#thank you again so so SO much for just...everything

[noonecareslol]

࣪˖ ִ ೀ 𝐀 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Hwang In-ho x Fem! Reader

Summary: When the games aren’t in session, and In-ho is lonely, he finds himself in the first row at the ballet. Watching you. Suddenly he's falling in love.

TW: Channeling my love for older men. Injury. Reader lowkey gets sad for a sec. Age gap (reader is 25 In-ho is 49). Just FLUFF! In-ho learning how to love someone again. Quite literally head over heels for you. Allusions to masturbation. Size kink if you squint.

WC! 5k

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It is quite obvious that In-ho is an old soul.

He enjoys old films, old clothing, old theatre, and old music. The little jazz set that plays, “Fly Me To The Moon” is a cherished possession of his, along with his vintage whiskey decanter.

He wears a musky cologne he’d been gifted by his late wife, and his closet is lined with leather dress shoes and perfectly pressed slacks. His dimly lit room on the island is vastly similar to the one in his Seoul apartment, everything perfectly neat and clean.

Yes, In-ho is an old soul.

And in between the games, when he would return to Seoul, he’d find himself bored. Especially during the night. He’d miss his wife, the whispered hope of a promised future.

Often he would distract himself by putting his whiskey decanter to good use, pouring the aged whiskey into his glass over and over again. He would linger by his shelf full of movies he’d seen hundreds of times, tracing his fingers along the cases until he landed on a title. A small smile would play on his lips before popping it into the DVD player and taking a seat next to his beloved cat.

He would find himself mumbling the lines as the actors spoke them on screen, his hand absentmindedly petting his cat. When the movie is over, and the quiet resumes, he’d move to his bedroom.

He’d ensure his cat followed before changing into his expensive pajamas and climbing into the king-sized bed. His cat would join him and he would drift to sleep, dreaming of, well, nothing.

He would close his eyes and wake up without any dream having occupied his mind.

This routine became comfortable. Each night he would get home from whatever he’d been doing before, drink, watch a movie, play with his cat, and sleep without any dreams.

But this night, this night was different.

It was a cold night. And all In-ho wanted to do was drown in glasses of whiskey and watch “Dial ‘M’ For Murder” with his cat.

But as he walked past a line of people waiting to enter a theatre, a poster caught his attention. He blinked once, twice, before walking toward the lit-up frame.

A strikingly beautiful ballerina caught his attention first. She held her arms elegantly above her head, her leg pointed behind her, her other leg resting on pointe as she looked to the side. She was breathtaking.

The Seoul Ballet Company Presents: Swan Lake

Opening Night November 1st

Suddenly the thought of whiskey and Alfred Hitchcock left his mind as he joined the line. I mean, who would miss out on opening night?

Especially when the lead was so pretty.

“We have one ticket left in the front row.” The woman behind the ticket booth clicked her pen unenthusiastically as she watched In-ho pull his leather vintage wallet out of his coat pocket.

A grin rested plainly on his lips as he fiddled with his cash, “That’s perfect. How much?”

The woman slowly turned and punched a few numbers into her register before turning back to him, “80,000 won.” She clicked her pen again.

“Do you have change for 100,000?” He held the two 50,000 won in front of him, watching as she stared at him blankly.

She blinked once before snatching the bills from his hands, “Nope!” In-ho sighed. For someone so slow she took those bills awfully fast.

In-ho drew his lips into a thin line before taking the ticket and placing it in his wallet, “Thanks.”

“Yeah enjoy the show or, like, whatever.” The woman took out her phone and began to text as he walked away, obviously not giving a shit about her job.

But as In-ho walked through the double doors, his breath caught in his throat. The theatre certainly did not disappoint his love for old architecture.

The large barrel vaulted ceilings were beautifully ornamented and adorned with intricately painted designs. Gorgeous crown molding edged the ceiling and stretched to the floor. And a large crystal chandelier rested as the centerpiece, warmly lit and inviting.

In-ho took his seat, a smile evident on his lips as he sighed contently. However, he hoped his cat wasn’t too worried about his whereabouts. Maybe she could come along next time? She is a very sophisticated cat, after all.

As the chandelier and house lights began to dim, the crowd became quiet with anticipation and excitement. And it would be dishonest to say that In-ho wasn’t a little excited as well.

He looked to his left at the woman sitting next to him. She was a small elderly lady with a pair of glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her eyes were filled with excitement as she scanned through the pamphlet, a wide smile plastered on her face.

She wore a vintage necklace around her neck, layered with pearls. In-ho smiled, it was nice to see someone who also had a knack for old taste.

The soft notes of Swan Lake began to play, and In-ho watched as the curtains opened, revealing the beautifully decorated stage. Large trees with hanging vines arched over the set, greenery and flowers blending into the painted backdrop.

A foggy mist flooded the stage as dancers began to move elegantly across. But the lead had yet to make an appearance.

In-ho watched rather impatiently, and failed to notice the woman next to him lean in, “Right now, the prince is going hunting with his crossbow. But he will find that the white swan has turned into a beautiful woman, and has fallen under a curse.” The old woman pointed slightly to the prince, her voice whispering just loud enough for him to hear.

His eyes trained on the prince as he danced with his crossbow, “Thank you. I must look confused.”

The old lady gave a small laugh, “I used to dance for this company, i’ll never miss an opportunity to explain the ballet.”

In-ho watches as she subtly mimics the prince's moves, her hands moving elegantly in front of her. Her eyes were closed, the sound of the music bringing emotion to her face.

Her eyes flick open as the music changes softly, “Look.” Her eyes lighting up as she nods slightly to the stage.

In-ho watches as you finally take the stage, fluttering your feet as you move elegantly toward the prince. Your hands held high above your head, moving gracefully as you bourrée.

He watched as your back muscles contracted, moving as if you had wings. His eyes trained down to your legs and to your pointe shoes, watching as you danced with ease.

Your white feathered skirt moved along with you, the bodice elegantly framing you perfectly. The feathered piece in your hair catches In-ho’s attention, causing him to study your face.

That poster was nothing compared to your beauty.

You held a soft look, but In-ho didn’t fail to notice the focus that caused your eyebrows to furrow slightly. Your movements were soft and graceful, your demeanor innocent and melancholic.

You were perfect as the white swan.

You were perfect.

He wondered if you were just as innocent as you portray yourself to be, “God, she’s beautiful.”

The elderly woman hummed in agreement as she watched In-ho’s gaze remain sharp on the white swan, an all-knowing smile spread across her lips.

As the ballet continued it seemed that the rest of the audience had disappeared. In-ho felt as if you were only dancing for him. No one else.

He swore you looked at him a few times, him being the focus point of your graceful turns.

And when you transitioned into the black swan, all thoughts in In-ho’s head became dark.

Oh, how he liked this side of you.

Your movements were sharp, determined, and seductive. And he found himself adjusting in his seat as his slacks became increasingly tight. You were so close to him. Just a few feet from his touch as you danced on stage. He could take you right now. He could fuck you, make you feel things you’ve never felt before.

And as you leaped on the stage, the white swan jumping to her death, In-ho felt a tear slip from his eye. You were magnificent.

The audience filed out of the theatre, fanning themselves with their pamphlets and discussing the ballet. You had received a standing ovation, and In-ho took pride in being the first one to stand and clap.

He had finally caught your attention. And when you locked eyes with him as you bowed, you felt your brain turn to mush.

He was handsome. Like, extremely handsome.

His face was perfectly chiseled. His eyes crinkled as he flashed a perfect smile, his hair slightly falling in front of his face and covering his dark eyes.

You didn’t blink once as you remained under his gaze, and it wasn’t until another dancer pulled you up that you realized you were bowing for far too long.

You avoided his eye contact as you walked off, embarrassed he had made you turn into putty just by his stare.

And as In-ho exited the theatre, he took his time lingering by the lamp post. He’d secretly hoped to see you leave.

He doesn’t know what he would say if he did see you. Maybe he would compliment you, or ask you a meaningless question. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d push you against the lamppost, and let his desire consume you.

He’d just wait a little bit longer.

10 minutes.

15 minutes.

30 minutes.

The woman from behind the ticket booth locked the door as she brought down the metal gate, “Excuse me, did the woman who danced as the white swan leave yet?”

She turned around smacking her gum, “Yeah. Why?” She sized him up, placing a hand on her hip as she cocked an eyebrow.

In-ho felt his face flush, “I was just going to compliment her.” He put his cold hands in the pockets of his coat, shifting his weight onto his other foot.

“Yeah well,” The woman smacks her gum as she walks up towards In-ho, handing him a flier, “They have open practice every Friday. Tickets are only 10,000 won.”

He took the flier from her hand, folding it and sliding it into his pocket, “Thanks.” She nodded her head and walked past him, slipping into her jacket.

In-ho turned and started his walk to his apartment only a block away. When he arrived, he heard the familiar sound of meowing by his front door.

And as he opened the door, he came face to face with his cat waiting on the couch, “I’m sorry Elisabeth, but I’m too tired for a movie tonight.”

She gave an annoyed meow before reluctantly following him into his room, hopping onto the pillow beside his. In-ho got dressed in his pajamas, ready for another dreamless night as he slipped into the sheets next to Elisabeth.

But this time, it wasn't dreamless.

In fact, he had dreamed a very vivid dream.

He had dreamt of you.

And as In-ho woke up the next morning, his hand immediately went to his nightstand, picking up the flier.

It seems that the pretty ballerina has stolen his heart.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Plié! Ron de jambe, retiré! Good!" You held your arms in front of you, your right leg coming up at a bend, "Pas de chat, écarté! Don't rush it, Fiona!"

Your ballet teacher weaved between you and the other students, her tight bun sitting perfectly on her pointed head, "Développé, demi-pointe! No! Not pointe, demi pointe!"

Her thick French accent bellowed throughout the theatre, "Good y/n! Très bien!" A wide smile painted your lips as you continued your dance, your friend Fiona rolling her eyes at your praise. You giggled as you went into second, your arms outstretched to the side.

"Well done! Take a water break and stretch, we'll take five." You brought your hands to your knees, leaning over slightly as you caught your breath.

Fiona dramatically flopped on her back, a hand coming to her forehead as she breathed heavily, "I've died, she's killed me." You tossed her water bottle into her hand with a laugh as you sat next to her, your eyes scanning the theatre.

Familiar faces met your eyes. Elderly couples, former dancers, and little kids with their moms. Oh! And the man who you haven't stopped thinking about.

Wait.

You hit Fiona's shoulder hard, not taking your eyes off him, "Fiona. Fiona, look." She sat up, holding her shoulder as her eyes trailed to where you were subtly pointing.

"Oh, it's the hot dilf." Fiona took a drink from her bottle, watching as In-ho looked around while taking in the architecture.

You slapped her shoulder again, "Shut up! What if he hears you?" You get up from the ground, pulling Fiona up with you and tossing your water bottle back into your bag.

She followed suit, taking one last drink before tossing it in her own, "First off, stop hitting me. It's abuse." You rolled your eyes as you both took your spot by the barre, "Second, he's in the back corner of the theatre, he's not hearing shit. Except for our teacher's constant yelling."

You didn't respond, instead, you continued looking at him. His black turtle neck sweater hugged his biceps perfectly, and you didn't fail to notice his empty finger where a ring would sit.

"Okay! Lets continue! Tendu, plié! Ron de jambe, plié!"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It had been two months since In-ho first started spending his Fridays pining over you.

Each Friday, he would come home, change into an outfit he had dry-cleaned and pressed, feed Elisabeth, and head to the Theatre. He would take his spot in the far left corner, and watch as you danced and laughed with your friends.

He found himself looking forward to Fridays. Which is strange, because he's never looked forward to anything before. Well, besides the games. But he had been so focused on you, that he had fallen behind on his work. Something he'd never done before.

You plagued his mind.

He dreams of you. When he's asleep and awake. He'd find himself walking by the Theatre on other days when you were practicing, hoping to see a glimpse of you.

He found himself listening to Etta James and Nat King Cole more often than not. 'A Sunday Kind Of Love' and 'Unforgettable' filing his apartment as he cooked his dinners. 'My Fair Lady' and 'Gone With The Wind' replacing his classic mystery movies.

He even found himself stopping by flower boutiques, smelling the tulips and Orchids. He wonders what your favorite flower is. Perhaps it is Lilies, the flower that represents innocence and purity.

He wondered a lot if you were a virgin. Often imagining the feeling of your body under his large one late at night when he can't sleep, and when his hand finds itself under his pants.

You had him wrapped around your pretty little finger and you didn't even know it.

Vice Versa, you found yourself looking forward to Fridays as well.

It was the only day you could see the stranger who you had been thinking about constantly.

You liked his style, the way he carried himself with a confidence that intimidated you. His large frame towered over everyone, and he stood out from the crowd. He was perfect. It was as if god himself sculpted him with his own hands.

And oh my god.

You were down bad.

Fiona constantly teased you about it. Making fun of how you stopped wearing your loose cover-up, "Im just hot, that's all Fiona. It's warm in here." You lied. And Fiona was obviously aware of that.

You started offering to stay late with your teacher and help clean up, hoping to catch the stranger before he left. But your teacher always insisted you should go home and rest, and who were you to disobey her.

You've always been perfect. At school, at dance, at everything. When auditions came for Swan Lake, there was no question in anyone's mind about who would get the lead.

But since opening night, things have been slightly different. You often got distracted during practice, your eyes always finding the man in the back corner. You started falling out of your turns, forgetting to bring your pointe shoes, and, worse of all, you had been forgetting to point your toes.

And here you were. Walking to the center of the stage, ready to run through your variation in front of everyone. It was an easy variation, but the end was complicated. You had to do several pirouettes, which you have always been good at. But today you decided to test yourself.

You knew your teacher was becoming increasingly disappointed in you, it plagued your every thought. So, as you spun perfectly, you decided to see how many pirouettes you could perform.

17, 18, 19, 20.

Your leg is wobbling, but you choose to ignore it.

21, 22, 23-

You hear Fiona call your name as your foot slips out of pointe, twisting as you fall on top of it, "Oh my god!" The sickening sound of your ankle cracking causes your heart to drop. The stinging feeling of tears replaced by the overwhelming pain that was now shooting up your leg.

Everyone huddles around you as the teacher runs to call an ambulance, but Fiona kneels at your side, "I know this isn't the right time but, the dilf is running over here right now."

You close your eyes, trying to control your rapid breathing. You wished the stage would open around you and swallow you whole, just put you out of your misery.

In-ho jumps with ease onto the stage, his sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbow, "Move." He pushes past the dancers huddling over you and grabs your face.

Your eyes flick open at the feeling of warm hands pressed against your cheeks. Oh my god, he was holding your face. Your heart fluttered but you didn't notice, you were too worried about the fact that your ankle was bent the wrong way.

In-ho's hand softly brushes over your ankle, causing you to wince. At first, he's skeptical about touching you. Was it too fast? Too sudden? Too bold?

But he didn't have time to think it over as he put his strong arms under you, lifting you gently as he stood. Fiona watched with a smirk on her face as she saw shock fill your eyes, his biceps flexing as he pulled you close to his chest.

Without a word, In-ho steps down from the stage and carries you through the exit, "I have an ambulance coming!" Your teacher ran after him yelling, her typically neat bun somewhat loose and frizzy now.

In-ho motions to his pocket and Fiona responds, grabbing his car key and unlocking his Mercedez-benz, "It will take too long. I'll drive her."

For a split second, you catch his eye, and you could've sworn to god your pain disappeared for a moment. And if it were a different circumstance, In-ho would kiss you. He would kiss you right here with you in his arms.

But the shared look was short-lived as he very carefully sets you in the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt gently. Your ballet teacher leans down to the window, "Don't worry! Fiona can dance for you!"

Your heart shattered.

And tears began to flood. You ignored In-ho's words of reassurance as he took off, speeding to the hospital. The drive was quiet except for your soft cries. And In-ho wanted nothing more than to cradle you and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

"Im sorry im getting your car dirty." You looked at the tear-stained headrest you laid against, wiping your sore eyes with the back of your hand.

In-ho cuts a car off as he turns, ignoring the beeps from the angry driver, "It's okay. I have another one." The subtle money brag wasn't missed by you. In-ho just wanted to impress you.

"What are you? Like a CEO or something?" You turned to face him, giving a pitiful sniffle as he gave another sharp turn.

He chuckled, and you felt your heart beat faster. Was it because of the adrenaline? Or was it because the man whom you've become obsessed with is quite literally acting like your night in shining armor, "Im... Im a game show host."

You nodded, an impressive smile growing on your face, "That's cool. Im y/n by the way."

He flashes a smile, the same smile from the night you first saw him, and a blush creeps up on your tear-stained cheeks, "You're sitting there, with a fucked up ankle, and you're making small talk?"

You suddenly feel embarrassed. He's just some random guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time, nothing more. "Sorry. Just trying to distract myself."

In-ho frowns. Did he say the wrong thing? His grip tightens on the steering wheel, "No! Don't be sorry. If I'm being honest, I've been dying to know your name."

His eyes flick to you before looking back in front of him, "Im Hwang In-ho." A small smile creeps onto his lips as he pulls to a stop in front of the ER.

"Well, Mr. Hwang, it's nice to meet you."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Well, it looks like you have a fracture." You give a long exasperated sigh as the Doctor holds up the X-rays, "The fibula is fractured below the level of the syndesmosis, which is the joint between the tibia and fibula."

You look at In-ho, who, for some reason, seems more stressed than you do, "What's the healing process like? Will she need surgery?" Your head snapped to the doctor at the mention of surgery. Surgery for dancers is like a death sentence.

No. More. Dancing.

"Fractures like these are considered stable, meaning that they are unlikely to worsen with correct treatment and management. You'll just need to wear a boot for a while." The doctor noticed how your concerned look didn't falter, and gave a sigh before placing a hand on your shoulder, "You can still dance."

The breath you were holding escapes your lips as you feel a heavy weight fall off your shoulders, "Thank you so much." The doctor rubs your shoulder before leaving, instructing the nurse to fit you for a boot.

In-ho watches as you close your eyes, a smile resting on your face. He cocked his head, how could you be so beautiful in a moment like this? His eyes take a minute to trail down your body, taking you in, something he's grown fond of doing.

Your hair is a mess, your cheeks are red and tear-stained, your ankle looks like a snapped twig, and you're picking at your cuticles. But god.

You are perfect.

Just as beautiful now as you were months ago.

An unfamiliar feeling has taken over his chest ever since he saw you. A tightening, warm feeling that he hasn't felt in years. At first, he ignored it. Maybe it was just heartburn? But as it progressed, he got worried. The next thing you know a doctor is laughing in his face.

Calling it 'love'.

In-ho immediately left after he heard that, making sure to write a very passive-aggressive review on Yelp. What doctor diagnosed a patient with 'being in love'?

In-ho was not in love.

...

...

Right?

It wasn't until he watched 'Funny Face' that he realized the estranged doctor was correct. The moment Fred Astaire saw Aubrey Hepburn and was immediately captivated by her beauty, he knew it was true.

He didn't care that he was more than twenty years older than you, or that he had bigger things to worry about, all he cared about was you.

And that made him so confused.

You had managed to captivate his heart, soul, and body. And he felt like a teenager with his first crush all over again. So as he saw you look up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, he couldn't help what happened next.

He stood from his chair, taking large steps towards your frame. You furrowed your eyebrows as you watched him stand between your legs, careful not to hit your ankle.

His big hands reach down and grab your face, slamming your lips into his own. Your eyes grow wide, confusion flashing across your face before slowly giving in, pulling his head down lower.

His touch was gentle, the opposite of his kiss. His hands softly caressed your red cheeks, while his lips hungrily chased after your own.

You tugged at the baby hairs that rested on the back of his neck, desire and hunger feeding off you as he slipped his tongue into your pretty mouth. A low growl escaped his swollen lips, and you felt arousal begin to pool between your thighs.

You whine as he removes his hand from your face and steps back, crossing his arms. His gaze has always been intimidating. But now that he's seen you fall on your ass, cry, and melt under his touch all in one day, it is much more intimidating.

You've been vulnerable in front of him. Something you could never do before. But you didn't care if he saw your flaws, you were perfect to him.

He saw a future when he looked at you. He saw a family, something he had longed for many years ago. He saw hope, love, and promise.

He saw you.

Beautiful, perfect, irresistible you.

And as he looked at you, only one question entered his mind.

"Do you want to meet my cat?"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

a/n: chat. its 2 am. but i am DETERMINED to post this. i just love you guys sm mwah mwah. also, wasn't in a smut mood. still getting used to writing smut LMAO.

also random disclaimer: i have never done ballet. so if any terms are wrong or if my spelling is trash PLS LMK!

@bohemiandelilah @menabuser16 @verouys @speedymagazinewhispers @metalbaby2 @nellabear @marymun @orihime188 @nanascupid @fnl9zer @chasinghxran @crystalizia @auspicious-lilana @machipyun @cdej6 @namelesslosers

[willyoubemycherryy]

Intimacy Cues (C. Kent)

Summary: Who better to teach you how to talk body when you never learned the language?

Contains: smut AND plot so it’s long,depressing past, the college au you all secretly needed, struggles with physical touch, struggles with any form of intimacy, one mild panic attack, Clark is understanding but hot, dumb ideas, hugging, bonding, kissing, making out, it starts off shaky then soft but quickly snowballs into horn-e central, size kink, slight dumbification, strength kink, first kisses, virginity kept but not for long just give me till the second part, Clark is a little infatuated, they’re so nasty about each other my word, grinding, kissing (no forreal), prayer bc we all need it

A/N- my stomach is fine, it wasn’t a tumor but a blockage because of something I ate that never digested, causing my tummy to bloat and swell but they fixed me up so I’m back😈

. .* ੈ✩‧₊•

“Nononono- no, stop!!”

This might be the worst decision of your entire life.

Clark pulls away again, looking down at you with his eyebrows drawn together in concern but also exasperation because-

“Hey! It’s okay- you’re okay. Remember…you were the one who asked for my help.” He didn’t say the obvious “but we’re not getting any farther” part out loud but it echoes through your head all the same and you breathe out a deep sigh; regretting it with the depths of your very being but, yes. You did ask him for his help.

Help with what? The answer would’ve ended your social life if anyone who wasn’t Clark had found out.

You needed his help with…closeness- intimacy.

Growing up you were always awkward. Not in a charming way or even unconventional, you just simply didn’t make the cut based by society’s standards. You were always too gangly, too weird, too timid; so imagine the surprise come middle of highschool to now college where you’ve finally grown into yourself.

You know how you like to dress and which clothes look hottest on you, you know what hairstyle suits best for your face shape, you’re still weird but you’re also sarcastic which somehow equals charm to people and you’ve also managed to come out of your shell a bit. Becoming more confident from people naturally gravitating towards you after your blooming stage and even more after letting your friends convince you to join your college’s cheerleading team. You’d become everything you wanted to always try.

Pretty, popular, and fun. The problem?

Thanks to how much of a late bloomer you were, you never got the chance to get comfortable with others intimately during your formative years. Nobody liked you in that way and you were terrified of embarrassing yourself so there was nothing. No first kiss, no first dance with a boy, hell- even now you still get uneasy when others stare at you too long. Hiding behind your image as a college sweetheart made everything you were still to unsettled to try easier. Don’t misunderstand; it wasn’t that you never wanted those things, it’s that you’re not used to others suddenly picking you for those kinds of things after being invisible and missing out on them for almost all your life to the point where you don’t know how to deal with it when those moments do happen.

Still, you acted like everything was fine.

Playing the role of pretty cheerleader- the flirty tease that was favored by many even though that favor was shallow as a tear on a hot day. You pretended. And it was working, nobody knew…or so you believed.

Cue to one of the football teams parties where you’d been flirting with a guy, coy smile painted on your face as you giggled softly whenever he spoke, batting your pretty eyes at him in your little mini skirt. It had been going well until he suddenly leaned closer, focusing solely on you and when you felt the heat of his skin from how close he was- it felt as if the color had drained from your face, leaving you frozen as you became so uncomfortable it was visible; nerves screaming at you to flee until you listened. Spinning on your heels and bolting, trying to calm your breathing enough to will the cotton out of your ears.

You didn’t realize it then but a certain pair of blue eyes had been watching the whole thing. He’s always seen you. Which is funny because you almost always actively avoid him. In fact, he’s seen you enough to know that this isn’t the first time you’ve had that reaction and one day after a particularly rough week of endless pondering over you; he decides to just ask you after practice is over. Clark waits until his and your friends leave, it being only you and him on the field when he starts to walk over to you. The sound of incoming footsteps make you look up and when you see him, he can hear the very second your heart stops; skipping a beat before it quickly begins to thrum out of rhythm.

Honestly, there genuinely are not enough words to describe how attractive Clark Kent was. He was so incomprehensibly beautiful that you avoided Clark altogether just to avoid getting a headache from staring at him for too long especially since the real suffering started when he’d smile. Seemingly perfect pearly white straight teeth but when his grin broadened, his sharp canines would show, leaving you breathless every time. The type of good looking that was flat out overwhelming. Besides being apart of adjacent stereotypes, you two didn’t go together but there was no animosity.

Clark stops and you have to look up at him because of his hulking size. At almost 6’4 he nearly dwarfed you and his proportions matched. Thick, beefy everything- everywhere and you swallow before forcing a smile on your face. While you preferred to avoid him for the sake of keeping yourself out of the psych ward from how crazy he could drive you; you were still curious as to why he came to talk to you. He takes a moment to just look at you, cerulean eyes almost glowing but he doesn’t realize how intense his stare is until you start to shuffle on your feet- dainty hands twitching nervously at your side and that’s when he speaks.

“Hey…I know we don’t usually talk or anything but are you okay?” Even his voice is dreamy but confusion draws on your face because you felt fine; nervous, like you were around any guy you thought was cute, but fine. Clark elaborates at your expression,

“Y’know because of what happened at the party last-”, that seems to jog your memory enough to snap you out of it, eyebrows shooting up as dread overtakes over your face. You whip your head around, making sure there’s no witnesses when you grab him by his sweaty shirt, dragging him all the way behind the bleachers as you slam him against the metal. Clark is caught so off guard that he just lets it happen; lets the pretty thing half his size drag him as you pleased. Your eyes shift as you glare up at him.

You’re positive he’s talking about your little freak out with close proximity guy, the one that made you leave the party completely; walking so fast you nearly burned a trail in the carpet. Heart pounding, you start to spiral.

He wasn’t supposed to see that. He like everyone else- was supposed to be too drunk to notice anything.

Your nose scrunches, full lips curling in a snarl. “I swear if you say anything to anyone-!” You’re threatening him so fast, Clark falters, raising his hands in defense, debilitating blue eyes widening as he starts to plead his case.

“No no-! I didn’t! I-“, He stutters at your harsh gaze, the feel of your hands soaking through his shirt, warming his chest. He needs to hurry up and explain himself before you start disliking him. “I was just worried! Whenever I see you and a guy, even if you act interested-“, he rushes out, panting as he talks even faster, “the second they get too close you look like you’ll vomit!” Your hostility melts into shock and even more confusion and you let go of his shirt, stepping back as you study him, his words stuck in your mind.

“How..? Are you- you’ve been paying that close attention to me? When do you even see me?” You’re at such a loss for words that it’s hard to string them together to properly question him.

“…I”, he swallows harshly, “I always see you.” It’s pure adrenaline that motors his mouth- he thought he was over the time when lovely faced girls made him nervous but you were unexpectedly feisty. It lit something tingly in him. Your eyes search his face and he spills. “I see how you flirt but you’re sarcastic too. Everyone is so taken by your pretty that they don’t even notice, they just call it ‘wit”, he manages to catch his breath enough to sound less panicked now that you look like you won’t kill him, “I see how even though you’re a flyer, you hate heights-”

“H-how-?”

“Your right leg shakes when they lift you, no matter how stable your base is.” Your mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out, heart racing when his voice goes soft,

“But what I’m saying is- so what that you’re not really what you give off? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. ‘Jus curious why you think it is…”, he blinks those long lashes at you and you find yourself explaining the tale of your sordid social past.

By the end of it he’s stunned speechless.

You? Just how bad was your awkward phase for nobody to be interested in you? Wait so that also probably meant that-

“You’re a virgin?!”

You slap your hands over his mouth with a speed equal to his own, face flushed as you shush him, hissing in a low whisper.

“Jesus Chri- shut up! Are you trying to tell the entire campus?!!” You let out another heavy sigh.

“…yes, I am”. You let your hands fall to the side, refusing to look at him while he’s trying to process; silence filling the space between you. You’ve accepted that your ego will never recover from the most gorgeous being on the planet knowing about all your…truths. That you looked and acted the part of a vixen just to hide that you secretly weren’t.

“…so you’ve never done anyt-”,

“No.”

Well then.

You can’t take another long drag of awkward silence, turning to face the boy who knew you probably more than anyone else did.

“Look- I would’ve loved to remedy this but I-”

“Can’t stomach whenever a guy gets too close due to previous deep rooted societal wrought insecurities…” Bingo.

“Well for what it’s worth,” he gives you one of his disarming grins and a flush creeps up your neck; warming your ears, “I think you’re doing fine now.” You snap your head down to see that you two are standing fairly close or at least closer than you normally allow and you don’t have that itch to get him as far away from you as possible. That’s when you get the idea that- “Oh my god! You can help me get over my thing! This is perfect!”! You’re practically vibrating with glee, excited to finally have all your firsts without that looming of touch related dread haunting you. Clark however is swarmed with various images of him “helping” you and can’t keep his ears from reddening at all the different scenarios where he’d be required to be close to you and begins to stutter.

“W-well, I wa- not that I-! I don’t think that’s a good idea, I mean w-we-”, you cut him off before he can weasel out of it, eyebrows creasing in frustration. You unconsciously step closer, your sweet smell bathes his senses as he stares you down, trying not to gulp too hard. “Please, Clark?”, you start and he swallows harshly at how his name sounds in that whiny tone from your lips.

“It can’t be anyone else because you’re the only one who knows! We’re not close now but we could be-“, and the double meaning makes him tune out completely as he only watches your plump lips move; not even registering the sound coming from them. He was thankful you didn’t ask him why he watched you so closely because the answer was one he wasn’t ready to even admit to himself.

Your lips stop moving after a while and them paired with your begging doe eyes make him cave, Clark nodding in hopeless defeat. He was supposed to be over the influence of pretty girls.

“S’okay, I’ll help you out. Your secret’s safe with me.” The corner of his mouth tilts up in a lopsided smile that was somehow both attractive but made you feel safe and you smile shyly back. You were nervous but you know Clark is a good guy- reckless as hell with his charms- but a good guy. What could go wrong?

•

•

•

Standing in the middle of your dorm room with your arms wound tight around yourself is when you find out that alot can go wrong.

Clark came over and you two came up with a starting plan that seemed the easiest: talk and slowly close the distance between you two until he was touching and looking at you without you getting uncomfortable or pushing him away. It sounded simple enough at first only…. you severely underestimated how you’d react to Clark. The way his deep mellow voice sounded in your ears, how he always held such steady eye contact as he moved towards you, that heavenly jawline tilting when he’d think too long. Already, Clark was big from afar but up close he was even bigger. Strong arms and broad shoulders; chest so thick it was noticeable through his shirt. You were used to others falling at your feet but Clark stood fine and it affected you in ways you didn’t prepare to deal with, so you tried to do what you always did- ignore it.

Matching Clark’s light conversation as you two eventually get more comfortable, gradually gravitating towards each other with slow short steps. The air shifts when you exhale and the breath tickles his chest. This is when you normally get squeamish but you merely hesitate for a few minutes before taking a deep breath and pushing yourself by letting him keep his distance.

His hand twitch and he shuffles a bit closer, biceps flexing as he reaches out, resting his hands on your shoulders; your conversation quiets as he stares at you with perfectly blue lidded eyes and then you feel the stirrings of restlessness under your skin. That impeding urge to get away. Despite the way you feel, the slow atmosphere helps you tremendously to not pull away but your pulse spikes all the same. His hands felt nice. You take another deep breath as you try to come to terms with what you were feeling.

Clark was a guy.

A guy who was standing in your bubble, touching you- looking at you.

A million emotions fly across your face at record speed and Clark doesn’t move any more for the next couple minutes. No, he waits for you; large rough palms warm on your bare shoulders while his pinky idly messes with the thin strap of your top. Your skin was soft. The heavy rise and fall of your chest has him focusing on you more intensely, trying to get a read on how you felt until you break the silence with a shaky exhale.

“We can keep going- you can keep touching me.” He knows you don’t mean it that way but his ears burn anyways as he nods. Taking a second to think before taking his hands off you to take yours, ignoring your big eyes look as he places your hands around his waist- inevitably moving closer and his voice softens like he’ll frighten you away if he were to speak any louder.

“You can touch me too. Promise I don’t mind…this is for you after all.” You suppress a whine because being so close was already hard with you fighting every instinct yelling at you to get gone and go somewhere where nobody could comprehend you but now with Clark staring at you like that, it was even harder. Your eyes flick about the room as you flatten your palms more against his back, mentally rolling your eyes back at how his muscles feel. You don’t even realize you’re biting your lip but Clark does, instantly alert the second he felt your small hands nervously press against him, his eyes zeroed in on the swollen skin dipping under the pressure of your teeth. He feels bad because while he was supposed to be helping you, he couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy you were being so shy but hardheaded enough to build up the grit to go for what scared you because you wanted it.

Without taking his eyes off your face, he rubs his hands up to your neck, making you squeak before smoothing them back down your shoulders; repeating the motions with a gentle hum.

The room feels hot- you felt hot and jittery but it’s too much. Unable to keep the waves at bay, goosebumps trickle over your skin and your eyes scrunch in panic as your breathing picks up. He was close. Close and touching you. You can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes because you know when you do, you’ll be naked for all to see and you scream.

“Stop!”

Nobody can see you-nobody’s supposed to be seeing you, the girl who was never even chose last as you were overlooked entirely no matter how badly you wanted to reach out. Maybe that’s what started your fear. Maybe you were scared of losing experiences because of rejection.

Clark doesn’t move away but he isn’t touching you anymore and you aren’t touching him as your hands fly to the sides of your head, trying to calm yourself down and guilt pours over him. He wants to hug you; comfort you but he knows that pulling you against him in a hug will only worsen things right now so he waits. Closing his eyes to help you feel at ease, listening closely to the beat of your heart until your breaths quiet and he hears it fluctuate back to normal. He keeps his eyes closed until he feels your small trembling hands slide back around him and instead of putting his hands on your shoulders, he moves his arms around them; resting them against your back but not pulling you in yet. It’s quiet besides the hushed sounds of him cooing at you and your breathing. The air now has an underlying current and you shift in his heavy arms, inhaling deeply as you finally look up at his face. Shyly, you cut the silence; voice soft as how you feel.

“…you can open your eyes now..” Clark feels his own heart speed up before he responds, low tone matching yours and electricity hits you when it clicks. This is intimate.

“Are you okay? We can stop and try again some other time; I don’t wanna upset-,”

“I want you to look at me.”

His eyes pop open at your command, peering down at you in such a way that your breath catches; anxiousness rising up you again but you stay right where you are. Willing yourself to embrace the exposed way he makes you feel.

Under the heat of his stare it’s like he’s seeing everything you’ve ever hid or been but his hold is steady enough to let you know he’s there with you and he’s not going anywhere. You still feel naked but more than that, you feel safe. Comfortable enough to not shy away from his warmth, you take another breath; looking up at him through your lashes- making his head fuzzy.

His eyes shift from their usual blue to the shade of the sea after a storm and you’re swept away, logic going with you as you slowly glide your hands up his sides to his where his arms hold you. Feeling every dip and curve of his strong build until you reach his hands, repositioning them around your lower back. You move closer but because you two were already standing so close- your chests touch and Clark stops breathing. The soft swell of your breasts move against his body with your every inhale and he finds his senses filled with you.

Your gaze is torn away when you turn your head, looking down as you drop against his chest. Arms looping around him making his own instinctively curl around you, holding you tight to the firm but soft muscle of his chest. You both pause for a few minutes- waiting for the urgent panic but it never comes. Instead, you melt into him with a relieved sigh, warm breath bleeding into his shirt. You two were officially hugging.

And you were in heaven.

You never knew close contact with the opposite gender could be so delightful. Clark was just so big and warm and smelled so good, you bury your face into the meat of his pec almost deliriously, sighing happily. Fuck, you really had been missing out. His arms are firm and heavy against your back, effectively locking you against him. The endorphin rush hitting you has you practically purring; the sounds of your bliss vibrating Clark’s chest and he smiles, letting you get your fix as he enjoys the way you fit into his arms.

Unsurprisingly, you two stay like that for a while. Fitted against each other in the silence of your cozy bedroom. He sees the top of your head move and he’s suddenly looking into your eyes, pupils blown so wide that your eyes are black. Clark has to bite his lip to keep from smiling at how cute you look. Your eyes flit down to his mouth to see the peek of his fangs that always show, letting out a small breathy ‘oh’ when you do. You’re still reeling in all the best ways as you rest your chin against his chest, unabashedly looking at his handsome face.

Clark raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the phantom hearts in your eyes and the way your small feet are standing on top of his larger ones while you make no attempt to separate your bodies, completely content with his proximity. He likes you so he likes your closeness and he’s even more elated that you seem to like him being so close too. Speaking lowly so he doesn’t disturb you, he checks if you’re still on the planet with him.

“This okay, sweetheart? Y’enjoying yourself?” The petname slips out but you don’t move or rush to correct him as your blood simmers, a numbingly pleasant heat washing over you so strong it’s hard to think. Running your hands in a slow caress up his back, you feel the muscles flex as his arm twitches and a smile grows on your face as you blink dumbly- brain currently taking a break, you mumble sweetly,

“Mmhm, yeah never better.”

And it’s true. You’ve never felt this safe, this free with anyone that wasn’t immediate family or your best girl friends. He was touching you and seeing you but you didn’t care because you knew whatever he was seeing and touching, was safe as it would ever be with him.

Clark huffs out a laugh at your belated response, moving one of his hands in a warm caress up your back, feeling you shiver and he bites his lip again. You were so alluring without even having to try and he breathes to reign himself in since he was currently the first and only to have you melting like this from a hug alone. If a hug got you like this he could only imagine how beautifully you’d respond to-

“Um, C-Clark?” Your soft voice brings him back as he hums, flicking his eyes down lazily at you.

“Yeah, baby?” Your sweet little gasp makes him realize that he just called you another nickname but you don’t seem to mind, flustering prettily in his arms. He leans down closer to your face, only to hear you better, eyes patient as he stares at you.

“I know this is supposed to be about me but how do you feel? You’ve been so good with me..I just wanna make sure you’re okay too.” Clark smiles, moved that you’re worrying about him even with all his experience.

“Yeah I feel good but how about you? Want me to let go or we can try something different?” He would’ve asked if you wanted to stop but he was going off your body language and it was telling him distance was the last thing you wanted and he was right as you shook your head before resting your chin back into his chest, looking up at him with those pupil eclipsed doe eyes.

“I feel great but…”, your voice gets smaller as it takes on an almost needy tone before stopping altogether. You snap your face back into his chest and he’s even more curious to get it out of you but you just can’t say it.

“You really don’t need to be embarrassed. Clothed or naked, we all start somewhere”, he whispers against the top of your head, stroking your back soothingly as you try to talk yourself into asking him before you chicken out, “with me you can start wherever you want and you know I’ll never tell. Or make fun of you..”,

His voice is tender with warmness and it turns your reservations to raindrops as you look back into his eyes. Steeling your nerve, you ground yourself with the way you feel in another persons arms for the first time in your life- his arms and decide to go for it.

“You said- we can try something different?” Your heart begins to race again as Clark’s starts to pound. He can’t keep the heat out of eyes as he returns your stare, nodding.

“Yeah. We can do whatever you want.” His breath wafts across your face, forehead resting against yours and the rate at which you find yourself needing him- scares you. You’ve been depraved of this kind of contact to the point of fear since forever but now…

“Then…can we-“, you blink rapidly, not wanting to verbalize it but not wanting to go without even more.

“Can we kiss please?”

Clark has to shut his eyes. You looked so sweet, felt so soft and even though you couldn’t keep the neediness from seeping into your words, you still asked so politely. Blood rushes through his ears as he feels a familiar stirring in his groin, taking a deep breath because it wouldn’t do for him to lose control now, his voice is heady with pure want when he answers,

“F’course. I’d love to kiss, baby.”

Large hands settle around your waist as you get pulled completely flush to him, legs almost intertwining while your pelvises touch; bodies glued together. The languid heat of arousal thrums through you, making your head spin.

Your lips part when Clark presses his forehead more firmly against yours, lighting you from the inside out when he dips his neck to slot his open mouth over yours.

Immediately your chest burns, heart feeling like each pump is gasoline, fueling the fire hes started in you. Clark’s full lips slide against yours, alternating between suckling at your top lip then bottom lip slowly, coaxing you to follow his lead, groaning his approval and the sound turns you up as you press yourself harder against his body. You feel so good you’re thrumming- heat steadily pulsing through you.

Your heads move from how hard you’re kissing, slick sounds coming from your mouths intensifying as you get rougher, delicious shivers all up your spine. Clark presses his lips fully against yours, moving them open wider with his own, hot breaths mingling as he licks hotly against the opening of your mouth. A bolt of pleasure hits you so hard that you gasp, wrenching your mouth off his as you moan- the needy little thing so whiny it makes his cock fatten in his pants as you pant against each others lips. Fuck. He can smell how wet you are. The sweet, heady smell makes his mouth water with him tossing shame clean out the window.

“Can I put my tongue in your mouth? Please, pretty girl?” You move your arms around his neck to get as close as possible, nodding desperately.

“God, yes-!” His mouth is back to consuming yours before you finish. Opening your lips with the force of his swollen ones, he sucks your bottom lip before lapping his tongue into your mouth. You twitch in his hold, even more turned on when he doesn’t have to move to keep your squirming in place, casual show of strength making you lightheaded as he swallows your moans. Wet smacks fill the air, your grip on him tightening when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. You get wetter and he can tell, growling in pleasure as he suddenly lifts you; your legs locking around his waist as he uses his hold on yours to grind you against him. The result is instantaneous. You melt like cotton candy, chest shaking against his from your pleasured moans as your shared spit wets your lips. Still aware of the fact that you need to breathe, Clark pulls away with a suck of your lips- staring at you hungrily with dark eyes.

He can’t even remember when he picked you up but the tiny undulations of your hips let him know it was a welcome decision. You looked so good. Lips puffy n slick, doe eyes teary and blown out, wet as fuck with your hard nipples poking through your top…you could ask him for every one of Saturns rings and he’d get them for you.

Clark takes a deep lungful of your tantalizing scent before he checks on you again.

“How was that, sweetheart? Y’first kiss right?” You nod, cupping his face. You can’t help the way you smooch more pecks onto his pink lips, aching as you answer.

“It was so good”, you drag your nose down his jaw; kissing his ear as you whisper into it, “you feel so good, Clark..”. You have him completely hard at this point, thick and fat as his tip oozes pre when you start to whine. He almost feels bad that you’ve waited so long, being so pent up wasn’t good and you deserved to feel good everyday.

“What’s wrong baby?” The low timbre of his voice makes your pulse skyrocket, causing you to absolutely dissolve against him, hips twitching as he helped you rub yourself on him.

“I-I need..-“, you let out a soft cry and he quickly soothes you. Kissing you deeply before pulling away, licking his lips of your taste as he verbalizes exactly what you need.

“Need to cum?”

The heat in your chest blooms up to your face as you nod, suddenly growing shy but still comfortable. You purr as Clark presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, looking at you with pretty lidded eyes.

“Would it be okay if I made you cum princess?”

The utterly wrecked moan that comes out of your mouth has goosebumps scattering up his arms, holding you tighter as you nod vigorously.

“I need words baby”, he whispers. Giving you another kiss to tempt you and it works. He was too irresistible and he knew it.

“Yeah, you can make me cum Clark.” And with that he carries you over to your bed, laying you on the plushness as he takes over your mouth again with a hungry groan, your hands touching everywhere until he pulls away- fangs on display as he smiles making fire sweep through your veins.

Massaging your legs, he rises on his knees- taking off his shirt as your mind checks out from how hot he is, shifting restlessly as the ache in your pussy throbs with the best pain. Whining his name, Clark cooes at you; big hands moving to pull your clothes off. Your nerves are going haywire but you need this- need him to make you feel things, lifting your hips to help him slide your shorts and underwear off, spreading your legs as you let him get a good look at your messy wet hole twitching in need.

Clark swears, hooking his hands under your knees and bending them towards your chest. Exposing you more as he licks his lips, keeping his eyes glued to your cunt.

“Atta girl, jus’ lay there nice n pretty and I’ll give you what you need..”

[moonstruckme]

tumblr is hiding only the request I want from me again :(

request: would u be able to do a poly emt marauders x reader where the reader is iron deficient cause she doesnt eat properly (always eating like "girl dinners") and the boys tell her off for it

cw: poor eating/nutrition intake, potential ed triggers although portions aren't mentioned and the boys aren't concerned about reader's general relationship to food, Sirius being a bit prickly because he's worried+protective

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 821 words

It’s only just past dark, but your head longs for a pillow. Sirius’ shoulder does well for now, his fan of cards held in his other hand to avoid jostling you as he plays rummy with your boyfriends. You’d surrendered your own cards to the discard pile a few rounds ago, content to watch Sirius on your one side and Remus on your other as they both try to beat James, who’s better at the game than any of you. He radiates a smug self-assurance as he looks down at his cards that bodes poorly for your other boyfriends. 

James looks up and catches you watching him, his instinctive smile tinging with sympathy as he notes your drooping eyes. “Sleepy, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah, sorry.” You try to blink yourself to alertness. “I’ve been tired so early lately, I don’t know why.” 

There’s a brief moment of silence wherein you think to regret your statement. Then, Sirius sing-songs, “I know.” 

You groan, transfering to Remus’ shoulder in a show of dissent. He chuckles and takes you in, wrapping an arm around you. His cards fold over your shoulder. 

“He’s right, you know,” Remus says. 

“Angel.” James sets his cards down, looking at you imploringly. “Let me make you something, please.” 

“I already ate.” 

Sirius scoffs. “You had a snack.” 

You turn your forehead into Remus’ shoulder sulkily. You know any arguments will only be rebuked. 

Your boyfriends came home from their shift just in time to find you finishing up your dinner. On your plate was everything you could want—sweet, savory, and just enough to fill you up—but evidently it left something to be desired for them. Remus had looked down at it and said, “That’s not your dinner, is it?” 

“Yeah,” you replied, warily. 

“Baby,” Sirius laughed, picking up a grape. “This is not a meal.” 

You stole the grape back from him, popping it into your mouth. “It’s girl dinner.” 

“I’m fairly sure girls need just as much nutrients as everyone else, gorgeous.” 

“There’s nutrients in this.” You waved demonstratively to your plate of grapes, cheese, and crackers. That was practically half of the food pyramid, you were pretty sure. “Leave my dinner alone.” 

Remus had begun talking about the necessity of balanced meals, and things devolved from there into a debate about health and nutrition which you’d tabled by telling your boyfriends (with love) to mind their own business. You doubt you’re getting out of it again quite so easily. 

“It’s not like I had a chocolate bar,” you mumble. “It was healthy.” 

“It was healthy,” James agrees, tone placating. “It just wasn’t everything you need in a meal, sweetheart. You’re probably tired because there was no iron in there.” 

“I’ve been tired for days, though.” 

“And when was the last time you had an iron-rich meal?” Remus asks. 

You’re silent. Sirius laughs. 

“It can be hard to keep track of.” James is ever forgiving. “How about some eggs, yeah?” 

You turn your face again to look at him. “I’m already pretty full,” you say honestly. 

“One egg, then. With spinach.” He stands, leaving his cards flat on the table and stooping to drop a kiss on your head as he goes by. “Thank you, m’love.” 

“Thanks,” you say back, sheepish. 

You fall quiet again after James goes. You listen to the sound of the cupboards opening and closing in the kitchen, the crack of an egg, the stove being flicked on. After a while, Sirius snickers and pokes your ribs. 

“Don’t pout,” he says. He pokes you again until you smile, hiding it under Remus’ arm. 

“I hate it when you guys are right.” You heave a sigh, affecting a tone of mopiness. “It’s never any fun for me.” 

“Awe.” Sirius leans over to rest his head on your shoulder. Remus chuckles, shifting his arm to accommodate the both of you. “I’m sorry it happens to you so often, baby.” 

That makes you laugh, though you try to muffle the sound. “Mean.” 

“I’ve never claimed to be anything different.” 

“It’s important to be sure you’re getting everything you need from your food, dove,” says Remus, at one soft and stern. “You need to choose more carefully.” 

“Okay,” you acquiesce. In truth, the fight left you long ago. “Sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry, though.” He kisses the top of your head. 

“You can totally make it up,” says James, coming back with a small plate, “by eating these delicious eggs.” 

You take the plate from him with a small smile of thanks. “Eggs, as in plural?” 

He grins, caught. “There may be two. Sorry.” 

“This is how you earn your forgiveness,” Sirius teases, sitting up so you can eat. He bumps your shoulder lightly with his. 

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes, but scoop up a forkful of eggs. After your first mouthful, you say, “These are really good, Jamie. Thanks.” 

His beaming smile is worth the stomachache. 

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev. pt.2

one synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ kaku, rin, koko ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: koko’s is short but FOR A GOOD REASON I SWEAR lol i'm just happy it finally got written after MONTHS of keeping yall waiting. thank you once more for your patience and eagerness to read, hope you enjoy! :)))))

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @spacegirl05, @neverlandlostchild , @darks-pet-shadow , @captaincyberqueen

Stumbling through the entry of his home with the help of the Haitani brothers, a drunk KAKUCHO groaned after they roughly tossed him onto his couch without an ounce of care, the youngest dusting off his hands and his counterpart adjusting his suit with a click of his tongue. “Can’t believe your light-weight ass let that idiot talk you into downing a whole bottle of bourbon.” 

Rindou scoffed. “I can’t believe we got stuck with taking him home.” 

Ran shrugged, heading for the kitchen. “Eh. Rather him than the walking pepto-bismol still passed out at the bar.” 

Kakucho gave another groan, lopsided with his face buried in the cushions. While his brother prepared a glass of water and pain pills, Rindou occupied himself by watching the wallowing man through a pitied lens. Shaking his head, he sighed, “Never seen him drink that much…Think something’s going on?” 

“In our line of work, I can only imagine what isn’t stressing him out.” 

“Yeah but…look at ‘em,” he gestured. “It’s pathetic.” 

“I can hear you...” Kakucho eventually spoke, although muffled in the cushions. 

“I’m aware.” Rindou replied. 

Ran snorted, setting the glass on the coffee table and the bottle of meds right next to it. He then leaned down to turn the dead-weighted drunk over with a grunt, placing him on his side. “There. Don’t need you choking on your vomit,” he pointed at the table, “take those and drink that whole glass. Call Koko tomorrow if you aren’t dead.” 

Kakucho groaned once more, sluggishly reaching for the glass and nearly knocking it over. Rindou hissed as he quickly grabbed it before it tipped over. With an irritated huff he grabbed the front of the younger male’s button up, and hauled him up to face him forward. It was difficult to keep him still, and Ran wasn’t looking to help anytime soon as he smirked at the display. Rindou cursed him and everything under the moon until he finally managed to sit Kakucho upright long enough to put the glass in his hands, guiding it to his mouth. 

He grunted, annoyed, “Drink.” 

The dark-haired gangster stared longingly into the rippling water, cheeks flushed, lips pouted. His mind began to wander, his one good eye glazed over as he gently swayed to silence. Rindou impatiently tapped his foot, “The hell’s wrong with you, drink it already.” 

“Patience, otouto. He probably doesn’t remember how.” Ran mocked, earning a side-eye before Kakucho proved him wrong by gulping down the entire glass. Once finished, he let it slip from his hands, landing on the ground with a sharp clatter. Ran clicked his tongue again, “You were supposed to take a pill with that.” 

“Fuck the pill..” Kakucho muttered, slowly falling back down to his side and curling up as best as his long legs would allow. “Leave me alone..” 

Rindou turned on his heel. “Don’t have to tell me twice-” 

“Actually, now I wanna know. Someone like you doesn’t indulge our activities, let alone participate. So, what gives?” 

Abruptly stopping in his tracks, Rindou turned back to shoot his brother an incredulous look, shocked he would reopen the door that was closing. He was ignored as Ran leaned against the back of the couch wearing a sly grin, feeling particularly nosy all of the sudden. Having never witnessed this side of his superior, it piqued his curiosity. Kakucho didn’t respond, didn’t even move. Ran would’ve guessed he passed out if not for the occasional hiccup he heard.

Rindou sighed heavily, since they didn’t appear to be leaving any time soon, coming back to sit in a chair with crossed arms. Ran continued to push until he found the correct button. 

“Was it something that happened on the job? Mikey scold you for not restocking his snack cabinet? The dry cleaners not press your suits correctly–Let me know when I’m getting warmer.” 

“I said leave..me alone…” Kakucho slurred, “I wanna [hic] be alone…” 

Ran hummed, unphased. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve mentioned. C’mon, we got you home safely, I feel like we’ve earned an explanation on what made the pristine number three fly off the handle like this.”

No amount of teasing was going to break Kakucho. At least, not when he’s sober. The aforementioned lightweight always regulated how much he drank because of how decomposed he became, how sensitive he got. Despite his best efforts to remain under control, he was slowly losing his grasp of it the longer those two knuckleheads were in his home. He didn’t want to share what got him so worked up, it was nobody’s business but his own. Sadly, his resolve was fragile from the start, and all it took was a small gust of wind to have it come crumbling down…and Rindou’s input came barging in like a raging storm. 

“Bet it’s about [_____], isn’t it?” 

Kakucho’s eyes nearly burst from his skull, body moving before his brain could catch up as he practically shot up from the couch like a rocket and borderline tackled the lavender-haired man, knocking both him and the chair backward, landing with a harsh thud. The sudden movement caught the brothers off guard, Rin more than Ran for obvious reasons. Kakucho grabbed the younger Haitani by his collar and began shaking him roughly, a furious look upon his flushed face as he practically snarled in Rindou’s. “Don’t you ever say her name, you hear me?! I will slit your fucking throat, you sonofabitch–”

“Whoa, hey, take it easy,” Ran swiftly disengaged Kakucho, catching him in a headlock and stepping backward to separate them. But, if he thought it was going to be that easy, he had another thing coming. 

Kakucho elbowed Ran in his side. It did little damage, only making the older male clench his teeth and eat it, still trying to hold him back and calm him down. They shuffled around for a moment until Kakucho made move to bite into Ran’s forearm with all his might. Though the pain was dulled thanks to his jacket sleeve, it still shocked him enough to loosen his grip, leaving just enough wiggle room to escape his grasp and reel his arm back to throw a mean swing. However, due to him still being very much intoxicated, he missed him by a longshot when Ran just took a small side-step out of the way, sending Kaku to stumble and crash into a side table. Luckily the lamp was there to cushion some of the impact.

Rindou clutched his stretched-out collar, brows furrowed as watched the scene unfold from his position on the floor. “..the fuck was that?”  

The ravenette moaned on the floor, but not in pain from the fall. No doubt he’d feel in the morning, but all of his agony came from within at the mere utterance of your name. He laid there in the heaps of broken shards and began to weep, so deeply from his soul that it stunned both brothers to an awkward silence. His body trembled with each cry, mumbles of your name smothered in with the wails as they echoed through the empty house. They watched him for a moment before exchanging looks. Ran made a silent gesture to leave, but Rindou merely shook his head with another sigh. There was no way they could leave now, thanks to him…

Scrambling up to stand, Rindou gestured for his brother to handle one side while he came to the other. Together they were able to heave their superior off the floor, careful not to cut him or get cut from the scattered lamp pieces. He weakly fought against them, still blubbering like a newborn until he eventually gave up, most likely from exhaustion. They hauled him back to the couch again, only this time setting him down gentler than they did the first time. Kakucho’s face fell into his hands as he continued to sob, shoulders shaking as he poured hours' worth of pent-up emotion right onto the palms. Ran scratched the back of his neck, mildly perturbed. Rindou stood with his arms crossed, frown heavy. “See? Pathetic.” 

“Careful. He might attack you again.” Ran warned sarcastically, Kakucho rapidly shook his head in protest. 

“I-I won’t.. Forgive me, I don’t..I don’t know what came over me..” he said, meekly, ashamed. “I just..when you said her name, I remembered she…s-she..” 

Ran’s eyes widened a fraction, “What, she died?”

Kakucho shot him a tearful glare, sniffling as he firmly said, “No. Don’t say such a thing so casually.” 

He threw his hands up. “Hey, don’t blame me, ‘m not the one who suplexed a lamp because my ex’s name was dropped. Nearly ripped my poor, little Rin’s head off, too.” 

“Shuddup, man.” 

“I’m just saying that-”

“She had a baby.” Kakucho voiced, extinguishing the argument and stunning them yet into another silence. Rindou’s arms dropped to his sides whilst Ran’s brows raised to his hairline. “And...I’m almost certain it’s mine. No..I am certain.” 

His words hung heavily in the air. So much so, both brothers had to take a seat. Rindou stared at Kakucho while Ran stared at the wall, speechless. Until he eventually found the words. “Damn. Don’t know whether to say congrats or condolences. How’d you find that out?” 

Kakucho sighed, drying his face on his sleeve. “I had business in Kyoto to attend to earlier today. When I finished, I stopped by the cherry blossoms, where we...used to go together. That's when I saw her...further down the trail. She wasn’t alone.” 

The visual flooded his foggy mind like high beams, the sight of you wearing a beautiful dress he’d never seen before, glowing heavenly beneath the sun and fallen cherry blossoms. He felt as if he was standing in memory, as if he was in a reality where he was still yours. Kakucho remembered how his feet had a mind of their own, forcing him forward to get closer to you, to speak to you after all this time apart. But, his bubble bursts the second you crouched down with open arms, ready to embrace the child running back to you after attempting to catch falling petals. He froze. You scooped up the child with ease, showering the small boy in kisses to the point his squeals flowed happily in the soft breeze. Kakucho felt his chest tighten then twist, knees buckling the second he saw those bright, crimson eyes staring back at you…it was like seeing an image of his youth. He should've approach you right then and there, to demand answers, to demand explanation, anything to soothe this ache. 

But, he didn’t. 

He was afraid. Afraid of what you’d think, of what you’d say. You kept this from him for a reason, didn’t you? All these years, and he found out completely by happenstance. Had he not gone out there, would he have ever known? Would you have told him? Maybe you didn’t think he was fit to be a father, maybe you did this to keep the child safe. Maybe you no longer believed that he could keep either of you safe… 

It tore at him, from the inside out. No matter how he tried to ignore it, the ache grew into a throb, and the throb into a chasm that only the bottom of a bottle could satiate. And even then, all he could think was how much he failed.   

The brothers exchanged another look, having no idea the kind of demon their superior was dealing with. Despite not caring too much about it, they still felt bad. What man wouldn’t be devastated, especially given his background and how he grew up. Ran gave a low whistle. “That’s…rough.”

“Yeah. Wish you said that instead of trying to kill me.” 

Kakucho rubbed his face, embarrassed. “I apologize...truly.” 

“Tsk. Apologize to the lamp.” He shrugged it off, not holding a grudge over it. “You know, you can just reach out to her. Even if it’s to hear her say she wants nothing to do with you, that’s closure at least. Because this, what you’re doing now, is pathe-” 

“Pathetic, I know, I heard you the first damn time.” Kakucho pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the effects of the alcohol start to simmer out, and a headache closing in. “I suppose.. you’re right. If she doesn’t want me in her life or his then…at least she’ll know I’ll always be here if she needs me.” 

Ran offered an approving nod, opening his mouth to say his two cents only for his phone to interrupt him. The specific ringtone made him close his eyes in immediate annoyance: Sanzu. Sighing heavily through his nose, he reached into his pocket and answered, “What-” 

“YOU BASTARDS JUST LEFT ME HERE?!”

RINDOU was used to the stares he’d get at the gym, but this was new for him. 

After completing another hundred reps on the bench press, during his cooldown he noticed his small audience gaping at him in awe from a nearby machine. The little boy gasped at being caught, ducking behind a weight twice his size before peeking over it, only to completely disappear when he saw Rin still looking his way. 

He huffed through his nose, amused. But, he elected to ignore it. No harm in letting the little guy get some inspiration for future gym goals. After a quick break, Rindou prepared for his next set, setting his water down and adjusting his headphones. Laying down on the bench, about to lift the bar off the rest, he noticed the little boy in his peripheral, peeking over the weight once more, large eyes wide with curiosity. He couldn’t help the small grin tugging on his lips, prideful to have such innocent admiration compared to the usual thirst from onlookers he was accustomed to. 

However, it made him wonder…whose kid was this? 

There wasn’t a children’s area in this particular gym, let alone many that were brought, so someone had to be looking for him, right?…and there’s no telling how long the little boy’s been following him. The parent must be worried.

But it wasn’t his problem. 

He was there to workout and leave, not worry about someone else’s ankle-bitter, no matter how adorable. 

Unfortunately, Rindou made the mistake of peeking back at the boy, seeing him trying to imitate his form with his little arms, face scrunched in concentration and tongue sticking out. He nearly dropped the weight on himself at the sight, losing his own concentration. Kissing his teeth, he set the bar back on the rest, snapping the little boy from his focus. Although Rindou’s brow was furrowed, he wasn’t too annoyed at the interruption, sitting up to finally address his new fan. 

“Oi. It’s impolite to stare.” 

The boy flinched slightly, then looked down at his shoes in embarrassment. “'m s-sorry, mister…” 

Rindou felt a pang in his chest. With an exhale, he stood from the bench and removed his headphones as he walked over to the kid. Crouching down to his level, he took note of how the boy struggled to meet his gaze, fidgeting with the bottom half of his shirt. “Hmph. Guess you can’t learn the correct form without watching someone else. You trynna build muscle, too, little man?” 

Like flipping a switch, the boy’s eyes lit up as he nodded his head excitedly, tiny fists pumped. “Yeah! Wanna have huge muscles! Get big and strong like the heroes on TV!” 

He raised a brow. “Yeah?” 

“Uh huh! But-But you’re bigger, mister! Like,” he extended his arms as wide as he could, “SUPER big.” 

He grinned, smug. He liked this kid. “Damn right. But, you know, in order for me to stay this big and strong, I have to focus on my workout. And I can't really do that with you watching me like a hawk."

The little boy's mouth formed an 'o' before he covered it with his hands, sheepish as he looked at him with guilt, "Uh oh.."

Rindou shrugged, "t's fine, I ain't mad," creeped out, but he doesn't mention that. He looked around for a second, trying to see if there were any indication of someone appearing frantic or distraught. When he came up with nothing, he sighed, "How about this: Lemme finish my last set, and then you and I find your dad or something. Deal?"

The boy lit up once more, "C-Can I help?"

Rindou raised a brow, "Help, huh?" The boy nodded, eyes big and bright, and hopeful, and dammit. How can he say no to that face? He kissed his teeth, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, sure. You can...help keep count, I guess. How high can you count?"

"To a million!"

With a snort, Rindou merely shook his head, standing back to his full height to walk back to the bench with the ankle biter hot on his tail. How he ended up on babysitting duty was beyond him. But could be worse.

One set and a struggle to count past the number 30 later, Rindou held the boy's hand, who he eventually discovered was named Rintaro, as they scoped out the gym high and low to find his father. No matter how many men he pointed to, Rintaro claimed none of them.

Rindou was starting to grow frustrated.

There were still some workouts he hadn't gotten to yet, and this was eating up time. The younger Haitani had half a mind to just drop the kid off at the help desk, but every time it crosses his mind, he makes the mistake again of making eye contact with the boy and his big ole eyes. He looked happy to just be holding his hand, as if Rindou held up the moon and stars. It was...a little off-putting he won’t lie, but adorable, nonetheless. He couldn't just abandon him, even if he wanted to.

He sighed, “Seriously, kid, did your old man drop you here and leave? We should’ve found him by now…”

The boy blinked up at him, confused. “What old man?”

“No, not an old man, I mean your dad—Look, where was the last place you saw him before you wandered off?”

“Oh. I don’t have a dad.”

Rindou stopped. Then, with a swiftness he scooped up Rintaro by his underarms and held him at eye level, glaring at him with a twitching brow. “What.”

The boy sheepishly grinned. “I'm here with my mommy...”

“You mean to tell me we’ve been walking in circles for almost ten minutes, and you were just not gonna share that? Why didn’t you say something??”

“Because…” he fiddled with his fingers, looking down. “I like being with you…it’s fun…”

Well, shit.

Just like that, the anger evaporated. Rindou kissed his teeth, setting the boy back on the ground, crouching down to his level. Then, ruffling his hair, he said, “Alright, little man, no more games. Your ma’s probably worried to death about you. You said you're wanting to get strong to protect her, right?”

Rintaro nodded. Rindou continued, “Well you can’t protect her if you keep leaving her by herself, especially with all these meatheads around. You gotta stick by her, watch her back. And promise you won’t do this again. Okay?”

He nodded again, “Okay…”

“Okay, and?”

“And I promise…”

Rintaro sniffled, wiping his eyes with his fists. Rindou felt another pang in his chest, his intent not to make the kid cry. It’s not like it was his job to discipline him…

He ruffled the boy’s hair again, leaning downward so he could see his face. “Oi. No waterworks. Besides, you gotta be good so she'll bring ya back. You can't count for shit, but.. wouldn't mind having a spotter. What d'you say? You up for it?”

Like flipping a switch, Rintaro’s head perked up at the indication of not only getting to see him again but being a part of his routine. He nodded so hard, Rindou feared he’d give himself whiplash. Though, there was no hiding his grin. Yeah, he liked this kid. Reminded him of himself when he was that age…come to think of it…he looks sorta similar, too—

“Rinta!” Came a voice from afar, stressed and full of emotion.

“Mommy!” He answered, smile widening upon seeing you approach, arms extended out as he ran over to you. When Rindou stood to face the direction where the boy ran to, it felt like his world turned to slow motion, eyes narrowing in on the aforementioned mother—His ex.

He froze like a deer in headlights, shoulders tensed to where he could feel a cramp setting in. There was no way he was seeing this…no absolute shot in hell that you were here before him, hugging and kissing the kid he spent half an hour with, who allegedly didn’t have a dad, who just called you—“Mommy?”

At the sound of Rintaro’s confusion, it was then Rindou snapped from his daze and realized you had noticed him standing there, the two of you locking eyes; you looked equally horrified. And you were probably thinking the same thing he was.

Out of all the people…why’d it have to be you?

“I’m sorry, but this store is for grown ups with real money. I’m afraid I cannot accept this, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

The little girl pouted angrily up at the woman, arms crossed in displeasure. How dare she say such a thing about her piggy bank, she didn’t even bother to count how much was inside. That was a months' worth of good behavior at school, a couple tooth fairy visits, and some Monopoly money, and she worked hard to get it.

“Look you hag. ’m not leavin’ til you hand over the necklace with the shinies and sparklies on it for my mama’s birfday. So, cough it up!”

The woman appeared revolted by such lack of decorum, hand over heart as she gaped down at the little girl, face reddening with anger. She waggled a finger, lip upturned as she scolded the child, threatening to have her escorted out by security, only for it to be shut down by the sound of the little girl blowing raspberries up at her. The woman gave a dramatic gasp, horrified at such bratty behavior. However, before she could even reach for the phone to dial the number for the security office, an unexpected guest decided to step in.

"Belinda, are you being bested by a child?"

The woman nearly jumped out of her skin, full body turning towards the source to come face to face with one of the store's top investors, KOKONOI Hajime. Her skin grew pale in an instant, loss for words as she struggled to explain the embarrassing display he just walked in on. The little girl paused her taunting to gape up at the beautiful, shiny man before her, thinking a prince just popped right off a cover of a fairytale book. Draped in a stylish red kimono, with various jewels hanging off him like ornaments that twinkle beneath the warm lighting of the store, it's a wonder how he even made a place like this feel cheap. But what really caught her attention was his snow-white hair. It looked so silky, just begging to be braided and decorated with various bobs and barrettes. Maybe even some stickers–

"K-Kokonoi-san!" The woman exclaimed, startling the girl out of her daydream. Bowing deeply, forehead nearly touching her own knees, she disappeared behind the counter. Blinking widely at the perceived magic trick, the little girl craned her neck to see where she went, only to be disappointed that she didn’t actually disappear. "I-I wasn't informed you would be dropping in, s-sir. Please, excuse my rudeness."

"I was in the area," his gaze locked on the fetus at his shins. He points down at her. "Who is this?"

"I'm..not sure, sir. She's been causing a disturbance. Making a scene, demanding I let her purchase one of our display items with...board game currency."

The girl stomped around the corner to point at the still bowing woman. "I gave you money, now gimme the shiny! Those are the rules!"

Belinda peered up a little to squint at her, sneering as she spoke, "For the last time, you little miscreant, that money isn't real."

"It is, too! It's green! Money is green, you dumb hag!"

"You-!"

Kokonoi grinned, amused, "She has a point. Money is green, Belinda."

Said clerk shot up and eyed the white-haired man, flabbergasted. "S-Sir! You can't really be encouraging this obscenity, I mean, honestly! My job is to make sure nonsense like this is handled, and this little girl is disrupting the peace of this store."

"Mm. You getting worked up over some kid won’t resolve anything."

Belinda flushed a bright red of embarrassment once more. "Y-Yes. Yes, of course. My apologies." She bowed again.

Koko merely rolled his eyes, gesturing to the phone. “Just get security on the line. Someone’s gotta be looking for her by now.”

"No! 'm not leaving until you gimme mommy's birfday present!"

Kokonoi hummed, tilting his head in a teasing manner. "Too bad. That necklace isn't for sale. And it won’t be for a long time. Why don’t you start smaller, huh? Draw your mommy a picture or something."

She angrily pouted, pointing at her piggy bank on the counter. “I held Hammy all the way here, and his tummy’s full! Mommy says when his tummy’s full, I can buy whatever I want. And I. Want. That. Necklace.”

Koko’s brow twitched, leaning down to look her right in the eye as he grumbled. “Look, you little brat. I already told ya, it ain’t for sale. Now, be a good girl, and wait quietly until security comes to get you.”

The girl met his stare with a challenging one. This means war.

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[helen-with-an-a]

Waking Up

Thank you so much for this request anon - I would love to write some more soft/non-smut fluff for my favourite girls so please let me know of some ideas.

This is the answer to the 1st part of this ask (waking up on a day off); the answer to the question Do Ale and Amor ever try to hide their relationship is here.

Beautiful Girl masterlist

Alexia Putellas x reader

Description: R and Ale wake up on an off day

Word Count: 2.6k

Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, dust mites dancing in the cool morning air as you woke. The golden beams of light stretched across the floor, warming the wooden planks and casting long, playful shadows. The soft, translucent curtain fluttered gently with each whisper of the breeze. The sky beyond the window was a soft, pastel blue, with a few wispy clouds lazily drifting by. A vase of wildflowers on the windowsill caught the light, their petals glowing in hues of lavender and yellow. The intricate pattern of the quilt spread over the bed mirrored the soft, dappled sunlight, and the faint scent of jasmine from the neighbours below carried into the room. The occasional chirp of a bird punctuated the serene stillness.

You peeked over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of tousled brown roots that fanned out across the pillow, a few stray strands tickling your neck. The sight made you smile softly as you shifted, savouring the steady rise and fall of her chest pressed against your back. Her breath, slow and even, stirred the hair at the nape of your neck, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Just as you sank deeper into her embrace, Alexia's arm tightened subconsciously, her fingers flexing against your waist. The slight pressure sent a surge of warmth through you, drawing you impossibly closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Her leg curled slightly over yours, letting her warmth seep into you It was as if the world outside had ceased to exist; there was no rush, no sound, only the sanctuary of her arms and the steady, soothing rhythm of her breathing against your back.

Falling back asleep was easy. The soft light filtering through the curtains painted the room in a warm glow. For once, there were no pressing alarms, no meetings or hurried schedules looming over your morning. The world outside could wait, muffled and distant as if time itself had chosen to pause for you. It was just you and Alexia.

The gentle rise and fall of her breathing created a lullaby, one that called you to let go and sink deeper into rest. You could feel the faint press of her lips at the back of your neck and it made your chest swell with a warmth that felt almost sacred. You had never experienced this level of love before. This type of all-consuming peace that radiated across every part of you.

The quiet, unhurried intimacy was a luxury you rarely afforded yourself. In this moment, surrounded by the soft rustling of the sheets and the comfort of Alexia, everything else fell away. There was no rush, no lingering list of tasks waiting to pull you from this haven. Just the shared, gentle rhythm of two bodies at ease, cradled in the silence of a morning meant just for you both.

You woke again to the distant, jarring sound of cars blaring outside, their insistent honks and rumbling engines cutting through the morning stillness. A groan escaped your lips, a low, frustrated sound as sleep slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingertips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to cling to the remnants of the dream you could no longer remember, willing sleep to pull you back under its gentle spell. But with each passing second, the chaotic city sounds pressed harder against the thin veil of calm, and you knew it was useless.

You sighed, a deep, resigned exhale that released the tension knotting in your chest. But as the annoyance began to settle, you became more aware of the warmth wrapped around you. Alexia’s arm still rested across your waist, her hand relaxed and fingers slightly curled. She had fallen asleep holding you, and it brought a smile to your lips to see that she had refused to let go even in dreams.

There were definitely worse ways to wake up on an off day than protected in Alexia’s embrace, her body moulding perfectly to yours as if it were made to fit. The outside world might roar, but here, wrapped in her arms, it felt irrelevant.

You shifted slightly, rolling your shoulders and arching your back to stretch out the kinks that had formed overnight. The sheets rustled softly, the faint sound blending with the morning hum outside. A sleepy groan came from behind you, followed by a murmur as Alexia stirred. “Deja de moverte,” she muttered, her voice thick with sleep, the words half-lost in the drowsy slur of her accent. The soft command made you smile, knowing she was somewhere in that delicious space between dreams and waking.

“Sorry, beautiful girl,” you whispered. You squeezed her hand, where it rested over your waist, your fingers entwining gently in an unspoken apology. You shuffled back a little, pressing yourself into her, feeling the solid line of her body with a contented sigh.

“Dormir,” she announced, the word barely more than a puff of breath as she inhaled sharply, the intake tickling the fine hairs at the nape of your neck. The moment hung in the air, suspended between wakefulness and sleep, as she nestled her face deeper against you, her nose brushing your skin. You could feel the heat of her lips pressed lightly to your shoulder; a fleeting touch that made your chest tighten with affection.

“Sí, baby. Go back to sleep,” you murmured, letting your voice dip low and soft, an invitation for peace to settle over her again. The steady, familiar rhythm of her breathing slowed, and you felt her muscles relax, her body sinking against yours in complete trust. You let yourself fall back into the quiet, content to lie there in the warmth of Alexia’s embrace.

You may have dozed off again, though it was hard to tell. The line between sleep and wakefulness blurred as you lay there. Either way, it didn’t matter. You felt thoroughly relaxed, you had the love of your life wrapped around you and nothing to do today. The room held a stillness that felt sacred, a break from the hurricane that had swept you both up for far too long.

This was what you needed – what both of you needed. Alexia had been going non-stop for months, caught up in a relentless cycle of training, travel, and the never-ending demands. You could see it in the deepening shadows under her eyes, in the way her laughter had become a little less frequent, a little more strained. And you weren’t doing much better. The telltale signs were there in the way your muscles ached as soon as you woke up, the dull throb in your temples after not enough sleep. You knew it all too well – the physical toll your body endured and the mental strain that bit away at the edges.

A day spent in bed, wrapped up together, was just what the doctor ordered. No alarms, no calls, no one pulling you away from this small slice of serenity. Just the two of you, tucked away from the world, with nothing to do but exist. You shifted slightly, the feel of Alexia’s arm tightening instinctively around your waist as she murmured something incoherent, still fast asleep. It brought a soft smile to your lips, knowing she was letting herself rest for once.

As you lay there, feeling her warmth seeping into you, the tension in your body. Muscles unwinding in a way they hadn’t in weeks. Wrapped up in a mix of coconut and vanilla, the world didn't seem too bad. With Alexia next to you, you alway felt unstoppable. Whether it was on the pitch, in the gym, meeting fans or simply going to the shops, with her by your side, you always felt able to do anything. Her presence alone was enough to make you feel like you were capable.

You felt Alexia stir behind you, her body shifting as she began to wake. A sharp intake of breath brushed warmly against your shoulder, followed by the familiar, comforting pressure of her arm tightening around your waist once again. It was the unmistakable sign that she was returning from the hazy world of dreams, rejoining you in the quiet late morning.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, the sound deep and contented, resonating against your skin. “Bon dia, amor meu” she whispered, her voice still rough with sleep. The words were accompanied by the soft press of her lips, fluttering kisses along your bare shoulder, each one a gentle wake-up call.

“Bon dia, my beautiful girl,” you murmured back, your own smile taking shape as you turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her face. Her eyes were still heavy, dark lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks as she blinked slowly. The way she looked at you, with a quiet warmth and an unguarded fondness, made your heart swell.

You felt her hand shift, sliding up your stomach with a familiar, lazy grace. Her fingers found their way to rest on your breast, palm pressing gently against your skin. Her thumb stroked absentmindedly over your skin, tracing slow, soothing patterns that made you feel cherished and completely seen in a way that no one else ever had. You let out a small, contented sigh as you settled back into her embrace, arching into her hand ever so slightly.

“Mmmm-w-what time is it?” Alexia asked, her voice still laced with sleep. She nuzzled closer, her breath a warm tickle against your skin as she spoke.

“I have no idea,” you replied happily, chuckling at the idea that for once, you truly had no concept of time. It could have been 6 am or 3pm and you honestly wouldn't have known. And the truth was, you couldn’t have cared less about the time, even if you tried. The rest of the world felt a million miles away, irrelevant compared to this perfect, unhurried moment. You loved this side of Alexia – the side that only you were privileged enough to see. The sleepy, vulnerable version of her who let the day start at its own pace, who tangled her legs with yours and wrapped herself around you.

You loved every side of her, of course. The fierce, determined athlete who moved with a grace that made it seem effortless, the focused leader who inspired others without trying, the thoughtful partner who remembered the smallest details that made you smile. But this was different. This was Ale, the woman who woke up with bedhead that turned into an adorable mess of brown and blonde and whose voice was still scratchy from sleep. The woman who sometimes blinked at you with a soft, sleepy smile before she even opened her eyes fully. This was your beautiful girl.

It was in these moments that you fell in love with her a little bit more every day. The little things – the way she murmured your name when she stirred, the way she let her fingers drift absentmindedly along your skin, the way her incoherent words made you giggle at how endearing she was. You turned your head slightly, enough to catch her gaze, hazel eyes tender affection that made your heart stutter. She smiled, languid and genuine.

“It’s an off day,” Alexia mumbled, her voice still husky as she shifted slightly and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your jaw. The softness of her lips, the way they brushed your skin made you close your eyes for a moment, savouring the feeling.

“That it is,” you murmured, a small smile curving your lips as you reached up, your fingers finding their way into her hair. You began to scratch lightly at her scalp, your nails grazing her skin with the practised ease that always made her melt. You felt her exhale, a soft, contented sigh against your neck, her body pressing impossibly closer as if she could fuse herself to you if she tried hard enough.

“We have no plans,” she continued, her words slow and deliberate. There was a note of relief in her voice, subtle but undeniable. The outside world could wait – the endless cycle of training, travel, and obligations held no claim over you today. Today was yours.

“That we don’t,” you echoed, your voice soft and steady. The realisation sank deeper into you, a warm glow spreading through your chest.

“Bien,” she whispered, the word slipping out in a satisfied breath.

You turned your head just enough to catch her eyes, their dark depths still soft with sleep. The morning light cast a gentle glow across her features, catching on the curve of her cheek and the loose strands of hair that framed her face. "Sí, muy bien." You smiled.

The minutes ticked by uncounted. This was more than enough; it was everything.

[shysuccubusstuff]

Just Caleb

Content: Some hc about Caleb cause my head is so so full of him ♡; SFW (kind of angst) + NSFW (small scenario); masturbation + foul language + non established relationship; non proof-reader

Note: Caleb is so so good, I thank them for creating a complete red flag, they just get me going. I hope everyone is enjoying him so far!!

Caleb, who had been waiting what felt like ages. He had forced himself to be taken by those who wanted to hurt you, just so he could protect you from them.

Caleb, who forced himself to become much more stoic and harsh. His expression always tainted with a mixture between resentment and, if looked closer, a constant and profound melancholy that was almost able to cloud the never-ending heartache he felt each time he held onto that necklace.

Caleb, who hid everything that reminded him of you. He even avoided going back home in fear of facing the fact that you were no longer there to greet him. Not only that, but he made sure to hide his old clothes in the back of his wardrobe, filling it with many uniforms as a poor attempt of putting out of sight the very thing that was keeping him going, that being the possibility of seeing you once more.

Caleb, who became a complete workaholic, spending his whole day around the Fleet, it didn't matter whether he was filling the huge amount of papers that needed his signature or that he was working out as if he was possessed. It didn't matter that the whole crew looked at him with both fear and pride of being under such a man. If only they knew that this was merely his way of forcing him to think about another thing, anything just to keep him away from thinking too much.

Caleb, who stopped cooking. After all, what was even the point if no one was going to eat with him (more specifically, you). He sometimes cooked, well, if anyone would actually say that taking a slice of bread with some bland soup could be considered cooking.

Caleb, who kept seeing you everywhere around him. He always had those flashbacks, constantly reminiscing about you. If he saw a small bird, he thought about you, your cheeks puffed as you complained to him about the way he treated you as a child. Then, if he chose to drown himself into his load of paperwork, he would remember the times when he saw you in your old desk, brows furrowed as you kept trying to remember each single thing you needed to learn for the hunter exams. Frustrated, he chose to simply lie in bed, leaving his colonel cap behind, he closes his eyes, hoping for even a single moment of peace, but of course he is unable to get it. Flashes of your sleeping face close to him come back, your little smile appearing on your face as you dreamt about something nice, or your constant movement during the nights that the two of you kept sharing the bed. God, his whole life was completely intertwined with yours, so how could he even hope for a second not thinking about you?

Caleb, who chooses to spends most of his time alone, not paying a single ounze of attention to his subordinates, much less to those who kept trying to pursue him just to try and get something out of him.

Caleb, who keeps getting desperate each time he remembers a single thing about you. This desperation leads him to keep trying to find even a small similarity between you and those around him. He may lock eyes with a girl with your hair colour, and suddenly, he was once again thinking about you, remembering your soft hair, together with that sweet and charming scent that came from it... He quickly snaps back to his usual self, accommodating his gloves as he focused once again on the work in front of him, eyes sometimes drifting to the necklace you had given him long time ago.

Caleb, whose mind sometimes drifts towards the times the two of you were still living together. Your rooms were just close to each other, being able to hear some of the noise that was coming from the other room if you simply kept quiet for some time.

It was already late at night, with Caleb just finishing his work out, he was already getting ready to go to bed. Just as he turned off the small light on his desk, he heard a strange noise coming from your room. Alarmed, he was about to barge inside it, scared in case something had happened to you, but soon, he realised what he had just heard.

It was your voice, weak, merely a whisper, but just enough for him to hear it from his own bed. Now calmed, he tried his best to pay no mind to it, after all, you were already an adult, and it's nothing weird for young adults to get... excited. Regardless of how hard he tried to pay no mind to it, he was still able to hear you, your soft moans echoing in his ears as if you were teasing him. Although he kept trying to ignore it, he just couldn't stop his own imagination, almost being able to see you touching yourself, your soft hands gropping and teasing your nipples as you rubbed your legs together... God, he even tried to focus by hitting his cheeks with his two hands, not like it actually worked, as he could already feel the tension growing under his pants. Still, he kept himself in control, biting his lip and trying his best to think about something else, anything.

However, as the time went on and your moans only became louder, Caleb's restraint finally gave up, moving his sheets to the side and sliding his hand down until he reached his lower half, removing both his pants and underwear and starting to move his hand up and down his shaft, biting his pillow to avoid leaking any sound in fear of you hearing him as well. As he heard your whines getting more and more high-pitched as you reached your orgasm, his hand started to move faster, closing his eyes and bitting even harder his pillow as he started to buck his own hips against his calloused hand, imagining just how good it would feel to kiss those pretty lips of yours, now all red and puffy from you biting them... He even had the nerve of thinking of your precious lower half, now all slick because of you using your fingers to tease your swollen clit until it made you cry from the pleaser, that single thought was more than enough for him to reach his high, cumming all over his hand as he kept slowly decreasing the ruthless rhythm he had set.

Embarrased, he got out of bed, quickly taking out a piece of paper and cleaning his hand, his mind now filled with a sense of guilt as he rushed to the bathroom inside his room to clean his hands.

How was he even supposed to greet you the next morning?

[floraisunwell]

Cramps | s.r

who? spencer reid x fem!reader

category: fluffy fluff

summary: you stained spencer's bed sheets and clothes and think he's going to be mad but you couldn't be more chill about it

based on: MY PERIOD CRAMPS WERE KILLING ME BAHAHAHAHA

word count: 685

a/n: i stained my bedsheets during my afternoon nap the other day and i wished i had a spencer to take care of me because my cramps are BRUTAL (and i'm just a sucker for period fics overall lol) @angellic4l my beautiful proofreader, our baby is here.

t.w: mention of blood and very briefly a knife wound

The sound of the shower running awoke you and even in your sleepy state, you smiled because that was a sign that Spencer was already home.

You sat up and that’s when you saw the bags of groceries that were plopped beside the bedroom door, one was from your favorite take-out place, and the other from the corner store down the street, you knew for sure that it contained all the treats you love and your smile widened when you realized that Spencer knew everything you needed just from reading the text you sent a few hours ago

-these cramps are killing me. going for a nap, don’t wake me up when you get home-

You were already opening the package of Sour Patch Kids when you noticed the brownish-red stain in the spot where you had woken up. You instinctively looked down at your sweatpants, Spencer’s sweatpants, and surely, a stain in the same shade of red could also be found there.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…” you grunted

“Is everything okay angel?” your boyfriend inquires getting out of the bathroom with wide eyes

“No, oh my god your bed sheets, oh god”

“My, my bed sheets? What’s wrong with them?” he asks but his eyes have already landed on the stain and a relived ‘oh’ escapes his lips

“Baby I thought something had happened; you scared me for a moment,” he said with a slight smile.

“No, something did happen, did you not see your sheets? And also, your sweats,” you say pointing down “Oh god they look disgusting” you spit out.

“Oh no, don’t say that angel,” he says reaching for your hand but you take a step away and start talking again

“I destroyed them, Spence. It looks horrible. They looked expensive too,” you say, pointing at both the bed and the pants. That stain is so huge, too. It probably reached your mattress,” you say, your face contorting into an emotion Spencer can’t describe.

“What no, you didn’t destroy them, they will be perfectly fine after a wash or two”

“Spence that blood literally came from inside me,” you say with an overly serious tone

“Well, it would be concerning if it had come from anywhere else angel” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips

“Haha, what a perfect time to curate your humour doctor,” you say trying to hide a chuckle because this is one of the occasions where Spencer was funny.

“But seriously it’s not a problem angel I don’t care about the sheets, or the pants, at all. I can literally think of more than 30 ways to clean off those stains.” He says pulling you into a hug.

“Are you sure you’re not completely and utterly disgusted by my bodily fluids?” you ask smiling.

“Not at all, I see too much blood daily to be disgusted by that” he replies looking down at you

“But I mean, that’s period blood, it’s different from blood from like a knife wound or something like that,” you say still looking up at him

“And? Seeing period blood is actually better angel” he says while resting his chin atop your head.

“Are you sure?” you ask with a slightly unbelieving tone

“I am completely sure,” He said leaving a kiss on your forehead “So, how are your cramps? I got you ibuprofen”

“Oh, I left some last time I was here and I have some in my bag too, but thank you, Spence”

“No problem angel,” he stated as he got away from the hug “Now go take the bath I prepared for you, while I take care of these stains, you’re so worried about”

“And then we can cuddle?” you ask with the same wide grin you had when you woke up.

“And then we can cuddle however long you want.” He replies with a smile as wide as yours mirrored in his face.

And as you took your shower and smiled stupidly at the wall you couldn’t stop questioning yourself about how this man kept making you fall in love with him over and over again

[revelboo]

GUESS WHO CAME IN THE MAIL FROM THE EBAY PEOPLE U RECOMMEND. MY FAVE MY DARLING 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

I love him so much I want him in my pocket and take him everywhere. I want him to see the world. I'm so happy. I think I might be done now. Atleast for a bit so I can see who comes next. Might get some TFone guys or the new defender ones(? The tiny tiny ones) but I'm so happy I found this blog, your amazing works and blokees 💕💕💕💕 thank you !!!

Soundwave! I'm glad you enjoy my stories! They’ve given us so many Megs variants… I need some more Soundwaves and Starscreams now

Pretty much 🤣 Megs was an oops, though to be fair

Everything Is Alright Pt 118

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Servos lightly trembling feeling your stress and anxiety soaking into him to mingle with the almost manic fury radiating from Megatron and Starscream’s own outrage until he’s nearly overwhelmed, Soundwave swallows a growl. “No,” he says, voice calm and unyielding. Wrapping his servos around you, he opens his cassette compartment and gently eases you inside. Shielding you from what he suspects is coming with how volatile Megatron’s thoughts are right now. And it's a comfort to have you tucked safely inside him, helping ease the ragged hurt of that severed bond. It had felt like having his spark ripped out of him. Had known the Seeker wasn't happy that he'd tried to bond you, but hadn't realized the other mech would go that far.

• Did he really just nope and hide you? Sitting down, illuminated by his biolights and surrounded by the thrum of his spark, a part of you is thankful for the respite from the madness. Because your hands are shaking, just overwhelmed and you really want some alone time to try and process. Maybe cry at how ridiculous your life is. And it’s warm and safe inside Soundwave. “Thanks,” you whisper, unsure if he can hear you in here or not. Can still feel that jangling wrongness where Soundwave's bond had been as you press yourself into a corner of his cassette compartment. Letting yourself grieve that loss with no one staring at you.

• “Give me back my mate,” Starscream growls. Optics narrowing, he checks his wing to make sure that big brute didn’t bend it dragging him and to distract himself from the worry clawing at him. Had felt your pain echo through him and hadn't been able to do anything. Had been helpless to save you or himself and that can never happen again. Needs to be able to hold you in his servos, reassure himself that you're really okay. Doesn't even want to think about the fact that Megatron stole his sparkling and bonded you while you were helpless even if it was to save your life. And his. Doesn't want to owe that mech anything. Denta gritting when Soundwave just folds his arms across his chassis and stares him down. And he can pry that stupid cassette door open if he needs to. Starts forward only to hiss when Megatron seizes him by a wing. Again.

• Pulling until the Seeker leans so far one leg kicks out for balance, Megatron smiles down at Starscream. Because all of this is his fault. His selfishness. He’s sparked because the Seeker had severed Soundwave’s bond and hurt you. “Leave our pet alone. I think we need to have a little talk anyway. Just the three of us.” Ignoring Starscream's furious expression, he releases him and sits on Soundwave's berth. Trying to get his temper under control when he just wants to wring the Seeker's neck. Rip his still pulsing spark from his chassis. And he can't. Can't lay a servo on the mech to do any real damage. Killing Starscream might kill you. And because he's fully bonded to you, him as well. Maybe you'd fully bonded to him on purpose as a way to ensure he couldn't hurt your other mate. Wants to be furious, but he hadn't felt any scheming when he'd been tangled in you. "No one is to find out that we can spark a human or that I'm sparked." Not until he can figure this out. Because yes, it's a chance at saving their race slowly declining race, but if it gets out, there's the question of who the sire is and the Pit will freeze over before he lets it get out that he has Starscream's sparkling. Still can't understand humans and their alien weirdness. You're the carrier, you were supposed to stay sparked. Not pass it to him.

• Servos pressed protectively against the door to his cassette compartment, he croons softly to you, trying to soothe away your turmoil. Lulling you like he would a cassette. Aware that they're both staring at him when he lifts his head and he stares them both down defiantly, daring them to say anything. "Hurt our mate instead of protecting," he says, attention fixing on Starscream. Tries so hard to be the one in control, to be calm and rational, but he'd lost it when the Seeker had torn through his bond. And why? Because he was jealous? Didn't want to share you? Just callously lashing out without realizing there would be consequences. "Keep hurting our mate."

• "Our mate," Starscream hisses, angry and upset at the truth in that accusation. Because he had hurt you trying to free you. And even now, he's not sure if he'd done it to protect you or to keep you to himself. Because you were supposed to be only his. To love only him. You're all he'd needed or wanted. So why hadn't he been enough for you? "You're not my Trine. Not my brothers. You seduced my mate." And Megatron had stolen his future. Denta bared, his wings flare out before dropping. "I was happy."

• Servos pressing to his head, Megatron looks from Soundwave to Starscream. "At this point, it doesn't matter who screwed up the worst. You're fully bonded. I'm fully bonded. Soundwave will be, too." Snarling when Starscream opens his mouth to protest, he looms over the Seeker. "Soundwave, too. Primus, knows our poor pet will need a calm voice in all this. Safety." Pointing at Soundwave when Starscream hisses, Megatron thumps him in the chassis with the end of his cannon. "Where is the human right now? Hiding from both of us with Soundwave. And I swear to Primus if I could blast you in the face for getting me involved in this stupidity, I would without hesitation." Thumping him again to make the Seeker stumble back, Megatron's servos curl into fists. "It's divine comedy that I'm now tied to you for the rest of my existence."

• "Or our mate's. Humans don't live that long, Lord Megatron," he blurts, trying to hurt the other mech. And Starscream freezes as Megatron's optics narrow. Because it's something that has occurred to him more than once. Bond mates bond for life. One following the other in death and he'd known how short your life was when he'd claimed you. Willingly made that sacrifice to spend what time you have with you. But Megatron didn't know and a petty part of himself is almost gleeful about the blank expression on the warlord's face up until Megatron grabs him by the jaw, servos squeezing. 'How short?' Megatron snarls.

Previous

Next

I finally gave up and did an inbox cleanse… but I kept quite a few still as drafts. I just discovered the TransArts Tarantulas figure and he's so pretty. And so, so out of my price range lol

[pricegouge]

Thinking of nanny!reader x daddy!price once again... You really ate there, damn

[fic]

oh ms. messy... wonder what she's been up to...

"fuckin' call me messy," you grumble under your breath, the pre-wetted wipe in your hands going dry with overuse. emily squirms, her chubby little cheek gone red with the attention.

"not s'ppose'ta say tha'word." face squished in your hand as it is, the accusation comes out too muffled to hold her usual attitude. like this, she's almost cute. or would be, if not for the garish colors still staining her eyelids.

"and you're not supposed to use markers like makeup, but here we are."

she rolls her eyes, the brat, smudgy purple lines fading up into her eyebrows raising with the effort, as if everything in her tiny little body was put into the motion. "wha'ss'a diffr'nce anyway?"

"well for one, makeup comes off with makeup wipes," you snark, tossing another stained towelette into the bin, tie-dye collection starting to overflow. "for another i don't think 'bluetiful' is really your color."

"blue is a primary color," she informs you, apropos of nothing, as if that should explain why she'd tried using it as as a highlighter.

you pause in your endeavor, the bright red 'blush' on her cheek bleeding down the crease of her nose. "that is true," you agree sagely, and then damn near jump out of your skin when a gruff voice behind you asks if she knows her other primaries.

emily lists off a good fourteen colors - far too many from your understanding, though it had been a long time since you were in preschool; maybe they'd added some. you used the time to check yourself out in the bathroom mirror covertly, though you catch him catching you, eyes meeting somewhere around the fourth shade of yellow. "mr. price," you greet him casually, voice too meek in your effort not to interrupt emily's learning.

he doesn't even nod, eyes heavy on you as he lets his daughter prattle off every shade of the crayolla box she'd become overly familiar with. you'd say he's getting worse but he's always been like this - too intense, too direct - and saying as much felt like a jinx, like a dare to the universe at large to make him, impossibly, more driven. "ms. messy," he drawls quietly, the title a low purr as he lets his eyes drag over you. you'd worn shorts today, confident and cheeky in the privacy of your room. he always managed to wrangle that control from you this easily, with barely more than a pointed look that set you back to basics, suddenly remembering the game you're playing. who with.

attempting to save face, you turn back to emily and whisper to her, thick as thieves. "coulda told me he was right behind me. now i look bad, not using this as a teaching opportunity."

emily tells you it's actually your job to know when her dad's home because she's a little shit, but you barely hear it because john takes that opportunity to assure you you don't look bad, doubles down when he sees how flustered he's made you. "emily, doesn't ms. messy look nice?"

and maybe there is a reason you keep coming back for more (other than her hot father and his seemingly bottomless pocket) because she just nods animatedly, sloppy bun you'd piled her hair into bobbing. you start to murmur your thanks, but she ruins the moment just as suddenly as she'd started it, motioning to her colorful face and proudly announcing she'd been trying to look like you.

"oh," you hedge, unsure how you feel about a child thinking drunk drag makeup was the key to stealing your look.

john, thankfully, comes to your rescue. "oh, munchkin. you know ms. messy doesn't need all that to look pretty."

well, maybe 'thankfully' was a strong word. "and neither do you. you're pretty just the way you are," you assert, trying to steer the conversation into something more manageable just as you steer the girl before you back your way, tilting her head so you can get a particularly well saturated bit on her brow.

"prettier than you?" she asks, cheeky, and you roll your eyes much like she had, far too exaggeratedly. let her dad have fun with that bad habit.

"well of course!"

she giggles, turns to face her father as best she can when you've got her whole jaw cupped in your hand. "daddy, am i prettier than ms. messy?"

you don't think he's mean enough to give his kid a complex in the name of flirting with someone half his age, but your breath catches anyway, waiting in anticipation as he lets the moment drag on.

surely your heart's racing because you want him to say no. right?

"now that you mention it, ms. messy sure could use some sprucing up, hm?" you scoff and flick the dirty towelette at him and huff when he catches it easily, palm completely engulfing it without even really trying. he's unbearably smug when he continues, whiskers practically twitching with a barely contained grin. "what do you think, munchkin? a pretty necklace? a bracelet?"

unfortunately, he looks perfectly serious. "maybe a ring?"

if emily responds, you don't hear it, too busy side eyeing him, trying to figure out how serious he is. if you get tipped with a tennis necklace next time you watch his kid, you might just drop out of school.

divider by @/cafekitsune

[janeyseymour]

Overheated

Summary: sometimes you faint. a certain someone is always there to catch you.

WC: ~2.3k

“Melissa, I’m fine,” you grumble as you roll out of bed that day. “Just PMS.”

“And you know how that shit knocks you out,” your wife mutters, although she does allow you to get up. She knows you’ve already used your sick days earlier in the year when you caught the flu.

“Well, it can’t today,” you grunt and groan as you change into your work clothes. “I can’t afford to not get paid, and I don’t want Mr. J as my sub again.”

“I told you, we can survive without one day of your pay if you really feel as shitty as I think you do,” Melissa tells you as she snakes her arms around your waist and presses a kiss to your temple.

You turn slightly in her arms to kiss her softly. “I know, but I really don’t need Mr. J teaching my kids that the moon landing was fake.”

“You know my thoughts on that conspiracy theory,” the redhead chuckles softly as she lets you go. When you grimace in pain, she mumbles to herself, “Can’t forget the heating pad and Midol today.”

“And Excedrin,” you whine.

“Hun, if your head is pounding too,” Melissa looks to you with sympathy.

You stand strong though. “I’m going. I’ll just teach with the lights off and from my desk today.”

“Stubborn as a Schemmenti,” your wife rolls her eyes. “I swear.”

“I am a Schemmenti now,” you quip with a smirk before you feel a shoot pain that causes you to wince.

“And I am so thankful for that,” Melissa promises you as she kisses your head again. With that, the two of you head down the steps for breakfast.

Your breakfast is, while painful, a wonderfully quiet and warm haze. Your wife all but forces you to sit at the table while she prepares the coffee and meal, along with handing you the hot water bottle for you to hold to your abdomen.

As you leave for work, you would venture to say that you feel slightly better than you did when you first woke up. Still, you know you probably shouldn’t push yourself too hard. You vow to yourself (and your fiercely protective spouse) that you’ll do everything you can to teach from your chair today.

For whatever reason, your students are completely out of hand today in every single way. From the second they step into your classroom, you can tell it’s going to be a terrible day- a day where no matter how much you want to resign yourself to sitting in your chair, you simply can’t. You find yourself hovering over your students no matter what their assignment is, pacing the aisles that you’ve created in your classroom. It’s terrible- completely and utterly horrid. You can’t sit with your heating pad, you didn’t even bring a hot water bottle, your head has started to pound again with the class’s volume. It’s absurd.

When lunch time comes around for your students, you practically drag them down- hopeful for a full lunch period of peace and quiet in your classroom; you’ve already decided that you aren’t making it to the staff lounge today. Instead you’ll take your wife’s teasing at the fact that you are so unwell that you couldn’t even fathom coming to have lunch with her.

But of course, because as the universe decides, you don’t get to treat yourself to a quiet lunch. No, instead, you’re running around like an idiot trying to make sure that you’re students all have lunch, and when you think you’ll be able to go for the last ten minutes to eat your lunch in silence, you’re pulled into an issue surrounding your student who hasn’t had lunch money for the past two weeks (a problem unknown to you).

You go in circles with Shanae for a few minutes before you finally roll your eyes and fork over the money in order to get him a lunch and placate the irritable lunch lady.

“Coulda done that in the first place,” she grumbles as she snatches the money from your hand and begins to count it.

At this point, you only have about five minutes left of your lunch time. There’s no use in going to back to your classroom- not when you would just have to turn right back around. So instead, you sit in the hallway for the last few minutes before leading them back down to your classroom.

You think to yourself that you’ll just eat while your kids have their special, only to realize that you indeed do not have a special. You lost the only time to yourself today. You sigh as you instruct your students to get out a book for five minutes while you collect yourself again.

Hastily, you reach for your phone, hoping to convince your wife to bring you your meal from the staffroom. Upon the device lighting up, you see quite a few concerned messages from Melissa.

You coming down for lunch?

Hun?

I’m coming to your room.

Did you leave early?

And then a few minutes later, the last text comes in. Saw you in the cafeteria. Love you.

Sorry, you respond. Had an issue with Taijon’s lunch and left my phone in the classroom. Do you think you have a few minutes to bring me my lunch?

I can’t, your wife texts. I don’t have prep today- with the gym teacher out. I’m sorry hun. Are you okay? I can have Barb head down during her prep?

No, no, don’t bother her. I’ll be fine.

Are you fine?

I will be, you send before setting your phone down and starting class again. 

It turns out, as luck would have it, that you are indeed not fine. Despite the Diet Coke that you put into your purse this morning for an extra jolt of caffeine, your head is still pounding, you’re absolutely exhausted, and your cramps are only getting worse. Whether they’re getting worse because your period is incoming or if it’s because you haven’t eaten anything other than the few bites of breakfast you could manage because of your nausea, who can say. 

Your wife sees how pale and slightly green you look while you’re dismissing your students. She knows that tonight is going to be an early night, one with a heating pad pressed against your abdomen, and in turn, hers because you’ll be laying on top of her.

“How’re you feeling?” she still asks you as she makes her way over.

“Fine,” you grumble. “Just want to get home.”

“As soon as all of the kids are gone, we can sneak out. Yeah?” You can only nod.

It’s a few minutes later that all of your kids have left the school grounds, and you sigh in slight discomfort as you make your way back into the school. You’re starting to feel warmer and warmer, and the redhead has an arm around your waist the entire walk down to your classroom, where she gathers your things for you and slings them over her shoulder. And then the two of you are making your way down to her classroom. And while you really did think you were fine- that you just had to make it home before collapsing onto the couch and staying there until it was time to retire for bed- but it turns out you aren’t. You start to stumble just slightly as a wave of dizziness hits you to accompany the hot flash you seem to be in the middle of. 

“Hun?” Melissa’s eyes quickly dart to you as she feels just the slightest shift in weight.

You’re able to catch yourself on her doorframe. “I’m good. Just a little-”

And then you go down. Melissa’s one arm isn’t strong enough to hold you up as you faint in her arm. To her credit though, your wife does try to grab you with her other hand. Unfortunately, she’s not quick enough, and her engagement ring manages to catch on the skin of your cheek as she flounders to reach for you and cuts you.

“Fuck!” your wife yells out loud enough to attract the attention of the teachers who have also come inside. Barbara is the first one to run to Melissa’s room- only to see you on the floor with a bloody cheek that is now spilling onto the carpet.

“Oh dear God!” the kindergarten teacher sputters as she kneels down beside you and the redhead. “What happened?”

“I- I don’t know,” Melissa mutters as she lays you down on your back. “She hasn’t been feeling well, but I-”

You open your eyes groggily, only to groan at the florescent lights hitting you. You screw them shut again.

“Mi amore,” your wife mumbles as she presses a tissue to your cheek. Then she turns to look at Barbara. “Can you grab me her bottle of water?”

No sooner is your water bottle straw being brought to your lips as Melissa props you up, and you take a sip quickly. And then you’re trying to sit up on your own and pull the tissue catching your blood from your face. Strong hands just keep you on the ground though.

“Lis, I’m perfectly-”

“Did you want to finish that thought?” the redhead interrupts you. “Did you want to finish blaming that you’re perfectly fine? Or are you going to faint again?”

You jut out your bottom lip as you succeed in pulling the tissue away from you cheek. “Be nice to me,” you pout. “I’m injured, and not feeling well.”

Green eyes are rolled with such love. “Oh, so now you admit it? There’s blood on my floor.”

“I’ll clean it up.” You go to move, but once again, you’re glued to the woman holding you in her arms.

“Like hell you will,” Melissa mumbles as she presses a kiss to your unmarked cheek. “What you will be doing is laying on the floor for a few minutes while I clean it up, and then we’re going home.”

“Dear, why did you faint?” Barbara asks as she switches places with the redhead. “Did you eat today?”

You hum softly as you take another sip of water. “I had a few bites of breakfast this morning, but that’s all I could manage.”

“No wonder you passed out. Why didn’t you eat lunch?”

You shrug.

“Or ask one of us to bring it to you?”

Again, you shrug. “Didn’t want to be a bother.”

“Next time,” both older women grumble. “Be a smaller bother than fainting after school.”

“Noted.”

It’s only a few minutes later that you’re feeling well enough to sit up on your own. And when you go to stand, you find that you’re instead being swept off your feet and into the arms of your wife.

“You’re not fainting again,” Melissa tells you sternly. She whisks you out of the classroom and in the direction of your cars, leaving Barbara to follow along with all of your belongings.

“Guys,” you grumble, although you do wrap your arms around Melissa’s neck and lean into her slightly. “I’m fine.”

“Fine my ass,” Melissa huffs as she sets you down in the passenger seat. She turns to the kindergarten teacher and takes both of your belongs before sighing. “Thanks for the help, Barb.”

“Anything for family,” the woman smiles sweetly, although then she turns to you with a stern look. “I do hope that you won’t be making a habit of this though.”

You turn red under Barbara’s steely gaze. “I won’t.” 

Since that first incident, you’ve been a lot better about taking care of yourself- although you do have to admit that sometimes you’re only remembering to take care of yourself because of your wonderful wife (and Barbara, at times). You don’t end up fainting at school again- thank goodness.

Well, that is until you’re attempting to hide the fact that you’re pregnant. You and your wife had only recently discovered that you were with child.

It’s May- an unusually hot month that you’re sitting in a school without air conditioning. You can feel the flush in your cheeks as you’re sitting in the staff room with your coworkers, your wife’s hand resting warmly on your thigh.

“Off,” you mumble as you practically throw her hand off of you and begin to fan yourself with your hand.

The redhead looks at you, clearly confused, but then she sees the red in your cheeks, and she knows you’re going through a hot flash- one of the few symptoms that you’ve had of this pregnancy so far.

“Are you-” and then you go down.

Melissa, who had dealt with this a few times (the first time being when you had passed out and she forced you to take a test), moves in a calm and purposeful manner. She has the lollipop to help with the nausea that is bound to overtake you, your water bottle, and then she’s down by your side quickly.

“She’s eating!” Barbara shouts in disbelief. “How could she faint?!”

When you come to a few seconds later, you let out a heavy sigh. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“If you knew you were getting overheated, you should’ve asked for an ice pack like you do at home,” you wife tuts.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you take a few sips of water.

“This isn’t good for you or the baby,” Melissa sighs, entirely forgetting where she’s at in the moment. The only thing she cares about is you.

“The what?!” Jacob practically shouts, being the first one to hear this news and let it sink in.

“You’re with child?!” Barbara cries not a moment later.

You bite your lip and look to your wife, who is about as red as her hair. “Uhm… surprise?”

Tags

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[dollfacefantasy]

Ooh how about vibrator play w frank castle? Maybe sitting w your back to his chest as he just gets you off over n over bc you got all needy/bratty?

Absolutly love the way you write btw 🫶🫶

frank castle x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, vibrator use, overstimulation, age gap (20s/40s) a/n: thank you so much! i think i saw heaven when i read this request <3

"hold still, baby," his deep voice rumbled against your jaw, "gotta hold still for me. can't make you feel good if you're running away."

your entire body shuddered in his lap. you almost missed the words. they ran together when your mind felt soft and hazy with pleasure like this. they also sounded distant when the buzz of the toy whirred down below. that strong, consistent vibration made everything else fade away.

it wouldn't have really mattered if you spaced what he said anyways. the words were empty. meant to tease you more than anything else. you couldn't get away right now if you wanted to. not with the way he had your thighs pinned open. one of his thick arms wrapped around your waist while his free hand held the small, thrumming cylinder between your legs.

he kept it still for the most part, letting the toy do its job. every so often he would move it. he'd draw small circles on your bundle of nerves or slide it downward like he planned on stuffing it inside your dripping hole.

the sensation caused your hips to buck. your heels dug into his thighs, sliding on the denim covering them as you fruitlessly tried to squirm to nowhere. your back pressed against his chest while raucous whines erupted from you.

but despite the signs of you getting overwhelmed, he didn't take the toy off. he kept your little vibrator buzzing right up against you and planted a few kisses along your jawline.

"you gettin' close? that why you're all squirmy? cause you're gonna cum again?" he murmured.

your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you nodded wildly.

he smirked, though your eyes were too droopy to see that.

"so needy. you weren't lying about how bad you wanted me, huh?" he crooned.

your head shook back and forth now.

"well let it happen, honey. stop trying to run from it. let yourself feel good. that's what you were after," he said, subtly taunting towards the end.

his mocking tone did nothing to deter you. your release crashed into you with enough force to black out your vision. every muscle in your body quivered, contracting and relaxing as you hit the high for the third time in a row.

a moan seeped from your lips so loud that his hand flew up from your waist to clamp over your mouth.

"shh, shh, shh, sweet girl. can't have you waking up the whole floor, yeah?" he mumbled in your ear.

you didn't respond. your body continued to roll into the bliss before settling. there was a brief moment of reprieve following that - probably because your nerves were approaching numbness down there - but before you could catch your breath, that small toy was back on the most delicate part of your cunt. your eyes rolled back, your mind blanking in response to yet another round of white hot bliss starting up.

"no- mmph- no more, frank," you whined as his hand fell from your mouth to grope at one of your breasts.

"no, you're not done yet. i know you. i turn this thing off now, and in fifteen minutes you'll be pawing at my shorts," he teased.

"i won't," you begged, lip wobbling, "i won't. promise. it's too much."

"too much? you gettin' tired? that cute little pussy ready to tap out for me?" he cooed.

"uh huh," you moaned.

"yeah? s'funny cause when i came home and told you i was tired, you didn't wanna stop, did you?" he said.

you groaned already knowing where this was going. "frankie-" you started to plead, but he cut your cry short.

"yeah. told you my muscles were aching, my back's all stiff-"

"thought you were just being an old man," you pouted, cutting him off right back.

as soon as the words exited your mouth, his thumb on the vibe tapped the button to crank up the speed. the buzzing grew louder and the tiny rod shook in his grasp with more force. you yelped, your body jerking and then melting on top of him.

"don't be a smartass or we'll be here for a while," he muttered, kissing your cheekbone, "you knew what you were doing, begging like that even when i told you to quit it. this is exactly what you wanted."

you turned your head, nuzzling your face against his throat as if the crook of his neck could provide you some form of escape. your body trembled on his lap, though it was totally motionless otherwise. your limbs felt like jelly, and your mind didn't fare much better. whimpers oozed from your lips without restraint.

"that's better," he praised, "just cum again for me, baby. one more time. give me a good one and it might be the last."

ragged breaths puffed from your lips. your chest heaved with the exertion. you knew your next release was coming whether you wanted it or not. it bordered on painful, but the all-consuming sensation overtook you just the same.

this time you reacted with less intensity. you weren't as loud, most of your noises remaining breathy and drawn out. your body didn't jerk. instead you spasmed with the euphoria flooding your senses.

he worked you through it, swiveling the point of the vibrator over your clit with precision. his hand guided it through your slick. it stayed on you until the last of your tremors melted into bursts in the aftershock.

finally then, when you were wriggling and whining, grabbing at his wrist without any semblance of a coherent word coming from you, he pulled it away. that same button he used to up the speed, he hit again and turned it off.

he dropped it to the side. it could be cleaned up later. right now, his attention stayed on you. his strong arms squeezed you before shifting your body around to sit more comfortably against his chest.

a couple kisses landed on your forehead. his fingers massaged the nape of your neck, coaxing your mind out from the slush of post-release and back to lucidity with him. you blinked slowly while gazing up at him with your glazed eyes.

"you gonna be able to walk to bed, or do i gotta help you?" he mocked.

you pouted with annoyance this time, lightly jabbing him with your elbow. "i got it," you whimpered before slowly rising and taking a few uncertain steps.

he huffed out a laugh at the display, patting your ass as he stood up to follow your lead.

[donttxtathebeach]

Y/n Nolan & Drew Starkey | Actors on Actors

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word count: 9.3K

warning: talks of childhood hod, growing up in hollywood

Don't forget to reblogg and let me know what you guys think.

behind the scenes:

Y/n and Drew sit down for variety's actors on actors for a candid conversation to reflect on their careers, their personal journeys through Hollywood

Y/n Nolan & Drew Starkey | Actors on Actors

Y/n Nolan  (‘Anora’) and Drew Starkey (‘Queer’) sit down for a candid conversation to reflect on their careers, their personal journeys through Hollywood, and the roles that have defined them. The discussion touches on y/n’s breakthrough at a young age and the vast array of work she has accomplished, including playing some of the most iconic characters in contemporary horror films. At the same time, Drew opens up about his experience working with legendary actor Daniel Craig, along with his struggle to avoid being pigeonholed into a particular role.

Intro

“Blimey hell, Drew, did you ask him about James Bond?” Y/n says, her voice rich with a classic English lilt, so natural and effortless that it feels like the words are floating out with ease. Her eyes, framed by her signature striking features, twinkle with mischief. “Knowing Daniel, I’m sure he loved it.”

Drew looks slightly amused, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “He just kind of started talking about it,” he says, as though it was a conversation that naturally rolled into place—nothing forced, just genuine moments spilling out.

“That sounds like Daniel,” Y/n replies knowingly, her tone dripping with a fondness that only comes from knowing someone for years. Her voice softens as she adds, “He’s very much like that. A bit of a showman, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Some were fake,” Drew quips with a grin, half-joking, half-posing it as an inside joke.

“Just say they’re real,” she teases, a playful glint in her eyes. Her smile is wide and charming, her tone teasing but warm.

“They’re all real,” Drew responds with a smile that broadens into a full, cheeky grin. “Everything. Everything’s real.”

Jazzy, upbeat music plays briefly as they both settle into the conversation, the camera cutting back to them with soft light casting a flattering glow on their faces.

Drew leans in slightly, his tone sincere as he admires Y/n. “Wow, you’re even more beautiful in person. I must say, I am such a big fan of your work. I mean, you’re only 25, have 5 Oscars, 9 Emmys, and you just won a Golden Globe—that’s incredible.”

Her laughter rings out, clear and melodic, as she blushes at the lavish compliment. She tucks a strand of her platinum blonde hair behind her ear, clearly caught off guard by the sheer number of accolades he listed. “Wow, all this flattery—thank you so much. Truly, it means so much,” she says, the sincerity of her words tempered by a humble laugh. Her eyes shine with appreciation but also with a touch of disbelief that all these accolades are being attributed to her.

“Drew Starkey,” she continues, her tone shifting slightly to more familiar ground, “it is a pleasure to see you again.” Y/n extends her hand toward him, her touch elegant and graceful. There’s no pretense, just an open gesture of respect and camaraderie.

“Likewise, Miss Nolan,” Drew replies with equal warmth. His voice, smooth and composed, betrays a deep level of respect for the woman in front of him. He meets her eyes with a hint of admiration, which speaks volumes about the genuine rapport they share.

“This is funny to me,” she starts, her expression turning playful again. “I was talking to Daniel the other day, we ran into eachother at some coffee shop, about how we’re doing this interview, and he’s like, ‘Drew cannot talk to women to save his life, especially pretty ones like yourself.’ But you seem fine,” she says, teasing Drew with a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment of light-hearted banter.

Drew bursts out laughing, the sound filling the air around them. “Well, it is good to see you. We met, what, a couple of weeks ago?” He flashes a grin, clearly enjoying the opportunity to revisit their brief encounter.

“Yes, we did—quite briefly though,” y/n answers, her voice dipping slightly as she recalls their first interaction. “We stopped mid-conversation because you were like, ‘Let’s save it, but it was in a respectful way since i also had to go.’”

“Yeah,” Drew agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “’Cause we knew we were talking here. Well, at least I… knew,” he says, laughing again, a little sheepishly as he recalls how the timing of their first conversation worked out.

“In all honesty,” y/n adds with a laugh, “you told me, and I just looked at you funny because I had not been aware of that at all yet.” She tilts her head, her eyes wide with playful disbelief. Her laughter is contagious, and the moment feels entirely spontaneous and genuine, like two friends catching up after a long time apart.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I could tell that was your first time hearing about it, so I paused our conversation,” Drew says, shaking his head slightly, as if amused by how little he was able to prepare her for the interview. His voice has a smooth cadence, almost as if he’s recalling a funny memory.

“How are you doing?” Drew asks, his voice softer now, shifting from the playful banter to a more grounded, sincere tone. He leans in slightly, interested in how she has  been feeling lately, his warm gaze making it clear that the question is about more than just small talk.

she smiles warmly, her posture softening as she responds. “I’m doing quite well, love. I had a lovely iced latte this morning,” she starts, almost savoring the memory of a peaceful morning moment. She gestures as if bringing Drew into the picture, sharing the simple pleasure of the experience.

“What did you get, honey?” Drew asks, the nickname rolling off his lips effortlessly. It’s both sweet and casual, the kind of endearing phrase one uses for close friends.

she lets out a soft laugh, her eyes sparkling as she recalls her morning ritual. “Well, I got coffee with my dearest friend, Elle Fanning, and we went to our favorite coffee shop in LA, i will tell you the name later because i would like to keep it priavate. I love a good iced latte, but I got a Maple Sea Salt Latte. It had Vermont maple syrup simmered with sea salt, and it was just lovely,” she says, her words painting a vivid picture. Her voice is warm and relaxed, and as she describes the drink, it feels as though she’s sharing a secret joy—something small yet meaningful that anchored her day.

Drew, listening intently, can’t help but admire her ability to convey even the smallest moments with such grace. “That sounds amazing,” he responds, a note of awe in his voice. He’s caught up in the moment, picturing the maple syrup and sea salt melding together, and the sense of peace Abbie must’ve felt.

“How about you? How has everything been going for you?” y/n asks, her voice turning softer now, laced with genuine curiosity. She leans in a little closer, her eyes searching his face, not just as a co-worker but as someone who truly cares.

“It’s good. It’s good,” Drew replies, his tone calm but content. “I’m here in LA, which is nice. Have a little break for a little while.” He leans back in his chair, allowing the conversation to breathe, a small smile forming on his lips as he speaks about the rare respite. He looks at her as if he’s grateful for the moment of stillness amidst his busy schedule.

Y/n nods understandingly, her eyes glinting with empathy. “I can imagine,” she says. “A break must feel like a gift in this crazy world.”

The warmth between them is palpable, an ease that only comes from two people who understand the delicate balance of life in the industry—the highs, the lows, and everything in between. The conversation feels like a dance, full of humor, sincerity, and the kind of bond that only two actors who’ve lived through similar experiences can share.

As they continue, the camera zooms out slightly, capturing the intimate yet casual nature of their conversation, the kind of dialogue that could easily stretch on for hours, full of laughter, reflection, and shared understanding.

“You’re from North Carolina, correct?” y/n asks, her eyes narrowing slightly as she recalls a conversation they had before.

“yes I’m from North Carolina, yeah,” Drew answers casually, his tone easy and open, as though he’s prepared to dive deeper into his past.

“What’s that like? Tell me, because I’m actually going to be shooting a film out there quite soon that’s supposed to be set in North Carolina,” she says, her curiosity piqued. The excitement in her voice is genuine—she’s always had an affinity for learning about the places people call home.

“Yes. I’m not from the coast,” Drew begins, the words rolling out slowly as he paints the picture of his roots. “I’m from up in the mountains, kind of… Appalachia—like Southern Appalachia, in the Blue Ridge Mountains,” he continues, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. He pauses for a second, taking in the magnitude of where he’s from.

Just then, a phone starts to ring loudly in the background. Both her and Drew burst out laughing, the sound infectious. The video cuts briefly to black, then cuts back in, a moment of light-heartedness shared between them.

“So, North Carolina,” Y/n picks up again, smiling at the minor distraction, her voice still warm with interest. “Yeah, Southern Appalachia, like up in the mountains. Asheville, North Carolina area. It’s beautiful up there. Very different, though,” Drew finishes, nodding thoughtfully.

She  leans forward slightly, her interest clearly piqued. “Tell me a little bit more about Asheville because, in terms of the arts and our world, what does that mean for you growing up?” she asks, her tone sincere. She’s eager to hear how his environment influenced his journey into acting.

Drew smiles, the memories flooding back as he continues. “Strangely, it’s kind of a strange… you know, it’s, I grew up in a very rural area. There’s not a lot around. Kind of these little communities up in the mountains are very… the arts are everywhere,” he begins, the words coming slowly as he reflects on how his hometown shaped him.

“I grew up going to—there was theater, and…” He trails off for a moment, searching for the right words, but y/n quickly picks up on the thread.

“Oh,” she interjects, her face lighting up with recognition.

“Live music, and yeah, it’s strange, you know,” Drew continues, his eyes lighting up as he recalls his childhood. “And then, of course, you’re kind of smack dab in the middle of a national forest. Like, there’s nothing going on. But yeah, I was constantly surrounded by art and artists growing up. Without, like, any… any… you know, there was no kind of accessibility to doing it professionally. It wasn’t like that. It was just—it was kind of around us,” he finishes, his voice trailing off as he reflects on the seemingly paradoxical nature of his upbringing.

y/n  nods in understanding, her expression thoughtful. “I get that,” she says, empathizing with Drew’s description of growing up in an environment full of artistic influence but without the means to pursue it professionally.

“But you grew up in… are you from London?” Drew asks curios, picking up hints of an accenet, shifting gears a bit, intrigued by her background.

“No, I’m actually from Nantucket,” she replies, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It’s actually quite an interesting story. So, my dad was from London, but his family  moved to chicago but still went back and forth from there to london. He  then moved to San Diego met my mom, and then they moved to Nantucket and had me,” she explains, the story rolling off her tongue effortlessly. She seems content, even amused, by the twist of fate that brought her into the world.

Drew, intrigued, leans in slightly, his expression warm. “Wow, that’s a lot of moving around,” he says, the tone of his voice more reflective.

“Yeah,” she continues, her smile softening. “When I was five, things happened,so its just been him and i since then i guess , but i have an accent because i picked it up from my dad’s family , I guess. It’s sort of faded over time,” she adds, a small chuckle escaping her lips. There’s no bitterness in her voice—just an acknowledgment of the path her life took.

“Tell me more about yourself, beautiful,” Drew says, his voice sincere, but also filled with curiosity. His admiration for her is palpable, but there’s a warmth that speaks of genuine interest.

Y/n  lets out a soft laugh, her cheeks flushing slightly at the compliment. “I’m what you call a ‘nepo baby,’ I presume,” she begins, her voice light but honest. “Means I’ve been acting since I was around four or five. My dad is a director, but, um, well, when my mom left, he sort of took a step back and raised me all by himself—taking me to everything I was shooting or my dance classes. But we were still living in Nantucket,” she shares, her eyes glimmering with a quiet vulnerability as she recounts her childhood.

“You were a dancer?” Drew asks, his voice filled with genuine interest.

“Yes, oh my gosh, I loved ballet,” she responds, her face lighting up at the thought of it. “If I wasn’t an actress, I would want to be a ballerina. I take classes occasionally for fun when I’m on breaks, but haven’t lately,” she adds wistfully, as if she misses the discipline and art form of ballet.

Drew grins, clearly delighted by her enthusiasm. “I love that. It’s always so cool to see someone so passionate about something.”

“How was school for you while doing all of this?” Drew asks, his curiosity continuing as he leans forward, intrigued by how she balanced everything as a child.

“I actually… my nan, my dad’s mum, she taught me—or I was taught on set ,” y/n answers, her expression softening at the thought of her grandmother. “Sort of well homeschooled in my elementary age. Then when we moved to California I started going to the same high school as Elle , but it was not easy  because everyone was constantly harassing me, and it just was trying to get something from me, but Elle never did. i di dnot end up going to college, clearly” she explains, her voice tinged with the fatigue of that early experience.

Drew nods sympathetically. “That must’ve been tough,” he says quietly, understanding the pressure that comes with growing up in the public eye.

“What about you? Did you finish school or even college?” she asks Drew, her voice curious, switching the focus back onto him.

“I did, I did. I finished college,” Drew answers, the tone of his voice indicating that this part of his life was a bit more straightforward. “I spent probably, I mean, three out of the four years trying to leave as much as I could,” he adds with a rueful chuckle, the humor in his voice undeniable.

“You know, I mean, what—you know, I think everybody has stuff that they look back on. They’re like, ‘Oh, my God,’” Drew continues, his voice light but reflective. “But yes, I mean, school—it offered me, I don’t know, ways on how to operate, and test yourself within a bubble, and then kind of go out into the world. To me, it was pretty invaluable, but my younger sister Brooke would say she learned a lot and liked it,” he finishes, his smile widening slightly as he thinks about his sister’s perspective on their shared experience.

Y/n  listens intently, her expression softening with understanding. “I get that,” she says. “You find value in everything, even the things you think you wouldn’t.”

“Tell me about Anora. How was that? How was that transition since you’ve been deemed the queen of horror movies?” Drew asks, his voice laced with genuine curiosity as he leans forward, eager to learn more about her latest project.

She  smiles, the excitement in her eyes matching Drew’s. “Well, I’m so lucky to be in a film like this,” she begins, her tone soft and grateful. “And I’m so lucky to have had such guidance from someone like my dad, and the Fanning sisters. They’ve been my biggest supporters, having become best friends with Elle on set when I was little, because she was working with my dad. We became inseparable. I was four, she was five,” y/n continues, a slight nostalgia coloring her voice as she reflects on her childhood friendship with Elle Fanning.

“But to be in the place that I am right now… it does feel… it feels surreal. I don’t know, some of it doesn’t quite feel real at times,” she admits, her smile bittersweet as she reflects on the magnitude of her career.

Drew nods, understanding the surreal nature of being in the spotlight for so long. “Filming Anora, oh my gosh,” she adds, her voice tinged with excitement. “I mean, it was completely different for me. You would think by now, in the 20 years I’ve been doing this, I would’ve been in a film like this before, but my genres never aligned with this film—mostly horror or mystery. So being in a drama/rom-com, whatever you want to classify it as, is quite new to me,” she laughs, the sound light and full of joy.

Drew chuckles along with her. “I mean, you worked for Quentin Tarantino and Sean Baker. So, did they pursue you? Did you see the script? Did you audition? How was that jump after working on Maxine?” he asks, genuinely fascinated by how these big-name directors came to cast her.

Y/n’s expression shifts, her thoughts going back to how she got involved with Anora. “So for Anora, Sean had gone and seen Pearl,” she begins, her tone steady, almost like she’s recounting a well-known story.

Drew looks intrigued. “And he went and saw it?” he asks, seeking clarification.

“Yes, he was invited to the premiere. And I think he was already sort of thinking about the plot for Anora,” she  responds, her smile growing a little as she recalls the moment. “And he cast me in it just from the film. So, it was the easiest casting process I’ve ever had to go through. I’ve never had to not audition for something before, which to me was absurd, but I was also working on Maxxine already, so I made him aware that I would have to be jumping around from set to set,” she explains, a hint of pride in her voice. “But he was pretty adamant on wanting me to play Ani.”

Drew’s interest piques further, and he asks, “So I’m curious to know, what was your preparation like physically for that?”

Y/n  considers his question carefully before answering. “Honestly, going into it because I was also filming Maxxine, I could use some of the things I had already learned from shooting Maxxine and incorporate it into Anora,” she begins. “And there were pole tricks that I wanted to learn, so I started developing my skills with that. It was an exciting process because I was getting to know a new character, but since i have a dance background already it helped shape her in a way. With Maxxine, it was following the storyline of Pearl, and I had already been immersed in her from playing her in X and Pearl, so it was so fun for me to get to understand and dive into a new character,” she says, her enthusiasm growing as she describes her deep commitment to her craft.

She  pauses for a moment, reflecting more on her preparation. “Really trying to get to immerse myself in who she is, understand her morals,” she continues. “I asked myself lots of questions about her. I wanted to really go into depth and more detail than I ever have before. So, like, I would know everything about her—like what cigarettes she smokes, what her school life was like, what her relationship with her parents is.”

Drew watches her intently, clearly impressed by the depth of her process. “Wow, that’s so in-depth,” he says.

Y/m  smiles and continues, “So when I got to Sean’s set, because he’s such an organic filmmaker, I wanted someone to ask me a question about my character and me always be able to answer it. And so I feel like I got to a place where I got there, and then obviously, I had to learn as much Russian as possible and the dialect.”

She lets out a small laugh. “So I just did little things at a time. And I think it sort of, over the course of five months, built up to this fully formed character.”

Drew laughs softly. “I bet your dad was relieved that you finally got a break since you’re the queen of horror,” he teases, enjoying the lightheartedness of the moment.

She  laughs along, nodding. “Oh gosh, when I told him about X, he was like, ‘Oh wow, that’s a big leap,’ especially since my childhood and high school years, I was in like, more family-friendly, teeny-bopper things. Then when I hit 18, everyone was like, ‘She looks made for horror movies,’ and I just sort of rolled with it.”

She pauses, her smile growing warmer as she reflects on her father’s support. “But he has always been my biggest supporter. He always gives me pointers, and I don’t know, he just never really had an issue with any role that I have done thus far,” she says, her voice soft and sincere. “I mean, he was like, ‘You’re a grown adult, you know your limits, I’m just going to be here every step of the way cheering you on.’ Even when he was filming and just directing, he was supporting me in some way, so that always meant so much to me,” she tells Drew, her voice full of gratitude.

Drew nods appreciatively, touched by the deep bond she shares with her father. “That’s amazing,” he says. “Having that kind of support makes all the difference in the world.”

Y/m  smiles, her eyes softening with affection as she recalls the unwavering encouragement she’s always received from her dad. “Yeah, it really does,” she agrees, her voice full of warmth.

What about you? This was such a big leap for you. How was filming something so different?” She asks Drew, her voice filled with excitement, eager to hear about his experience. Her curiosity radiates as she leans in, ready to listen.

Drew nods thoughtfully before answering, “You know, Luca and I talked a lot, and then I didn’t meet Daniel until we were in New York, probably a month before we shot. I met him at the table read, and so it was kind of the meeting, and then we just jumped into reading it out loud.” He pauses, reflecting on the atmosphere. “Luca does a good job of fully painting a picture for you. We also shot it in Rome at Cinecittà,” Drew adds, the excitement in his eyes evident as he recalls the legendary filming location.

She  smiles, clearly impressed. “It’s absolutely darling there,” she says, her enthusiasm matching his as she imagines the stunning backdrop. “Walking through the different stages that the movie is set in. So you kind of walk in, you’re in, you know, these incredible clothes,” Drew continues, his tone animated as he describes the experience. “But we were only there for a bit.”

, intrigued she , leans forward. “Where was the rest of it?” she asks, eager to know more. “Were you actually in the jungle?”

Drew laughs, nodding. “Like a week in Sicily on the coast. They built the set. They brought all these—Luca was like, ‘I want these plants.’ And they brought in, like, I don’t know how many thousands of pounds of whatever, of dirt. And they built a jungle.”

She raises her eyebrows, clearly fascinated. “Well, so they’re real plants?” she asks, wanting the full details.

Drew thinks for a moment before responding, “I think some were real; I think some were fake.” He looks at her with a grin. “Just say they’re real,” she teases, her smile wide as she playfully suggests an easy fix.

“They’re all real. Everything, everything’s real,” Drew says, laughing, caught up in the lighthearted moment.

Y/n  laughs too, enjoying their banter. “But yeah. So that Cinecittà Studios is like—it’s famous. Yeah,” Drew says, proud to have been part of such a historic location.

“This is so intriguing,” she  says, her eyes shining with interest. “It’s always so interesting to hear someone else’s experiences with films and everything.”

Drew nods, his expression reflective. “God, it’s wild. I think walking into that, like, the setting of it was like I knew I was walking into this kind of elevated type of feel in terms of tone. And it’s also not a direct period piece. It’s this kind of Mexico City and South America within the imagination of William S. Burroughs, you know, kind of. There’s something very absurd about it. It’s incredibly surreal and absurd,” he finishes, his voice filled with the intensity of the film’s atmosphere.

, intrigued, she presses further. “How did you understand that, from what, from the way Luca spoke about it? Or from just…” Her curiosity is evident, her expression leaning forward, wanting to grasp every bit of the creative process he’s revealing.

Drew smiles as he thinks about it. “Yeah, I think, I think so. Yeah. In conversations with Luca. I mean, he was very specific about how he wanted the world to feel,” he says, pausing for a moment. Abbie listens intently, clearly drawn to his words.

“He also gave me some visual references, some photography. There are these paintings by Francis Bacon that we looked at. Kinda two lovers. And yeah, so there were all these kinds of visual references, so that was helpful,” Drew continues, watching Abbie as she gets lost in the imagery he’s painting. She seems almost hypnotized by his description, imagining the world he was immersed in.

Y/n  nods slowly, appreciating the thoughtfulness of Drew’s preparation. “But yeah, then Daniel, I think kind of a similar situation,” Drew adds, his voice becoming more reflective. “Daniel and I, there wasn’t a lot of conversation about how we wanted it to feel or, you know, the dirty word—the chemistry between the two of us. It was just kind of exercising it and going for it. So there wasn’t a ton of rehearsal. It was a lot of talking, you know, we did like chatting two weeks prior. Just table reads. ‘Will you be around?’ ‘Yes.’ I think so, yeah,” Drew says, a shrug in his tone as he describes the informal nature of their preparation.

She looks at him, her eyes full of understanding. “Do you like rehearsing?” she asks, shifting the conversation to their own processes.

“I do, especially having worked with so many different people in that way; it allows me to become a lot more comfortable with them in that sense,” she says, her voice soft and thoughtful as she reflects on the role rehearsal plays in her own work.

Drew nods, considering her words. “What about you?” she asks the 31-year-old actor, curious about his own preferences.

“For some things, I don’t,” Drew admits. “I think I get scared of it.” He pauses, trying to put his feelings into words. “Oh, you don't? Tell me about that. How do you navigate it?” She  asks, leaning forward again, her genuine curiosity evident.

Drew looks down for a moment, his voice a little quieter. “I get—I get shy,” he confesses, the vulnerability of the moment hanging between them. She  watches him, her expression one of empathy.

“Yeah?” she asks gently.

“I get shy of saying, ‘Oh, I’ll just do it on the…’ I’ll just, yeah. And then I wouldn’t ever be like, ‘I’m saving it for the take,’ but I’m like, there’s a part of me that’s like, I can’t fully let go until I’m on doing a thing and—there’s something like when you hear ‘action’ or the cameras roll that you’re like, ‘Okay.’” Drew finishes, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he acknowledges the thrill that comes with the real take.

Y//n  laughs softly, understanding exactly what he means. “That is completely understandable. You can kind of hide behind it a little more,” she says with a knowing smile. “As a performer in general, like for me, I mean…” she starts, her voice taking on a more serious tone. She shifts slightly in her seat, crossing her legs, clearly about to share something more personal. “When I was filming X, Pearl, and Maxxine, Pearl was basically an adult film star. So learning how to be comfortable with that—especially having finished the black coat’s daughter —it was weird,” she says, her voice trailing off as she reflects on the challenges she’s faced in her own work.

Drew listens intently, his expression softening as he connects with her openness. “Yeah, that’s got to be a lot,” he responds thoughtfully.

She nods, grateful for the understanding. “It was, but you learn to adapt and grow through the process,” she says, a hint of strength in her voice as she embraces the complexity of her roles. In Anora, you have such a presence always about you,” Drew begins, his voice filled with admiration. “And I think there’s a stillness, confidence, and danger about, like, the way you present yourself on screen always. So I look at you on screen, like, damn, this girl is the most amazing actress I’ve ever…” Drew’s words are warm and genuine, but before he can finish, she laughs, cutting him off.

“Please, all these compliments. You’re making me nervous. Stop looking at me like that,” she says, playfully brushing her hair back and trying to hide the flattery she feels from his compliment. Her voice is light and teasing, but there’s an unmistakable sincerity behind it.

Drew laughs softly, clearly enjoying the playful exchange. “Do you get nervous on set? Do you get nervous working?” he asks, his curiosity genuine as he turns the conversation to something more personal.

She  thinks for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “When I first got cast for X, I was nervous. I mean, I had never really filmed anything that warranted me being a fucking adult film star,” she begins, her voice calm but laced with the vulnerability of recalling a significant moment in her career. “And I was 22, having just finished my first horror film’s back to back , and pearl ,then infinity pool . So having to navigate that aspect, along with how it would intertwine with horror, made me nervous. Because at the end of the day, everyone was going to see me and my body, then oversexualize it, which I had been dealing with since I was 15.”

She  pauses for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “But it has gotten a lot worse over the years, so that is why I was nervous at first,” she adds, the weight of her experiences evident in her voice.

She looks at Drew, smiling a bit as she continues. “But I don’t so much anymore. I think once you understand, and once you feel safe with a crew, and you get, you’re in a rhythm, it all feels like everyone’s on the same path to get the same thing. And so the fear for me goes. If it’s a good environment, the fear goes for me. Because I feel like comfortable and I’m, you know, I can make a fool of myself. If you understand what I’m saying?”

Drew listens intently, appreciating her openness. “What about you, love? Do you?” she asks him, genuinely curious, a warm smile on her face.

“Yeah. Yeah, I definitely do,” Drew responds after a pause. He laughs lightly, the honesty in his voice cutting through the conversation. “That’s why they call it baked Alaska, I imagine. You know, I mean, my, like, heart was racing on the first day.”

Y/n nods, empathizing with him. “Right,” she says, her voice soft but encouraging as she listens to him continue.

Drew leans back slightly, his tone becoming more reflective. “And I usually, I’m usually good about it. I like having a lot of pressure and I like working within that type of environment,” he admits, the intensity in his eyes showing how much he thrives under challenge.

“How so?” She  asks, intrigued.

Drew seems to think about it for a moment, trying to explain a feeling that’s hard to put into words. “It’s like, I don’t know. I think it’s kind of like when you have some expectations, or, or there’s something, you know, there’s—it’s a feeling of like, there’s nothing to lose. Who cares? I love kind of working within a pressure cooker in a way. But, this one, like first day I was like, I bet—like first take, like my heart is like pounding through my chest. Like, I’m not gonna be able to do this.” He laughs a bit at his own admission, looking over at Abbie with a bit of disbelief at how much pressure he’d felt.

“Well, you’ve got Daniel and Luca, these two formidable forces,” she says to him, offering a bit of reassurance with a knowing smile.

Drew chuckles, nodding, but still feeling the weight of the situation. “And so, like, come in and, and, and be like, they’re gonna—they’re gonna know, man. Like, first day they’re gonna, like, find me out. This is not the right—what do we do? We made a mistake,” Drew says sincerely, the anxiety still clear in his voice despite his lighthearted attempt at self-deprecation.

Y/n , however, doesn’t miss a beat, her affection for Drew and his talents apparent. “First of all, Drew, you are so talented,” she says warmly. “I mean, for starters, I should have said this before, but welcome to A24 films—that in itself is groundbreaking,” she adds with a genuine, almost reverent tone. She pauses, her voice filled with admiration. “One thing I love is how attentive they are, and they just, when they see talent, they see it. And you’re so relatable. I mean, look at how far you’ve come. I completely understand. I mean, my first A24 film I was with a Skarsgård, and I was what 17 turning 18 I was terrified. But like, to be able to be cast alongside Daniel Craig as a main lead, holy hell, love, that’s so amazing.”

Drew laughs, clearly touched by her kind words, but still slightly in awe of the situation himself. “Did you ask him about James Bond?” she asks, a playful glint in her eye as she reminisces about the experience.

“He just kind of started talking about it,” Drew laughs, a bit sheepish but also amused by how casually Daniel Craig had approached the iconic role.

“That sounds like him,” y/n says, laughing along with him. “That’s so typical of Daniel,” she adds with a smile, as if recalling a thousand stories about the actor’s laid-back personality.

Drew nods, shaking his head a bit in disbelief. “Yeah, it was great. He’s just so chill about it all,” he says, both in awe and admiration.

“So, pretty girl, any new projects for you?” Drew asks with a playful smile, his tone light but full of curiosity as he watches her.

She chuckles, clearly enjoying the attention. “The way you keep calling me pet names, people are going to think we’re together,” she teases, her voice playful and full of warmth.

Drew grins mischievously. “Just trying to be sweet,” he replies, shrugging in mock innocence.

Y/n  glances to the side at her team, a mischievous glint in her eye. “But I was told I am allowed to share this, since it will most likely come out before this does, i can't remember who is playing the lead though” she says, nodding toward her team, missing drew's knowing smirk. “My team is also staring at me smiling right now,” she adds with a smile, causing both her and Drew to burst into laughter.

The mood shifts slightly as Abbie asks, “Have you watched anything or read anything by Nicholas Sparks?”

Drew’s eyes light up. “Yes, I have! The Notebook is a classic,” he responds with a fond smile, clearly a fan of Sparks’ work, while acting oblivious to the fact that he is playing the lead.

Y/n nods enthusiastically. “Well, he has this book, Two by Two, which is my favorite book ever,” she says, her eyes lighting up as she shares her passion. “It follows this father and his 5 or 6-year-old daughter as he navigates life, newly divorced from his wife who had spent their daughter’s whole life being a stay-at-home mom. But then she decides she wants to find a job, making him a stay-at-home dad while he’s running his own business. He finds out she cheats on him with her boss, and basically, he has to raise their daughter mostly on his own. The story is beautiful, and I have the honor of getting to play the girl he falls back in love with—Emily, who is a painter with her own gallery. She also happens to be his high school sweetheart. She’s also newly divorced, but they reconnect because his daughter, London, and her son, Bohdi, become best friends.”

Drew listens intently, utterly captivated by her description. “That sounds incredible,” he says, his voice full of admiration. “I can see why you’re so excited about it.”

Her face softens with genuine enthusiasm. “I don’t think I’ve been this excited for a project. I mean, I’ve been excited before, but this one is so different than what I’m used to since it’s more of an emotional and romantic movie,” she says, her tone growing reflective.

She pauses for a moment before adding, “I mean, I’ve been deemed the queen of horror since I was 18, so I feel like it’s going to be so refreshing to have a break from only doing horror movies.” She laughs lightly at the thought.

Drew chuckles and nods. “I mean, you wouldn’t have 16 different awards if you weren’t good at what you do,” he says with a sincere smile, causing y/n to blush modestly.

“Thank you,” she responds, her voice barely above a whisper, clearly touched by the compliment.

After a brief pause, Drew asks, “You said it resonates with you a lot. May I ask how so, seeing as though you haven’t been married or have kids… or have you?” His tone is gentle, as he clearly recognizes the vulnerability of the question.

Y/n  hesitates for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I unfortunately am quite single,” she says, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “But, umm… sorry, I feel like I’m going to cry,” she admits, her voice faltering slightly. “But you know, transparency is great, and that’s something I strive for.”

Drew’s expression softens in sympathy. “Hey, no, it’s okay. Take your time,” he says with genuine care. “I’m just curious, you don’t have to answer it.”

She  nods, wiping her hands nervously on her lap before speaking again. “No, it’s okay,” she reassures him. “I feel like people know bits and pieces, but…” she begins, shifting her posture as if bracing herself. “As I said earlier, it’s been me and my dad since I was five years old. Well, that’s because my mom cheated on him right when I turned five. So a lot of what Russ and London lived, I did too.”

She pauses briefly, collecting her emotions. “After that, my dad took a big step back from the industry and began to focus on raising me and guiding me through my career at that age. Taking me to all my shoots and my dance classes,” she adds softly.

Drew’s smile softens with understanding as he imagines young y/n . his expression tender, clearly picturing her as a little ballerina.

“ when I wasn’t acting, I was doing ballet,” she  responds, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she reminisces. “I mean, I still take classes occasionally for fun when I’m not shooting any movies or shows. If I wasn’t doing this, I would have totally gone to Juilliard,” she says with a bittersweet laugh.

“Wait, you wanted to go to Juilliard?” Drew asks, his surprise evident.

“Yeah,” she replies with a nod. “But then I realized I loved acting a lot more. But like, it was truly an honor to meet with Nicholas, and he personally asked how I would feel about being in the adaptation for this book. And I sobbed because it means so much to me,” she says, her voice wavering with emotion. “I still don’t know who’s playing Russ, but I am so excited to be able to revisit the book. That’s why I said I’m filming in North Carolina soon.”

Drew looks at her with admiration. “Y/n, that’s truly beautiful,” he says, his voice filled with warmth. “It’s amazing that you get to be in an adaptation of something you love so much. It just means you’ll put your all into it.”

She  smiles through the emotion, a tear welling up at the corner of her eye. Drew, noticing the tear, rises from his seat, moving in front of her. Gently, he places his hands on her knees, wiping away the tear with his thumb.

“Your mom doesn’t know how much she missed being able to love and know such a beautiful human being,” Drew whispers softly, his words full of compassion. “You’re so talented, and even though you grew up in this industry because of your dad, you’ve proven you have a right to be here. And about who is casted as russ, i found out last week that i was cast as lead alongside you, so we will for sure be seeing a lot of one another ”

The camera captures this tender moment, the rawness of the emotion hanging in the air. Her  eyes well with more tears, but she mouths a quiet “oh my gosh that's amazing, and thank you” to him. Drew smiles warmly, stands up, and walks back to his seat, leaving a sense of peace and admiration between them. The atmosphere is quieter now, a sense of intimacy settling in. Drew, ever curious and willing to delve deeper, leans in slightly. “Not to keep it on an emotional level, but like… what’s your biggest fear?” His voice is steady, but the question feels weighty, more than just idle conversation.

Y/n , still drying her eyes, lets out a soft chuckle, trying to mask the rawness of the moment with humor. “Oh gosh, Drew. Take me out to dinner at least if you’re going to ask me these questions,” she laughs, wiping away the last traces of her tears. The attempt at levity lingers in the air, but it’s clear the underlying tension is palpable.

Drew’s smile is kind, but there’s an undeniable sincerity in his response. “Seeing how this is going, I plan to afterwards,” he says, his tone warm but not overly flirtatious. He’s just being sincere, which makes Abbie pause for a moment, her eyes meeting his with a blend of curiosity and hesitation.

She stares at him, her wide eyes blinking several times as if grappling with how much of herself she is willing to reveal in this vulnerable moment. It’s a rare pause, almost as if she’s debating whether to give the “safe” response or speak from a place of true honesty. Finally, after a long moment, she speaks, her voice still gentle but marked with an emotional undertone.

“Do you want a generic answer or a sincere one?” she asks, her head tilting slightly, her eyes narrowing with the effort of weighing her options. It’s clear she’s giving him permission to choose how deep this will go.

Drew, understanding the gravity of the question, leans back in his seat a little and responds in a voice full of care, “Sweet girl, make it a real one; but again you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” His words are an invitation for authenticity, not just an attempt to dig deeper. His respect for her boundaries is evident, but the warmth in his tone makes it clear that whatever she decides to share, he’s there for it.

Y/n  hesitates for a moment, as though she needs to ground herself, but then, she nods. “No, it’s okay,” she says with newfound resolve. “Again, want to be the most authentic and real for people.” There’s a slight quiver in her voice, betraying how much this question stirs inside her. Her lips part as if she’s about to say something difficult, something not just for the camera but for herself, too.

She takes a deep breath, clearly preparing to dive into a painful memory. “I mean, when he found out that my mom cheated on him… that was the saddest I’ve ever seen him,” she begins, her voice soft but heavy with the weight of the past. She looks down briefly, perhaps to gather strength before continuing. “To me, I didn’t understand it at first. How could someone hurt a man who showed them nothing but love and support, dropping huge projects to be by her side, he truley was the epitome of a man in love? It’s mind-blowing to me. I mean, I’m his daughter. I grew up seeing how hard he worked for me, how he sacrificed everything for me. And then to have that… betrayal, to see him devastated like that—it broke me. But he just kept going. He kept showing up for me. Even though I couldn’t fully understand it, he kept being my dad. And that’s what I admire about him the most—his ability to continue, despite everything.”

There’s a pause as she  gathers herself, blinking away tears, though she’s holding it together. She takes another steadying breath, looking up at Drew with eyes that now glisten with unspoken emotion. The silence between them is thick, heavy with empathy, and Drew listens without interrupting, letting the words sink in.

After a moment, she  continues, her voice still slightly shaky. “I also just hate it when people call me a ‘nepo baby,’ but they’re right, you know?” she admits, her tone raw. “At my core, that’s really what I am. And it’s scary, because every day, I’ve had to prove myself. I feel like I’m always fighting against that label, trying to show that I’m not just here because of who my dad is, but because I deserve to be here.”

Her voice trembles slightly as she presses on, her gaze unwavering. “And sometimes, it feels like no matter how hard I try, it’s always going to be about him. And that’s terrifying. I want to build my own path, not just walk in his shadow,even though i am so proud to get the honor of calling him dad. But that’s the burden, isn’t it? You’re expected to be something great, and when you don’t feel like you measure up, it’s hard not to worry you’ll disappoint them.”

The vulnerability in y/n’s voice is palpable, but she doesn’t falter, holding herself together as she speaks her truth. Drew nods slightly, his expression filled with understanding, the kind of silent support that encourages her to continue.

Her words hang in the air, and Drew quietly responds, “I get that. That pressure is no joke, and it never really goes away. You’re not alone in feeling that.” His voice is filled with warmth and empathy, and there’s a deep resonance in what he says, as if he knows exactly what that pressure feels like. Drew gives her a reassuring smile, but it’s the kind of smile that’s heavy with shared experience, a subtle acknowledgment of how difficult the road she walks truly is.

She  takes a breath, wiping the final traces of tears from her face, and then shifts the conversation back to him, her tone gentle but inquisitive. “What about you, love? What’s your biggest fear?” she asks, her voice quiet but full of curiosity.

Drew pauses, rubbing the back of his neck—a familiar gesture that signals a shift in tone. His expression softens as he reflects on the question, and there’s a moment of tension as he searches for the right words. He leans forward, as if ready to share something personal, but still weighing how much of himself he wants to expose.

“You know, it’s funny,” Drew starts, his voice taking on a thoughtful cadence. “Because on the surface, everything’s great. People see the success, the roles, the recognition. But, if I’m being honest, my biggest fear is being typecast. Getting stuck in one role, one type of character. Like, they see me as rafe cameron, the coked out killer, you know?” He smirks as he says this, but the edge to his voice reveals how deep the fear runs.

“Rafe Cameron was a turning point for me,” Drew admits, his tone becoming more animated. “I got attention, sure—but with it came a box. And I’m scared I’m gonna be stuck in that box forever.”

She  listens intently, her gaze steady and knowing. She can relate—she’s seen it in her own career, how quickly an actor can be defined by one character or one image. Drew’s voice picks up, the words flowing faster now, the urgency clear in his expression.

“It’s like I’m constantly fighting against this image of being the rebellious, troubled guy,” he continues, frustration creeping into his voice. “I’m grateful for Outer Banks—I love playing Rafe, but I want to show people more than that. I want to do things that challenge me, roles that let me push my limits. But I’m afraid Hollywood will just see me as that one thing, and I’ll never get the chance to grow.”

Drew’s vulnerability is laid bare in this moment, his fear of being confined to a single role evident in every word. “It feels like there’s this pressure to break away from that and show that I can do more. But sometimes I think… I could end up being one of those actors who only gets cast for their ‘type.’ And that’s just—ugh. It’s a slow death for me, artistically. I want to do more than just ‘play a part.’ I want to create something that people remember me for, something that’s not just one-dimensional.”

He pauses, rubbing his temples, letting the weight of his thoughts settle. “And on top of that, there’s the whole ‘persona’ thing. Being in the public eye, being known for a certain thing—it’s all part of the game, but I worry that it’ll overshadow my work. Like, what if the person people see isn’t really who I am? And if I keep chasing roles that push me outside of what people expect, I might lose sight of what really matters. Who I really am, outside of the character, outside of the fame.”

Drew shrugs slightly, the unease still lingering in his words, but there’s an honesty in his self-reflection. “It’s not just about missing out on opportunities—it’s about losing myself in the process. I don’t want to become something that I’m not. I want my work to not define me as an individual , not the image the industry creates.”

She  leans in, a soft but understanding look on her face. “I get that,” she says quietly, her voice full of empathy. “That fear of being seen only for what they want to see. It’s a lot. But you’re not alone in feeling that, Drew. I think… we both understand that pressure in different ways.”

Drew looks at her, the vulnerability still visible in his eyes. But now, there’s also a quiet reassurance in the space between them. For a brief moment, they sit together, both actors—both people—unmasked in their shared understanding of the pressure to fit into the mold created for them by others. There is no judgment here, just the unspoken knowledge that they’re not alone in the complex, often isolating experience of being seen in ways they never intended.

The atmosphere has shifted. The heavy emotions from their earlier conversation are still lingering in the air, but now there’s an undercurrent of lightheartedness, an invitation to relax. Drew stands up, stretching slightly as he looks at her. He smiles, his expression softening with sincerity, but there’s a certain playfulness that has returned to his demeanor.

“Well, beautiful, this was definitely, may I say, the highlight of my year,” he says, his voice warm and genuine. There’s a slight twinkle in his eyes, and though the comment might seem like a simple compliment, it carries the weight of an unspoken connection between the two of them. “And I wasn’t joking about taking you out to dinner,” he adds, the promise of a follow-up hanging in the air. It’s not just an offer—there’s intention behind his words, and she can sense it.

Y/n  looks up at him, the slight blush on her cheeks betraying the genuine sincerity of his words. She lets out a small laugh, more because of how unguarded he’s been throughout their conversation than anything else. “I’ll hold you to that, Starkey,” she says, her voice teasing but also tender. There’s a newfound warmth in her tone, the kind that comes from having shared something personal with someone who isn’t just listening, but truly understanding. The bond between them, though still in its early stages, is unmistakable.

With a smile, Drew takes a step forward, the distance between them closing as they meet in the middle. There’s a natural ease to their movements, and without a word, they each open their arms to embrace one another. The hug is brief but meaningful—a moment where both seem to realize that what has just transpired between them is something more than just an interview or a casual conversation. It’s the beginning of something new, something that neither of them fully understands yet, but both are undeniably intrigued by.

As they pull away, Drew chuckles, clearly feeling lighter than before. “Not going to lie, my mom would adore you,” he says, his voice filled with affection, but also with a certain vulnerability that shows he’s being real with her. The mention of his family is telling—a subtle way of indicating that he’s not just seeing her as a professional acquaintance, but as someone who might be important enough to bring into his personal life.

She raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a playful smile as she eyes him with mock suspicion. “Already thinking about taking me home to meet your parents?” she asks, her tone light but filled with curiosity. The question isn’t just one of jest; it’s also an acknowledgment of the connection they’ve built. She’s not only acknowledging the intimacy of the moment but subtly suggesting that she’s open to seeing where this could go.

Drew grins, his eyes lighting up as he gives her a quick, knowing look. “Maybe,” he replies, though his voice carries the hint of possibility. His answer isn’t a definitive yes, but it’s clear that the idea of her meeting his family is not out of the question. There’s something more here, something that feels both promising and delicate, like the early stages of a relationship that could grow into something more substantial.

As they walk toward the exit together, their steps in sync, there’s a sense of ease between them that wasn’t there before—an ease that only comes after sharing something deeply personal. They move with the kind of familiarity that suggests a budding friendship, the kind where even the smallest gestures or words hold meaning. The conversation has shifted, but the connection remains.

The video starts to fade out, the final frame capturing them walking side by side, their laughter trailing behind them as they exit the scene. The last words spoken—those lighthearted, yet telling comments about dinner and family—linger in the air, like a promise of something that could develop further.

The scene closes on the image of the two of them, a quiet promise hanging between them: the possibility of dinner, of getting to know each other better, and of exploring where this newfound bond could take them. They both thought, for a fleeting moment, that maybe this was just the start of something beautiful. It wasn’t just about the conversation they’d shared, but about what might come after—what was unfolding in the quiet spaces between their words and actions.

|previous| next|

ABBIE'S CORNER

this has been my favorite written chapter by far. i watched both videios a few times and used elements from both but also added my own things ( y/n's backstory, and them both being casted in the movie adapataion of one of my favorite Nicholas Sparks book) Don't forget to reblogg and let me know what you guys think.

[artsymeeshee]

I can’t really put into words how much I appreciate all the words of encouragement for the past week. I was definitely going through fandom heartbreak because it really hit me that there was a big shift in focus and I just simply tried to ignore it when ultimately it made me question everything I did up til now. And yeah, it still hurts but it didn’t seem right to just give up like that, not when I saw how much of an impact my art makes. Plus it didn’t seem right to let you guys down, especially with the endless support I get. I don’t want to move on just yet, not when there’s so much more bonding things I can make.

Thank you all so so much for the kind words again. It means a lot for this smol bean :’)

[sunboki]

⎯ for eternity longer. ⟡ featuring christopher bahng

🍼 : Christopher Bahng x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. pregnancy! au, dad! channie au, overall so so fluffy, comfort, slighttt angst if you squint

WORD COUNT. 6.4k words ☆ 30 minute read

WARNINGS. worry about delivery complications, cursing (??), anxiety, implied intercourse, regards to gender

AUG'S NOTES. i think channie would be an amazing dad :) just a thought i decided to place to paper (in this case, digitally). thank you for waiting so patiently!! please enjoy <3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Christopher Bahng had intentions upon one day being a father, but when the news of a little one on the way becomes the forefront of a life he’d initially spent with one world, you, he’s quickly introduced to the second world he’ll come to adore, a baby.

or alternatively :

Blossoming beginnings, and the bump.

“Channie, baby,”

His name is whispered between sleepy breaths, brows knitted where your eyes attempt at focusing amidst a slumbering haze.

The meager vision granted from a candle paves view to your husband, currently resting his cheek against the soft bump of your belly, pressing the occasional kiss there.

“It’s so cute,” He mumbles, tracing shapes along the skin, eyes crinkling into the dimpled-smile you’ve come to adore.

“‘S late.”

Offering the remark, you smooth a thumb along his jaw, dipping down to trace his bottom lip and earning a small peck against the digit in reply, chocolate irises flickering up to your face with so much love you fear you’re melting.

“I know,” Chris whispers where his lips press to your thumb, voice muffled. “I’m sorry just—“

One chaste kiss to your belly later and he cracks a smile.

“Just love it.” 

Another kiss, then another.

“Love you, love this. I’m so happy.” 

You are my world, he professes wordlessly, and you scorn the heaviness of your eyes in shielding him from view, the inability for your vocal cords to utter those same three words as you drift back to sleep.

And this is my second world, Chris thinks to himself, fighting slumber to gaze at you just a moment longer, savor. 

Because he couldn’t explain how lucky he is, and how beautiful you are, and how warm he feels, his head fuzzy and jumbled into mushy bliss.

A baby, and the thought alone makes him want to squeal.

Chris had yet to ever be hit by a tsunami (thank goodness for that), but he thinks he’s found an equivalent to the feeling.

That equivalent being a particular call while in the studio, an unsettlingly studious Han Jisung seated behind him on the couch while Changbin stands in the recording room, pointing out things in need of fine tuning.

So when you call, he’s led to believe it could be regarding dinner, maybe a date preposition away from his busied schedule.

Yet, upon hearing a sniffle, his eyes round to the size of saucers, index aptly missing where he’d click his mouse, drawing the attention of his fellow producers, their eyes narrowed in mild concern.

“Chris.. baby, I know this is so.. so sudden but,” Between your hiccups and his heart racing, he reruns everything that could’ve gone amiss. He knew you were running late when it came to your period thanks to the cycle-tracking app on his phone, but then again, usually it’d miraculously show up.

Maybe he’d said something? Forgotten something?

Birthday, anniversary, a family member passing?

His head fills with a plethora of possibilities, too many to pinpoint.

“Baby I,” You pause, and Chris rises up to slip to the corner of the room, shushing you gently.

“Hey, hey honey, ‘need you to take deep breaths, okay? It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. Tell me whenever you’re ready.” He consoles, shifting from foot to foot in a futile attempt at warding the nerves.

A sharp inhale and then-

“We’re having a baby, Chris. I’m pregnant.”

It’s hard for you to even believe, and Chris swears his stomach jumped to his throat for a moment, making hurried eye contact with an evidently confused Han and Changbin from across the studio.

Pregnant.

Immediately abandoning his work, he grants the two a hurried nod they simply wave in response to, fervently racing from the building and somehow managing to avoid a ticket on his 20-mile-over-the-speed-limit drive home, rushing through the doorway to scoop you up into his arms and hold you close, let you cry as much as you need.

Hell, he’s not the one carrying the baby anyway. You’re the one in need of all the fretting.

As if he didn’t fret over you anyway.

Tender fingers ease back the strands of hair from your face, pressing kiss after kiss to your sniffling frame.

If you want to keep the baby, if you need time to think, time to be alone, he’s ready for that. All of it. 

Though contraceptives were always in play when it came to the bedroom, it seemed some things would remain out of control.

“I’m.. hic.. I’m keeping it, okay?”

And he’s okay with that, okay with anything his beloved decides upon, thumbing the tears from your pretty face to place a slow kiss to your lips.

On this presumably routine Thursday of his, Chris finds out he’s going to be a Dad.

If there was an acute title to cover the months of your pregnancy, it would be: Ways Christopher Bahng Has Lost His Mind, A Saga. 

Plus the bump, of course.

As for today, at a darling twelve weeks, Chris’s cup of coffee grows cold the longer he entertains a call from Jisung—currently being berated for failing to give them even the slightest clue what was going on until dropping the news.

..In which ensues a screaming Hyunjin in the background, Minho’s snide jokes, Changbin’s silent shock, and the evident awe of the surrounding members leering by the phone where the friend group went for drinks.

Minus the dad-to-be.

”So.. Daddy-O, how’s the father thing going for you?” Jisung offers after a moment, his snickering followed by Chris’s bemused scoff. 

“A dream,” He replies, running a hand through curly brown strands wound into charming coils from earlier steam, having stepped from the shower moments ago.

It was true, every bit.

To think that you, his love he’s worried more about than anyone, spent countless nights awake thinking of has now granted him the greatest gift of a lifetime leaves him elated. 

Trust, the first ultrasound he cried as if he was the baby.

Of course, failing to give their leader a second of reprieve, his remark earns a cacophony of swooning and cringing in response to the sappiness.

Nonetheless, since the announcement he’s organized an update in schedule. More work from home, more paychecks cashed into maternity magazines and things he learns with time in order to support your pregnancy, and tagging along to each and every checkup.

With you already sleeping and him returning late from the studio, the night is slow, quiet. 

Well, after he hangs up.

”Hey sweetness, ‘sorry for waking you.”

Watching your face crinkle up as the bed dips beneath his weight, he reaches a hand forward, sweeping the hair from your face as your husband spoons you close to his back, exhaling a heavy sigh of relief.

Your smell, your warmth, touch.

He’s far too smitten to be healthy.

But then again, is there any remedy to adoration?

“Busy at the studio?” You murmur from your curled up spot, only just beginning to get used to sleeping on your side.

Of the many adjustments.

“Mm,” A nod nudges at your back, his fingertips—oh so careful as they roam—settling on your stomach, holding the skin with reverence you can’t help but hum in response to.

“I cannot believe you,” Begun with a bemused scoff, you earn your husbands grunt of confusion and yet another laugh on your end.

“There’s barely a bump and they’ve got you wrapped around their finger already.”

This, predictably, results in Chris’s boyish whine. 

“‘S not my fault,” He groans like a petulant teenager, nosing at the nape of your neck. 

“Just love you.” 

His voice is a mere utterance amidst the fan overhead, and you have to crane to hear him.

“And I’m going to be learning to love someone else soon.”

A soft squeeze to your belly.

“How exciting.” 

Twenty weeks, and your big journey comes in the form of grocery shopping, something you insisted upon doing alone (much to Chris’s fretting).

Although he tries his best in not being a mother hen, it’s beyond difficult without his instinctive worry butting in, so nervous for a reason he himself can’t even pinpoint.

Is he worried about you? Is he excited about the baby? 

Endless questions swim in his mind, dappling a world he once knew as black and white into shades of pastel, with charming rubber duckies and pacifiers to boot.

It’s a new world, one full of unfamiliar things and little surprises along the way. 

But he’s made his promise to lay off the stressing as much as he can, knowing you need time for you most of all before becoming new parents.

Crouched over the tiny home studio he’s procured, your husband arduously searches through files—sending the majority over to Jisung and Changbin for revisions back at the main studio.

From the corner or his vision does he see you and—

Ah.

There you stand, clad in a sweater of yours tucked into a long, flower-patterned skirt—just enough to show off the bump, and he swears he’s looking at you with heart-eyes.

Gorgeous.

If not more.

Yet another reason why Chris has lost his mind.

You’re more beautiful than anyone he's ever seen, and he doubts that factor will change for the rest of his life. Even when you’re emotional and begin growing insecure, when your feet hurt or when your cravings grow too volatile, he adores.

Too much sometimes he fears his heart will beat from his chest. 

“Hi, sweetness.” 

The words are a bit hoarse, spoken as if he were uttering the endearment through a tube. 

“Hi, Channie.”

Shoot him.

Joking.

Kind of.

You’re too cute. He’s going to have a heart attack. 

Looking like that, cupid has his job cut out for him.

“You headed out?”

Reaching for your bag does Chris rise from his chair, padding over to gather your face in his hands and press a slow kiss to your lips you soak up, your own hands winding into curly strands he groans in response to.

“Mm,” He begins after a moment, kiss after kiss pressed to your jaw, down your neck, by your earlobe his teeth nip at. “I’m getting déjà vu on how the baby got here, hm?”

Spurring your laughter and a light smack to his shoulder in response, his warm hands slip down to cradle your belly, a final touch followed by one last kiss before you’re off.

It’s much too easy to fall in love with this man over and over again.

.

.

.

Of many surprises throughout your pregnancy, Lee Minho knowing about babies happened to be yet another. That, and seeing him at the grocery store in the first place.

The baby food aisle is more than daunting, and while the determined part of you crooned about “making it yourself” and taking the time to mash up each and every carrot and apple slice, the sensible part knew the moment you were discharged from the hospital after delivery, there was no chance you’d take on such a task.

“This one’s good.”

Having been greeted with a small wave of his hand and quieted footsteps approaching close, the dancer peers into your cart, brows lifted in silent acquisition where he points to a brand of mashed banana purée. 

How he knows this baby food is good is beyond you. 

Then again, Minho has always been peculiar.

“Hm? Any other recommendations?” You ponder, deciding to entertain his conversation and gaining plenty of recommendations whilst roaming about in the process.

Though, that’s before a frivolous little boy comes blindly tottering along, his clumsy limbs aimed straight for you prior to Minho’s careful step shielding you, the panicked mother steering the toddler away with endless apologies.

About to thank him, he seems to beat you to it.

“Mm? Need to sit down?” Observant eyes flitting over your form, he places an assuring hand to the middle of your back you can’t help but feel appreciative of.

It’s not that Minho isn’t kind, he’s usually just.. more subtle about it. Putting extra food a member likes on their plate without them noticing, making sure everyone feels included during dinners.

So for him to be a bit more upfront about it is.. sweet.

Well, until a wry smile tugs at his lips in amusement.

“‘Think you can handle that? A toddler like that?”

And.. there’s the Minho you’re used to.

“I think..” The thought comes to you as you venture, his hand remaining where it lingers upon your sweater-clad back as you make for the checkout line.

“The baby will look more like Chris.”

This beckons a cocked brow, evident mischief on his face.

“What, balding at twenty-six?”

You were thinking cute, with Chris’s curls and big brown eyes but— yeah, that too apparently. Your husband would both burst out laughing and burst into tears if he were here, the mental image bringing a smile to your lips.

Nevertheless, you spend your time with the feline-like companion cracking not-so-funny jokes and snide but playful remarks, a silent “thank you” mouthed when he lifts the grocery bags from your hands to carry to the car.

“Say, what’re you doing over here anyway?” 

“Mmh?” He perks up, fluffy bangs fringing beneath a bucket hat upon his head, the slow gust of an occasional breeze announcing Winter’s gradual departure, moseying on to Spring.

“Ah,” Bunny-like teeth peek from his upper lip when his lips part, hoisting a single bag of his own upward. “Food for the kitties.” 

Of course.

The corner of your lips quirk into a grin.

Though, before you’re given the chance to slip into the front seat, he points again, regarding your bump this time.

“Should stop by sometime,” He starts, pausing before glancing down to your feet. “Or I can come to you two if you’re not up to it.” 

There it is, the tiny shred of consideration you treasure, one so swift you may miss it if you aren’t listening closely that warms your heart effortlessly.

“The kitties would knead your belly,” Mumbled quieter than the rest, a giggle stirs from his chest, wishing you off after a few moments the same way he greeted you: a wave and a small, awkward, tight-lipped smile.

And on your ride home, you decide upon giving Chris a call.

“Do you think the baby will start balding early?”

A chaste silence and some crackling from the other side of the line and then- 

“What.”

“‘M outside the studio, baby.”

“You’re what?”

A second “what”, after the balding question those few weeks ago.

Chris wants to think tricks are being played on him after having pleaded for you to stay home and wait to be pampered when he returns, but it seemed the leader—with his own stubborn tirade of seven—had forgotten his wife was equally as stubborn, and that if you were adamant on something, there’s no chance you’d budge.

And so, as the ultimate pushover(which he’ll admit himself) of a husband, he simply sighs, awaiting your precious, slightly-waddling figure making towards them from the elevator.

Ah, right. 

The waddle.

Oh if it doesn’t make his heart soar.

You’re almost surreal, with your soft, rounded frame and sweet, sweet eyes making him simply want to keep you in a hug forever.

From beside him, Hyunjin starts into a sing-song cacophony of: “The Mrs.’s is here” in tandem with your entrance, resulting in Chris’s light smack to his friend’s shoulder and the reddening of his ears as he both tries (and fails) to focus on new tracks.

So now, in occupying the couch behind him with Han on one side and Felix on your other, you spend your time giggling over videos on the freckled blond’s phone, chowing down on a bag of potato chips placed between you and Han, entertaining light conversation with Changbin, and sharing those momentary glances with your husband.

Quiet looks, with his face drained from the workload not failing to light up where he meets your eyes, your own warming happily. 

“Come home,” does your eyes speak.

“Just a little longer,” he replies without words.

 As the day stretches it’s exhaustion, waning a warm hue into evening sunset, Chris pads over, slow and wary where your sleepy form props upon the couch, fuzzy-sock-clad feet elevated on a pillow courtesy of Hyunjin’s matter-a-fact scolding to lower the swelling.

“I’m letting the little one listen,” He whispers, this squeaky, cheery giggle leaving his lips where he places the headphones once in hand overtop your belly, the low hum of their newest, unreleased track faintly resounding against the skin you can’t help but grin at.

It’s a scary thing, you think for a moment.

And then, just happy.

So you’ll cling to that happiness, no matter how fleeting. 

And a tiny nudge against the skin, a kick, tells you someone else is clinging to that happiness as well.

“Yah.. even if it’s almost spring, there’s still some breeze! Stay warm! Don’t try being a spring chicken!” Clicking his tongue in softened contempt, Han claps his hands resolutely, face scrunched up in conviction as the ever-adorable maknae, Jeongin, eases his jacket over your shoulders.

Resulting in the group’s ace’s squeal of affection and a harsh smack to Minho’s thigh, the older of the two fixes him with a glare Han fails to notice through his cooing, too busy admiring the bump peeking through the jacket.

It seems Chris isn’t the only one growing into a worried mess, and your trip home from the studio you press to take alone is filled with their hollering and well-wishes, the group having opted out for drinks knowing you’d be the odd one out with your mug of water relative to the bubbling of a beer, a matter you find heart-warming.

No less, you spend your night anticipating the arrival of a very sleepy Chris, busying yourself trying to follow a recipe without gagging at the most random of things.

Feebly managing through placing the tray in the oven, you deflate as a pair of long-awaited, warm arms come wrapping around you.

A mere lift from his hands, holding the weight of a nearly 30-week bump feels heavenly, and you simply groan, head lolling back against his shoulder, welcoming the kisses pressed to your cheek, neck.

Because as much as his own nerves are afire, Chris knows more than anything it’s pivotal for you to be taken care of as well. Making breakfast before heading out in the mornings, sending you little texts to remind you to stay hydrated.

Tiny things you hold close to your being, even if he isn’t aware.

Thank you, spoken amidst his subtle care.

I know, I love you, answered upon joining you in your nightly skincare.

“Ah? Really?”

Chatter after chatter fills the small bathroom, your spare bedroom already ransacked of its contents in making room for a nursery.

As for the conversation at hand, Chris fills you in on his dango pudding obsession while you busy yourself in applying moisturizer to his skin, a silly, matching headband to yours pulling back the hair from his face.

“Jisung got me hooked on it,” He grumbles, lashes fluttering down to fondly watch where you press a kiss to his lips before applying vaseline there, his fingers instinctively reaching for your pajamas like a clingy child.

You don’t mind.

“How’re you feeling?” He murmurs after a moment, head tipped quizzically, the slight knit of his brows in concern you wish to scowl at.

Sometimes it’s harder not swooning when it comes to your husband.

“You know me,” You start, scorning your ability to hear each thump of your heart in your chest within the quietness of the room. “I’m okay, yeah? The fatigue is just a pain, that’s all.”

His arms finding purchase on either side of the bathroom counter where he cages you in, you’re quickly reminded how this pregnancy came to be the longer you stare at his biceps, the veins littering upwards from his hands.

Not fair.

“You tell me, hm? If you need me to work from home more days, yeah? I will, you know that, honey.”

And of course he’s like some sort of forbidden fruit, so sweetly wholesome, sweet generally, when he looks so good. 

Too good.

For a time again, not fair.

“Chris.”

Screw it. You’re pregnant, and rightfully hot and bothered.

A little thing about pregnancy that no one had bothered to let you in on? There’s never been a greater time in your life that you’ve felt this horny.

Plus, an okay from the doctor is an okay to you. 

The other okay is his arms, and the utterly obscene things running through your head just looking at them as your hand finds his jaw to hold.

“I’d cry from how good you are to me if it weren’t for the fact I’m unbelievably worked up right now.”

Slowly do your arms loop around his shoulders, pulling him closer where a smile tugs at your lips, watching his own lips part in a shaky exhale, pupils dilating tenfold as your words sink in.

And it’s Chris’ turn in reminding himself how the pregnancy came to be.

“So let’s do something about it, hm?”

The press of his nose into your neck causes your lashes to flutter, cursing the streaks of sunlight peering through the blinds muddling already bleary vision. A warm grip beckons you closer snuggled against his bare chest, hands instinctively coming to soothe over your belly.

Habitual touch, comfort.

A dream, last night had been. As for now, you bathe in the afterglow, his scent enveloping you like an embrace you can’t bring yourself to pull away from.

“Think I’ll be a good dad?”

And then comes the quiet conversation. Soft and nearly inaudible, his breath tickling your shoulder.

“I know you will,” Comes your own reply, muffled against the pillow, a kiss pressing to your shoulder in appreciation.

“I just-“

He takes a breath, weighing the thought. 

It’s a coarse silence, one you know not to interrupt. He considers his words like this, a characteristic you’ve come to adore over the years. The blinking fast, the hesitant humming.

“You know how much I look up to my Dad, and I worry I just- I won’t live up to tha—“

Now it’s your turn to step in, before he goes over his head and blames himself again and again for a matter never his responsibility. The selfless one, who you remind must take care of himself too. 

Amid simple kisses or compliments scribbled on sticky notes, you find love between the lines.

“Chris. Chris, baby, listen to me. This baby loves you, I hope you know that. And I hope you know that I love you, and whatever happens next happens next.”

Inhaling slowly, you roll over to face your husband.

Covers drawn up to see only his eyes, it’s near foolish the smile you let on.

“You said it yourself, we’re in this together, okay? If we change, we change together. We move? We move together.”

His fervent nod, dearest eyes gleaming all watery make your heart clench.

“This is our first time being parents, you can’t expect to be perfect, yeah? All we can do is try,”

Careful hands come to cup his face, kissing his lips through the fabric of the bedsheets.

“And you’re trying so hard, so thank you. I don’t feel like I praise you enough for all that you do for me, hm?”

He’s quiet before soft, heart wrenching sniffles are heard, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand and grumbling to himself like a toddler.

“I feel like.. such an idiot.. crying when you’re the one carrying the baby.. hic.. Plus ‘s my.. my job to take care of you, yeah? ‘M your husband..”

Gently smoothing along his waterline in hushed reassurance does the man pull himself upward, slow to climb atop your form, littering your face in feverish pecks you can’t help but laugh at while the heels of your palms gently push at his jaw in playful aversion.

“I’m gonna make some breakfast,” He noses at your chin, the only sound between the both of you slow breaths and the occasional sniffle, the heat of his skin burning through you like wildfire. 

Chris has become a warm blanket for your cold winter, even more so during the pregnancy.

“And you are going to eat eggs.”

In which earns your groan, regarding the food scornfully for its rude manner of sparking nausea. Of the many things nauseating you these days. Volatile in manner.

“‘S good for the baby. ‘Just a bite.”

Another groan, swatting lightly at his shoulder in retaliation.

Prior to an ingenious idea breaching the forefront of your mind.

A tiny detail you’d been holding in, with your lack of fondness for an extravagant baby shower or a gender reveal, you’d planned a morning-in to be the perfect timing for an announcement.

Now coming to be this morning.

Because while Chris had been running to the car, you’d been in the thick of a sonogram all those weeks back, a dirty little secret having been told that the nurse swore to keep quiet.

“Chris.”

Eyebrows lifting in gentle curiosity, you want to hate the way your mischievous streak is melting, the stubbornness fading into your own glossy eyes and trembling lips, and a whole rush of distress and concern washes overtop the man above you like a bucket of ice cold water.

“It’s a girl.”

A sharp gasp, a choked sniffle.

“We’re having a baby girl.”

To say Chris cried like a baby for an additional time that morning would be a mass understatement.

Cried and cried and cried endlessly, before calling his parents first and crying more, then Hannah, then the guys.

Face all puffy and happy, you spent your day waltzing around the kitchen to the low buzz of the radio seated upon the far corner of your counter, sharing kisses he can’t seem to get enough of and too much smiling it made your cheeks ache.

.

.

.

Currently thirty-six weeks and perilously close to the awaited due date, the faint clatter in your periphery earns a startled huff of air, once-napping eyes flickering open, lids heavy from past slumbering.

A common occurrence, the constant sleeping, fatigue overboard. Although morning sickness has graciously subsided, the sleepiness is endless in her torrents.

As for now, each slow lull of the rocking chair the guys had assembled a few minutes prior continues her magic in beckoning you sleepy and sleepier.

“Shh dumbass— you’re gonna wake her up!”

And… beckons whisper-screaming from the group who had insisted upon helping set up the nursery. 

“Don’t curse in front of the baby!”

Han and Felix’s grumbled argument is returned with a scolding “Shh!” from Seungmin, inducing yet another—however brisk—silence, the faint hint of a chortle from your husband falling upon near deafened ears while drifting in and out of consciousness.

Nonetheless, the group continues to build, having now moved onto assembling furniture after the room’s paint had been finished. A mellow pink, not too muted nor saturated, highlighted when the room grows aglow with drifting rays of sunlight.

Hitched just to the right of the window, the crib’s being assembled, Changbin arduously working to follow directions, Minho taking a break on one of the couch cushions with a popsicle lodged between his lips.

Surprising, considering the slow shift in temperature. Autumn makes its entrance, summer waving a goodbye hand in the now-shorter days and a subtle breeze detected in early mornings. 

A September baby, it seems.

“Corner guards? Do we have corner guards?”

An ever organized (and rather caffeine-frenzied) Hyunjin reviews the list once more, having spent his night prior holed up in the studio for recording, obstinate in participating in the nursery despite the ushers to get some sleep instead.

“I have to be here, it’s my duty as an Uncle”, were his exact words, haughtily prancing about as if some entitled interior designer.

And yet he brought alive an enthusiasm like no other. So the guys let him stay without dragging him back home.

In the distance, a low strum of a guitar echoes, Seungmin’s soulful cadence recognizable amidst any crowd.

A lullaby for the baby, but you had yet to know of that just yet.

“Alright… curtains.. ‘gotcha…” Felix mumbles after taking a break from the crib-squabble between Han, his brows furrowed in concentration where Jeongin aids in lifting the canopy portion planning to hang above the crib, Chris organizing the small things. 

A baby mobile with stars and little planets, a crescent moon rug.

And a tiny feature you take note of while awakening more and more, the little stars painted on the ceiling, like this miniature galaxy. 

It’s so…Chris.

It’s perfect.

The thought makes your lips tug upward, a certain fondness blossoming there.

His world, he’d called the baby.

Fitting, isn’t it?

One week to the due date with the autumn equinox around the corner, your days slip together in a melody of fluffy jackets and fuzzy socks, warm cider Chris ushers instead of coffee—“for the baby”, he says, but begrudgingly fixes you a menial cup after the cocked brow you fix him with. 

A baby-bag is packed up for the awaited day of your delivery, and this journey of yours drawing to a close leads to an even more frazzled husband of yours.

Constantly peeking in on you, his lips parted without a question needing to be asked until the bathroom door is slammed in his face after peering in worriedly for a fourth time, earning a squeaky: “sorry!” in reply.

You love him, yes, but not enough to allow a spectator during your bowel movements.

The gesture is appreciated, trust.

Nevertheless, with a now-evident waddle you despise that Chris utterly fawns over, you head to the downtown bakery, motivated by your relentless craving for a cinnamon roll and the feeble determination in battling the dropping temperatures, Seoul’s seasonal shifts as intermittent as your mood swings.

“Two?” You mumble, index extended to the steaming cinnamon rolls in thought, currently using the coat-clad Chris behind you as support, his warm hands steadying your hips, gentle thumbs tracing circles along your sides over his jacket you’d donned.

Nodding into your hair, the man weighs his chin atop your head, granting the kind older woman working the register a small smile, her eyes flickering to the prominent bump fondly prior to fetching the highly-anticipated cinnamon rolls and inquiring how many weeks you were.

“Thirty-nine weeks,” Came the reply, giggling like children on the way home, cheeks flushed pink from bitter winds, sniffling in with each bite of the napkin-held pastry.

“Yah! I should’ve said I wasn’t pregnant and acted all offended, shoot!”

The words followed by a feigned tantrum, Chris has to hold in his laughter, snorting futilely.

“You’re cruel, y’know that?” Scoffing his exasperation does your husband continue to crack even crueler jokes than that of yours on the walk home, acting as an anchor to your aching bones and tirelessly pained back until the sink of the couch cushions beneath your frame serve as the perfect solace.

It’d been the blueprint for an ideal night in. Cinnamon roll long-since digested, a to-die-for massage provided by your husband, and the expectation of doing purely nothing for the remainder of your night.

Until the blueprint went awry upon brushing your teeth.

Curse that damn toothbrush.

Kidding.

“Channie.”

Between Chris, Channie, and terms of endearment, your husband could be an ex-convict with so many names.

Yet he responds to every and all, and at this very moment you’re more grateful than ever for that.

This time, his peeking-in is greatly appreciated.

“I either peed myself or my water just broke.”

It was meant to hopefully lighten the atmosphere, but your efforts prove feeble watching the color drain from his face, white as a sheet.

And just like that, the journey came to its close, in a finale neither of you were expecting, but one your husband confronted head on, trying his hardest in keeping both himself and you calm while loading up all the prepared things.

Baby bag, your printed out birth-plan discussed all those weeks ago while sharing a bath, extra clothes, nursing bras, all the required cards, and a billion other things Chris doesn’t even bother to search for in helping you into the car, reminding himself he could ask someone else to drop by or pick it up after.

Right now, you would remain his sole focus.

That, and the little one who’s decided to make her grand entrance a week from his birthday.

An early present, it seems.

Everything’s too fast, too hurried. The beeping of machinery, hurrying nurses in their scrubs, the nauseating scent of antiseptic overwhelming the hospital. 

You and the baby, you and the baby, you and the baby.

Those four words run rampant in his mind, like some sadistic form of tunnel vision.

Luckily swift in their efforts, you’d been wheeled off to the nicest room available, your husband blind to the price of anything at the moment where he follows you back, guiding each sharp gasp while you work through hellish contractions, squeezing his hand like a vice he vows to never let go of.

Though initially as smooth as a delivery could go, the process is seemingly endless, and Chris curses the exhaustion wracking his frame after the eighth hour stretches on, menial complications requiring moments longer to the already strain-inducing process. 

And of course, to the words he’d never heard you utter before.

“You FUCKER!”

In which earns your jittery-husbands wobbly smile, smoothing strands of hair where they stick to a sweaty forehead, whispering praises on autopilot.

At this rate, he can’t even tell who you’re referring to, but that thought lies in the very back of his mind.

“When I- shit- get out of here I expect to be- FUCK!— worshiped- ‘cause this hurts like a bitch!”

This earns the midwives equally exhausted smiles, working tirelessly with each push. 

By the ninth hour, you shakily assure him to go get a drink, take a walk, a matter he curses beneath his breath yet follows through with no less, legs like jelly, hand aching from your crushing-hold where your husband slumps into the chair opposite to the vending machine, caught in a weary daze. 

Then a hand finds itself on his shoulder he has to stave back the reflex to flinch from, and an out-of-breath Minho stands there—unfamiliar in the utter seriousness of his expression, the lack of teasing usually exhibited—alternatively familiar faces of his friends jogging after the second eldest. 

His first surprise of the night.

Of two, but the second surprise had yet to occur.

“We took the closest taxi,” Jisung manages, out of breath. “You.. You said there was complicat-“

Like a deer in headlights, the shrill wail of a baby rings out, gathering his full attention in split seconds. 

And somehow, he knows that’s his.

Yours, together.

Chris’s second surprise.

His heart stops.

In all his life, Christopher Bahng doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so pretty.

With seven curious faces peeping in from the doorway behind him, he takes slow steps in approaching you, ethereal with your breathlessly proud smile and the tiny, swaddled thing to your frame, comfy and cozy in their mother’s scent.

Pink blankets. 

And although he already knew it was a girl, the way he chokes up without a word being spoken earns both yours and the nurse’s laughter, tainting his ears a reddened shade of embarrassment.

“I’m so proud of you,” He murmurs, wiping tenderly at tear streaks littering those darling cheeks of yours. “So, so proud.”

An angel, he swears, pressing a long, slow kiss to your lips, then a small peck to your forehead. It appears the wailing fit had subsided, and as for now, this precious little one curls up to your chest.

His baby.

A sob wracks his chest, and in the distance a giggle (likely Minho) is faintly audible that Chris doesn’t even bother scolding, each and every feeling imaginable snuffed to nothing when those eyes pinch open.

Chocolate brown, just like her daddy’s. That perfect, so, so perfect honeyed hue.

Precious.

“She’s.. hic.. so beautiful..”

It’s downright pitiful the manner he cries, like a child, trembling hands reaching for her after your whispered assent, assurance, cradling the baby to his chest.

And remarkably enough, she smiles.

This gummy, delighted smile.

Right then and there, the gravity of the moment punctures his chest, and a silent vow is made that with everything in his being, he will protect her. His daughter.

“Your Daddy loves you.”

Barely heard yet understood all the same, an oh so careful kiss is pressed to those unruly curls, unbelievable in their resemblance to her father’s.

A splitting image, with your charming nose and his puffy lips.

You were right. That time at the grocery store.

Oh to adore.

His second world, who he’ll clap for all cheerfully upon her first steps, her first words, all of it. Through the good and the bad times and everything in between.

His second world, with a father who already loves her, unconditionally. 

And who knows he will for the rest of his life.

Ensuring you’re cared for those four days before discharge, Chris spends his time easing you through each painful endeavor, helping you through the saddened and elated moments, those private moments where all you wish for is to be held.

He holds you, for as long as you need.

Despite the challenges and hardships to come, the man can’t help but think of just how beautiful you are. With your stretch marks, the baby weight, the things you hate, the things he loves. Reflecting how hard you worked, bringing this precious baby girl into the world.

It’s impossible for you to be anything but breathtaking.

His wife, he mumbles into your hair, a habit of his, whilst swaying you from side to side in slow rhythm, the little one fast asleep in her bassinet.

The first night home with the baby, Minho’s already taken to the kitchen, preparing dinner regardless of your sleepy beckoning for him to head home where you stand by the doorway, awakened by the unusual silence where your little girl’s normal squeals would be ricocheting off the walls. 

It seems the Uncles are already smitten.

Fuzzy sock-clad feet thump to your next destination: the nursery.

And there lies your greatest loves, with Chris’s steps weighing side to side just as he’d always do when dancing with you, a bottle in hand held to her lips where she sleepily suckles, a smile of adoration tugging at his lips opposing the circles beneath his eyes.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so enamored before.

And just as that evening in building the nursery, Seungmin’s quietly composed lullaby drifts from the speaker on the changing table, its lyrics like that of the sweetest hymn.

‘My little girl, will you ever know how much I love you?’

‘As much as the stars in the sky, and the grains of sand on the beach.’

‘You are my universe, and I shall love you.’

‘Love, love, love.’

‘For eternity longer.’

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @manuosorioh @captainchrisstan @bowsnbang @sh1ny4lex @alisonyus @certifiedchangbinlover

[alotofpockets]

Stretching the truth | Laia Codina x Physio!Reader

5k celebration prompt: "You haven't kissed me all day."

A/n: thank you @valkyrie-00 @totaly-obsessed and @catasha from the woso writers server for your ideas on this one!

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.7k

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After not having to wake up early during winter break, your 7am alarm was rough. You turned it off and before you were even able to get out from under the covers, your girlfriend wrapped her arm around your body and pulled you closer. “Don’t go.” She said still half asleep.

You had spent the winter break in Spain with Laia’s family. She had been missing her family, so it was a no-brainer to go. Your family was out here, and who were you to say no to the nice and warm Spanish weather?

In Spain you had spent almost every single day of your trip with Laia by your side, so you weren’t surprised that she was now clinging onto you. “Back to work today, love. I have to go in early to set everything up.”

“Five more minutes?” Her sleepy voice begged. “Alright, five minutes, but not a minute more.” You knew that if you wouldn’t stop it at five, Laia would be able to keep you there for an hour if she wanted to.

After cuddling for a while longer, you told her you really had to go. You placed a soft kiss onto her lips, “I’ll see you soon.” 

The first day back for you meant starting off with a few meetings, and setting up your physio room. A few of the girls would come in to get assessed before training, while the other physios had appointments with the other girls. 

On your schedule were Vic, Lia, Laura, and Lina. The girls had been either injured or just coming back from their injuries. You had been working with them before the break as well, and wanted to make sure that the work they put in over break did their bodies well.

Vic came in for her assessment first, you chatted a bit while you checked off all the boxes, and declared her ready to start training with the team. She had been working hard towards her comeback, and you were happy to see the progress she had been able to make already. It wouldn’t be long now before she would be playing again, you knew it and knew it made her incredibly happy.

The next person that came into your office was Lina, she came to you with some struggles. She let you know that her calf wasn’t feeling great, so you checked it out. After assessing her calf and the rest of your checklist, you recommended her to come in after her gym session.

The next person you expected to walk in was Lia, but instead it was Laia who walked through the door. “What are you doing here? I thought you were with Emma today.”

Laia closed the door behind her and sat down on your physio table. “I was, but she wanted me to see you instead.” You furrowed your brows, “Why? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just my ankle is bothering me a bit.” She said while putting her leg up. “Your ankle?” Her injury confused you, because she hadn’t mentioned anything during the break. 

“Yeah, my left ankle. I think I hurt it when I got out of the car, just a misstep.” You looked between her face and then the foot she put up. “Your left ankle is hurting, but you put up your right?”

Her eyes widened and it takes every ounce of power in you to stay professional and not start laughing. “Left? Did I say left? No no, I meant right. It- it’s the language barrier, I switched them up, accidentally.” 

With a shake of your head and a light chuckle, you say, “Alright, let’s take a look at your right ankle.” As you had expected, there wasn’t much you could find, just Laia dramatically flinching as if it was hurting. It was a good thing she didn’t go into acting, because it took everything in you to not just burst out laughing.

“It doesn’t look like much.” You said when you were done assessing her ankle. “But, let’s keep an eye on it. You’re all set to head to the gym.”

Laia jumps down from the bed like there was no problem with her ankle, confirming for you that it was nothing. “Thank you.” She says and steps closer to you, the twinkle in her eyes makes you take a step back instantly. “We’re at work.”

Your girlfriend’s shoulders slump down. “You’re right, I’ll see you later.” You don’t have time to feel bad, as the next player enters the room.

The morning was filled all the way until lunch break, which you spend in the dining hall with the rest of the staff and players. After break it was right back to work, some taping before you would spend some time with Vic on the pitch.

The only person that was scheduled to come in was Lina, but once again it was Laia who entered. “Oh hi. Is everything okay?” She nods, “Yeah, just a tight muscle in my calf and I wondered if you could help.”

You looked at your watch, about ten minutes before Lina would come in, so you told her to lay down. As Laia laid down on the physio table, you grabbed some massage oil and began working on her calf. You couldn’t deny how toned her muscles were, even if this was supposed to be professional. No wonder they made sure that Laia was usually seeing one of your coworkers and not you.

“Is this where it was feeling tight?” You asked, applying a little more pressure to a specific spot. “Mhm, yeah, right there.” She responded with a little too much satisfaction. Her tone made you chuckle. “What? You’re good at this.”

You rolled your eyes but kept working, your fingers kneading into her calf. "Feels more like you're enjoying this than actually needing help."

Laia turned around on the table and put her leg up, like you asked her to do. “You’re the best at giving massages, of course I would come to see you.”

You shook your head with a smile. “Hm sure, and the ankle this morning? Totally legitimate too?”

With the most horribly performance of an innocent face, Laia said “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Just as you were finishing up, Laia stretched her arms above her head, causing her shirt to ride up slightly, exposing her toned stomach slightly. You stopped talking mid-sentence, much to Laia’s delight. “Oh, was that distracting? Sorry.” She said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes jokingly, “You’re impossible.”

Before Laia could make a comeback, a knock on the door interrupted. It was Lina poking her head around the door, “Am I early?”

You looked at your watch quickly, “Right on time. Laia was just leaving.” She reluctantly hopped off the table. Giving you one last daring look, before closing the door behind her.

The team knew you and Laia were together, and you had become good friends with most of them because the two of you were dating, so it wasn’t weird when Lina raised her eyebrows at what just happened. “Something going on there?” She said with a knowing smile. “Just a very needy patient.” You joked back, before you told her to sit down, so you could tape her calf.

When you were done with taping, you headed into your office for a quick coffee break and filling out some papers for the work you had done today, before you would head out to the pitch with Vic.

“Hello!” A familiar voice said from your office door. You sighed and rolled your eyes lightly, while a smile tugged at your lips. “Laia, what is it this time?”

She stepped into your office and closed the door behind her with an innocent smile on her face. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

You tilted your head in confusion. “Sleeping? Why are you coming to me for that and not Emma?”

Laia sat down on the chair across from you, her face plastered with a serious look. “Well, it’s about positions.” Her wording catches you off guard, and you feel your cheeks heating up, “What?”

“You know,” she continued, “positions. I can’t seem to find the right one… to sleep comfortably.”

“Okay, that’s enough. What is with you today?” You lean back into your chair and move your hands through your hair. 

"You haven't kissed me all day." Laia said with a pout. And then every single unnecessary visit started to make sense. “Oh Laia, really? You’ve been hogging my patient time because you wanted a kiss?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, though the mischievous glint in her eyes betrayed her. “Can you blame me? We went from spending every minute together to barely seeing each other all day. I had to be creative.”

You had to give her credit, she had been creative. “You know there’s a time and place for that, right? Here? Not the place.” You chuckled.

Her pout deepened as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on your desk. “But you love me, so you’ll forgive me, right?”

You sighed dramatically, though the grin tugging at your lips gave you away. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible to resist,” she said back instantly. Oh she was good, you thought while shaking your head. 

“Fine. One kiss. But only so I can actually do my job for the rest of the day.” You gave in. Laia’s face lit up and she was on her feet instantly. “Deal!”

She walked to the other side of your desk and waited for you to stand up to wrap her arms around your waist and give you a loving kiss. Laia was trying to deepen the kiss, so you reluctantly stepped back. “Not the place.” You warned.

Laia pulled away with a smirk. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Out. Go train or do something productive. I’ve got actual work to do.” Your girlfriend grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Alright. I’ll behave.” She walked towards the door, before she closed it behind her she looked back and added “For now.”

You were left in the room shaking your head in amusement. She was really something. But you loved her dearly and could not wait to get home.

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[gudfornuthin]

The only thing that matters

Dae ho x fem!reader

Summary: Dae ho joins the game in hopes of building a better life for the two of you. Turns out, you both had the same idea.

A/N: based on this request and this one. Hope you all enjoy and feedback is appreciated :)

Dae ho is startled awake by blaring music from above him. His body aches and there’s a pounding in his head as he tries to gage his surroundings.

Rows and rows of high rise bunk beds fill the massive room, along with hundreds of strangers. All wearing the same outfit, all looking around with the same confused expressions. A group of masked people stand at the end of the room, wearing pink jumpsuits and holding guns. What the hell has he got himself into?

Dae ho moves to sit on the end of the bed, preparing to face whatever is about to happen. Before he gets up, a sudden panic takes over him, as he quickly searches his pockets. He feels something cold and heaves a sigh of relief. Dae ho pulls the object out, a small locket in the shape of a heart. The chain broke ages ago meaning he hasn’t been able to wear it. That doesn’t stop him from carrying it everywhere he goes. He’s also surprised that he’s still got it, considering his change of clothes. For some reason they didn’t take it away from him, and he couldn’t be more thankful.

He opens the locket, staring at the picture inside. A young woman, smiling wide with her head tilted slightly to the side looks back at him. His long term girlfriend, Y/N. The love of his life. The reason he’s here in the first place.

The couple had been struggling financially and your options were limited. After Dae ho left the marines and Y/N was laid off from her office job, it became harder to keep things a float. It didn’t take long for them to form a growing debt, which also didn’t help their relationship. After meeting the salesman in the subway, Dae ho was ready to take the risk. He didn’t bother telling Y/N about what he was doing, and he feels bad because of it. He hopes she’ll understand.

Dae ho kisses the picture of his girlfriend and moves to where the crowd of bewildered strangers have gathered. The pink suits begin to explain everything, as well as the games they’re all about to participate in.

- - -

The players are all lead to the first area where they enter another large room with a large strip of flat land, and an incredibly creepy doll standing tall opposite them. The rules are explained, and the game begins.

One player in particular seems to take on the leading roll, sharing tips and helping everyone slowly make their way to the finish line. Dae ho doesn’t know how and why this man seems so confident and focused on making sure he’s being heard, as the game itself is fairly easy.

That is until the first bullet hits. Unsurprisingly, chaos erupts throughout the room, players shoving each other and running in multiple directions, desperate for a way to get out. The man, which Dae ho sees now is player 456, yells behind his arm for everyone to hold still, and yet many don’t listen.

Dae ho can feel the sweat forming on his forehead, holding his breath and trying to stop his body from shaking too much. He wishes he’d never agreed to that salesman’s game. He wishes he’d just stayed at home, safe with the one person he cares about. Instead there’s a high chance he’s going to be killed.

The screaming soon stops, as the doll calls out green light. No one moves, horrified of the outcome. Dae ho flicks his eyes around the room, trying to figure out what everyone else is going to do. That’s when he spots her.

“What the hell?”

He’s about to move closer when the doll calls out red light. While the players remain static, player 456 yells out, once again taking the lead and explaining what they need to do. Form a line, and get behind someone bigger than you.

“Green light.”

While most people form different lines, Dae ho bolts over to where he was just looking, quickly moving to stand in front of the woman he can’t possibly believe is here with him. She’s shocked to see him too.

“Dae ho?”

Following player 456s instructions, Dae ho moves his arm to cover his mouth, just as the doll calls out red light.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He mumbles.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Y/N replies, her head hanging low, ducking behind her boyfriend.

Rather than starting a fight while their lives are at stake, Dae ho chooses not to reply. Green light is called, and he reaches back for her hand, tugging hard and pulling her along with him to the finish line. He’s pissed off, she probably is too, but there’s no way he’s letting them kill her. Finish the game, then talk.

- - -

The game was a bloodbath to say the least. Somehow wanting to pay off a debt turned into fighting for your life. Literally. Dae ho just can’t bear to think about the upcoming challenges. Either way, he’s thankful to still be alive. Alongside his girlfriend no less.

Dae ho and Y/N sit next to each other on one of the beds, having not spoken a word to each other since finishing the game. They’re both tired, and wondering who’s going to be open and honest first. Y/N breaks the silence.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Dae ho glances at her. “Well, I didn’t either.”

Y/N huffs. “I got a loan from the bank a few months ago, just to help out with our bills. Then I lost my job and borrowed more money and it just,” she sighs. “It got ahead of me. I’m sorry.”

Dae ho takes her hand into his, squeezing tightly. “We both got desperate. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

They go quiet again, Y/N resting her head on his shoulder. He kisses her on the forehead, then on the cheek, then gently on the lips. She smiles.

“We’re here now,” Dae ho says. “And we’ve got each other. We can do this.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but Y/N nods at his words, snuggling deeper into her boyfriend’s embrace. They try not to think about all the players killed, and whatever waits for them tomorrow.

- - -

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