” you asked softly, reaching up to cradle his cheek in your palm.

He nodded, but the movement was subtle, barely more than a twitch, and tightness in his jaw told you there was more. Instead of answering, he leaned forward and kissed you softly, the press of his lips lingering.

“Just wanted to hold you.” he finally said. “Needed to feel you close.”

“You’ve got me.” you whispered back, your hand stroking the back of his neck as you pressed your body closer to his. “Always.”

He sighed, the sound heavy but full of relief, and began to move again, his hips shifting slowly, almost cautiously. Your legs tangled together as his thrusts became a gentle rocking motion, his forehead still pressed to yours.

“Is this okay?” he murmured after a moment, his voice low and husky, the words almost lost in the sound of your breathing.

“It’s perfect.” you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth as you reached down to grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

His free hand slid down your back, holding you to him like he was afraid you’d slip away. There was an edge of desperation in the way his fingers dug into your skin, the way his hips stuttered slightly before he found his rhythm again. He wasn’t rushing, though — it wasn’t about chasing an end. He was savouring it, savouring you. The way he kissed you between each slow thrust, spoke louder than any words he could’ve said. 

Alex groaned softly, burying his face in your neck again as his pace quickened just enough to make your breath hitch. “Fuck…you feel so good.” he mumbled against your skin. His hand slid down to your thigh, lifting it higher around his waist to bring you even closer.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back even now, and you pressed your lips to his temple. “Let go, baby.” you whispered, your voice a soft encouragement as your fingers slid down his back. “I’ve got you.”

His breath hitched, and his pace faltered for just a moment before he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His movements grew more instinctive, his restraint slipping as he finally let himself sink, hips jerking forward in a way that felt less controlled, and then he stilled, deep inside you as his body trembled against yours.

“Fuck-” he whispered, the word drawn out as he let himself go.

It was with a quiet groan against your skin, his arms tightening around you as he held you close.

You held him through it, your hands smoothing over his back as his breathing slowly began to steady, face pressed into your neck, his body still pressed flush against yours, before he finally leaned back just enough to look at you.

“I love you.” he murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

“I love you too.” you whispered back, holding him tighter, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours as the world around you fell quiet.

Alex exhaled another deep, shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders finally melting away as he settled. “You’re everything.” he said quietly, the words almost lost as he buried his face in your hair.

He stayed there, his breath fanning against your skin in slow, warm exhalations, your bodies still connected in a way that made it feel like you were sharing the same heartbeat. His arms remained draped over you, heavy and firm, holding you close in a way that felt both protective and desperate. You thought he was just catching his breath, trying to calm the storm that had been building all day. But then you felt it — his grip loosened.

It wasn’t gradual, like he was letting go consciously. It happened all at once, his hands slipping from their secure hold to rest limply against your sides, the weight of them going heavy in a way that immediately caught your attention.

“Baby.” you whispered. You tilted your head to try and get a look at his face. He didn’t stir.

“Aly.” you tried again, brushing through his damp hair, pushing the strands away from his forehead. He didn’t react, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. Instead of responding, he shifted slightly, his body curling even closer to you. He made a small, soft noise — barely audible — as he burrowed further into you, pressing his face against your chest like he was trying to disappear there entirely, seeking refuge, breath tickling your skin.

Your heart softened as realisation dawned. He was asleep.

He made it ache too, all at once. You had seen how tired he was. The exhaustion he had carried — the tension in his shoulders, the weariness in his eyes, the quiet hesitations in his voice — had finally claimed him. You let your fingers continue their path through his hair, marvelling at how peaceful he looked now, his features slack and unburdened, his lips slightly parted as his breaths fell. It was such a stark contrast to the tension he so often carried.

“Sweetheart.” you murmured softly, more to yourself than to him, not expecting a response this time. You traced the line of his jaw, your thumb brushing lightly over the roughness. There was something different about it now, something softer, like sleep had stripped away all his worries and left just…him.

He shifted slightly when you moved, but he didn’t wake. Instead, his arm tightened around you — just for a moment, a subconscious reflex, like his sleeping body refused to let you go — before going slack again.

“Okay, okay.” you whispered, smiling to yourself as you adjusted under him. “I’m not going anywhere. Sleep, love.” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ve got you.”

The room was so quiet now, the faint hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the house the only sounds besides his breathing. You felt the rhythm of it, how it matched yours, slow and steady and calm.

You let your fingers drift lazily along his back, tracing patterns you weren’t even aware of. Every now and then, he’d shift slightly, almost imperceptibly, like his body was adjusting to make itself even closer to you.

It was a long time before you let yourself relax fully, but eventually, the warmth of him, the heaviness of his body pressed against yours, lulled you into a kind of peaceful stillness. You stared at the ceiling for a while, your hand still tangled in his hair, and wondered how he had managed to hold so much inside himself all day without breaking.

“I love you.” you whispered into the quiet, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you.

a/n: I’m a very sad lonely woman as you can see. Jus’ a girl. He’s just a baby. Lil’ bebe. Inspired by some reel I saw but I'm too lazy to get the link now.

[anama-cara]

swipe right

Rhysand x reader drabble

Summary: After matching on a dating app, you meet Rhysand at your local café for a 1st date. It does not go how you expected. Word count: 2.2k Drabble. AU. Set in the real world. Descriptions of reader’s clothing only. Use of y/n.

Warnings: Minors dni, 18+, Unprotected PIV, fingering (f receiving)

You’re sitting in a booth with your back against the wall, facing the door. He’s late. You swirl your cup of coffee in front of you. You know you should have waited for him to order, but you felt bad taking up a table and not ordering anything. You dressed up a bit for your date, but not too much. You don’t want to appear like you’re trying too hard, or be over dressed if he wears something really casual. You wear a black skater skirt and a light blue sweater with a silver pendant.

              Did you just get stood up? You stare at your cup, only a third left. The bell above the door jingles and you look up. The world seems to go quiet and you stare. He’s freaking gorgeous. Darkness seems to ripple out of him. The people chatting around you go quiet for a second. Tall dark and handsome would be an understatement, you think to yourself. You blink and avert your eyes before he can catch you staring. The talking around you starts up again. My gosh he is unbelievably attractive. He was handsome in his profile picture sure, but the photo was a bit farther away and kinda grainy, this… him… Your heart is beating embarrassingly fast.

              He glances around the café and his eyes land on you. Your stomach flutters at the eye contact made. He grins and you began to feel that flutter a little lower. He approaches your table, smoothly. So smooth. He moves silently, full of ease and grace.

              “Y/N?”

              You have to clear your throat before saying, “Yes, nice to finally meet you in person.”

              He drags the chair out from the table and takes a seat across from you. You watch him as he moves and gulp. You watch his hands as he grips the chair, broad and strong, watch the muscles flex in his forearms. His arms were tanned and muscled, his biceps tight under his charcoal short sleeved t-shirt. The shirt also graciously showed off his broad shoulders and chest. You knew underneath there hid a very toned abdomen. You said a silent thank you to the shirt. He wore black jeans and black boots to complete the look. Peeking out underneath his shirt collar you could see whispers of a dark flowing tattoo that swept across his chest. It wound around his biceps too. You had never really been a fan of tattoos but suddenly it seemed like the most attractive thing in the world. That is, until you looked up and met his eyes as he sat down as gazed at you, smiling broadly.

              Shit.

              You wouldn’t admit to yourself that you felt a tug between your legs. His eyes were violet. Impossible. He had violet eyes that seemed to dance in the light. You stared until you realized you were being rude and blinked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed your awe. He did. His devilish grin grew.

              “Hello darling”

              Oh fuuuuck. That velvet voice. You were in trouble alright.

              “Nice to meet you too. This is a charming little place you picked,” he says casually, glancing around the café. He looks back to you. “Cozy,” he says with a wink. A flirt.

              He noticed your already half drunk cup of coffee and frowns. “I’m sorry I was late. A friend of mine, Cass, was in a tight spot and I had to help him out.”

You realize you haven’t spoken a word yet. You were too enthralled with his beauty. You shake your head ever so slightly and ask calmy, “Oh no worries. Is your friend okay?”

              “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he replied with a cocky smile. “He’s just one of those friends that sometimes does stuff without thinking and trouble always seems to follow them.”

              Just then the waitress arrives and stands next to him to take his order. Very close to him. He gives he order quickly – coffee. Black.

              “Thank you,” he says as she writes it down. His voice is polite and quiet. Not at all like the flirtatious tone he had just been using moments ago, despite the waitress flashing smiles and batting her eyelashes, giving all the obvious signals like you’re invisible. You clear your throat. She throws you a glare before leaving.

              “You look beautiful.” Now his tone is respectful. Sincere. You hide your blush.

              What a flirt. But it was working.

              “Thank you.” You give a little laugh. “You look beautiful too.” He smiles at your compliment.

You chat back and forth about all the normal first date stuff: where you both grew up, what you studied in school, what your favorite book was, what kind of music you listened to. You got to know each other, sipping on coffee and giggling at his shameless flirting. Before you knew it two hours had gone by and the shop was closing.

“Where did you park?” he asks. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I’m behind the back and down the alley,” you give a shrug. “Free parking.”

He chuckles and stands from his chair, offering you a hand. You take it and he helps you up. He doesn’t let go of your hand. He leads you through the shop to the back door. As you pass the waitress you give her an overly sweet sarcastic smile.

Its late in the afternoon and the sky is a fading blue and the sun sinks into dusk. There’s a street lamp on the road, but the alley is mostly painted in shadows.

He stops and turns to face you. “I had a good time today. When can I see you again?” He’s still holding your hand.

Your mind is blank, he’s so much closer, there’s no table between you, no café full of other people. It’s just the two of you, surrounded by shadow in the still night and he is standing right in front of you, so very close. You could reach out and touch his face, you could…

--

His eyes move back and forth between your own. The slight anxiety he had from you not answering his question instantly vanishes and he clocks your expression. He takes a step forward, closing the space between you. Your hand floats upwards on its own accord and reaches out to cup his jaw. Your eyes never leave his own and you still look dazed. He smiles to himself and takes another step. You instinctively follow his lead, stepping backwards until your back is pressed against the cold alley wall. He lets go of you and cages you against the wall, hands pressed into the concrete on either side of your head. Your beautiful hand is still cupping his face and he leans into your touch closing his eyes a moment to relish in it. When he opens his eyes again you’re still gazing at him and your glossed lips are slightly parted. He lowers his head and leans in closer, whispering against your skin barely inches away.

“Can I kiss you?” You nod and close your eyes. He smiles and takes pauses, taking the image of you in, committing it to memory before he presses his lips to yours.

--

His lips are soft and full as they move against yours, taking your breath away. You lift your head off the wall slightly, deepening the kiss. He reciprocates your eagerness and you part your lips, his tongue immediately licking into your mouth. Your hand that was resting on his jaw moves down, lightly sliding along the skin of his neck and collar bone to grip at his shoulder, pulling him closer to you. You hook one leg around his waist to pull his whole body against yours. Any tenderness in that kiss is gone and you are full on making-out. Your body grinds into his and you feel his body tense in response. What is wrong with you? You don’t do this on first dates. You don’t make out with people in dark alleyways. But he has some power of you, there’s just something about him that draws you in and won’t let go. All rational thoughts leave your head as your body takes over, focusing on the feel of his lips against yours, the muscles in his shoulder, the warmth of his body pressed to yours. His right hand drops from the wall and reaches for the leg you looped around him. He hikes your leg up and hold you, slowly running his hand up and down your thigh. Your skin tingles at his touch and you feel yourself getting wetter. His hand moves farther up your thigh and he skims the hem of skirt. He pulls back, gasping. You tilt your head back, leaning it against the wall for support.

“Can I- “

“Please” you immediately respond.

He smirks and leans forward to kiss you again. His hand moves all the way up your thigh, under your skirt and his thumb hooks the waistband of your lacy underwear. He slowly pulls them down, taking his time as his hand brushes against your skin. Not wanting them to fall on the dirty alley floor he tucks them into his back pocket. Maybe you’ll just let him keep them. Then his hand is back on you, gliding up, leaving a trail of electricity at the contact. His touch makes your skin come alive and you arch your back at the feeling.

Gently his fingers reach your core and he runs his middle finger up your seam. He groans into your mouth at the feeling of your wetness. It drags up and down a few times tantalizingly, then circles your entrance to gather slick before sliding back up to your clit. He flicks it then begins rubbing slow circles. You moan into his mouth as he plays with you. His finger glides back down and pushes into you, curling against your wall in the most wonderful way. You break the kiss as you tilt your head back into the wall, pressing against it as your back arches and your hips roll into his hand. He brings his lips to your chin that juts out, leaving a kiss before his open lips trail down your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. Your having trouble figuring out where to focus, his mouth or his hand. He presses his lips into the hollow of your throat then into the bit of cleavage visible above the V-neck collar of your sweater. He sucks on the soft flesh of your breast as he continues to slide his finger in and out of you. It feels so good and you let out a strangled little noise. His hand stills and leaves you to rest on your inner thigh. His eyes flick up to yours and his lips leave your flesh.

“Are you sure?” He asks. His violet eyes are gleaming and eager.

You nod as you reach for his pants in response. You unbutton his jeans and look up to meet his eyes again as you slowly lower his zipper. He is completely still; you think he may even be holding his breath. Your fingers slip under the waistband of his jeans and boxers at his hips. With both hands you tug them down till they rest on his thighs. Even in the low lighting you can tell that his cock is just as beautiful as the rest of him. But he doesn’t give you any time to admire it. He leans you back against the wall again and hooks your leg back around him, holding just below your knee. He gives you a quick kiss before pulling back to wrap a large hand around his thick cock and guiding it into your entrance. He pauses there to read your eyes again before slowly pushing all the way into you. Once he is inside you, he breathes deeply. His hand brushes against your cheek affectionately before he places it back onto the wall. He shits his weight forward, leaning against his hand and thrusting even farther into you, pushing your own hips into the wall. He hits something deep inside you and you let out a moan. Spurred on by your sounds he pulls out halfway then thrusts back into you as he sets up a pace.

It doesn’t take long before you feel your orgasm building.

“Rhysand I’m-“

“Me too darling.” He replies with a grunt as he deepens his movements.

And then you’re contracting around him, holding onto him as you ride your waves of pleasure. Your hand is squeezing his shoulder and your pussy is squeezing his cock as you cling to him. Just as you’re coming down you feel him quickly pull out. He strokes his cock and points it at the alley wall beside you but he sees you lift your skirt up and groans loudly as he spills on your lower stomach. It trickles down onto your mound and your sensitive core.

He lets out a shaky breath and leans into you, resting his head on your shoulder, his cock pressed against your sticky stomach. You feel his chest rise and fall against yours and his hot breath on your back.

“Tomorrow. I’m free tomorrow.” You say and he laughs. It’s a bright, beautiful laugh and you smile underneath him. He presses a kiss to your shoulder then your lips.

“Good.”

[starimusprime]

Caught

An OpLita fanfic 💜

Word count: 2,432 Continuity: TF: One

Summary: Optimus takes Elita to see the Hall of Records. They kiss. They kiss a lot.

❗️CONTAINS BIG TF ONE SPOILERS❗️

As the two walk with languid strides through the lit archives of the Hall of Records, Optimus occasionally stops to point out his favorite sections or where he had almost been caught by the guards when he was Orion.

     They round a corner and he pauses, glancing back at Elita with a soft chuckle as he gestures to a bot-sized grate at the end of the aisle of shelves.

     “The last time I came here, I busted through that grate with a security drone in my servos and almost died.”

     "I remember hearing about that incident," Elita says. "You were always one for the dramatic exits, Orion."

     “Hah. And entrances,” he adds.

     A soft smile graces his face as he recalls who he had been not even a quartex ago. Hearing his old name…it doesn’t feel like it’s no longer his name. He’s still getting used to being called Optimus, not to mention Prime.

     "And how many times did D-16 have to bail you out of trouble?" she asks playfully, walking closer to him.

     He stops mid-stride, his gaze falling to the floor. He takes a deep breath.

     “Please, Elita,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to talk about D…”

     She steps closer and places a gentle servo on his arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned him... Are you okay?"

     Optimus vents. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

     “No,” he admits. He then looks at her with a gentle smile. “But I will be.”

     Elita nods understandingly, her optics softening. "Let's talk about something else, then."

     He nods back. His optics return to their usual brightness and he beckons her to follow him down one of the aisles. They come to a junction with a holovid table in the center. He walks over to a shelf and picks up a holovid drive, blowing the dust off of it as he returns to the table.

     “This is an old favorite of mine,” the Prime explains before gently inserting it into the table’s drive slot.

     Elita watches with curiosity as he activates the table, a holographic projection springing to life in the air above it. The image is grainy but powerful:  two colossal figures locked in combat, one radiant with light, the other shrouded in shadow.

     A narrator’s voice emanates from the table, recounting the legendary tale as the projections of Primus the Creator and Unicron the Destroyer fight each other. Unicron desired full power over the universe, while Primus believed that balance was essential. Optimus’ optics glow a little brighter as he allows himself to be immersed in the story of Primus becoming Cybertron.

     Elita watches the ancient battle play out in awe. The story is told to every Cybertronian when they are forged, so she knows the tale by spark, but there is something about seeing it play out before her that makes her spark thrum stronger. She glances at Optimus, his new, yet familiar frame reflecting the light from the holographic projection.

     The holovid comes to an end and he removes it from the play slot.

     “I would always watch it when I saw it,” he says as he returns it to its shelf. “It gave me great inspiration for what I still believe in.”

     "The balance," she agrees, nodding her helm slightly. "You've always had a strong sense of justice."

     Optimus turns to her with a gentle smile. “Yes…although, it seems it’s too strong for my own good sometimes.”

     "I think it's your biggest strength," Elita says, her optics searching his. "And it's what makes you a great leader."

     His optics widen slightly and his smile fades. “But I’ve only been Prime for a quartex… I still have so much to learn about what makes a good leader.”

     She steps closer, her servo resting gently on his arm. “You’re doing great, Optimus. You’re still the same Orion I knew, just with a little extra wisdom now. And a really cool new name.”

     Her touch is unexpectedly soothing, but Optimus shies away from her optics. He can feel his spark thrumming in his chassis, threatening to remind him of the sight of D-16's enraged face when he took the killing blow for Sentinel Prime.

     “Thank you… You have also done well as my commander so far. I'm glad I chose you to be by my side."

     "You've always had a knack for making the right decisions, even if you do execute them in stupid ways sometimes," Elita says with a playful smile. She takes a step back to give him space. "But tell me, how are you really feeling? This is a lot to handle in such a short amount of time."

     He shakes his helm. “I am recovering. Slowly, but…I am. My frame still aches from the reformat, but it’s getting better.”

     She looks at him with concern. “And…emotionally?”

     He vents and shifts his weight on his peds. “I’d really prefer not to talk about it right now. I’m sorry.”

     "You don't have to be sorry," Elita says softly. "We all have our burdens. I just want you to know I’m here if you ever want to share yours."

     He nods, his smile returning. “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”

     They resume walking through the archives, Optimus leading Elita through the maze with such efficiency that one might have thought he had worked there.

     As they stroll, Elita can’t help but notice how the light from the archives' dim lights dances across the Prime’s red and blue armor.

     “So, uh," she says with a teasing lilt, "have you ever been in love?”

     He nearly trips on his own ped. His battle mask snaps over his lower face, and it takes him a second to realize it’s his new frame’s automatic response to his own face heating up. He tries his best not to show that her question has caught him off-guard, but he isn’t confident that it works.

     “Uh…um…no, I don’t think I’ve been in love…before.”

     Elita’s smile widens, and she lets out a light laugh. “Oh, come on, Optimus. Surely a scrappy mech like you had at least one lover?”

     She playfully nudges his servo with her own, her armor brushing against his.

     Optimus feels his blush deepen and he tilts his helm up slightly, trying to hide it from her prying optics. “No, I…I’ve never had that. No one ever found me attractive in that way.”

     She chuckles lightly, her optic sparkling with mischief. "I find that hard to believe. You've always had a certain charm to you, even as the annoying, foolhardy miner you were. And now, as Prime, some say you’re quite the optic candy."

     His engine sputters at that and he stops, looking down at her with wide optics. “Wh…what?”

     Elita laughs. “You really don’t know, do you?”

     He’s quiet for a long moment. He shakes his helm, his spark thrumming hard in his chassis.

     “Don’t know what?”

     She steps closer to him, her gaze unwavering. “The way you blush so adorably when you’re flustered. It’s charming, really."

     Static gets caught in his vocalizer and he resets it, offering a nervous smile that he forgets she can’t see with his mask in the way. “You really…think I’m charming? You aren’t just trying to make me feel better?”

     Her optics widen, then glow brighter with adoration. She brings her servo up to gently stroke the side of Optimus’ smooth, angular battle mask.

     "I wouldn't say something like that unless I meant it," she says gently.

     “Elita…I…” He takes a deep breath, then wills his battle mask to disengage. It retracts with a series of clicks, fully revealing the soft blue glow under his optics. “I don’t know what to say. I…I never thought this would be…mutual…”

     "I know we've both been through a lot lately, but I think we could use a moment to just...be ourselves." She reaches up to caress his cheek with her servo. "I've had feelings for you for a little while now."

     His spark skips a thrum. “…you have?”

     Elita nods, her gaze locked with his. “I have. Since before your transformation. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

     Optimus finally lets his optics meet hers again. After a long, tense moment of silence, he slowly lifts his own servo, hesitantly sliding his digits up her jaw. His servo stops at the side of her neck, just under her audio receptor.

     “Elita…”

    She leans into his touch. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I needed you to know how I feel.”

     He lets out a shaky breath. So much has happened in quick succession over the past two quartex, but this…this is all he can focus on. It’s time.

     “I have been in love with you since the solar cycle you became my mining captain, Elita,” he confesses quietly.

     She stands frozen for a moment, processing his words. Then she leans in, her servo sliding behind his neck to pull him closer.

     He feels her warmth as she presses into him, his spark fluttering and engine purring. This is what Orion had always hoped for, but he had never dared to believe it could ever be real. He lets her pull him down to her, his own servos trembling as he cups her helm and tilts his. Optics closed, he gently kisses her lips, ever cautious with this act that's so brand new to him.

     Elita’ optics close and she kisses him back just as gently. Her servo slides from his neck to his back, drawing him closer as she melts into his tender embrace.

     His servo lingers at the side of her neck, feeling the quick pulse of her spark in her fuel line as he kisses her more deeply. His other servo drifts downward and he wraps his arm around her waist, holding her close as if he's afraid she might vanish into thin air.

     Elita's other servo moves to the side of his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. His inexperience is palpable, but the way he holds her, the urgency in his kiss, speaks volumes.

      Optimus pulls away just enough to breathe out, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” then kisses her more passionately, leaning into her.

     Elita giggles softly at his eagerness, reaching her servo up to gently caress one of the two finials on his helm, her touch light and exploratory.

     The sudden contact on his finial makes him jerk his helm away with a gasp.

     “Oh, careful…” Optimus chuckles sheepishly as he tentatively rubs his overstimulated finial. “Sorry. These are still quite sensitive…”

     She pulls back, looking slightly apologetic, but her gaze lingers on the prominent new pieces on his helm.

     "They're cute," Elita purrs.

     His blush deepens at the compliment and he smiles, shyly lowering his helm back down toward hers with a nod.

     “It’s okay, you can touch them. I was just…startled.”

     She laughs softly, a warm sound that fills the coldly lit metal hallway. "You're so cute when you're flustered."

     She leans in and places a gentle kiss on his finial, pulling back with a curious glint in her optics.

     The Prime’s optics widen at the unexpected gesture. He smiles at her, his engine purring from the gentle contact.

     “What was that for?”

     "They're part of you now,” she says. “I just wanted to...welcome them."

     Optimus chuckles softly. “I’m sure my finials appreciate your welcome.”

     He pauses, his processor lagging with the reality of the situation. Him…Elita…in the Hall of Records…alone. Flirting. Kissing. It sounds fictitious.

     He resets his vocalizer again and quietly asks, “May I…kiss you more?”

     She grins and nods, leaning into him as her engine purrs louder. “Please do.”

     With a low rumble in his chassis, he wraps his arms around her waist and leans in to kiss her again. This time, a little more familiar with the act, he’s regained some of his old Orion Pax confidence. He kisses her deeply, pressing against her until her back meets one of the shelving units. The datapads on the shelves rattle from the light impact and one clatters to the floor, but he simply nudges it out of the way with his ped.

     Elita giggles at the way he keeps his attention on her. She wraps her arms around his neck, her digits tracing the subtle grooves in his helm.

     “Orion...” she purrs softly between kisses.

     Optimus feels alive in a way he never has in his life. Not when he was mining. Not when he was scaling buildings. Not when he was sliding down them. Not when he was getting caught by the authorities. Nothing compares to Elita.

     The weight of his new title feels momentarily lifted as he’s just Orion again, finally holding the femme he’s always loved. His servos trace the smooth contours of her armor, savoring every inch of her, as his kisses grow bolder.

     Elita cautiously begins to run her servos over his chassis, exploring his new form with an eager yet respectful curiosity.

     The Prime feels a warmth spread through his entire being as Elita’s servos caress his new frame. For a moment, he’s lost in the feeling of her against him, the scent of her armor, the soft sounds of their servos sliding over each other’s armor.

     The clearing of a vocalizer snaps Optimus into fight or flight, his powerful engine revving and armor flaring as he turns away from Elita. It’s Jazz, the smaller silver and black bot leaning against the wall with a slag-eating grin on his face. Optimus’ thoughts scatter.

     "Jazz," he stammers, "I...uh...we were...just...inspecting the archives for any signs of structural damage. Yes."

     Elita's laughter rings through the hallway, a light, melodious sound that fills the space with warmth. She steps back from Optimus, her own cheeks a soft shade of blue.

     "Okay, you caught us," she says, her voice playfully chiding. "Couldn't you see we were busy?"

     She crosses her servos in front of her chassis, trying to compose herself. She glances at Optimus, the amusement in her gaze purely affectionate. The sight of his flustered state is adorable and somehow comforting, reminding her of the Orion she knew before he became Prime.

     "Ah, I see. Structural inspection, huh?" Jazz winks at Elita, his optics shifting between the two of them. "I can't say I've ever tried that particular method before, but to each their own, right? But, as delightful as this is, Prime, we do have some serious business to attend to."

     Jazz holds up a data pad, at which Optimus lets out a heavy vent before gesturing for Jazz to enlighten them.