#ken x reader

⤷ “hey sweetheart, did you need som–”

⤷ “shush, i’m concentrating”

⤷ if he had a rough day teaching (or a bad interaction back when he was still in the scientific community), he immediately seeks out your comforting embrace once he gets home

⤷ one day while you were kissing his face, he reached up to remove his glasses so they weren’t in your way

⤷ when you realized what he was doing, you interlocked your fingers with his to stop him, and continued about your business

- Colt Seavers -

⤷ he’s down bad for you, so anything you want, it’s yours

⤷ cuddles? hand holding? kisses? your wish is his command

⤷ please be careful while snuggling with him though, this poor boy has at least ten bruises on him at all times from getting thrown around for his job

⤷ you both like laying on top of the other when relaxing, and Colt falls asleep every time

⤷ if you’re draped over him, he’ll have his arms wrapped around you and knock out in minutes– he claims you’re like a cozy weighted blanket

⤷ on the flip side, if he’s laying on top of you, he’ll bury his face in your neck and drift off while your hands comb through his hair

⤷ whenever he’s sitting in a chair, you like standing in front of him to hold his face and press gentle kisses into his skin

⤷ Colt just sits there and soaks it up, completely drunk on your love

- Holland March -

⤷ oh you’re touchy? don’t need to tell him twice— he’s allll over you

⤷ especially when he’s drunk, Holland’s hands are physically unable to stop roaming your body

⤷ one time, when you were guiding him to his car after a night out (he was DRUNK drunk), he was shocked to find a pretty girl on his arm and couldn’t stop spewing out cringey pick up lines

⤷ you just buckled him up, kissed him on the cheek, and got in the driver’s seat

⤷ he normally blacks out after drinking too much, but his resolve to stare at the pretty lady driving him home won out

⤷ after a particularly long day of detective work with Healy, he’ll collapse into your arms without hesitation

⤷ likes to bury his face in the crook of your neck or lay on your stomach if you guys are lounging

⤷ you idly scratch his head or play with his hair in these positions, and he absolutely melts

⤷ when he’s smoking, you’ll kiss him around his neck and face… sometimes the cigarette gets forgotten as a result

- Court Gentry -

⤷ BIG MUSCLESS… who said that

⤷ anyways you’re one of his “safehouses”

⤷ every time he shows up at your doorstep all battered and bloodied, he berates himself for always endangering you even though he’s double and triple checked that he wasn’t followed

⤷ before the regret can fully sink in, you never fail to dissipate it when you embrace him and usher him inside

⤷ to Court, your house is cozy and warm, but your arms are warmer

⤷ when he gets in his head about how dangerous his job is and how he’s risking your life, you shut him up with a kiss and firmly restate that you’d rather take the risk of being with him than choose to be with anyone else

⤷ if it was an especially rough mission, you force him straight to the bathroom where you turn on a hot shower and prep first aid materials

⤷ you take your time to wash him, and Court finally lets himself relax while you lather him up and massage his tense muscles, careful to avoid his injuries

⤷ in bed, you love to delicately trace his scars, fingers just barely ghosting his skin

⤷ you also make a habit of reaching under his shirt, running your hands along his abs

⤷ when he inevitably has to leave, the two of you stand in front of the door for a while, with you slowly kissing his face and refusing to let go

⤷ “darling, I really need to leave now”

⤷ “one more minute, please”

⤷ when you whisper into his ear like that with that pleading tone, he can’t refuse

- Jacob Palmer -

⤷ as much as you love touching him, he’s equally all over you

⤷ he’s used to girls getting with him to ogle at his body, so when you simply caress his face and hold his hand, he falls hard

⤷ the two of you spend a lot of time in bed, morning and night, just talking about life while being a mess of tangled limbs

⤷ he never realized it before you, but he loves being held– with previous girls, he was always the one to take the lead and initiate touch, but now that he has you, he’s able to let loose and be the one receiving all the affection

⤷ spooning is the go to sleeping pose, and you guys definitely switch between being the big/little spoon

- Lars Lindstrom -

⤷ back when he was still hesitant to touch you, he would often give you his special blue blanket to snuggle with 

⤷ whether you guys are at church, on a walk, or resting at home, holding pinkies is a must

⤷ one morning, he was putting on one of his many sweaters, and you took a special liking to it

⤷ “that’s a nice sweater”

⤷ his head whipped up to look at you, and after a moment of processing, he couldn’t repress the genuine smile spreading on his face

⤷ you held the sleeve of his sweater for the rest of the day, and you couldn’t help but notice that he wore it a little more often ever since

⤷ at night, he’s grown accustomed to falling asleep with his hand intertwined with yours

⤷ you’ll work up to cuddling/spooning, and you reassure him there’s no rush

⤷ Lars was pleasantly surprised to find that your touch doesn’t burn as much as others

- Officer K -

⤷ for the longest time he only had Joi, so this boy is touch starved like crazyy

⤷ he loves coming home to you and he deeply treasures the fact that he has someone tangible to hold and be held by after a long day

⤷ you’ve formed this nightly ritual of him coming home and collapsing into your arms– you like to lay there as he tells you about his day while you rub soothing circles into his back

⤷ if his hunting job was particularly brutal or bloody, you gently peel off his clothes, draw a bath for him, and help him clean up

⤷ his favorite part is when you wash his hair– the way your fingers scratch his head just right and how they trail down his shoulders to gently squeeze his arms really gets him

⤷ one rainy night, he led you out to the rooftop, hands intertwined as you let the rain hit your skin and drench your hair

⤷ he reached out to tuck your soaked hair behind your ear, and when he let his hand hover beside your head, you guided it to rest on your cheek, nuzzling into it

⤷ K doesn’t smile often, but in that moment, he couldn’t help it because of how real everything felt to him

- Sebastian Wilder -

⤷ one of your favorite pastimes is to curl up with him at night and listen to his grand plans for his club, all while absentmindedly tracing shapes on the palm of his hand

⤷ after his performances, you love pulling him in by his tie for a kiss (and he’s so into it)

⤷ when you’re done with him, his tie is loose and his hair is all messed up, but he’s got this drunk smile plastered on his face

⤷ you guys go out to jazz clubs at least once a week, and without fail you’re holding his hand under the table

⤷ he’s a traditionalist, so he loves offering his arm to you whenever you guys are walking together, which you gladly take

⤷ your shared bed is small, but it doesn’t even matter because of how thoroughly entangled you guys are while sleeping

- Ken!! -

⤷ after a long, laborious day of beach, he’ll happily prance into your open arms (beach is not an easy job!!)

⤷ if you’re holding on to his arm, he’ll puff out his chest a little and deliberately walk past the other Kens to make them jealous

⤷ you love running your hands down his abs or feeling up his biceps and this man absolutely soaks it up

⤷ he lovesss when you make him feel macho

⤷ but in the privacy of your dreamhouse, Ken will cling to you like a koala

⤷ bonus: one day, you asked him to stay the night to cuddle, and let’s just say his reaction was NOT as subtle as he thought it was

⤷ he had to excuse himself (which meant walking a few feet away, still directly in your line of sight) to triumphantly pump his arms and yell “SUBLIME!!”

⤷ he comes back all nonchalant, so you just scoff with a smile and drag him inside your dreamhouse by the hand

Henry Letham (Stay)

realises during a quiet late-night in his studio

you’re sitting on the floor surrounded by his half-finished paintings reading while he’s having a silent internal anxious episode about how much he hates this painting

he looks over at you just quietly reading looking cute and his world stops spinning. for the first time in ever he actually wants the company of someone else instead of wanting to be alone during these moments

crawls down onto the floor to sit with you and plops his head in your lap

becomes super protective and clingy after he realises he's down bad

Ryland Grace (Project Hail Mary)

one of his students asks him if he's in love with you (they met you ONCE to drop off his lunch that he forgot) and he gets all blushy and hides behind a giant science textbook until they drop it

(they don't: the only way to get them to shut up is to say OK FINE yes i love her. then they start calling him Mr. Love. sigh)

goes home and thinks about it like wait that's a good question

tells you about it and you're like "haha kids are crazy. what did u say tho???.."

he pauses and puts his bags down then says: "well. i said yes"

you're super happy but you don't make it a big deal just kiss him silly (his glasses are all crooked and he's covered in lipgloss marks, grinning like an idiot)

writes your name in the margins of his notebook like a lovesick student eeee

Ken (Barbie)

obvs it's in the most dramatic, over-the-top way possible

you do something tiny like comfort him when he realises you have to deal with patriarchy ("so, it's not just horses?")

once he calms down from crying about that, he looks up at you stroking his hair and realises he is crazy about you

has a full internal crisis and starts crying again until you're like ?? is it about the horses again?? but he won't tell you what's up

starts planning a ridiculous romantic gesture then and there to profess his love to you

Holland March (The Nice Guys)

he is for sure drunk and pathetic on your couch. he's like a homing pigeon to your apartment: no matter how drunk he is, he will find his way to yours easy (somehow can't get himself to his own house tho)

you’re cleaning his wounds and calling him an idiot for getting involved in whatever mess it is this time

you stick a cigarette between his lips and light it to shut him up. he freezes and is 100% erect in 2 seconds flat

"that's the sexiest thing i've ever seen in my life" + pulls you onto his lap while you squeal and pout for him to let you finish patching him up

"i think i love you" "you're just saying that because you're drunk" "no i'm not. i'll say it again tomorrow"

wakes up with the WORST hangxiety and is like "did i say i love you? good. because i meant it"

Lars Lindstrom (Lars and the Real Girl)

clocks on slowly and gently over many many many moments

hits him when you smile at him warmly while doing something ordinary together, or come outside to bring him a cup of cocoa whilst he's chopping wood

gets all shy and overthinks it for days, hiding away before accepting it. you're like "lars i've not seen you in a week did i do something?" and he hangs up the call, drives straight to your house and kisses ypu for the first time

∘₊✧ Sierra Six

Although it takes Six a while to trust, when he does, it becomes quickly apparent that his kink is relinquishing control. To him, this is the highest form of intimacy – completely baring himself to you. While it doesn’t come easily to him, when he’s able to let you take the lead, sex has never felt so good. The way he moans and whimpers, it’s like nothing you’ve ever heard from him before as you gently instruct and guide him through his own pleasure, and teach him about your own. He sheds a tear as he comes undone, harder and more intensely than he can ever remember, and will just want to be held afterwards, snuggling into you feeling safe and loved.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Holland March

Holland is partial to a spot of edge play. It doesn’t always work out; sometimes he can’t keep it up, sometimes he comes after no less than one edge. But it’s all in good fun, and it’s not all about him – he loves to keep you simmering all day if he can. He  teases here and there until he’s fingerfucking you in the kitchen just right, and as you’re about to clench around those slender digits he’ll slip them out, lick them clean and go make a sandwich. Only when he’s finished his impromptu lunch will he pick up where he left off and so the day continues on that way. Then there’s those nights he’s just fascinated with your pleasure, switching between eating you out, fucking you, fingerfucking you, and stopping short every time until you’re shaking and absolutely begging for him. He’ll always make you cum in the end, though, more than once, hard and preferably screaming his name.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Lars Lindstrom

Lars is a sucker for role play. He’d never have thought it himself, being so shy and all, but it turns out that playing pretend isn’t only fun, it can be such a turn on. He can lose himself in the story or the character, slowly worrying less about himself and what he might be doing wrong, loosening up to really enjoy the sensations instead of focussing heavily on fear of his touch hypersensitivity spoiling the moment. Of course, that’s still very real and something to be considerate of, but role play helps him feel comfortable enough that it doesn’t completely consume him. He loves it when you dress up like one of his favorite characters – it feels so naughty and only makes him want you more. And when he does the same for you, he feels closer to you than ever. It’s a really intimate way to get to know one another, a shared little secret for only the two of you that strengthens your bond further than anything he could have imagined. Lars feels very warm and loved when he thinks of all the nights you share planning out and acting on your secret ideas together. Although he doesn’t realise it can be classed as a kink, auralism is another one that applies to Lars. Hearing you moan for him sends him to Heaven and back every time. Sprinkle in some dirty talk for him and he’ll all but pass out on the spot.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Ryland Grace

Katoptronophilia is Rylands vice. He realised he came harder when he watched himself jerk off in a mirror and learned the word for the kink after searching online forums to see how common it is. When he wants to explore this kink with you, he will sit you on his lap, legs spread, his long fingers spreading your folds and dipping inside while he bites and sucks at your neck – all in front of a full length mirror so you can see exactly what he’s doing to you. After you cum, he’ll watch your reactions in the reflection as he fucks you from behind, losing himself in the visuals.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Driver

Of course, Driver has a kissing kink. He isn’t even really aware that it’s a kink, he just knows what the feeling of soft lips and a warm, wet tongue against his does to him. Especially when there’s intention behind it, romantic subtext… mmh. He gets lost in those kinds of kisses to the point of coming in his pants, sometimes even just from fantasizing, and he’s perfected kissing to the point that he can get you pretty close, too. He also likes to watch or listen, learning about what you like purely from observation. He’s patient, and he isn’t above listening through the wall, but when you finally get together, he will guide your hand between your legs and lift an eyebrow at you, silently asking for you to show him what you like while he memorises every part of your pleasure, mostly for when he’s ready to fuck you so good you’ll forget anyone who came before him, but also partly for himself – he’ll jerk off in the shower about it later, imagining that you’re listening to him though the wall, now.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Henry Letham

Henry enjoys a little pain. It’s not the same when he does it to himself, that’s for different reasons, but if you were to put a cigarette out on his bare skin after a heated kiss, he would moan so prettily. Wax play comes into this too, although that’s more about feeling anything rather than feeling pain. The contrasting heat and cool sharpens his breath and has him suddenly in tune with every sensation in his body. He sees it almost as art, pouring the burning liquid onto your flesh, watching you pour it on him like paint on a masterpiece. The intense sensations help him to know he’s really here, and the psychological edge makes it extra thrilling. It's all a little bit messy and dark, just like him.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Ken

The shower in Luke’s trailer is very small and neither of you like to waste time in there, so it’s a toss-up of whether you’ll shower together or not every time (usually you do, both of you love being close to the other anyway and are rarely far apart). You both wash quickly and in motions reminiscent of vertical Twister when you do, and his hands only start to wander when you’re both clean — the proximity causes more things than just the water vapours to be steamy, and you’ve been pressing soft kisses to each other’s skin at every opportunity. He’s wrapping you up in a towel when you get out (whether you showered together or not) and you’re drying his hair with a hand towel until the bleach-blond tresses fall handsomely over his forehead as he leans down to kiss you. Do you even get dressed after the shower? Probably not, because Luke loves skin-to-skin contact and prefers to cuddle to sleep without boundaries. 

If Colt comes home injured, you’re both getting in the shower pretty much immediately. He got any scratches or cuts patched up and medically cleared on set but you both know that your hands are a kind of magic that can’t be found in a medical trailer. You’re helping him strip off before shedding your own clothes, and then washing away the dirt and grime that still coats his skin with a soft washcloth under the stream of water as hot as the two of you can stand to try and loosen up his tight muscles. Your hands knead into his back with practiced ease (avoiding the visible bruises and abrasions and the still-tender area around his spinal injury) until he sighs heavily and melts into your touch, forehead pressed against the tiles as he tells you about what he was working on that day and you press kisses into his warm flesh. 

When Colt isn’t injured, you’re washing each other while you quiz each other on movie quotes. He can’t reach most of his back so you have to wash it anyway (literally too jacked to reach between his own shoulder blades and it makes you giggle every time he tries). He is super supportive of your ‘everything showers’ and begs to be included, touching you softly as if he’s going to hurt you if he scrubs you with the loofah too hard. He takes all of your directions about what products to use and in what order, and he even wants to do skincare with you after! Matching face masks, moisturising, fluffy robes — you even bought him one of those novelty headbands to keep his hair out of his face. And you best bet that Colt's taking a silly selfie with you and then sending it to the stunt team group chat for whatever movie he’s working on with a corny message that makes you roll your eyes, something like ‘resting and rejuvenating 🙏’.

Holland is only allowed to shower with you sometimes. 

When Holland does shower with you, he can’t keep his hands to himself. He loves to touch you, any way that you let him, and that usually means that the shower ends up being longer than an hour because you basically have to take a second shower in the same shower because of it. He’s praising you the whole time as he gropes at your chest and practically humps your thigh or against your ass because he thinks you’re just too divine to keep his hands (or his dick) away. Will ask you to wash his hair and then drop to his knees with that smirk you can’t help but blush at and then you’re up against the tiles while he uses his mouth on you. 

When you don’t let Holland shower with you, he’s absolutely sitting on the lid of the toilet in his underwear, still intermittently praising you and telling you how good you look through the shower screen while he rambles to you about whatever case he’s working on. He’ll wrap you up in a towel when you’re done and you’ll probably stay in the bathroom while it’s his turn too so you can hear the rest of the story about the case because the second the two of you get into bed, it’ll go one of two ways — Holland will start groping you and you won’t stop him (you might even actively encourage it with the wandering of your own hands), or his head is hitting that pillow and he’s snoring within seconds. 

When you shower with Ryland in the morning, you’re talking about what you each have going on for the day — what experiments is he running with his classes? What are they learning about? Who is he expecting to act up? Who has he been keeping an eye on because they always seem just a little bit too tired in class? He’s drawing stick figures and love hearts in the shower steam on the glass and saying “that’s us, we’re in love!” or some other adorably dorky thing that makes you smile wide and kiss him. 

When you shower with Ryland at night, you’re debriefing — who did he snap and give detention to? Who had a really good question that reminded him of something he studied once? What gossip did he overhear in the teacher’s lounge? What published research paper did he read at lunch and why was the researcher right/wrong? You love it when he rambles, and it’s incredibly soothing when he talks to you in that soft voice he seems to only use with you (even when he’s calling some other scientist an idiot in creative ways for ten solid minutes) while you take turns washing each other. He’s putting his glasses on the second his face is dry so that he can look at you, even though they steam up pretty much immediately and his hair drips onto the lenses so he has to wipe them on his towel anyway, which gives you the opportunity to dry his hair until it’s only damp before he puts the glasses back on, pulls you close, and kisses you deeply with mutterings of how you always take care of him, how much he loves you, and how considerate you are. He pulls one of his clean t-shirts gently over your head for you to sleep in and holds your underwear out for you to step into before pulling on his own pajama pants (no shirt, because Ryland knows how much you love his chest and arms). 

Noah Calhoun (386 words):

You’re not leaving your bed. He makes sure of it. Anything you need, he’s getting it for you. Really, he kicks himself a little because he doesn’t already have everything ready, but you know without him telling you that come next month, it will all be in place. For now, though, food? He’ll cook for you. Drink? He’ll get it for you. Water, tea, beer, anything. He’d give you his blood if you wanted it, but you seem like you’ve got enough of your own. Heating pad? Medicine? Well that’s what he’s for, he tells you, slipping into bed beside you with a contented hum. He holds you, hand splayed over your belly protectively, and kisses all over your face, your neck and shoulder, down your body and up your legs. You only get what he’s getting at when he starts laying slow, gentle kisses at the waistband of your underwear, looking up at you with eyes full of suggestion.

“Don’t be gross,” you groan, flushing at the thought, tangling your hand in his hair to pull him away, but he resists the pull with a frown.

“It’s not gross,” he insists. “It’s you.” He outlines his full case between kisses. Mostly, it’s that he loves you, but also that orgasms have got to help, since they’re supposed to make you feel good, right? And, well, you can only resist logic like that for so long. 

You do swat him when he suggests a baby as a solution. “What?” he says indignantly, rubbing at his shoulder. “You wouldn’t get another one for nine months.”

The only thing he struggles to give you is alone time, but if you push it enough, he will leave you for a while, though he makes his reluctance abundantly clear. He goes into the barn and tries to work on things, but he gravitates back to you in under half an hour. You’re what he wants to focus on at the best of times, and when you’re not feeling well, neither is he. Luckily, since you’re not feeling well, he lets you be as grouchy as you want without complaint. Ordinarily, you know he would never shy away from an argument, but for about a week every month, you get your way, and he’s very happy to give it to you.

Ken (411 words):

He’s devastated. Genuinely devastated. Well, at first he doesn’t really understand what’s happening to you, but after a quick anatomy lesson, he is so upset that you wonder if maybe you’re underreacting to the whole thing. 

“Don’t women have to go through enough!?” he cries to the heavens, tearing at his shirt to bare his chest to the world. Ken has no shortage of shirts and jackets that open down the middle, since he’s prone to this sort of thing. It was a lesson you’d had to learn when you taught him about the feminist movement. 

“Not just women,” you remind him with a little false cheer, just to hear the aughuagh pulled from his throat as he falls to his knees in the middle of the living room. You’re on the couch with a heating pad on your belly–the thing that had prompted his questioning–and you find that his performance is actually helping with your cramps, pain shared being pain halved and all. He shuffles towards you on his knees, big watery eyes staring into yours as he far too gently places his hands on your knees, seemingly afraid to use any force lest he hurt you more. A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, and one of your hands finds his bleach blond hair to pet him soothingly. Him and his theatrics.

Except, you remind yourself, his hair just grows out of his head like that. And it’s not theatrics–he really feels this strongly about your period, and about pretty much everything. It was one of the things you liked most about him. Because you were, despite yourself, very charmed by a human-sized doll who knew nothing about female anatomy or the world at large. You were so charmed, in fact, that having him on his knees between your legs was doing a pretty good job of distracting you from how miserable your period was making you. Ken adored you right back, though, leaning into your hand and sighing as he settled from just a simple touch. Kind of like a horse, ironically. Well, you think as you stroke his unfairly soft hair, human guys don’t know about female anatomy either, anyway. 

After a few moments, Ken opens his eyes and furrows his brow as if struck by a concerning thought. It was so wonderful to watch him think. He locks eyes with you and says, with complete seriousness, “Is that going to happen to me too?”

Lars Lindstrom (630 words):

You two had just gotten back to his place from a date where you traipsed around the woods and sat by the lake together. You had been heavily relying on coffee and infatuation to carry you because your body was protesting. It wasn’t that you were in that much pain, but your limbs felt heavy and you were slow to respond, not that it made much of a difference to Lars. You still wanted things to be perfect despite your fatigue, since you don’t want to scare Lars off so early, but you can admit to yourself that you’re flagging a little as you lean back against his kitchen counter.

You allow yourself a moment to squeeze your eyes shut and breathe as a lazy curl of pain crests in your gut. Lars is in the bathroom, so you don’t have to hide so much, not that it really makes a difference to the cramps whether you feel them out loud or not.

“Are you okay?” You hear a soft voice ask, and you open your eyes to find Lars, pretty in the afternoon light from his window, but wearing a fretful expression as he looks at you. You twist your grimace into a smile, helped along by the image of Lars lit up like an angel, but it’s a bit too late. “You’re a little…” he trails off, tentatively waving a hand around his face. Pale? Sweaty? The gesture is too vague to say, but you have your ideas. 

“I’m fine.” You’re quick to reassure him, but his brow furrows. Darn. “I’m just…it’s that time of the month, you know?” You let out a little nervous laugh. It’s uncomfortable at the best of times to tell others about this, but it’s undoubtedly worse to talk about it with Lars. His face lights up in understanding.

“Oh, okay.” He nods and, a second later, smiles at you and shifts on his feet.

Lars is a grown man. He knows, conceptually, what periods are. The thing is, you know he grew up without a mother, and the only woman he’s really close with is pregnant, so it’s not like he has a lot of practical knowledge on the matter. Plus, he’s very religious and very reserved, so how could he really get a thorough education? He knows about the blood, but he’s not quite prepared for the pain. You realize this when another cramp hits you, harder this time, and you curl into yourself, breaking eye contact and gripping his counter tighter with a hiss. You hear him take a few quick steps towards you, but he doesn’t touch you.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, sing-songy as if more cheerfulness makes it more true. “It’s just a cramp, I’m fine.” “A cramp?” he asks, and you lift your head to watch him watch you with concern, hands twitching at his sides. “Do you need the doctor? Are you gonna be okay?” he asks, and if he wasn’t so genuinely concerned for you, you would laugh. But his concern is genuine, so you pull yourself back together with a sharp inhale, and you lay a hand over his clothed bicep, feeling the muscle jump under your touch. His head snaps to look at your hand, and you almost move away, but he only seems surprised, not upset.

“I’m okay. I promise,” you soothe, rubbing your thumb back and forth against his arm. He continues to watch your hand, and at the sound of your voice, his cheeks go pink. Suddenly, he gets an idea.

“You can watch me chop wood,” he says, finally turning back to you. “I’ll get you a chair so you can rest.” He smiles at you again and blinks hard, but he doesn’t move until you release his arm.

Driver (639 words):

He stands in the doorway of your bedroom, staring at you. This isn’t entirely unusual–you two didn’t live together, but he had gotten into the habit of quietly letting himself into your apartment to invite you out, and you had gotten into the habit of agreeing.

Today was a different story. You could tell that he had come to do just that, invite you out to grocery shop or take a drive with a casualness that suggested he’d been practicing his lines. Upon seeing you, however, his words died on his lips. You’re still in bed despite it being nearly two in the afternoon, and you know you look terrible. Your hair and skin feel greasy; you’re probably grimacing in pain because you were too exhausted to get up and take medicine, hands pressing on your uterus over the blankets; your sheets are rumpled because of all your tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position; and you’re still in your pajamas, which consist of a very large, very ugly shirt you’re too embarrassed to wear in public and some period underwear. You thank all that is holy for your foresight–you decided on period underwear after you had cried about The Very Hungry Caterpillar last night, which was something no one else ever needed to know about.

“Sorry,” you begin before he’s even had the chance to speak. Actually, he did have his chance. You’d been staring at each other for the past fifteen seconds. “I started my period and I just haven’t felt good.” You’re sort of embarrassed to say it, especially under his intense gaze, but you’ve learned it’s best to just tell him the truth. He takes in this information, eyes scanning you with singleminded focus. You watch him come to a decision, the barest hint of stoniness entering his expression as his gaze flits back to your eyes.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says with frankly unwarranted gravitas, like you’d just put a hit out on someone. Before you can ask what that even means, he turns around and leaves your apartment, leaving you feeling confused but…kind of taken care of.

He returns 15 minutes later with a small bag and a softer expression, which warms you up. He hands the paper bag to you without a word and cards his fingers through your hair almost unthinkingly, which of course makes you feel like a thousand butterflies are trapped in your abdomen, fluttery and light. It makes your next emotion all the more jarring, a cold drop in your stomach when you look in the bag. 

It makes no sense for you to feel that way, really. It’s all of your favorite things. The right brand of pads, your favorite chocolate, and even some other snacks that bring you comfort. It’s just–how did he know that? You’ve never spent a period with him before. You look up at him, confused and pleased and unsettled and grateful all at once, and he smiles down at you, just one of his little ones, but still genuine, still sweet.

“You’ve got Midol in your cabinet,” he tells you in his low, soft voice, like it’s only natural he knows the ins and outs of your medicine cabinet. You’re still a little uncertain how to feel, but then he leans down and kisses your temple, and you feel like you can taste sugar in the back of your mouth. “I’ll run you a bath,” he says into your ear, hushed, but his voice is dripping with such fondness and care that you can’t help but preen under it. Then, he pulls back and he is gone again. You hear your bathtub faucet turn on a few seconds later, and you look into the bag again, unable to keep the incredulous laugh from bubbling up out of you.

Ryland Grace (664 words):

You’re sitting on Grace’s couch when you feel the Gush of doom and despair. Hypothesis: if you go to the bathroom and investigate, then there will be blood. Grace is sitting at his kitchen table grading a stack of papers, mumbling to himself and generally looking domestic and adorable, so you sneak off to his bathroom to test your hypothesis. What you find therein supports your hypothesis. Shit.

“Ryland,” you call softly from the doorway between the living room/kitchen and the bedroom/bathroom hallway situation. Your boyfriend looks up from his work, peeking at you from over his glasses. Then, he pushes his glasses up and properly looks at you, half hidden behind the doorframe.

“...Yes?” he responds with an edge of suspicion. “You look like a ghost right now. Hiding in my hallway. In the shadows. What’s going on?” He’s being semi-playful, but you can tell from the focus in his expression that he knows something’s amiss. You kind of want to stand there and watch him figure it out, brilliant scientist that he is, but the situation is unfortunately time sensitive.

“Um. So,” you start, cringing a little. You’re a fully grown adult with a job and an apartment, but sometimes Grace fixes you with a look that reminds you that he teaches middle schoolers, and it makes you a little shy. “It’s no big deal, but I just started my period literally right now, and I figured I should bring it up.” You try to force casualness, but it doesn’t fit right in your mouth, so it comes out a little sideways. 

“Oh.” he says. Awesome. “Do you need a pad?” he asks. What? 

“What?” you ask. You were planning to stuff toilet paper in your underwear.

“A pad. It’s a weird coincidence, but, uh, I actually have some in my bag that I keep forgetting to put in my desk at school.” he explains with helpful hand gestures to boot. You wait a beat for him to tell you he’s joking, but he does not.

“Why do you need pads at your school desk?” you ask slowly. Grace makes a face at your tone.

“Well,” he starts, clearly trying to be delicate. “I teach the age group where.” He stops, apparently realizing that he’s talking to you and not the school board. “Sometimes kids start their period in my class.” he says quicker. “Actually it’s happened multiple times. And I’m talking first period ever. So I keep pads in my desk. Also for the kids who randomly start in the middle of the day, or they can’t get them at home, or they’re embarrassed to ask the office, or–” He takes a sharp breath. “They’re needed.”

You can’t argue with that, so you concede with a slight head tilt. It probably would’ve been nice to have a teacher like that when you were in school. “Do you have any tampons, by chance?” 

“I’m not giving a 12 year old a tampon,” Grace says, deadpan. Right. Duh.

“Fair. I’ll take the pad, please,” you say. Grace immediately starts rooting around in his school bag, and after a few moments, he emerges with a slightly dented box of pads. He takes one out of the box and holds it out to you, whistling like someone luring a wild beast, since you’re still lurking in the hallway. You laugh softly and cross to him, planting a kiss on his cheek as you take the pad from him, your nose bumping the edge of his frames. His cheeks are pink when you pull back with a cheeky smile. 

“Thank you, Mr. Grace!” you singsong, and he groans and shakes his head, unsuccessfully fighting a laugh.

“Please, Mr. Grace was my father,” he says as you retreat to the bathroom. “Call me Dr. Grace.” He smiles at your back when he hears you cackle. Once you’re gone, he notes the day in his calendar. It’s good to collect data on these kinds of things.

Colt Seavers (736 words):

With the casual way he reacted–just a quick downturn of his lips, a tilt of his head, “Sorry, baby”–when you told him you were on your period, you figured that your evening with Colt would be peaceful. It was your mistake to think that any evening with Colt would ever be peaceful. Well, that wasn’t quite fair–things had started out like normal, with you curled into his side on the couch, head resting on his shoulder, reveling in his warmth. He had let you pick the show for tonight, even though it was technically his turn, and you figured that would be the extent of his chivalry. That is, until you grunted softly in pain, your hand coming to rest over your traitorous uterus. Ow. Your medicine had run its course. Wonderful. It wasn’t really that big of a deal, though, because Colt would be here tonight to do triple duty as a heating pad, a weighted blanket, and a boyfriend. You would be fine.

“You alright?” Colt murmurs, tilting his head to rest on yours so that he can look down your body. “You in pain?” he asks even softer, one of his hands coming to cover yours, warming you inside and out.

“Yeah, but it’s no biggie.” You shrug one shoulder, nuzzling further into him. You were way too comfy to move.

“Au contraire,” Colt says, turning his body to face you, dislodging you from his shoulder and forcing you to lean your side on the back of the couch instead. He smiles at your irritated groan, which gives you the impression that he doesn’t know you’re not joking. “It’s a biggie.”

“You’re in pain,” you counter. It’s a safe bet, anyway, given what he does for a living.

“I am in pain,” Colt says, “because you’re in pain.” He places a hand over his heart and gives you his most soulful eyes, but if you look closely, you can see one side of his mouth twitching, suppressing a smile. Good, you think. He knows he’s being stupid.

“Oh my God,” you say, fighting your own smile, “I literally don’t wanna hear it unless you plan on feeling my cramps for me.”

“I would if I could, baby,” he sighs, sliding his hands under your thighs and folding himself in half to lay his head in your lap. You sigh too, long-suffering while you rub a hand over his back. Not to be outdone, he sighs even louder, longingly. “I would if I could.”

“Shut the fuck–” you begin, covering your amusement, but you cut yourself off with a yelp when he lifts you by the back of your thighs, unfolding himself to hook his chin over your shoulder. He carries you to the bedroom, unbothered by your kicking legs and your protests that it’s not even 10 pm, and he hasn’t paused the show. In no time, he gently sets you on the edge of the bed and settles himself on his knees on the floor in front of you, big hands holding your hips.

“What are you doing,” you ask flatly, rolling your eyes when he shushes you, eyes fixed on your lower belly. Despite being a stuntman, he could be very dramatic when he chose to be.

“I have a message for the motherfucker named period cramps.” Colt says in some kind of deep, action hero type voice, and you have a sneaking suspicion he’s making a joke at the expense of Tom Ryder. “You better stop hurting innocents before I get involved.” He leans closer and closer as he speaks until his nose is against your stomach, and you feel weirdly self conscious about him possibly smelling your blood.

“You are so dumb,” you tell him, and he leans back with an easy smile. His cocky expression makes him look extra dumb, but unfortunately also really handsome. You roll your eyes again playfully.

“You’re smiling though,” he tells you with increasing smugness. You’d want to hit him if you didn’t want to kiss him. 

“I am n–” You are. Son of a bitch. “You’re ridiculous,” you mumble as you grab him by the shirt collar with both hands and pull him up to you. He follows you easily, letting go of your hips to plant his hands on the mattress.

🜼 his first coherent thought is actually quite simple: oh no, she’s pretty. his second thought is: oh no, she’s talking to me. because somehow you’ve wandered over and asked him a completely normal question. something simple. something like, “do you actually spend all day on the beach?” and ken, who has answered this question hundreds of times, suddenly forgets how words work. he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. “yes.” pause. “my job is beach.” another pause. “i’m very good at it.” you stare at him for a solid three seconds before looking at barbie and going, “is he serious?” and ken somehow falls in love.

🜼 your first impression of him is genuinely terrible. not terrible as in unpleasant. terrible as in confusing. because every time you see him, he’s doing something strange. posing. flexing. dramatically staring into the ocean. running on sand for no obvious reason. one afternoon you watch him spend ten minutes trying to impress a seagull. a seagull. by the end of the week you’ve started referring to him privately as “that beach idiot”. unfortunately for you, ken would be thrilled to know you’ve given him a nickname because it means you’ve been thinking about him.

🜼 ken develops an absolutely ridiculous habit of appearing wherever you are. nobody knows how he does it. least of all ken. you’ll be having lunch with the barbies and suddenly he’s there. you’ll be walking through town and somehow he’s there too. you’ll mention wanting to see the sunset and he’ll materialise from nowhere like a particularly handsome ghost. he isn’t doing it deliberately.

🜼 he’s just become so hyper-aware of your existence that his entire body seems programmed to locate you automatically. if somebody asks where ken is, they can usually find the answer by locating you first.

🜼 because ken falls in love with his entire heart, he starts paying attention to every little thing about you. he remembers your favourite colour after hearing it once. he remembers which ice cream flavour you picked three weeks ago. he remembers that you hate getting sand in your shoes and starts absent-mindedly brushing it away whenever he notices. the sweetest part is that he doesn’t even realise he’s doing any of this. somebody points out that he remembers every detail about you and ken just blinks. “well, yeah. it’s her.”

🜼 the barbies catch on almost immediately. they are not subtle about it. one morning you’re having breakfast when a barbie casually asks, “so, how are things with ken?” and you’re like, “what things?” meanwhile every barbie at the table suddenly becomes fascinated by their coffee because they’re trying not to laugh. because from the outside, ken’s love is visible from space.

🜼 ken absolutely adores making you laugh. unfortunately, most of the time he’s not actually trying to be funny. he’s just naturally ridiculous. one day he’s attempting to explain beach to you with the seriousness of somebody discussing quantum physics. ten minutes later you’re crying with laughter while he’s looking at you completely bewildered. “what?” he asks. “nothing,” you manage, “keep going.” and ken, who would happily explain beach for six hours if it means you’ll keep smiling like that, immediately continues.

🜼 there comes a point where he starts looking for your reaction first. every time something happens. every single time. if he tells a joke, he looks at you. if he does something impressive, he looks at you. if he successfully carries six beach chairs at once, he immediately checks whether you saw it. your opinion becomes terrifyingly important to him without either of you noticing.

🜼 you begin finding him everywhere. not because he’s following you. because people keep talking about him. “ken helped me with that.” “ken said you liked these flowers.” “ken remembered your favourite song.” it’s like he’s accidentally woven himself into your daily life. one day you realise you haven’t gone more than a few hours without hearing his name and that thought is much more dangerous than you’d like to admit.

🜼 ken becomes convinced you’re the coolest person in barbieland. not one of the coolest. the coolest. you could literally sit down and drink lemonade and ken would act like he’s witnessing history. “you’re amazing.” “i’m drinking lemonade.” “exactly.”

🜼 every time you compliment him, he malfunctions. completely. the first time you tell him his jacket looks nice, he spends the next three weeks wearing that exact jacket. every single day. eventually barbie asks why and ken just shrugs. “she likes it.” as though that’s the most obvious explanation in the world.

🜼 one afternoon you’re sitting on the beach reading while ken rambles beside you. he’s been talking for approximately twenty-seven minutes about something you stopped following ten minutes ago. eventually you glance up and realise he’s smiling. not because of what he’s saying. because you’re listening. because you’re there. because he gets to spend time with you. and for the first time you think, oh. he’s actually kind of sweet.

🜼 the shift happens slowly after that. you start finding his ridiculousness charming instead of annoying. when he trips over something, you laugh and help him up instead of rolling your eyes. when he starts rambling, you listen. when you spot him jogging across the beach to say hello, your day genuinely improves. it’s a very dangerous development.

🜼 ken notices immediately. not consciously. but he notices. your smiles linger longer. your greetings sound warmer. you seek him out more often. and every tiny sign gets treasured like buried treasure. one smile from you can improve his entire week.

🜼 once you’ve become friends, he’s unstoppable. because now he has an excuse to spend time with you. suddenly he’s inviting you everywhere. beach walks. sunset watching. horse-related activities that somehow don’t actually involve horses. every invitation is delivered with the enthusiasm of a puppy presenting a stick.

🜼 one of his favourite things becomes hearing you say his name. which is incredibly unfortunate because now every time you do, he lights up. “ken?” “yeah?” “ken.” “yeah?” “ken.” “yeah?” eventually you stop because he’s smiling too hard to function.

🜼 he starts bringing you little gifts. shells. flowers. shiny things he finds interesting. they’re never expensive. never grand. just small things that made him think of you. half the time the gifts don’t even make sense. “i saw this rock and thought you’d like it.” “why?” “it looked happy.”

🜼 if you ever sit next to him voluntarily, he’s done for. absolutely finished. he’ll spend the entire day trying to act normal while internally replaying the moment over and over again. she sat next to me. there were other seats. she chose this one.

🜼 ken develops a habit of looking at you whenever you’re talking, even in group conversations. he could be surrounded by twenty people and somehow his attention always drifts back to you. eventually one of the barbies notices and starts grinning every time it happens.

🜼 he starts saying your name differently. softer. warmer. like it’s his favourite word. because honestly, it probably is.

🜼 one day you realise something horrifying. you miss him when he’s not around. ken, who used to make you think who’s this idiot?, has somehow become part of your routine. your favourite part.

🜼 the moment you decide to stay in barbieland permanently, ken spends the entire day smiling. nobody can get a sensible answer out of him. he’s just happy. ridiculously happy. because you aren’t leaving.

🜼 when he finds out you’re staying, he tries very hard to play it cool. “oh. that’s nice.” pause. “really nice.” longer pause. “extremely nice, actually.” then he immediately runs off to tell every other ken.

🜼 the thing that finally gets you isn’t his looks. it isn’t even his devotion. it’s his kindness. the way he remembers things. the way he genuinely cares. the way he celebrates everybody else’s happiness as though it’s his own. one day you catch him helping somebody without expecting anything in return, and suddenly all those little pieces click together.

🜼 by then, ken is so in love it’s honestly ridiculous. he looks at you like you’ve personally invented sunsets. like you’re responsible for every good thing that’s ever happened to him.

🜼 when you finally realise you like him back, ken is completely oblivious. because despite being head over heels in love, he’s still a massive himbo.

🜼 you’ll be staring at him, smiling at him, seeking him out constantly, choosing him over and over again, and ken will still go home thinking, wow. she’s so nice to me. i wonder if she likes me. meanwhile every single person in barbieland is ready to scream because from the moment he saw you, ken never really stood a chance.

🜼 he took one look at the girl who was only supposed to stay for the weekend, fell hopelessly in love, and then spent every day afterwards accidentally building a friendship so sweet that eventually you couldn’t imagine barbieland without him in it either.

🜼 when strangers become friends, and friends become your favourite person, and your favourite person turns out to be a sunshine-bright beach himbo who looks at you like you’re magic, there are much worse fates.

🜼 dating ken is basically like accidentally adopting the world’s most affectionate golden retriever. from the moment the two of you officially get together, he becomes physically incapable of keeping his happiness to himself. every single morning starts with him looking delighted that you still exist. you’ll walk out of your dreamhouse and find him already waiting outside. not in a creepy way. in a “good morning! i brought you a flower! i found it ten minutes ago and immediately thought of you!” way. and every single time he sees you, regardless of whether it’s been five minutes or five hours, his face lights up like you’ve just returned from war.

🜼 he absolutely loves introducing you as his girlfriend. loves it. adores it. somebody asks who you are and ken immediately straightens up. “this is my girlfriend.” the amount of pride in his voice is ridiculous. you’ve been dating for three months and he still sounds surprised every time he gets to say it. sometimes he’ll just work it into conversations for no reason. “my girlfriend likes that colour.” “my girlfriend told me about that.” “actually my girlfriend—” and eventually one of the barbies has to gently remind him that everyone already knows who you are.

🜼 he’s unbelievably clingy, but in the sweetest way imaginable. not possessive. not demanding. he just genuinely likes being near you. if you’re sitting somewhere, ken is probably sitting beside you. if you’re standing somewhere, ken somehow drifts over within five minutes. if there’s a choice between sitting across from you or next to you, he’ll choose next to you every single time. eventually you realise that half the time he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. his brain simply goes, there’s my favourite person, and his body follows.

🜼 ken becomes obsessed with holding hands. genuinely obsessed. once he realises he can just reach for your hand whenever he wants, it’s over. walking through barbieland? hand-holding. sitting together? hand-holding. watching the sunset? hand-holding. talking to friends? somehow still hand-holding. there are entire conversations where ken remembers absolutely none of what was said because he’s too busy being delighted that you’re holding his hand voluntarily.

🜼 and the thing is, he keeps looking down at your joined hands. every time. every single time. you’ll be halfway through telling a story and notice him smiling at your intertwined fingers. “ken, are you listening?” “yeah.” “what did i just say?” long pause. “your hand is really nice.” absolutely hopeless.

🜼 he loves praise more than any human being should. one casual compliment can sustain him for weeks. you’ll tell him he looks handsome and suddenly he’s smiling for the rest of the day. tell him you’re proud of him and he practically melts. one time you casually mention that you like the shirt he’s wearing and he starts wearing it constantly. not because he’s vain. because you liked it.

🜼 the first time you call him your boyfriend in front of somebody else, he nearly short-circuits. genuinely. you’re introducing him to somebody and casually say, “this is my boyfriend, ken.” and poor ken looks like you’ve just informed him he’s won a major award. afterwards he keeps replaying it in his head. my boyfriend. she said my boyfriend.

🜼 he becomes very, very affectionate once he’s comfortable. not even in a dramatic way. just constantly finding reasons to touch you. an arm around your shoulders. his hand resting on your back. leaning against you while you’re talking. resting his head on your shoulder. he’s spent so much of his life feeling lonely that having somebody he can simply be close to feels like the greatest luxury imaginable.

🜼 cuddling becomes one of his favourite activities almost immediately. unfortunately, ken treats cuddling like a competitive sport. if you’re watching a film together, he’s somehow ended up half draped across you by the end. if you’re lying on the beach, his head is in your lap. if you’re sitting on a sofa, he’s curled up against your side. at some point you realise that ken will choose physical contact over furniture every single time.

🜼 he absolutely adores your attention. you’ll be talking to somebody else and occasionally glance over to find him already looking at you. not because he’s jealous. because he likes watching you. likes listening to you. likes hearing you talk about things you’re excited about. ken would happily sit through a three-hour lecture on a topic he doesn’t understand if it meant listening to you explain it.

🜼 he develops the habit of randomly blurting out affectionate thoughts the second they enter his head. there is no filter. none whatsoever. you’ll be in the middle of a conversation and suddenly ken interrupts himself. “you’re really pretty.” “ken.” “sorry. i got distracted.” by what? by his own girlfriend existing apparently.

🜼 every date becomes an adventure because ken is genuinely enthusiastic about everything. going for a walk becomes the greatest walk ever taken. getting ice cream becomes a magical experience. watching the sunset becomes a life-changing event. the secret is that he isn’t excited about the activity. he’s excited because he’s doing it with you.

🜼 the barbies absolutely never let him live any of this down. if he spends too long staring at you, somebody notices. if he smiles every time you enter a room, somebody notices. if he accidentally says “my girlfriend” six times in one conversation, somebody definitely notices. one barbie eventually says, “ken, you’ve been smiling at her for ten minutes.” and he just shrugs. “i know.”

🜼 he’s incredibly thoughtful in strange little ways. you’ll mention wanting to see a sunset from a particular spot and two days later ken has already planned it. you’ll mention liking a certain flower and suddenly he starts bringing them to you. not because he’s trying to impress you. because he genuinely listens. every little thing you tell him gets carefully stored away.

🜼 perhaps the sweetest thing is that ken never really gets over the fact that you chose him. months into the relationship, you’ll still catch him looking at you with that same soft, slightly disbelieving expression. sometimes you’ll ask what he’s thinking about. and every time the answer is roughly the same.

“nothing.”

“ken.”

“okay.” giant smile.