#How Can You Get Taller Fast

[darkaac]

Fin.

[confuzing]

Street kid Luo Binghe makes the mistake of letting some weirdo get a hold of him and finds himself locked up in a windowless room somewhere.

The only bright spot in this shit situation is that there's another boy in there with him. Shen Yuan is clearly in considerably worse shape than Luo Binghe and he says he's been here for a very long time. But he's so kind to Binghe and deliberately draws their captor's attention to himself (and away from Binghe) whenever he can.

He also, after Binghe's been there about a month, steals their captor's keys, unlocks the restraints they're both in, and then shoves Binghe out the boarded up window he's been prying open when he had time.

Shen Yuan is too big to fit through the window, he says. They both know that's not true but they can also both hear that their captor is coming-he must have noticed the keys were missing- and Shen Yuan intends to stall him while Binghe gets away.

Binghe promises to come back with help and SY just smiles and nods and shoos him away.

He runs as fast as he can, and once he's far enough away from the house he escaped from he starts asking for help- but no one is listening to him. And he knows if he goes to the local guard he'll probably be handed back over as a runaway slave... And then he sees two men who both seen almost to shine in the dirty city streets... they must be cultivators, they must. If anyone can help him now it will be them. So Luo Binghe throws himself at the taller of the two men and starts begging for help.

Shen Qingqiu is absolutely positive this kid is trying to lure them into an ambush, but Yue Qingyuan- who invited himself along on SQQ's mission without asking him- doesn't think so.

YQY goes with LBH, and SQQ follows, complaining that this is a trick the whole way- up until they discover that yes actually the local nobleman does have a secret room he's been imprisoning children in and there is indeed an almost beaten to death SY in there.

YQY sends SQQ off with SY- gotta get that kid medical attention ASAP- while he and LBH stay behind to Politely Ask Some Questions.

When YQY and LBH arrive back at the sect SY is still in the medical ward but isn't dying and is even awake! LBH is relieved and refuses to leave him again.

YQY fills SQQ in that not only were both boys not slaves, SY was actually the son of the nobleman's first wife she had as the result of an affair. He disappeared from the household around the time the first wife died and all the servants assumed their Lord had sold the boy or killed him outright.

But now that the nobleman has died a sudden and painful and extremely mysterious death it looks like SY has inherited the estate. YQY will have someone from An Ding go sort out the details since SY can't.

SQQ watches YQY smile at the little urchins they've rescued and talk in a way that obviously means he intends them to stay and says, internally 'Fuck no Qi-ge you don't get to replace me with a Shen you actually did manage to save. Absolutely not!'

Out loud the conversation goes:

SQQ: I want the older boy.

YQY: What?

SQQ: You intend for them to stay right? I want the older boy for Qing Jing Peak, you can keep the little one if you want.

YQY, pleased and assuming SQQ and SY must have bonded while he and LBH were away: Of course.

SQQ and SY have not bonded, and once they get back to QJ Peak things are tense. SQQ is low-key kinda jealous of SY and also reminded much too much of himself by the boy. Except he was never as naive and stupid as this kid is! Why is he so nice? How?? And the little shit isn't even afraid of him!

SY, deeply sarcastic: Oh nooo. I'm going to be beaten? Such a thing has never happened to me before! *Coughs because his throat is permanently messed up from being nearly strangled to death*

SQQ, aware that if he hits the kid now he loses: You're not allowed in the library for a week.

SY: What!

SQQ: The next words out of your mouth better be "yes Shizun, sorry Shizun" or it'll be two weeks.

SY: ...yes Shizun, sorry Shizun.

Meanwhile LBH and YQY are having a magical adventure in becoming a found family and are bonding over their obsessions with their respective Shens. They absolutely come visit QJ Peak at least twice a week much to SQQ's displeasure and SY's delight.

[osachiyo]

𝐖𝐄𝐓 ‘𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐘 ! ꩜ .ᐟ dr zayne

⟢ tws: n/sfw content, fem!reader, p*rn w/o plot, 0.6k+ words, fingering, squirting, stress relief, messy, dirty talk, praise, zayne is mentioned to be taller than reader, overstimulation, reader is hinted to be chubby + more .. you must be logged in on twt to see the link!

⟢ note: i saw this video on twt and thought of zayne immediately helppp >< header art by @/rororo_mg on X <3

imagine this with zayne . . .

You could tell when Zayne didn’t have a good day at work. Especially when he had that one look on his face— glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose and his hair messy, a frown etching on his lips and broad shoulders sagging as he entered through the front door. You lifted your eyes from the page of your book to your looming boyfriend, “bad day at work?”

Zayne only sighed deeply, shrugging his coat off and slinging it on the coat hanger near the door, “terrible.”

You slowly approached him, wrapping your arms around his neck, going on your tippy toes and pressing your soft lips to Zayne’s ear, “is there any way I can help, doctor?”

You felt a large hand wrap itself around your waist— pulling your body flush to his, something hard and hot poking your inner thigh as Zayne’s other hand lifted your chin up, his minty breath fanning against your lips as he spoke,

“If you insist, my love.”

..and that’s how you ended up in your current position. Legs pushed back and knees nearly touching your ears, pretty lacy panties pushed to the side and the fabric absolutely drenched with your arousal as Zayne’s precise fingers worked themselves in and out of your cunt.

“Stay still,” he grunted, taking his fingers out of your hole and rubbing your puffy clit with fast strokes— making your head loll back onto the pillow. “Nnngh— ‘s too much-!” You mewled, fingers desperately scratching the soft, linen sheets underneath as Zayne continued to torture your poor clit. “Nonsense.. I know you can take it, love,” he muttered under his breath, and you whined because you knew he was right— Zayne knew your body like the back of his hand, and he wasn’t afraid to use that knowledge to his advantage.

It should’ve been unfair how good he was at it job— he knew all the ways to make your pussy gush, and he was doing exactly that. You wailed once he shoved his fingers back into your sticky hole, your plush hips arching off the bed at the overstimulation. But Zayne wasn’t having any of it, he scoffed in annoyance before using his free hand to push down on your soft tummy— securing your body to the mattress as he continued abusing that one rough patch in your velvety walls.

“Fu— fuck, Zayne—!” You threw your head back, kicking your legs but to no avail, he only pressed on your tummy harder, increasing the pressure settling in your lower abdomen. Your cunt gushed out juices with each rough thrust of his hand, successfully soaking his wrist down to his entire bicep. The rolled up sleeves of his button up practically drenched with your delicious slick. Oh and his watch. His expensive watch that probably costed an arm and a leg now soaked with your precious juices— and Zayne couldn’t help but groan at the sight.

It wasn’t long before you came hard around his fingers with a high pitched squeal, pussy juices streaming out and absolutely drenching the man before you. “What a good girl, did s’well for me,” he moaned, slowly pulling his fingers out of your cunt with a lewd ‘pop!’ before sticking them in his mouth and humming in satisfaction at the taste.

You could only watch as your eyes grew droopy and tired, your head plopping back onto the pillow with as you sighed. You closed your eyes, ready to doze off before you heard a soft clinking noise and lifted your gaze in confusion to look at the man in front of you.

Your eyes widened as Zayne’s heavy cock slapped against your soft tummy— the head dripping with precum as he spread your legs even further to get comfortable. You parted your lips to speak before he cut you off, “Zay—” “What? You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

His eyes darkened, gaze dropping to eye his cock resting on your stomach— the tip reaching right over your belly button, fuck he was huge.

“We were only getting started, snowflake.”

@𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎 — ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱ��ʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ/ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Can I just say your write amazingly. One of my top favourite writers. I was wondering if I can request a dad lando fic where reader is like 4 or 5 and when lando dose his drive to survive interview thing he takes his baby girl and the whole crew just love her. And she gets to snap the 🎬

Lights, Camera, Action!

The Netflix crew was already buzzing around the sleek, sunlit studio set when the door creaked open, and in walked Lando—hair a bit tousled, hoodie slightly rumpled, and one hand holding onto the tiny fingers of a girl no taller than his thigh.

She peeked in first, big eyes blinking at the brightness of the room, her other hand clutching a squishy pink bunny that had clearly seen better days.

“This her?” asked the producer, grinning as he pulled off his headset and came forward.

Lando nodded proudly, crouching down to her level. “Go on, love. Say hello.”

Yn blinked at the man, then mumbled, “Hullo…” in a shy but unmistakably British accent that made three crew members audibly coo.

The producer beamed. “And what's your name, sweetheart?”

“Yn,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Yn, that’s beautiful,” he said, genuinely charmed. “How old are you?”

She held up five tiny fingers. Lando chuckled, brushing a curl from her cheek.

“She just turned five last month,” he said. “And she’s very excited to help Daddy today. Aren’t you, bug?”

Yn nodded shyly but clung tighter to his hoodie.

“She’s a little shy at first,” Lando told them, smoothing down the back of her hair. “But she warms up fast. Just give her a few minutes and maybe a biscuit.”

The whole crew laughed at that, already softening under the spell of the little girl with the bunny and the shy smile.

The Drive to Survive crew had seen drivers in every emotional state: victorious, furious, hungover, nervous, indifferent. But this—this was something else entirely.

One of the assistants knelt beside Yn and held out a small tray of juice boxes and individually wrapped cookies.

“Would you like a snack while Daddy does his interview?” she asked gently.

Yn looked up at Lando, and he smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright, poppet. You can sit just over there and watch me if you want. Or hang with the nice lady.”

“Can I watch you?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Lando melted. He really did.

“‘Course you can. You’ve got the best seat in the house.”

He helped her into a small canvas director’s chair just off camera, close enough to him that he could sneak her smiles between questions. One of the sound guys handed her a set of child-sized headphones—not plugged into anything, just for fun—and Yn lit up like it was Christmas.

“All ready?” the producer called out, watching Lando settle into his seat with an amused look.

Lando looked to Yn, gave her a wink, then turned to the camera.

“Ready when you are.”

The interview started normally.

“How does it feel being one of the more experienced drivers now, after all these seasons?”

“Old,” Lando deadpanned, and the crew laughed. “I mean, I still get carded when I try to buy wine, but I’ve been here a while now. It’s weird.”

“And now you’re not just a driver—you’re a dad.”

Lando’s whole face changed. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes softened, and the smile that crept across his lips was involuntary and impossible to miss.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing to the side where Yn was swinging her legs, watching quietly. “I’m a dad. And it’s the best job I’ve ever had.”

“What’s it like, being a single parent and a full-time F1 driver?”

“Hard,” he admitted. “Like, really hard. I won’t pretend it’s easy. The schedule’s mental, the travel’s constant, and trying to make sure she has stability in all of that—it’s a lot.”

“But?”

“But I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” Lando said. “Not a second of it. That little girl is my heart walking around outside my body.”

Someone behind the camera whispered a soft “awww” and a few heads nodded.

“I try to take her with me as much as I can,” Lando continued. “Because I don’t want her to feel like I’m always gone. And she actually loves the paddock. She’s got uncles everywhere.”

The interviewer laughed. “Who’s her favorite uncle?”

Lando smirked. “Now that’s dangerous territory.”

“Come on, give us something.”

“She calls Carlos ‘Uncle Giggles,’ because he always makes her laugh. And Max taught her to say ‘chicane’ properly, which is weirdly adorable coming out of a five-year-old. But I think Charles is her favorite.”

He leaned in conspiratorially.

“He sneaks her gummy bears and lets her press buttons on the simulator when no one’s watching.”

During a short break in filming, Yn walked up to her dad and tugged on the hem of his hoodie.

“Can I sit with you now?”

Lando lifted her up effortlessly and sat her on his lap.

“She’s very well-behaved,” one of the crew members commented, watching her tuck herself comfortably into his arms.

“Yeah, I’m lucky,” Lando said. “She’s a bit shy, but she’s got a kind soul.”

“Do you like being on set, Yn?” someone asked her gently.

She looked up and nodded. “I like the big camera. And Daddy talks nice.”

Another wave of chuckles rippled through the crew.

“Think you could help us with something, Yn?” the producer asked.

Her eyes widened, curious. Lando looked intrigued too.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Well,” the producer said, holding up the old-school film clapper. “We usually let the talent snap the board before we roll. Think she’d like to do it?”

Lando looked down at his daughter. “What do you think, bug? Wanna help Daddy start the show?”

She considered it for a second, then nodded with an eager smile.

“Alright then!” Lando grinned and helped her down from his lap. “Go on, big moment now.”

The assistant handed Yn the clapper, and she held it in her small hands like it was a sacred treasure.

“Can you say ‘Scene One, Take Two’?” someone prompted.

She took a deep breath and in her clearest little voice said, “Scene One, Take Two!” Then she clapped the board shut with both hands.

Everyone applauded. Lando’s smile could’ve lit up the whole building.

“That was amazing,” the producer said, genuinely delighted. “You’ve got a future in film, miss.”

Yn giggled and ran back to Lando, who scooped her up with ease.

“She’s gonna be insufferable after this,” he joked, kissing the top of her head. “Hollywood’s gone straight to her head.”

Lando let Yn stay in his lap for the second half of the interview.

Her bunny rested on his thigh. She leaned against his chest, occasionally whispering questions into his hoodie like, “Why does the man ask so many questions?” and “Can we get ice cream after?”

“Yes,” Lando replied both times, the second one earning her a quick kiss on the temple.

The crew was utterly smitten. One of the camera operators whispered to the sound guy, “I’d watch an entire show just about him being a dad.”

The questions turned more personal toward the end.

“What do you hope she remembers when she’s older?”

Lando went quiet for a beat.

“I hope she remembers that I tried,” he said softly. “That I tried to give her everything. That even if I wasn’t always home, I was always hers. I hope she remembers feeling loved. Safe. Seen.”

There was a lump in the interviewer’s throat. He glanced at Yn, who was now playing with the strings of Lando’s hoodie, humming quietly to herself.

“You’ve made a beautiful little human.”

Lando smiled down at her. “Yeah. She’s everything.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-♡○♡

[smutoperator]

Snake Charmer

Kim Minjeong (Winter) x Male Reader

Tags: arabian nights, belly bulging, belly dancer, blowjob, creampie, cum on midriff, fast-paced sex, footjob, loud sex, quickie, snake (literally and figuratevelly), stripping

Word count: 3164

It was a cold, lonely night in the desert. Nobody seemed to be in your sight, just an endless horizon full of sand. You were so desperate that you started seeing what looked like a tent playing an electronic beat as if a rave was playing inside it. Surely it must have been a mirage, you thought.

As you entered the tent, you saw a girl performing in an outfit that left her belly very exposed.

The girl dancer performed the electronic song in a way that made her look like those belly dancers coming straight from those Arabian nights tales. Soon, she grabbed a black mamba snake from a basket and started playing with it, showing no fear and handling it like it was just a walk in the park.

The dancer kept playing with the snake as she continued her performance, her cuteness contrasting with the bulky reptile that ran through her body. Her midriff moved in such a sexy manner, meanwhile, her face was all smiles, a truly impressive duality that had you slowly falling in love with her.

The music stopped and the dancer finished her performance, immediately turning in your direction as she pushed the snake back into the basket. "Looks like I have an audience for today," she said. "That's quite rare here in the middle of the desert," she continued.

"Do you perform this dance every day?" you asked the dancer. "Yes, me and my friends do that every day hoping to charm someone to build a harem with us," she said. "Your friend? So you're not alone in this tent?" you ask her. "No, they had to go to the city, but they'll be back tomorrow morning," she answered.

"By the way, I haven't even asked your name yet," you said to her. "My name is Minjeong, but you can also call me Winter," she answered. "Winter, such a beautiful name," you said to her. "Thank you," she replied.

"Wanna watch me dance a little more?" Winter asked you. "Sure, do your thing," you told her. Winter resumed dancing, bringing the mamba back from the basket and running it all over her body once again. She teased you, making very seductive moves with her tummy that drove you insane, making you wonder how she hadn't found anyone yet to occupy that harem.

Winter shook her cute little ass a bit and then started taking off parts of her bedlah as the performance went on, starting with her top, leaving you shocked as she left her torso fully exposed to you while dancing, from her perky little tits all the way down to her sexy navel. She wrapped the snake around her midriff and then picked up a recipient with the shape of a magical lamp, pouring some oil over her fit body, leaving you in utter disbelief at the scene you were watching.

Winter continued to strip her bedlah off, next taking off her long skirt, leaving just her hip scarf. Soon enough, that was gone as well, leaving Winter wearing just a belly chain and a thong that could barely cover her genitalia, giving you a hand signal to come close to her.

Minjeong walked in your direction, getting her body on top of the couch you were sitting on, the black mamba now wrapped around her shoulders. "Looks like that's not the only snake I can charm," she said, running her hands over your already throbbing cock under your pants.

"Get up," Winter commanded as you two started sharing kisses. You still couldn't believe what was in front of your eyes, maybe it was just another mirage, but her touch felt amazing. She quickly took off your shirt, running her hands over your torso while you worshipped her beautiful midriff. You were much taller than her, meaning her sexy tummy rubbed all over your clothed crotch, building your erection even further and getting you increasingly hard as you two touched each other.

"Let me show you my snake-charming abilities," Winter said, getting on her knees and pulling your pants down, unveiling your already throbbing anaconda. She teased it very slowly, giving a couple of licks to the tip of your cock, which were already driving you insane.

It didn't take long for Minjeong to make faster moves, performing an impressive no-hands blowjob as she slowly put more and more of your length in her mouth, reaching closer to a third of it as she sensually moved her body while sucking your cock, making her belly chain produce a rattling sound that turned you on even further.

Winter deepthroated your cock for the first time. "Such a delicious snake," she said once she finished it, switching from her slow-paced blowjob into a fast-paced one coupled with jerking off of your cock while staring at you with her puppy eyes.

Minjeong spat all over your cock as she continued to suck it off, now moving into the side of your shaft, before licking your tip like she was eating ice cream, then diving down to your balls while stroking that anaconda, switching to a little hand massage on your shaft before moving back to a no-hands cocksucking that she finished with an impeccable deepthroat.

"Oh shit," you groaned as Minjeong's deepthroat sent shivers down your spine. She rubbed her hands on your torso as she kept bobbing her head on your cock, giving special attention to the tip and deepthroating your shaft from time to time, making it wetter and wetter with lots of spitting.

Winter got back up and started kissing you again, the tip of your cock rubbing against her navel as your bodies collided with each other. You reached your hands into her pink pussy for the first time, making her let out some soft moans. "I'll let you do anything with me today, I'm all yours, I want you to join this harem," she said.

"Sit down, you're in for a treat tonight," Winter told you as you lay back on the couch. She quickly dove into your balls, ready to start another round of her soft yet amazing blowjob with her beautiful cute mouth, licking your shaft from top to bottom and then making rounds around the tip.

Winter jerks off your cock. "So big, so nice, can't wait to get this ready for my pussy," she says, licking your tip a little more then bobbing her head up and down it, going slowly deeper into it as she keeps spitting on your cock. "Your dick is so nice and big, I've been waiting to have one of these in my mouth for so long," she says as she moves her tongue around your shaft, before teasing it as she rubs your cock around her navel, getting you to throb even more.

"Oh my God," you groan as Winter circles your cock around. "Do you want to get it in my pussy?" she asks. "Oh fuck, definitely," you answer her as she continues to suck it off.

"Let's get it a little bit harder, shall we?" Winter says as she starts stroking your shaft with her beautiful feet. "Fuck, that's such a good massage," you tell her as she quickly moves her toes around your cock, making your tip pop in and out of your foreskin. "Fuck, that feels so good, just keep going, keep stroking that cock," you tell her, Winter smiling as your cock is throbbing red now.

You thrust into Minjeong's feet, making her very excited. "I want you to do this in my pussy," she says, circling her toes around your cock as you move your hips. She then puts her feet on top of your shaft, massaging them hard and pushing you to the edge, her long nails hitting the most sensitive parts of your tip.

"Oh yeah, it seems like this snake is finally big enough for me to sit on it," Winter proclaims as she lets you take your cock into her pussy, sitting on it in on go and bouncing hard on it. "OH YEAH, OH YEAH, OH SHIT," she moans as you impale her pussy hard. "SO GOOD, SO GOOD, YES, YES, AHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHH, OH MY GOD," she screams, pressing her hands on your chest and quickly losing her breath as your big pole shapes the insides of her cunt.

But Winter stays committed, pushing hard even if your cock seems to feel a little too big for her. "AHHH FUCK, I CAN FEEL IT BULGING UNDER MY STOMACH, IT FEELS SO GOOD," Winter says, you two just closing your eyes and enjoying the ride. "YES I LIKE THAT SO MUCH, IT FEELS SO FUCKING GOOD," she continues to moan.

"Oh shit," you groan again as Winter's tight walls squeeze your cock. "You like that tight pussy?" she asks you as she keeps riding your cock, losing her breath as she can feel it right in her tummy. "OH SHIT, YES, LIKE THAT, LIKE THAT," she keeps begging and moaning, fingering her tight pussy and repeatedly opening and closing her legs as she moves all over your cock.

You can't resist and soon start thrusting into Minjeong's tight pink pussy. "OH I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING," she announces as you pump her pussy up. "OH YES BABY, FUCK THAT PUSSY," Winter commands, meeting your thrusts with bounces of her own. "FUCK YOU FEEL SO YUMMY IN MY TUMMY," she moans, feeling your monster bulge once again.

Winter pops your cock out of her pussy and gets herself in a missionary position. "I want you to see you bulging under my stomach, show me how deep your big cock can go inside me," she begs as you grab her left leg up and quickly put your cock back in her pussy. "AHHHHH," she instantly moans, caught by surprise as you attack her cunt at full speed from the start.

"OHHHHH FUCKKKK," Winter moans and grins her teeth as her body bounces hard with your fast thrusts. "You said you wanted it like that, don't complain now," you tell her as you thrust so hard your cock briefly pulls out of her pussy. "Yes, baby, keep going, wreck this tight little pussy," she begs, losing her breath as she speaks.

"AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, YES, YES, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, HARDER, HARDER," Winter begs as you use her body to your pleasure nonstop, your balls clapping hard against her clit as you deliver her some powerful thrusts. "FUCK BABY, OH MY GOD, FUCK ME HARD, AHHHHHH," she screams, sticking her tongue out like a begging puppy as you keep destroying her little pink pussy.

"OH MY GOD, MAKE ME TAKE IT, YES, YES, YES, POUND ME HARD," Winter pegs, you spreading her legs to the fullest and hitting her pussy at every different angle. "Oh fuck," you groan again before resuming destroying her cunt. "AHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," she screams, you teasing her rubbing your shaft in her clit briefly before putting it back inside her.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," Winter screams so loud you're glad you two are in the middle of the desert with no one to hear it, you pushing her legs in the direction of her body and completely dominating me. "THE WAY YOU USE ME IS SO FUCKING GOOD, FUCK" she screams.

"AH YES, FUCKING MAKE ME TAKE IT," Winter screams as you use her pussy so hard you need a little break not to exhaust yourself, diving as you lick her pink hole and tongue her clit hard. "UHHHH YEAH, FUCK, YOU EAT MY PUSSY SO GOOD," she moans as your face gets buried into her entrance, making her legs shake, Minjeong massaging your back while she gets eaten out.

"Spread that asshole for me," you tell Winter, diving next into tonguing her pink anus, giving a couple of licks up into her pussy. "I want you to put your finger in my ass," she begs. You do as she asks, shoving your middle finger up Minjeong's butthole and massaging it.

"Damn it's tighter than your pussy," you tell her. "Yes, I've never been fucked in the ass, but I love the sensation of getting fingered in it, especially with you eating my pussy AHHHHH FUCK," Winter moans as she spreads her legs and lets you please both her holes with your finger and your mouth. "Oh FUCK, IT FEELS LIKE I'M IN HEAVEN," she says as you give her the double stimulation she needs, Winter's flexible body contracting and trembling all over the couch.

Winter gets back on her knees, ready to suck your cock once more. But you have different plans, grabbing her hair and pounding her face as soon as she gets on her knees. "Oh fuck yes," you say, turning Winter's mouth into your free-use fuckhole as you watch her face turn red while your cock bulges under her cute cheeks.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," you groan as you make Winter gag on your cock, not holding back as her face gets plowed. You keep teasing her, slapping your cock in her tummy before going back to make her choke on it. Winter gets back up, hungry for more. "I need it back in my pussy," she begs, lifting one of her legs as she positions herself close to your lap.

Before getting your cock back in Winter's wonderful pussy, you tease it with a little slap in her entrance. Her pussy is so tight you struggle a bit to put it back in, but as soon as you do, you grab her right leg and start thrusting immediately. "OH FUCK," Winter moans as soon as she feels your cock back to shaping her inner walls.

Winter sexily looks in your eye as she wraps one of her hands around your neck, using the other hand to grab a curtain in the room as she tries to cope with your fast thrusts. You reciprocate and grab her neck. "FUCK YES, FUCK THAT LITTLE PUSSY, OH MY GOD I'M GONNA CUM, JUST FUCK ME, JUST FUCK ME PLEASE, I'M GONNA CUM, FUCKKKKK, AHHHHH," she moans loudly as you also finger her pussy.

"OH MY GOD, YES, YES, DON'T STOP," Winter begs as she starts to lose her balance. "AHHHH YES, FUCK, FUCK, OH MY GOD," Winter screams, trying to hold onto your body and the curtain at all costs as she turns into a screaming machine, your cock bulging under her belly more than ever. "OH, OH, OH, OH," she can't stop moaning, her walls taking the shape of your cock at each hard thrust you deliver into her pussy.

"YES, YES, YES, FUCK THAT PUSSY," Winter begs as you massage her clit hard and pushes her legs further upward, fucking her like a man on a mission. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, the more I hit that pussy the tighter it gets," you tell her. "AHHHHH FUCKKKK," she continues to scream.

Winter drops back to the couch as she's so overwhelmed with your poundings she can barely stay on her feet. She positions herself sideways, allowing you to penetrate her pussy in a spooning position. "OH GOD, AHHHHHHH," Winter screams as you quickly go back to clap her cheeks. "OH MY GOD IT'S SO FUCKING BIG," she keeps screaming, you getting crazier and crazier, attacking her pussy like there is no tomorrow and making her lose her breath. "Shit," you groan, still amazed by her pussy's tightness, more so as Winter's cunt starts queefing with your hard thrusts. "That's it, I'm gonna pound that pink pussy until I fucking cum inside it," you tell her.

"Bend over," you command to Winter as she gets on all fours on the couch. "Perfect," you tell her, grabbing her waist as you guide your cock back into her pussy. "Holy shit," you say as her tight hole wraps around your shaft one more time. "FUCK, THAT'S SO BIG," she screams again.

"Bounce on that cock" you tell Winter, letting her move her hips by herself. "Work those hips," you keep telling her as you start giving some slaps to her butt. "Oh yeah slap my ass," she tells you, closing her eyes and moaning as you time your spanking with the movement of her hips, Winter showing you her sexy abilities to move them just like when she was dancing for you moments ago.

"AHHHH FUCK, OH MY GOD YES," Minjeong screams as you grab her hair and spank her ass, she moves her hips the more you spank her, leading you to attempt to tame her with more fast thrusts as Winter keeps getting pounded into oblivion. "OH MY GOD, YOU'RE DESTROYING MY TIGHT LITTLE PUSSY," she screams.

"There you go, that's it, oh fuck," you groan as Winter keeps moving her hips. "OH GODDD," she screams as she works on your cock. "Yes, that's it, fuck, fuck, show me how much you like that big cock, cute little girl," you tell her as Winter switches into longer, deeper moves. "You like that?" she asks you. "Yes, baby, I love it," you answer her.

"Your big cock feels so good stretching my pussy," Winter tells you as she pushes you closer and closer to cumming. "Nice and slow, keep moving like that, I'm gonna cum, oh shit," you tell her. "Then I want you to cum in my yummy tummy," Winter tells you.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," you tell Winter just in time for her to flip herself around, offering you her beautiful belly to get covered in your white seed. "OHHHH SHITTTT," you loudly scream as endless ropes of cum cover Minjeong's midriff, you enjoying the work of art you left as you painted her tummy.

"I'm not done yet," you tell Winter. Your still hard cock finds its way to her pussy one more time. "I'm gonna cover this tight little pussy with cum too," you tell her. "Yes, please, baby, fill me up, AH, AH, AH, AH," Winter begs as you attack her pussy like crazy. "Fuck, Fuck," you groan. "YES, YES, YOU FEEL SO GOOD IN MY TUMMY," she says as your bulging prick pokes under her cum-covered belly.

"Fuck that was quick, I'm gonna cum again," you tell Winter, unleashing a second load in her tight pink pussy. "Holy shit, this was intense," Winter tells you as your cum oozes out of her cunt. "You can sleep here tonight, but make sure my unnies don't see you," she tells you. "Alright," you oblige, Winter indicating a place in the tent where you can hide.

The night passes by and a new day arrives. As you open your eyes, you see Minjeong once again with the snake wrapped around her body, but she's no longer alone. Three more girls surround you. One of them is already jerking your cock off, a tall woman with her big boobs already out in the open, who is also the first to speak.

"Welcome to your harem," she says.

[suguann]

Ex-husband!Gojo who doesn’t understand that the parents (mostly the moms who try to hide behind their giant sunglasses) at Mio’s soccer games talk, and he chooses today to pull you into his lap. Several sideways glances cast your way at how cozy you both must look as you watch your four-year-old daughter run in the wrong direction across the field because she got distracted by a butterfly.

He doesn’t hear what they talk about—aren’t they divorced? I’ve never seen anyone divorced act like that—or (worse) when they try to be subtle about their probing into Satoru’s dating life while you stand there with a stilted smile plastered onto your face. 

(More than likely, he���s listened to every word and doesn’t give it the same amount of thought or care as you do.)

“Gojo,” you hiss, trying to move off his lap to no avail. “I have my own chair.”

“Can you still call me that if it’s your name too?”

A huff. “Go bother somebody else—”

“Shh,” he tells you, tugging you further against his chest. “You’re missing the game. Mio’s finally found her way back onto the field again.”

“But everyone’s staring at us.” You catch the eye of a mother tearing into a pack of fruit snacks.

“So? Let them stare.”

Everyone starts cheering, and you both watch Mio chase the ball down the field, her little body ducking between the taller kids. 

“That’s my girl!” Gojo shouts over the other parents.    

And then Mio kicks the ball into— 

The wrong goal.

“Maybe we should have let her join t-ball,” you whisper, though you both clap as your daughter starts doing not-quite cartwheels in the middle of the field.

Ex-husband!Gojo who still does work around the house every Friday, and to your dismay, shirtless now that the weather is warmer.

The plate in your hands has a few scuffs, half of a cartoon character’s face scrubbed off to oblivion that Mio will have something to say about later. Doing everything to stop from staring out into the yard where he’s mowing the lawn because the window is right there, above the sink, to tempt you.

It’s difficult when his chest glistens with sweat from the early-summer heat and how those stupid gray cotton shorts (that you know he picked out with the sole purpose of torturing you) sit dangerously low on his hips— 

He looks towards the kitchen window, a crooked smile stretching across his lips. The blood rushing to your brain, that must be what makes you give a sudsy wave and cause heat to creep into your middle.

Ex-husband!Gojo who strolls into your room while you’re putting away laundry one afternoon, and unsurprisingly shirtless as he crowds you against the dresser. Front to back. His mouth at your ear.

That steady resolve you pride yourself in crumbles at your feet, and you swallow the tiny, helpless sound working its way up your throat. A slippery thing that slips out. “Satoru…”

“You know, these little shorts were always my favorite,” he tells you, his fingers playing with the elastic waistband.

“Were they?”

“Don’t you remember? Couldn’t get them out of the way fast enough.”

Your mouth is dry, something playing in a loop in the back of your brain. Early morning, breakfast cooling on the stove, crumbs stuck to your cheek, these shorts dangling off the leg propped up on the counter—

“Where’s Mio?”

A kiss to your nape, a knowing smile. “Taking a nap.”

Ex-husband!Gojo who works your shorts and underwear off your legs before pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

“Satoru, we—we can’t keep doing this—”

Your words trail off into a moan when he slaps your clit with the leaky tip of his cock, and wet sounds echo in the room.

“Yeah? Go on, baby,” he tells you, slowly splitting you open, stuffing you full, two puzzle pieces slotting perfectly into place like it should be (how it’s always been). “Tell me some more why we can’t keep doing this.” 

You can’t, not with how he’s filling you up in the way only he knows how. Not when he hooks two thick fingers into your mouth because you’re getting too loud, pinning you against the bed with your cheek buried into your pillow, every sound choking into nothing.

You wriggle underneath him, fingers clawing at the comforter and your back arching.

“Christ, look at you,” he growls, leaning over you, teeth bared. “Fucking look at you. You needed this, didn’t you?”

Ex-husband!Gojo who presses what leaks out back inside you with his thumb after he pulls out, wet and sticky circles between your legs until you fall apart again with a soft cry. His thumb is there again, at your entrance, pushing and stopping like a plug, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, “Can’t waste it.” 

And quieter, “Maybe it’ll take.”

(Who knows?

Maybe it will. Worse things have happened.)

Ex-husband!Gojo who stays for dinner for the fourth time that week, and none of the reasons have been because Mio asked if he could. It’s more about the fact that you’ve enjoyed how whole your family feels again, that you can pretend for a moment this is what you do every night.

(How it was probably always going to come back to this.) 

That your wedding ring doesn’t sit in the back of your sock drawer, and his isn’t tucked away in his wallet. That you don’t feel guilty when you think about saying I love you or wishing he’d stay longer—

“Daddy, you gonna lose,” Mio tells Satoru as Mario Kart appears on the screen.

“We’ll see,” he laughs, tugging on one of her pigtails until she’s giggling and swatting his hand away.

You lean back against the couch, watching them with a small smile you share with Satoru over your daughter’s head.

[moonstonejpg]

ours (k.bakugou x reader)

—“your hands are tough, but they are where mine belong in"

sum. bakugou is having a bad week, thankfully his girl is always there to make the bad days a little better cw: a little angst, fluffy ending

i hate hate hate paparazzi!! loosely based off of this and the song ours by taylor swift

It had been a rough week for Katsuki.

First, the hero rankings were announced, and he found himself at #15—not even in the top ten. And he swore it didn't bother him, that the rankings were just a stupid popularity contest. But you saw the way his shoulders slightly slumped in disappointment and the way his fists clenched so hard that the half-moon imprints of his nails in his skin stayed for hours after you had smoothed his fingers out.

It broke your heart to see him like that—and then yesterday he got into a silly fight with Izuku, one that was filmed and taken way out of context by thousands of people on the internet. Which in turn prompted the resurgence of people saying he didn't even deserve to be on the list at all, let alone at #15.

bakugou is mentally unstable lol

i worry about his gf tbh, those anger issues are a huuuge red flag

right?! i hope that poor girl gets out of that

she seems so sweet, he’s probably threatening her or something

It was just one hit after another for him.

And now, as he stares out the window at the crowd of paparazzi with a clenched jaw, the only thought in your mind is how this is strike three. All he wanted to do was take you out for a nice dinner to thank you for being so supportive this week, but he couldn't even do that without a swarm of media leeches waiting outside.

"Kats, we don't have to go. We can just stay here." You say quietly, worried eyes set on his tense shoulders.

"No," he growls, "I'm not letting them ruin this too." He positions himself in front of you before taking a few hesitant steps out the front door of your shared apartment building.

His warm hand envelopes your own, fingers threading through before tugging you behind him, half shielding you with his large body. The flash of the cameras and the noise of the crowd makes your vision blur, but Katsuki is moving fast, fingers tightly gripping your own while his gaze is laser focused on the awaiting black car parked on the other side of the street.

Everything is moving so fast, the shouts of the various reporters melting together around you. But you can't hear a word they say, the sound drowning out any specific words, until—

“Why him?”

And you nearly miss the step below as you freeze. The question has you rearing back as if you'd been hit, your eyes dancing towards the sound of the question. You see him right away, a male reporter who is nearly frothing at the mouth for a reaction. The reporter leans forward, eyeing you hungrily as he waits for an answer. And usually, you wouldn't give them any time of day, the daily harassment towards you and every other pro-hero and their significant other almost daily a good enough reason toignore any of their probing questions. But how could you ignore this?

“Why him?” you parrot back, white-hot anger burning through your body at a rapid rate. You don’t think twice before you’re ripping your wrist out of the blonde's hand and taking angry strides towards the reporter. You're nearly toe-to-toe with the man, and while he is a full head taller than you, he shrinks a bit from the look on your face.

Katsuki comes up beside you, gently tugging at your wrist.

“It’s not worth it.” He says lowly, looking down at you with something like sadness tinged in his eyes. And your heart cracks, picking up on the one thing he isn’t saying but you know he’s thinking.

That he’s not worth it.

And you can’t have that, you can't have Katsuki thinking that he isn’t worth any of this, because he is. He is worth everything, and despite being in each other’s lives for years now, the fact that he still doesn’t see that is devastating.  

Your body begins shaking from a mix of anger and adrenaline as you look at the crowd around you. A slow hush falls over the crowd, as if they are waiting with bated breath to see what you have to say.

“Because he is the kindest human I have ever had the pleasure of knowing; kinder than any of you will ever be. And what has he ever done to you to make you so obsessed with twisting every move he makes, every word he utters into something that makes him look like the bad guy? And for a quick buck? You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” After shooting a glare around the crowd, you keep your chin high as you grab a stunned Katsuki’s hand and drag him towards the car.

You gently push him in, keeping a hand smoothed over the back of your dress as you crawl in after him, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

The car ride to the restaurant is eerily quiet, and as the adrenaline begins to leak out of your body, your brain catches up to what you did. And yeah—they did need to be told off, but you start to wonder if this is something that will get him into trouble.

You weren’t a hero and you didn’t have a lick of media training, why did you think causing a scene would be a good idea? The thoughts spiral in, and you want to bury your face in your hands as dread slithers its way into your stomach.

When you get inside the building, you are ushered towards the back of the restaurant by the host, presumably to where your table is located. But before you round the corner, Katsuki is tugging you into a dimly lit closet, fingers making quick work of the lock. Even after the door is bolted shut, he stands and faces it, as you just watch the outline of the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders.

“Kats?” You say quietly, a hand hovering over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I just—”

He shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh pushing its way out of his mouth.  

“No, you—” He shakes his head again, then turns around to face you, his body crowding you up against the wall. His eyes are dark, twinkling with emotions you can’t place. Both of his hands come up to gently cradle your face, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?”

You blink up at him, confused.

“Not only was that the hottest thing I have ever seen, but—well, that was the first time anyone has stuck up for me before.”

“I would do it again—anything for you really. You’re worth it. And I know that’s hard for you to believe, but you are. They can say whatever they want, but I know in my heart that I do not deserve you, and that you ” You say quietly, eyes locked on his. He smiles, eyes shining, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” He whispers in the dark of the room, thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“I love you Kats.”

“I love you too. Now, how about we ditch this place?” He asks, leaning back to tug at his tie, before bending forward to loop it around your neck. “I think that new ice cream parlor is open. So, sundaes on me?”

You nod, a giggle escaping when he bends down and tugs the ends of the tie, your body falling into him. He lets out a gentle laugh, the sound like a gentle breeze on a hot day. It has your smile stretching across your face, your heart singing in response.

He reaches down to unlock the door, but when he flicks the lock back, nothing happens. Katsuki tries again, but again, nothing happens. It doesn’t budge, not the second time he tries or the fifth, or even the tenth time he tries. On the eleventh try his hand slips from the lock, his eyes colliding with yours.

It’s silent for a few seconds, and then a laugh bursts out of him, followed by another and another. The sound has the grin staying locked in place on your face, relief flowing through you at the change in his mood.

“We—we’re stuck.” He gasps out, hands falling on his knees as he hunches over, deep laughs spilling out of him. It isn’t long before you are on the floor next to him, trying to catch your breath around your own laughter.

[mrs-stans]

How Sebastian Stan Survived Communism and Became Hollywood’s Most Daring Shape-Shifter

So you need somebody who can play the Winter Soldier, Trump, and Tommy Lee? We’ve got the guy.

Sebastian Stan, who can currently be seen in Marvel’s Thunderbolts*, photographed in February in Palmdale, California. Jacket by Prada; vintage T-shirt from Stock Vintage.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

The sun is going down fast, and Sebastian Stan is trying to get inside a locked Romanian church. This windblown Monday in late February would have been his late father’s 70th birthday, and before the day is gone, he is determined to light a candle and say a prayer in the old man’s memory at a place that had meaning for them both. Stan was born and raised in Romania, where faith and superstition became rooted together for him. “Whenever I’m in a church, I have to go like this three times,” he says, making the sign of the cross with his right hand. “I have to do it. And I have to do it three times before I get on a plane.”

Just before we arrived at this Southern California church in pursuit of the sacred, Stan was indulging the profane. Is there another way to describe an encounter with a remote-controlled talking penis? The actor is based in New York, so when he visits LA, as he’s doing now to attend the Academy Awards, he has a full to-do list. Today, that includes a visit to the makeup studio Autonomous FX, which won an Emmy for transforming Stan and Lily James into Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson for the Hulu series Pam & Tommy. The whole day is a microcosm of what has established Stan as one of the more daring and endearing actors working today. He thinks deeply but has a wild side too.

We’ll get back to the robo-penis later.

Jacket by Dior Men; belt by Artemas Quibble; vintage T-shirt from Stock Vintage; vintage pants from Front General Store.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

It’s getting late, and Stan has to hurry through rush-hour traffic to get right with God for his father’s birthday. The Biserica Ortodoxă Română Sfânta Treime (or Holy Trinity Romanian Orthodox Church) that he wants to visit to light the tribute to his father is meaningful to the Romanian immigrants who founded it, but it’s no soaring cathedral. It’s tiny, a single-story white stucco structure with a squat steeple that’s hidden behind much taller trees. Across the street is the headquarters of the Bilt-Well Roofing company, which is a comparatively much bigger operation.

Stan left Romania more than three decades ago, but it’s still a core part of him. So is the uncertainty of growing up in a place where the government dominated and demoralized its own citizens—which makes him especially attuned to authoritarianism in his adopted country of the United States. His old accent is gone, of course. Few who have seen him onscreen as the Winter Soldier in a decade and a half of Marvel movies—including the upcoming outcast team-up adventure Thunderbolts*—could find a trace of it. Stan’s character of Bucky Barnes is as all-American as his closest friend, Captain America. The character was a Brooklyn native, but Stan took on a neighboring Queens inflection for another famous (or infamous) performance, playing young Donald Trump in the scathing true-life drama The Apprentice. The role earned him both a best-actor Oscar nomination this year and the enduring rage of a vengeful, unchecked president.

Suit by Emporio Armani; shirt by Giorgio Armani; necklace and watch by Cartier. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

New faces and new voices were exactly what drew Stan to acting in high school. He moved to the US in the 1990s, and—as an immigrant kid still struggling to adapt to the language and culture—it was a lot more fun to be Bum Number Two in a production of Little Shop of Horrors than it was to be himself. “I just remember how fun it was to try to change everything,” he says. Being onstage turned a shy kid into a scene-stealing extrovert—and he was good at it. His mother sent him to summer theater camp not far from their new home just outside New York City, and by the end of high school, he was being cast as the lead in Cyrano de Bergerac. He was a good-looking kid, but he still loved hiding his face beneath Cyrano’s oversized nose. “You’re dressing up, you’re putting on fake beards, you’re walking differently, you’re changing,” he tells me. “You take big swings. You take bigger swings than you do when you’re a young actor coming to LA to go on pilot season auditions and they try to cast you as yourself—and you’re only allowed to play yourself.”

“SEBASTIAN HAS ALWAYS BEEN REALLY FEARLESS,” SAYS CHRIS EVANS. “YOU CAN SEE THAT IN HIS CHOICES. HE TAKES BIG SWINGS.”

Stan prefers to push himself to the background. He is not an oversharer. He’ll talk about characters or stunts or the meaning he sees in a particular movie or TV show, but while fans know every detail about the lives of other performers they adore, Stan has built a following while keeping the specifics of his own life somewhat obscure. The pilgrimage to light a candle for his dad is something he would ordinarily have done by himself. But Stan agreed to share something of himself for this story, in defiance of the actorly part of his personality that wishes when you looked at him, you’d see someone else.

He pulls on the handle of Holy Trinity’s main doorway. It doesn’t budge. “Doesn’t look very open,” he says. He’s not ready to give up. He walks around the church’s property and finds an older man sweeping up outside the congregation’s neighboring all-purpose hall.

Stan opens his arms and addresses him with a traditional Romanian greeting of respect: “Sărut mâna…”

I kiss your hand.

Coat by Miu Miu; belt by Artemas Quibble; necklace and watch by Cartier; vintage pants by Carhartt from Front General Store.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

A week later, Stan is wearing a Prada tuxedo. It’s the night of the Academy Awards at the Vanity Fair Oscar Party, and instead of trying to win over a skeptical church janitor, he’s trying to reassure his fellow actors and filmmakers that he is just fine, despite losing best actor to Adrien Brody earlier in the evening. (The VF Oscar Party is off-the-record, but Stan gave us permission to set the scene.) Most well-wishers now come to him with condolences, but he didn’t expect to win, and in some ways he may have avoided a bigger headache.

Trump has made political retribution a hallmark of his new term in the White House, and he was enraged by the sheer fact of The Apprentice’s existence. The movie, written by veteran journalist and Vanity Fair special correspondent Gabriel Sherman, depicts Trump in the 1970s as a needy wannabe mogul, eager to escape the shadow of his powerful father and being taught by Roy Cohn (Jeremy Strong) that underhanded tactics are a shortcut to success. When the movie was released last October, a month before the election, the once and future president unloaded on it via Truth Social, calling it “a cheap, defamatory, and politically disgusting hatchet job,” and adding: “So sad that HUMAN SCUM, like the people involved in this hopefully unsuccessful enterprise, are allowed to say and do whatever they want.”

It’s unlikely that Trump had actually seen the movie at that point, but Stan has little doubt that he’s watched it since. “I would put money down he’s seen it 100 fucking times, of course, because he’s a narcissist,” Stan told me the previous week. “And I bet you there’s certain things he likes about it.” Such as? “How he looked,” Stan replies with a smile.

Pants by Brunello Cucinelli; vintage T-shirt and boots from Stock Vintage. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

He is too modest to say it directly, but he’s more handsome than Trump ever was, even with the prosthetic makeup that thickened the actor’s neck and dental devices called plumpers that pooched out his lips and jowls. Autonomous FX did those makeup effects too, allowing him to look more like the disco-era version of Trump. Capturing him physically, while also surfacing the scared and desperate young man beneath that exterior, is what earned Stan his Oscar nomination. “He loses his humanity. I guess that’s essentially what happens,” Stan said of the movie. “As an actor, all you’re trying to do is just look at these very human things and identify with them.”

That doesn’t mean he wants Trump to put him at the top of his enemies list. Before the Academy Awards, Stan said he was trying not to worry about potential retribution and didn’t think it would happen, unless…“I don’t know, maybe if I win the Oscar, which is like 0.0000 percent.”

“HE’S WILLING TO PLAY UNLIKABLE CHARACTERS,” SAYS JESSICA CHASTAIN. “HE’S NOT HAPPY TO JUST BE A CONVENTIONAL MOVIE STAR.”

So yes, he’s feeling fine at the party. He took with him other honors from the backslapping season, like when Jane Fonda name-dropped him while accepting a lifetime achievement award at the Screen Actors Guild Awards. “While you may hate the behavior of your character, you have to understand and empathize with the traumatized person you’re playing. Thinking of Sebastian Stan in The Apprentice,” she said.

Stan said her shout-out was “maybe better than winning an Oscar.” “I wasn’t at the SAG Awards,” he continued. “I wasn’t nominated. I didn’t go. But somebody told me to turn on the TV because Jane Fonda mentioned my name. I would never have thought in my life that she would know who I am.”

Jacket by Prada; vintage T-shirt and boots from Stock Vintage; pants by Prada; belt by Artemas Quibble; necklace and watch by Cartier. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

Then there was the actual trophy he won, a Golden Globe for best actor in a musical or comedy, bestowed on him not for The Apprentice but for A Different Man, in which he plays a man with a disfiguring genetic condition who undergoes a radical medical procedure to look more “normal.” The back-to-back recognition caught the attention of Hollywood’s power brokers, including Marvel Studios president Kevin Feige, who has been working with him for nearly 15 years now. “To see him winning a Golden Globe for one movie and then being nominated for an Academy Award for another movie in the same year is pretty darn impressive,” Feige says.

The Golden Globe win stirred unexpected emotions in Stan. “You never really think that you’re going to be up there,” he’s told me. “I realized from that Golden Globe moment that when it happens, it’s massive. You can’t help but reflect on everything and everyone that contributed to you getting there.”

One of them is Annabelle Wallis, Stan’s partner of several years. The couple had kept their relationship private before the Globes, when she accompanied him and got an “I love you” callout from him on the stage. Wallis joined Stan at the Oscars as well, wearing a forget-me-not blue Grecian-style gown, and he introduces her happily to me at the Oscar party. (She has heard all about our adventure trying to get into the Romanian church.) Wallis is an actor herself, best known for The Tudors and Peaky Blinders, but their relationship is not something either of them discusses. “I feel like it’s really difficult nowadays to be able to have any privacy whatsoever,” he said. “It’s the one part of my life that I try to keep somewhat for myself, even though it sort of ends up being out there.”

Stan gets that protective streak from another person who helped him get where he is—his mother, Georgeta Orlovschi, who also accompanied him to the Oscars. She raised him for many years as a single mom after she split from his father when Stan was young. “They were both very strong individuals with very strong personalities,” he says. “Neither wanted to be justified by the other. I think they both had a rebellious spirit.”

Hat by Nick Fouquet; necklace by Cartier.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

His father later disappeared completely, going into exile in the States. Constantin Stan was a cargo-ship worker who helped fellow countrymen evade government persecution that pervaded Romania in the decades after World War II. “He was a bit of a hero in my town,” Stan says. “My parents were part of the youth that were standing up to Communism. My father was helping people escape the country illegally, to the point where he was a wanted man. And he himself had to flee.”

Stan grew up not really knowing the man everyone else knew by the nickname “Tino,” apart from occasional telephone calls. But if his dad could vanish, it seemed plausible that his mother might too. Then one day she did.

Stan was about eight years old when his mother fled Romania to set up a new life for them abroad. Throughout his childhood, government mismanagement and corruption had led to food scarcity, fuel shortages, and electricity blackouts. The eventual revolution culminated in the downfall and execution of dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu in 1989. “I watched him get shot on television,” Stan says. “I remember that.”

The aftermath wasn’t necessarily better. “It was chaos,” Stan says, noting “how many orphaned kids were in Bucharest after the revolution because everybody didn’t have money. Nobody knew how to live. They’d been so suppressed.” He spent a year with his grandparents before joining his mother in Austria. “She came and got me when she finally had a job and established herself enough there in Vienna,” he says.

Sweater by Loro Piana; pants by Schott NYC; necklace and watch by Cartier; vintage tank top from Stock Vintage.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

The anxiety he felt about losing her continued even after they were reunited. “She was working. She was playing piano at night when she could, and then she was teaching piano all day long. So at 9 or 10 years old, I was taking the trolley to school myself. I was taking the subway back myself,” Stan recalls. “Then I was coming home and I was alone, and I would have to make myself food and I’d do my homework and I’d wait for her to come home. That was a lot of alone time for a kid in a foreign country.”

He learned independence, but it scarred him too. “I remember waiting for her to get home and worrying: What if she doesn’t come home? I can see how that’s worked against me in certain ways and how it’s totally benefited me in other ways. You have a lot of time with your imagination when you’re a kid like that alone. So I feel I’m very good at using my imagination to believe certain things, which helps me in a way. But then there are times where I’m feeling a degree of uncertainty and lack of control over my life that can be paralyzing.”

“MY PARENTS WERE PART OF THE YOUTH STANDING UP TO COMMUNISM,” HE SAYS OF HIS ROMANIAN CHILDHOOD. “MY FATHER WAS HELPING PEOPLE ESCAPE THE COUNTRY ILLEGALLY—TO THE POINT HE HIMSELF HAD TO FLEE.”

Stan was around 12 when his mother began dating a man named Anthony Fruhauf, who was the headmaster of a small private high school in central New York. When they got married, Stan’s mother made plans to move with her son once again, this time to the United States. “He was really kind. My stepdad was a real influence in a good way,” Stan says. “In those early years in America, speaking English with him at home I think probably led to how I lost my accent.” He was all right seeing it go. He wanted to belong.

All this surfaced when Stan was onstage accepting his Golden Globe. “This is for my mom who left Romania in search of a better life, and for my stepfather, Tony, who took on a single mom and a grown-up kid,” he said, hoisting his award as his voice broke. Pointing heavenward, he added: “Thank you for being a real man.”

Coat by Bottega Veneta; belt by Artemas Quibble; necklace and watch by Cartier; vintage T-shirt from Stock Vintage; vintage pants from Front General Store. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

Despite craving stability, Stan learned the value of taking chances, which has earned him a daredevil reputation among his actor friends. “Sebastian has always been really fearless,” says Chris Evans, who first appeared opposite Stan in 2011’s Captain America: The First Avenger and costarred with him repeatedly as the Marvel Cinematic Universe expanded. “You can see that in his choices. He takes big swings. When that Trump movie was kicking around, I remember thinking, I wonder who is going to take this job? It’s just got so many strings attached to it. And I was so unsurprised when I heard it was Sebastian.”

The devil on Stan’s shoulder urging him forward was Jessica Chastain, who became a close friend after they worked together on 2015’s The Martian and later the 2022 spy thriller The 355. “When we were on set for The 355, that’s when he first told me he had had the offer to play Donald Trump. A thing about Sebastian that people might not realize is he’s very, very thoughtful, almost to a point where he overthinks things. It could cause a little bit of stress. He was like, ‘Well, what do you think? What would you do?’ I said, ‘Do it.’ I was like, ‘What do you have to lose? Take a risk.’ As long as it doesn’t cause you physical danger, if something scares you—do it.”

Chastain saw Stan do that very thing in 2017’s I, Tonya, in which he played Tonya Harding’s then husband, who hatched the scheme to sabotage her rival, Nancy Kerrigan. “When so many people are trying to make you this conventional movie star, it’s a risk to do something that isn’t that,” Chastain says. “He’s willing to play unlikable characters. I find that executives have trouble with characters that may be complex and have dark sides to them. He really embraces that. He’s not happy to just be a conventional movie star.”

Coat by Loewe. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

Marvel Studios was looking for a dark side when they were casting the role of Bucky Barnes in the first Captain America movie in 2010. Stan was a relative unknown, though he’d had a recurring role on Gossip Girl as a pathological liar of a rich kid. “You could see that he has so much inside him and so much behind his eyes. I’ll never forget that,” Feige says. “I said to Stephen Broussard, who was one of the producers on Captain America, ‘He’s going to be a good Bucky, but he’s going to be a great Winter Soldier.’ ”

Bucky evolves into that villainous alter ego in subsequent MCU stories, going from fearless soldier to shell-shocked prisoner of war and, eventually, mind-controlled assassin who struggles to break his programming and redeem himself. Getting the part was beyond game-changing for the actor. “I was actually struggling with work,” Stan says. “I had just gotten off the phone with my business manager, who told me I was saved by $65,000 that came in residuals from Hot Tub Time Machine.” He’d played the smarmy bully in that comedy a year before. Now it was his salvation.

Since then, the Winter Soldier has become one of the most beloved and relatable characters in the MCU, even though his story is far from the traditional everyman narrative. Bucky resonates because he’s damaged goods—the patron saint of fuckups struggling to do right. The arc culminates in his new lead role in Thunderbolts*, with Bucky leading a team of former troublemakers and outcasts. Feige says that, without Stan, the character’s strange journey wouldn’t have been the emotional gut punch it is.

After lunch, Stan goes to his appointment at Autonomous FX. The headquarters is tucked near an ice warehouse and a scrapyard in an industrial neighborhood of Van Nuys. Stan is trying on a pair of fake teeth that slip over his perfect pearly whites. The goal is to give him a more regular-guy look for Fjord, the movie he’s shooting in Norway with filmmaker Cristian Mungiu, a fellow native of Romania.

There’s a story behind these teeth—dating back to before Stan got braces as an adult. “When I got Invisalign, I was so obsessed with them,” he says. “The more you wear them, the faster they work. So I actually wore them at the fucking Captain America: The Winter Soldier premiere. I have them in and I’m smiling with them and people can tell. I was self-conscious because my teeth were always a little….” He splays his fingers into crooked angles.

The prosthetic teeth are modeled on Stan’s own before he fixed them. Stan has another blast from his past waiting for him too. After the fitting, Jason Collins, the founder and lead creative force behind Autonomous FX, takes Stan through the workshops, where sculptors are making limbs, bodies, and demonic babies. On the shelves, busts of other actors like Christian Bale and Annette Bening, used for previous projects, stare down with vacant eyes.

Collins and his company essentially provide the level-up version of the fake beards and noses that Stan first loved about acting in high school—except occasionally X-rated. As part of this nostalgia trip, Collins brings out a plastic tub with the remains of the robotic erection from Pam & Tommy. The latex has dried out and decayed away. This penis “character” was voiced by Jason Mantzoukas and had strong opinions about the Mötley Crüe drummer’s romance with the Baywatch star. It was a risky creative choice by the showrunners but added levity to the series and was inspired by Lee’s own autobiography, in which he banters philosophically with his sex organ.

The makeup team and the actor forged a bond along the way. “It really becomes a partnership,” Collins says. “We stare at him for weeks and months at a time. So we know the physical structure. We know what the span of his legs is and all that other stuff.”

“You get to know the actor very well,” says Stan. Their earliest meeting involved figuring out how to fit a prosthetic over his actual privates and snake cables for the controls down his backside. “When I first came here, they made a replica to work on. So they had to cast this,” Stan says, gesturing to his crotch. “I remember you’re like, ’All right buddy, well, I guess it’s good to meet you.’”

Jacket by Bottega Veneta; vintage T-shirt and boots from Stock Vintage; belt by Artemas Quibble; necklace and watch by Cartier. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

After the makeup shop, Stan heads for the last stop of the day, the Orthodox church. After a persuasive conversation in Romanian, the custodian agrees to unlock the chapel for him. “Vezi ca pana,” Stan says. You’ll see it’s only for a moment.

As the doors swing open, the faces of saints stare down at us from rows of miniature shrines, not unlike the busts of the famous actors in the prosthetics lab. Both places represent things Stan believes in—the ability to transform into something new and a yearning to connect with something beyond yourself.

Stan doesn’t claim to be especially religious, but the Holy Trinity chapel takes him back to that fearful time living under Communist dictatorship, when he put his faith in higher powers and prayed for the best. “We would go to church a lot when I was little,” he says. “It’s still tied into certain things for me, because I felt such a degree of powerlessness over decisions being made early on.”

STAN IS NOT AN OVERSHARER. BUT HE AGREED TO SHARE SOMETHING OF HIMSELF HERE, IN DEFIANCE OF THE ACTORLY PART OF HIM THAT WISHES WHEN YOU LOOKED AT HIM, YOU’D SEE SOMEONE ELSE.

Stan and the man he wants to commemorate with a candle were estranged for years. He and his father finally reconnected when Stan was around 18 and began visiting Los Angeles for auditions. The New York kid would save money by staying with his father, who had settled in the San Fernando Valley (not far from the makeup shop, actually) and worked, once again, in shipping. The periodic visits brought them closer, and the relationship stayed tight until his dad died unexpectedly from COVID on a trip back to Romania in 2021.

Stan sometimes thinks his father’s story might make a good movie. In Romania, Tino was legendary for sneaking contraband Western goods like blue jeans and bananas into the country while smuggling dissidents out aboard the same vessels. “He worked hard and he loved America and he believed in being free,” Stan says. “I have always made the argument that immigrants to some extent are more patriotic than even the people that are born here because they don’t take things for granted. At least that’s what I saw in my father.”

The janitor guides us to the back of the church, where there’s a small side room with a votive stand arrayed with unlit candles.

“Can you give me one second? I’ll be right back,” Stan says.

He disappears into the shadowy alcove and strikes a light.

Later, driving away from the chapel, Stan tries to explain why he felt so compelled to go there. “I think it’s just the acknowledgment of how fragile we all are. Sometimes you go somewhere where it’s really not about you. It’s a moment to let go. Turn off for a while,” he says. “You don’t have to be anything in there. You don’t have to think any which way.”

Jacket by Balenciaga; belt by Artemas Quibble; vintage T-shirt from Stock Vintage; vintage pants by Carhartt from Front General Store. Throughout: hair products by Rōz; grooming products by Tom Ford Beauty.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

He says something similar via text two weeks later, when he’s in Norway, starting work on his new role in Fjord—with his new teeth that resemble his old teeth.

“The feeling is always the same. Like it’s the first time,” Stan writes. “It’s always a mix of fear and hope. It’s losing yourself. It’s a free fall. Every time.”

[science-hoes]

I neeeeeeed your prone bone thots on everyone

Prone bone thots for Charlie Reid, Pope Cody, Jack Abbot, and Michael Robinavitch. Here we gooooooo

Charlie is a fan of prone bone because it’s the best position for breath play. He’ll be buried deep inside you with a large hand around your throat. His thumb will compress against your trachea, and he can hear your staggered breaths until there aren’t any. He can perfectly time when you need to breathe again without hurting you. “Come on, baby girl, breathe for Daddy.” He’ll come in you that way, too, a hand gripping your hair and his fingers nearly leaving marks on your throat. “You want me to fill you up? Yeah? Think you deserve it?” You’ll come before he does, he makes sure of that, but the position leaves you feeling so full and cock drunk, leaving a drooling mess on the comforter of his bed.

Pope likes prone bone because it’s the closest he can be to you, closer than missionary. He keeps his forehead pressed against your temple, rutting viciously, making the bed rock with every snap of his hips. His sweet whimpers are right in your ear, and that gets you off more than anything. “I feel you. You’re almost there.” He’ll speed up, never slipping out too far, just enough to slam back into you with a bruising force. “Need to feel you come.” He needs to know he made you feel good, and of course you feel good. It’s apparent by how hard your walls convulse around his thick cock, springing him into his own release.

Jack actually prefers prone bone, especially after a long shift. He doesn’t wear his prosthesis any longer than he has to or else he could end up with chaffing, blisters, etc. But sometimes he still ends up with chaffing on his kneecap from the metal or prosthesis sleeve, so being on his knees is incredibly painful. Enter prone bone. He can lay on top of you and treat you like the queen you are. “So fucking good for me, baby doll.” He’ll kiss your neck, your shoulder blades, your ears, all while railing you into next week. The fat tip of his cock is slamming into that spongy spot inside you, and you can only see stars. “That’s right, give it to me.” You’ll come harder than any other position, especially as he continues to thrust until he reaches his own climax.

Robby loves prone bone. He’s so much taller than you that he has no issue keeping your back snug against his chest, his head tilted down so he can whisper sweet nothings into your ear while his hips piston into you, pressing wet kisses against your lips every now and then. “So good for me, kid.” With that height also comes length, and he has never slipped out of your pussy in that position, it would be nearly impossible. “Is it too much? Need a second?” He hits your G-spot over and over, and you’re a whimpering mess under him. Usually, you need clit stimulation to come, but not with him in this position. He gets you there, and he gets you there fast. It’s also the position that you conceive your first child in.

[luveline]

YES to luna lovegood/dreamy!reader!!!!!!!!! Can we possibly get one with Spencer? <3

“It’s not as bad as you think.” 

Hotch appreciates the softness of your voice, as someone who also speaks in a very measured tone, but the sound of it has his brow furrowing. You’re a brilliant analyst, and a worse distraction whenever you’re in the main office. 

“It sounds terrible?” 

Hotch peers through the window to get a good look at the scene. You’re sitting in Spencer’s desk chair with your hands stretched out in front of you. Your outfit is very pink, considering the occasion, but it’s a non-abrasive light pink that flatters your skin. You have a clip in your hair, a small silver star with pink jewels embedded along the lines. 

Emily sips at a cup of coffee, leaning against the desk, her face to the side. Hotch can see her perturbed smile. 

“It’s fine! I’ve just been sleeping on the sofa.” 

“Well. That’s a call to pest control.” 

Spencer returns to his desk with a frown and two mugs. “Pest control?” he asks, the mug he places in front of you steaming. 

“There’s a raccoon living in her bedroom.” 

Spencer burns himself on his coffee, swearing as he puts it down hurriedly beside yours. “There’s a what?” Spencer asks. 

“He’s friendly. He came in through my vent.” 

“So friendly he’s stolen your bedroom?” 

You lean back in Spencer’s chair like it’s a La-Z-Boy, blowing at the hot surface of your drink with a similar lazy smile. “Imagine being that little and having such a big bed? When you usually sleep in the garbage?” You give a breathy laugh. “He must be having the time of his life.” 

“How are you getting ready in the mornings?” Spencer asks worriedly. 

“We’re cohabiting.” 

Spencer licks his lips. He likes you, and you seem aware of that fact, and that’s nerve-wracking for everyone involved. 

“Um, maybe we can make him a house? Like, outside? Raccoons are far happier in their natural habitat, and they’re also, you know, highly diseased and contagious compared to humans. I really don’t think you should let him inside.” 

“Spencer,” you say, giving him a dozy grin, “I didn’t let him in. He knows how to get in all by himself.” 

“I’ll call a repairman, too,” Emily says with a groan. 

She walks away, probably to find JJ and get her in on the repairs. Spencer looks at you for a long time, just drinking your tea, and Hotch mentally goads him into making a semblance of a move. Even if it’s just to fix your drooping hair clip. 

“You’re looking at me strangely again,” you say. 

Winces all around. “Am I?” Spencer asks. 

“Yes. Is this about Thursday?” 

“No.” Spencer swallows. “Yes. You didn’t answer my texts, after. I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

“What I’m thinking?” 

“Yeah. I thought about it a lot, so maybe you did too. Or maybe you didn’t, and it didn’t mean anything.” 

“Of course it meant something, Spencer.” You put down your mug, dusting your knees off before you stand. Spencer is not much taller than you where you’re standing in front of him, but you look up at him anyways. Your face tips ever so slightly to one side. “Would you want to do it again?” you ask softly. 

Spencer looks around the office. He neglects to check Hotch’s window, perhaps because the blinds are more often drawn than not, and so he doesn’t realise Hotch is watching as he draws you in for a kiss. 

You preen and lean back, hands fighting to cup his cheeks, a gauzy, practically gleaming aura around you as you smile into his mouth. Your fingertips tease his hair, and Spencer’s hand settles in place against the small of your back. You kiss back for only a few seconds before you’re laughing.

Spencer moves away quickly, taking your wrists into his hands to pull them away from his face. 

“You give up too fast,” you say. 

“I don’t think this is the place for it.” 

“Well, we can’t do it at my place. What if the raccoon sees?” 

“Good point. How about Marina’s, would that be better? We can get dinner at the same time.” 

Hotch feels oddly proud of Spencer’s suave suggestion, but he also has a migraine brewing between his brows. He really doesn’t need the extra paperwork. 

[binmeister]

Vocally incompatible

Jinu & Rumi x Producer! Reader - Scenario

Where you have to step in and guide a couple of squabbling idols on how to sing with chemistry.

CW: Kinda fluff, both of them are crushing on you highkey, RuJinu are more platonic sibling rivalry in this AU - not proofread

OST - Everytime - CHEN, Punch (listen if you haven’t please see the vision I beg)

Were you in hell? You had to be. Of course working in any form of creative media sucks but it is actually kind of insane what you’ve been put through for the last 3 hours of recording session 2 of 3. Jinu and Rumi, two extremely vocally talented idols and leaders of their respective groups could sing their way out of anything. But apparently had less chemistry than you personally did with a toaster and a bath tub filled to the brim with water.

How could this happen? You envisioned such a beautiful harmony from the two of them, surely they could harmonise off eachother with Rumi’s richer tone and Jinu’s heavenly high notes but it was like oil and water in a hot skillet - both trying to overpower the other and just completely unable to sync up and get their shit together. You were rested against the vast audio equipment in front of you, elbows on the very edge of the table with your head in your hands as the duo in the booth had both stopped to take a water break. You felt like you were at your wits end, there’s no way they couldn’t get their shit together right?

The track you envisioned their voices on was supposed to be a romantic and charming song, they didn’t even need to harmonise that much with Jinu taking up the masc. vocal lines they only needed to harmonise at the last chorus but it was like they were fighting each other with their singing voices. Was it too much to ask of them? You heard the booth door click open and the two had walked back into the main studio with you, Rumi grumbling a little to herself as she gave Jinu the stank eye. You couldn’t see it but Jinu had stuck his tongue out at her, and her jaw dropped as she raised a hand to swat at him but before she could he side stepped her and made a noise which finally got you to raise your head to look at them - Rumi tried to play it cool, pretending to stretch with her raised hand and not show that she was mid-assault on the taller male. 

“Guys I just.. what is going on?” You finally spoke, your voice drained as you eyed them both in genuine confusion and maybe even a little concern. You expected things to be bumpy but you’re nearly about to waste a whole second session of unusable audio because no matter how much you attempted to guide them with words alone the two just.. couldn’t synergise. They both pointed to each other immediately, voices layered on top of each other as they made immature jabs at the other party.

“It’s him, he’s just going too high too fast.” “Me? You’re trying to sing my line!” “YOUR line? This is a duet.” “Oh so now it’s ours?”

They shut up as soon as they felt your deadpan stare on them, a wry smile on your face as you drooped in your chair. “So you guys hit it off when fighting but you can’t sing together?”

You thought it over for a little before sighing, maybe you should’ve done this from the start but you expected them to do better than what they did and admittedly you felt a little childish - surely you didn’t need to step in and record the demo because Rumi was usually fine but if you really have to... You stood up, gesturing for Rumi to take a seat in your place and then motioning for Jinu to follow you into the audio booth - handing him a pair of headphones as you took up the other pair and stood in front of the mic.

“You’re gonna sing with me, and you’re gonna imagine I’m the love of your life.” You said blankly, voice calm as you pointed at Jinu accusingly. “We’re gonna pretend we’re in a slow burn drama, you’ve finally realised you fell for me and are gonna imagine what it feels like when you look at me and all you can think is mushy gushy feelings.”

“We’ll do the first chorus and your first verse, then I’ll do the same with Rumi.” You finished, eyes on him waiting for him to at least do something to acknowledge he heard you.

The tips of Jinu’s ears were hot, he stammered a bit and nodded obediently and had to resist the urge to bite his lip. Did you catch it? How’d you know that he started to think you were cute. He didn’t have time to think as you gestured for Rumi to play the sound track, the clicks of the starting beats in his ears as he looked away from you to look at the music sheet in front of him so he could follow along with the lyrics.

“Oh every time I see you, geudae nuneul bol ttaemyeon...” You sang into the mic - your tone breathy and Jinu felt tingles at the back of his neck as he dared to let himself look at you, eyes closed as you sang and you looked. Breathtaking. He finally broke his gaze, looking ahead and catching Rumi’s expression and she was no better than him. Dreamy expression on her face as she looked at you like you lit the stars in the sky as she subtly swayed to the opening notes of the song and your voice.

“..shipeun dan han saram.” You continued on, he heard the beats signalling that he needed to harmonise soon on the shared adlibs and he let himself steal a last glance at your serene expression as your brows scrunched slightly as you gently laced the lyrics with emotion. Like you were the one that had fallen in love with someone and wanted to tell them through this song. that they meant the world to you. That maybe.. he meant the world to you.

“Baby oh oh oh oh..” His voice melted together with yours, like you two had been singing together for centuries and he could feel the butterflies in his stomach and how his chest felt a little lighter as he continued harmonising with you. Then finally it was his solo line, you had leant back away from the mic - eyes barely open as you nodded along to the song and listened to how he handled his voice and how he finally put some feeling into his words. A smile ghosted your lips and he had to resist the need to smile as he sang but he continued.

Yeah. He gets it now.

“Oh every time I see you, geudae nuneul bol ttaemyeon...” He sang out, eyes looking at the glint of your eyes and he finally understood the lyrics a little better. It felt more natural like this, with you. With Rumi it felt like the two were siblings being forced to be nice to each other and honestly, he couldn’t resist messing with her because of it. In that endearing older sibling way where they’re genetically programmed to mess with the younger one. 

It was maybe a minute more of him singing, his voice finally having that sweetness and yearning that you were in need of for this track and you couldn’t help it you were giddy. He was nearly done with his verse and on the last line you looked up, eyes meeting his and he choked on his last word before looking away to break your gaze. You didn’t catch it right? The fact that he was staring at you the entire time as he sang, as the past months of working with you played in his head - the small gestures, the banter, just everything played in his head like a movie and he rubbed the nape of his neck as you clapped for him.

“Yes! Yes this is exactly what I wanted, great job Jinu.” You cheered gleefully as you gestured for Rumi to stop the track, she looked surprised with what she heard. Jinu was capable of singing with emotion? No way. He’s just a stinky demon.. a stinky pretty demon but like, he’s still gross. Though she had to admit you guys sounded.. amazing together. Like you were confessing to each other in the snippet that was recorded and she felt a tinge of jealousy at that, she’s known you longer after all! Surely it’s just business. Jinu laughed you off, bashful as he gave an awkward tiny bow to you before he responded.

“The scenario you said to imagine, just kinda worked I guess?” He offered up as an explanation but you didn’t look into it too much, hands lightly clapping at his work before you instructed him and Rumi to swap places. As they brushed by each other Rumi couldn’t help it, she had to make a jab at him.

“Do you know what button to press orrrr.. are you gonna wing it?” It was childish, she had a smug smile on her face as he paused briefly before they both gave each other the stank eye and she entered the booth - taking up Jinu’s previous position as you bounced slightly on your feet in joy. Finally things are shaping up! Jinu sat down in the office chair in front of the audio equipment, staring blankly at all the shiny lit up buttons and dials and- okay yeah he has no clue what he’s supposed to press. 

Slowly he looked up, Rumi met his eye first and she had the same smug smile on her face as before like she just knew he had no clue what was going on and you? When he caught your eye you just smiled at him, walking up to the glass and trying to point out which buttons he needs to press and trying to talk loud enough through the muffling glass for him to understand that he shouldn’t press them until you give him a signal. He could do that much. Hopefully.

You stepped back up to the mic, turning to Rumi and beginning to give her the same breakdown you gave Jinu but instead you’d be singing Jinu’s lines instead and then you would harmonise on the bridge together.

“Rumi, I know you well enough that you’ve never thought about holding hands with someone before. I need you to just, pretend, that you finally found the love of your life okay?” It was a very, very poorly worded peptalk and she was shocked. “I too have thought about that!” Rumi said in protest, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment and she could just feel Jinu’s dumb smile as he heard everything through the mics.

“Okay okay, alright then.. imagine we’ve been arguing for weeks and then something clicks and you just, start seeing me in a different light hm? Just picture me as someone that you fell for.” You teased, your tone softer with her as you smiled at her before gesturing for Jinu to start up the song at a different part. You winced when he hit the wrong button, a screech playing in both you and Rumi’s headphones that made the other girl groan and mutter about his incompetence but you heard the muffled sorry from him as he corrected his mistake and finally the song started back up right near his chorus would end.

“Nal tteonaji marayo..” You sang out, no hesitance as you picked up the song from right after the chorus with ease. Rumi couldn’t help but look at you with an adoring gaze, she loved hearing you sing and.. you were just in your element when you were in the booth or when you were busy slaving away at mixing tracks. Like your own graceful kind of science. There was a yearning in your voice that tugged at her heart, a bittersweet touch to the words that left your lips and she really felt like you were saying these to her. A confession between the two of you.

“Nal mitgo gidaryeojullaeyo.” You continued and she let herself harmonise with you, emotion slipping into the lyrics as she let your voices mix together finally. No battle, no too much or too little on either of your voices. She perfectly melded in with yours like you were meant to sing this track together. She hit the high note beautifully, tastefully even with such ease and precision - strain free and you mentally cheered as you continued on eyes closing as you continued the last few lines with her. The emotion Rumi put into her voice, was natural like she’d been bottling up feelings and finally managed to let them out - a tint of shyness in her words as they left her lips.

“Nae unmyeongijyo. Sesang kkeuchirado.” Your voices continued together, Rumi ending the shared harmony with a softer touch and leaning away from the mic and continued to admire you as you sang out the last line that you wanted to show them. Jinu was stunned. He knew Rumi could sing, he knew you could sing but it was like he was listening to an intimate confession between two soulmates.. which made him feel a twinge of jealousy but he couldn’t deny that you both sounded heavenly together.

“Jigyeojugo shipeun neo,” You finished, letting the music play and holding up a hand to show Rumi not to continue on as you opened your eyes and stepped back. You motioned for Jinu to stop the track and he did, and you felt the tension leave your shoulders as you quietly cheered - the joy in your body leading you to bounce a little in joy as you fought the urge to let out a hoot of victory.

“Yes! YES! This is great, awesome, I just need you two do the exact same thing let’s get Jinu back in here.” You spoke quickly as you took the headphones off your head, haphazardly throwing them on the studio mic and rushed out of the booth. You spun Jinu, grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his seat in a blink of an eye as you ushered him back into the recording booth so he and Rumi could try that last bridge again together. 

The finally understood what to do!

Rumi and Jinu exchanged glances. This wouldn’t end well. You gleefully gave a thumbs up to them as you started the track from the beginning, full belief in them as they started the song from the beginning again. Both flawlessly sang their solo choruses and Jinu was singing the chorus the exact same way as he did with you - but then it was like a record scratch moment as they immediately started overpowering each other again during the bridge and your smile dropped from your face.

Oh.. it seems you’ll be in here for a third session with them after all.

[poeticpoutk]

𝘋𝘢𝘥!𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦'𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

────── ⋆⋅ 𖤓 ⋅⋆ ──────

He’s sitting at the kitchen counter, still in his work clothes, dress shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, laptop open in front of him with half a dozen tabs up, some boring contract for a property redevelopment proposal. The house smells like toast and coffee and that lavender soap she always puts on Aspen in the bath. The sun’s pouring in soft through the kitchen windows, and for a second, everything feels still.

And then he hears the little footsteps.

Soft. Fast. Purposeful.

And then Aspen’s voice, right beside him.

“Daddy?”

He looks down to see her, barefoot, cheeks pink from playing, hair half-brushed, wearing one of her sparkly skirts and a t-shirt with a sleepy unicorn on it. Her eyes are serious in that way only little kids can pull off, the kind of seriousness that makes adults laugh without meaning to.

“Hi baby,” he smiles, already reaching down to scoop her up onto his lap. She crawls up like she owns him, because she kind of does. “What’s up?”

She blinks at him for a second. “Daddy,” she says again, like it’s very important. “I need some of your money.”

Rafe pauses, stunned for a beat. “…You what?”

She straightens a little taller in his lap, all business. “I need some money. For my school.”

“You need money?” He tries not to laugh. “What do you need money for, huh?”

“Because…” She draws out the word with a sigh. “Kindy has a lucky book sale. And it’s for a fundraiser. For the kindy. For the children.” She says the last part with this solemn, rehearsed tone that’s clearly something she heard her teacher say.

Rafe bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too wide.

“And they said we can bring our money in a bag. And buy books. Lucky books.”

“Oh, lucky books?” he says, voice full of mock wonder.

“Yes! Like—you don’t know what the books are! They wrap them up. And you buy one, and then it’s a surprise!” Her eyes are wide, sparkling with this magic only four-year-olds can see. “And it’s for the fundraiser,” she adds again, just in case he forgot.

Rafe shifts her in his arms so he can look her straight in the eye. “How much money are we talkin’, Aspen?”

She holds up her little hand and counts her fingers out slowly. “Maybe… three dollars. Or maybe six dollars. Or maybe ten, if I’m lucky.”

“Ten?” he teases, raising his eyebrows. “You trying to buy the whole fundraiser?”

She giggles and buries her face in his chest. “Noooo,” she says. “Just the books!”

Rafe wraps both arms around her and kisses her hair, inhaling that soft baby-lotion-and-toast smell that always clings to her in the mornings. For a second, he just holds her there, all warm and sweet and small in his lap. She’s his littlest. His baby. And this is the first time she’s ever asked him for money in her life. The first time she’s said “I need money” without any idea that her dad could probably buy the whole damn kindy and turn it into a bookstore if she really wanted.

“Alright,” he says, whispering against her temple. “You can have ten dollars. But only if I get a big hug.”

“YAY!” she squeals, throwing her arms around his neck and nearly knocking his laptop off the bench. “THANK YOU DADDY! You’re the best! I’m gonna buy all the lucky books!”

He laughs, pulling her in tighter. “You get one book, munchkin. Maybe two if you share.”

“I’m not,” she says immediately.

He can’t stop smiling. Not even when she scrambles off his lap, dancing across the kitchen with her hair flying, yelling for you to find her a little bag right now.

And when he glances up from his laptop, watching her spin in the sunlight, he just shakes his head with that soft, overwhelmed kind of love.

She has no idea who she is yet.

She has no idea how different her life is.

All she knows is: daddy has money, and lucky books are ten dollars, and the world is bright and magical and safe.

And Rafe?

He’d pay any amount of money in the world to keep it that way just a little longer.

[rafeslvbug]

introducing…. nfl!rafe

back to basics!! (physical)

height: 6”3/6”4, type of man to be considerably taller than you and use it to his advantage

build: 220lbs, biceps the size of your head, inverted triangle, lean yet muscular, elbows and knees always scarred despite wearing pads.

age: mid to late 20s, in the prime of his career (quarterback)

looks!! (specific)

tattoos/piercings: one ear pierced on a drunken night out after winning his first superbowl, tattoos scattered up his arms, important dates (your birthday, marriage, children, first and second superbowl)

signatures: always has his team’s cap, wearing it whichever way, it’s a must. doesn’t like jumpers, hates restriction on his arms, tanks and t-shirts are his go to - even in winter. might see him wearing a quarter zip, but the man’s a walking furnace. doesn’t wear his superbowl ring, has it on a chain around his neck instead.

personality

playful: very unserious with you, his son, his family - on the offseason only. the brief months of relaxation is the softest version of him. building forts. food fights. ball in the backyard.

strategic: does this for a living. how to visit each family member without them getting mad/jealous because he went to someone else first. how to get your son to be as good at football as him. how to get your daughter into sports. what order to do chores for the best outcomes - you don’t even understand half of it. watching tv? game of thrones? best believe he’s plotting how to get the iron throne.

protective: his life is in the spotlight, he’s faced stalkers, and paparazzi, hate crimes and people who would want to hurt his family. he’s always on high alert. he’s a designated full body shield when you guys go out, clutching his son’s hand and arm around you while you shield your daughter’s face from the flashes. even at home, away from anyone, he’s protective. no one says a bad word about you, no one hurts his kids at school, it’s the type of thing that makes his heart rate spike through the roof.

competitive: he won’t stand for sluggish behaviour from his teammates, he needs to win, needs to be the best. sports day hates to see him coming - his son does too. pressure on his son to be good at sports which you have to remind him isn’t everything so he eases back.

active: always training. always working. he can be jokey while on his offseason but that doesn’t mean his physique can lose itself. he’s in his prime, he’ll stay that way. if he’s done his exercise? he’ll fix stuff around the house, clean up, do basic chores and turn it into a sprint race, trying to tick them off the list as fast as he can (competitiveness) and then getting restless again. he’ll even make you go for a walk with him, or swing your daughter around in the backyard, maybe play ball with your son.

likes

energy drinks and protein bars. they’re his staple diet inbetween breaks and he can’t fault them, even if he crashes later on - at least it’ll be after the match.

when you cook for him. packed lunches with little sticky notes that he collects while he’s touring. hearty meals at home, daughter picking out all the carrots and giving it to him and son trying to match his eating pace.

reading bedtime stories to your daughter, and telling your son inspiring stories from his career. mundane stuff normal dads do. he likes feeling normal.

seeing you in the family box. respectful fans who love you as much as they love him. the way you run down to the pitch after a big match or even a loss, supporting him no matter what.

when you wear his jersey as pyjamas, lacy underwear underneath and hair all done like you’re going somewhere important. but you’re really only going into his arms.

dislikes

laziness. men on the pitch who give up because they think they’ve lost. they don’t lose until full time.

you receiving any ounce of disrespect from the media, family or kids. you’ve prioritised his career from the very start, supported him throughout, it’s his turn to prioritise you now.

players who cheat on their wives. it happens all the time, and it disgusts him. loyalty is everything.

family & people-specific hcs

you: met in high school, he didn’t go college to fulfil his dream and you went to uni, but graduated and didn’t work, starting a family with him.

– always tells you to work, encourages you to do what you want but you find it too difficult to do so with kids

– pet names for you: sweetheart/cheeks, gorgeous (flirty) baby, wifey & luck (when he’s got a big game)

– pet names for him: big guy (teasing manner), baby, handsome, ray

son: is a little tough on him, expectations to take care of his sister and respect his momma, but if his son knew how much rafe cried when he was first born.

– plays ball with him in the backyard, nurtured him into sports early on and is ever so proud of him.

– names: little man, son (instead of his name), football (because he carries him like one)

daughter: looks like you and he adores her. he might carry his son like a football and rough handle him, but he carries her like she’s gonna break. she’s three years younger than he brother, two years old.

– plays shop or dress up with her. will always attend her tea parties. takes photos of you and her while you’re baking or the first time she attends a match.

– names: little lady (matching her brother), sweet girl, sweetie

[lily-lovelyy]

What kind of kinks do you think Ghost and Konig would have with the reader?? Maybe reader says something without realizing the effects it has on them hehee?

I think both of them are very kinky 😏 but I'm only doing the ones I think are their most prominent!

(Ghost x fem!reader, Konig x fem!reader)

Warnings: afab reader, primal kink, size kink, belly bulge

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Primal Kink - Considering how ruthless he is out on the field, and how he is during training I'd definitely say he's animalistic during sex.

He's grunting and almost growling at he fucks you hard and fast, making the headboard smash into the cement wall over and over, and the others can definitely hear, the walls are thick, but not that thick.

Most of the others aren't even able to meet his eyes in the morning after he's done fucking you, most of them having heard you two from the hallway.

He definitely leaves bite marks and scratches. And he most definitely will bruise your hips and throat from how hard he holds them (if you prefer him to be that rough anyways).

He is constantly leaving hickeys on your breasts and neck, and you better believe he leaves all kinds of bites on the inside of your thighs.

Konig

Size Kink - Konig isn't dumb, he knows that his height turns you on, and it definitely feeds into his ego and size kink. He loves being taller and bigger than you, and he loves how he can effortlessly swallow your entire body under his large one.

He is always comparing his size to you, and if you get a bulge in your stomach when he fucks you, he's trying to stop from cumming almost immediately. He's moaning and gasping, gripping your hips or thighs in a death grip and grunting your name, and he often tells you how small and cute you look when he fucks you.

[itoshiierae]

omgg i love ur writing so much 😭😭 can you write how the bllk boys will react when theyre jealous??

with isagi (AGHHH HUSBAND), rin, kaiser, nagi, and ur favss?

how the bllk boys will react when they get jealous

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, michael kaiser, nagi seishiro, sae itoshi, otoya eita

ᡣ𐭩 notes: hii!! and thank you 🥹<33 ..anywayyy, so like i know some of them might be repetitive but let’s be so fr right now… kaiser is literally the only one i can see being openly upfront when he’s jealous 💀😭 the rest??? oh they’re subtle about it. sulking, brooding & silently spiraling in the corner. but to say it out loud??? mhm prob not HAHAH

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

✿ ISAGI YOICHI ✿ (THE SILENT SPIRAL)

isagi doesn’t mean to take it out on you. he really doesn’t. but when he sees you talking to some other guy who he deems is a little too suave, laughing like you don’t notice the way that guy keeps leaning in & trying to flirt with you — something bitter twists in his stomach. and then he immediately goes quiet.. but he’s not necessarily mad at you, he’s just wondering if maybe that guy’s cooler, taller, more interesting — someone you’d actually pick if you weren’t already his.

he keeps it bottled until it slips out later in a low, too-casual murmur: “did you have fun talking with him?” and it stings — not because he’s accusing you, but because he’s scared he’s not enough.

✿ RIN ITOSHI ✿ (THE PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE SOFTBOY)

you can always tell when rin’s jealous. not because he mentions anything about it, but because his whole body starts to tense — his expression darkens, his eyes narrow, and he starts pulling his sleeves down almost as if they’re armor. another guy accidentally brushes against you and he stiffens almost instantly, eyes flicking down to where his hand lingered too long.

when you ask what’s wrong, he just shrugs and mutters, “nothing,” but you know him better & you’ll never fail to notice the storm brewing behind his silence.

✿ MICHAEL KAISER ✿ (THE OBVIOUS AND BOLD ONE)

kaiser doesn’t hide it. his jealousy is bold, vocal, and immediate. he gets possessive fast — not in a controlling way, but in a “choose me, now” kind of desperation masked as arrogance. he’ll call out the guy you’re talking to — challenge him for your attention, and when he pulls you closer, it’s not just to show off infront of the guy, it’s to reassure himself that you’re ALWAYS his.

he’s basically the type to cut through the conversation with no absolute shame in the way he asserts himself, not even an attempt to mask the possessiveness curling in his chest.

✿ NAGI SEISHIRO ✿ (THE SECRETLY HURT SWEETHEART)

he won’t say a word, but his silence will say everything. nagi seems unbothered on the surface, but jealousy hits him where it hurts most — in his quiet sense of belonging to you. he won’t confront you straight on or lash out infront of you. instead, he’ll grow distant, a little quieter, a little colder — and you’ll notice because he always used to be clingy around you, always used to reach for your hand first — so the moment he pulls away without a word, that’s how you know it got to him.

“it’s fine. I mean… if he makes you laugh like that, who am I to say anything?”

✿ SAE ITOSHI ✿ (THE EMOTIONALLY DISTANT AVOIDER)

when sae feels jealous, his natural instinct is to withdraw. he won’t confront the feeling or immediately cause a scene. instead, he’ll become emotionally distant — quietly removing himself from the situation before it touches a nerve he doesn’t want to acknowledge. he convinces himself it’s better this way. that if he steps back, this feeling will eventually fade on its own. but deep down, he hates that someone else could make you smile the way that he makes you smile.

“you’re free to do whatever you want, i just thought I meant a little more.”

✿ OTOYA EITA ✿ (THE FLIRTY OVER-COMPENSATOR)

he turns the charm up to hide the ache he refuses to name. otoya is the type to cover his jealousy by being extra clingy with you infront of the other guy. he flirts with you harder, starts being extra touchy & he says your name with just enough weight to make it feel like a claim & so that the other guy understands his place — “wow babe, so that’s your type?? should i start dressing like that now? wanna see me in a floral shirt and boat shoes?” — but beneath all the teasing, he’s actually afraid. he doesn’t know how to ask if you still want him. so he keeps pretending, hoping you’ll still choose him before the facade he puts on cracks.

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

[kaiyunsim]

still into you —

pairing : idol!ni-ki x manager m!reader

summary : one minute you’re managing chaos at work, the next you’re realizing the kid you used to babysit is taller and totally in love with you. somewhere in the middle, your brain forgets how to function.

warnings : fluff, age gap (ni-ki is ~4-5 years younger), kinda cliche tbh, reader is boynextdoor’s rookie manager

a/n : trying to get these requests done ! also do we like these ^ photos / header ?? or should i go back to the normal ones

queuing : still into you - paramore, who are you? - saga faye, always - daniel caesar, endlessly - bixby, night changes - one direction

[requested] by anon

— wc : 2.0k — not proof read —

you’re running late. not a great first impression when you’re barely a week into your new job, sprinting down hybe’s polished hallways with coffee in one hand and a tablet tucked under your arm. the building feels endless, identical glass doors and blinding white lights making you dizzy. you skid around a corner too fast, don’t even see the group coming until it’s too late.

coffee sloshes out of the cup, splattering the floor and the front of someone’s black hoodie. you freeze, heart thudding.

“shit, i’m so sorry—” you start, looking up—

and then up. and up. because the guy you’ve just doused is tall. ridiculously tall. he blinks at you, stunned for half a second, before this slow, familiar grin spreads across his face.

“hyung?” he says, voice somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

you blink at him, brain buffering. the face is vaguely familiar, sharp jawline and messy hair and a glint in his eyes that you can’t quite place.

“you grew,” he says, laughing as he plucks the empty coffee cup out of your hand and tosses it in a nearby trash can. “you’re still tiny though.”

you stare, heat creeping up your neck. tiny? who does he—

and then it clicks.

the way his nose crinkles when he laughs. the way he tilts his head, waiting for you to recognize him.

“riki?” you say, almost a question.

his grin widens. “you remember.”

you do, but it’s like an unconfortable amazement. because the last time you saw nishimura riki, he was twelve years old, barely up to your chin. he had just moved to korea, awkward and shy and homesick, and you, freshly eighteen and cocky with the title of “part-time babysitter” had been assigned to look after him.

he’s not that kid anymore. not even close.

“you got tall,” you mutter, dazed.

he laughs, and it’s deeper now, richer. “yeah. you didn’t.”

you scowl instinctively, and that just makes him laugh harder, like it’s the most natural thing in the world after not seeing eachother for about 8 years. like there’s not a solid foot of height difference between you now.

“still cute though,” he adds, and then winks.

you’re too stunned to respond, standing there while he and his group, enhypen, shuffle around you, offering half-hearted apologies and amused glances. someone hands you a napkin. ni-ki doesn’t move his arm until one of his members drags him away by the sleeve, still grinning at you over his shoulder.

you’re left in the hallway, clutching the napkin

later, when you’re sitting in the boynextdoor practice room, trying to scrub coffee stains out of your jacket with a half-dry wet wipe, your mind drifts back to earlier. to him.

to the way he’d had to double take when he saw you. like he wasn’t expecting you at all. like he was happy.

you chuckle under your breath, shaking your head.

you remember that kid, the one who used to tug on your sleeve and show you secret corners of the trainee dorms, dragging you into trouble with his bright-eyed plans. the one who fell asleep on your shoulder halfway through every movie you put on.

you hadn’t thought much about where he might end up. hadn’t pictured him all grown up.

but there he is now. somehow taller than everyone in the hallway. flashing the same grin like no time had passed. it’s weird, seeing someone you used to babysit look so… grown.

but it’s not a bad feeling. just strange. like looking at a before-and-after photo you didn’t know you were waiting for.

you shrug it off. he’s just being friendly. you did spend months babysitting him, after all. maybe he’s just happy to see a familiar face. you let it go.

except, you keep running into him.

hallways, practice rooms, elevators. it’s almost funny how often your paths cross. and somehow, every time, ni-ki’s there first, already grinning like he knows a secret.

he leans on your shoulder casually whenever you’re standing close, treating you like his personal armrest.

he tosses snacks at you like it’s a sport, flipping bags of chips across rooms with scary precision.

he lingers after rehearsals, pretending he’s looking for something he dropped, just so he can stick around a little longer.

“you’re really bad at pretending you’re not following me,” you joke one afternoon, catching him loitering by the vending machines again.

ni-ki just smirks, handing you a cold can of coffee without being asked. “maybe i’m not pretending.”

you snort, bumping your shoulder into his without thinking. easy. familiar. like slipping into an old hoodie you forgot you loved.

he’s always teasing you about your height, too, leaning down exaggeratedly when he talks to you, grinning like he’s waiting for you to get mad.

“swear i grew another inch this week,” he says once, ruffling your hair before you can duck away. “you’re basically a collectible now.”

you roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself.

it’s just ni-ki being riki.

it feels almost normal, falling back into this pattern. even if he’s bigger now. sharper around the edges. a little more confident than the kid you remember.

you’re not overthinking it. you don’t need to overthink it. he’s just someone from your past, someone who you helped make trainee life a little less lonely, finding you again.

you’re just…happy he’s doing well. that’s all.

but sometimes you catch yourself staring at him, across practice rooms, down long corridors. you can’t help but think about how fast everything changes.

he used to be the homesick kid you snuck extra snacks for. the one who needed you to stay up late playing video games so he could fall asleep with company.

now he’s chatting with the members of the group you’re managing, about to record a collab video to advertise the recent comebacks.

you clear your throat and flick your pen against your clipboard, focusing on your task list.

it’s good to see him again. really good. but you’ve got a job to do. and he’s got his own path, too. whatever this is, friendship, familiarity, something in between, you’re just glad you didn’t lose it.

—

you’re running on fumes by the time the day ends.

it feels like you’ve been putting out fires since noon. double-booked schedules, a last-minute venue change, two different members bickering over nothing. your head’s buzzing from all the noise.

so you escape. just for a second.

you find an empty breakroom tucked into the corner of the floor, dim and too quiet, and drop yourself onto the nearest couch like a puppet whose strings got cut. you lean forward, elbows on your knees, hands dangling. just breathing.

you don’t even hear the door creak open. not until a cold can taps lightly against your knee.

you blink up.

ni-ki’s standing there, casual, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket. he doesn’t say anything. just nudges the drink toward you again, like: take it, dummy.

you crack open a tired smile, accepting it. “you stalking me or something?”

he huffs a laugh and slides down onto the couch beside you, slouching until his knees are practically level with yours.

“could smell the burnout from the hallway,” he says easily.

you snort, tipping your head back against the cushion. “yeah, well. it’s been a day.”

you expect him to crack another joke, something about you getting old and fragile or short and tiny, but he doesn’t. he just sits there, his shoulder a warm line of comfort next to yours, fiddling idly with the tab on his drink.

it’s… nice. the quiet. the way he’s not pushing you to talk, just being there. you take a sip, the coldness biting pleasantly at your throat, and let yourself laugh under your breath.

“you’re weird, you know that?” you murmur, side-eyeing him. “not a lot of people would track me down just to hand me a drink.”

ni-ki shrugs, mouth tilting into a small smile. “not a lot of people babysat me through my weird dancer phase,” he says, casual as anything.

you chuckle. yeah. you did live through that era..

for a second, it’s easy to believe you’re just those two people again, him, the stubborn kid dragging you into whatever weird idea he had next, and you, the one trailing behind.

you’re about to say something stupid, something like, ‘you turned out alright’

when he speaks again, it’s soft. like he’s thought about it for a while.

“i’ve liked you forever, you know.”

the words land like a dart hitting the exact center of a target. sharp. impossible to ignore.

you blink, mid-sip, nearly choking. “huh?”

he shifts, turning a little to face you, expression open and weirdly calm, like he’s not just detonating your entire brain with a single sentence.

“i used to think it would go away when i grew up,” ni-ki says, eyes steady. “but… it didn’t.”

your brain shorts out. completely.

liked. you.

liked you.

used to? didn’t? WHAT.

you stare at him, mouth slightly open, like he’s suddenly started speaking a language you don’t understand because the lingering after practices, the snacks, the teasing, the leaning down so he could look you in the eye, like it was some kind of private joke.

you thought—

you genuinely thought he was just being friendly. nostalgic. grateful.

not this.

not into you.

your ears burn. you’re pretty sure your soul just left your body.

‘the kid i used to babysit is into me??’

in caps. bolded. flashing like a giant neon sign. actually caps doesn’t even show how stunned you are.

you make a sound. a wheezy, useless one.

then you laugh, awkward and breathless and absolutely struck with something, rubbing the back of your neck because your hands don’t know what else to do.

“i… i’m sorry,” you stammer out, the words tumbling over themselves. “i didn’t—i mean, i didn’t notice. at all. seriously. i’m the biggest idiot, huh?”

ni-ki laughs too. a little embarrassed, sure, but there’s relief in it too, like he was bracing for something worse.

“you noticed now,” he says simply, bumping your shoulder with his. “that’s enough.”

you sit there, heart hammering away in your chest, trying to catch up to the reality you just crash-landed into.

ni-ki likes you. riki has liked you. for years, probably.

and somehow, you, who prides yourself on noticing everything, missed every single sign.

you glance sideways at him. he’s leaning back against the couch now, sipping his drink like nothing earth-shattering just happened. like he didn’t just turn your world slightly sideways.

and he’s still riki. still the kid who used to tug you out to the park on weekends. still the one who fell asleep next to you with his shoes half-on.

just… taller now. steadier. more himself than ever.

you breathe out slowly. “can i be honest?” you say, voice a little hoarse.

ni-ki tilts his head, waiting.

“i… need a little time,” you admit, fiddling with the tab of your can. “not because i don’t… like you—” you break off, not sure how to finish that sentence without lying. “just… it’s a lot to process, you know?”

he smiles. small, but real. “take all the time you want,” he says, standing and stretching like a cat. “i’m not going anywhere.”

you watch him walk to the door, tall, unhurried, somehow carrying the same stubborn hope he always had. you watch him grin over his shoulder one more time before slipping out, the door clicking shut behind him.

you stare at the empty room.

your heart’s still fluttering. soft and persistent. like it’s remembering something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.

you drag a hand over your face, groaning under your breath. “maybe i’m into him” you mutter to yourself.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

tysm for reading :>

enha taglist :

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver @solkver @lov3lyaaru