#(that bow isn't for nothing baby)

[veinsfullofstars]

Okay I've seen it mentioned a couple times now but I gotta ask.....

what's the Library Turtle?

Oh? Would you perhaps be referring to-

-known more colloquially as the Library Turtle? Well, I'm glad you asked!

In the CFAU, it’s a little interstellar lending library that travels all around the local star system, collecting, trading, and sharing a wide assortment of books, magazines, music, and other sources of knowledge and entertainment between the various interplanetary communities. The elderly duo that owns the library have been running it for quite some time, visiting Popstar in particular few times a month. As for the proprietors themselves…

First, we have the lovely Ms. Paige, a tiny owl-like lady with a witchy aesthetic and a grandmotherly disposition, as patient and wise as you’d expect given her librarian title (as long as you don’t damage her books, that is). A former teacher and very well-traveled, she is a wealth of general knowledge and information, always happy to answer questions when she can or, barring that, to find the book that will. (She also has a bit of a weakness for gossip, even if she won’t admit it.) On occasion, she’ll regale the children with a story or two, folktales and epics and even anecdotes from her own travels (though, few tend to believe such fantastical yarns). She’s also rather spry for her age, often seen carrying improbably tall stacks of books without breaking a sweat. She claims it’s because she always remembers to eat her greens, or exercise regularly, or get a good amount of sleep every day. The answer seems to vary each time she’s asked about it.

We also have the illustrious Sir Apple Tortsworth IV, Esq. - or Sir Tort for short - a large tortoise-like creature who co-owns the library with Paige. He is an easygoing old man of few words and fewer hurries, perfectly content to take the twilight years of his life at a leisurely pace (even if others don’t always meet him at his speed). On land, he stands on four sturdy legs, while, in the air, he transforms them into flippers that let him soar with grace and ease, even with the weight of a whole library on his shell (well… some of it, anyway). He’s happy to chat when prompted, his words thoughtful and eloquent, but he generally prefers to sit back and observe while Paige does the talking for them both. She claims that he’s actually quite the chatterbox when he wants to be (and a sassy one at that). Then again, she also claims that he was once a highly-decorated knight. And a certified lawyer. And a four-star chef. He’s yet to confirm or deny any of these claims. Mostly he just smiles and sleepily admires the scenery, humming old songs from his youth.

The kids love when the Library Turtle comes to visit the village, even the ones not so inclined to reading. As interesting as their homeland can be, there's something exciting about learning what goes on in the cosmos beyond. Paige never fails to find something to interest them, even if it's just another one of her famously tall tales. And Sir Tort is more than happy to listen when one of them has news to share or just needs an ear to confide in. And, whenever the kids have questions about anything - their home, the world beyond Popstar, their families and neighbors, even the two of them - Paige and Sir Tort always make time to answer to the best of their abilities.

Sketch started 01/09/25, sketch finished 01/14/25. | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

[bi-writes]

I can imagine asking Ghost to take my daughter to the daddy-daughter ball, only not to be able to get rid of him once he brings her home.

"you what?"

you rest your forehead against your locker door, closing your eyes as you tune out the nonchalant voice on the other end of the phone.

he always cancels.

but this?

"y-you can't cancel," you say finally. "you have to go. you can't do this to her, are you fucking kidding me?" you put a hand to your forehead. "you're a fucking asshole. i-i bought her a dress. it's for fathers and daughters, i can't fucking take her. it's all she's been talking about, i can't believe you--!"

you kick your locker shut and take a seat, resting your elbows on your knees. he gives you another excuse, but you just blink away your angry tears.

"no. don't bother. in fact, i don't want to see you again. i don't want her to see you again."

you put the phone down, your hands trembling from how angry you are. you aren't even surprised that he's not calling you back.

he's never wanted her. never.

"sergeant."

the firm sound of your title immediately has you on your feet. you stand up straight, but you relax a little when you see it's just ghost. his head is tilted to the side, and he's watching you carefully from under his mask. you can't see his expression, but his eyes are intense. he's focused on you, very much so.

you wipe the few tears that are under your eyes, and then your phone pinging takes your attention away from him. you pick it up and curse under your breath, opening your locker again to grab your things.

"i'm sorry, lieutenant, i need to go. can i get back to you tomorrow?"

"it's pick-up time, isn't it?"

you freeze from putting your jacket on, eyeing him warily before zipping it up.

"yeah," you say finally. "and i have some bad news to deliver, so while i'd love to stay and chat, i really need to go."

"doesn't hafta be her father," simon shrugs, leaning up against the locker beside yours. "could be anyone."

you glare at him a little, "if you're trying to make some kind of crude joke about the lack of men in our lives, lieutenant, i'd be careful if i were you--"

you stop when he grips your chin tight between his gloved fingers. you blink, unsure of what to do, and he shakes your jaw a little.

"i could take 'er."

you frown up at him, too annoyed to notice how he bends a little more, his face nearly against yours.

"it's not funny, lieutenant."

"not laughin'."

"you..." you meet his eyes, deflating a little. "you...you'd...you'd do that for me?"

ghost merely clicks his tongue before letting you go. when you make your way to your car, he follows, and you try to hide your smile as you make your way home.

ghost exchanges his mask for something more discreet when you aren't looking. a black n95, but his eyes still kill the same. when you come back to the car with a little girl on your hip, she stares wide-eyed at the hunk of man sitting in the passenger seat. he raises a brow at her, saying nothing, and you swallow hard as you buckle her into her seat.

"uhm...this is ghost. can you say hi, honey?"

"ghost? like halloween?"

"like halloween, baby."

as you buckle yourself back in the drivers' seat, you side-eye ghost when you hear the crinkle of a plastic wrapper. when you peek into the rearview to reverse out of the parking lot, you see your daughter with a big smile on her face and a red lolly stuck in her mouth.

"always carrying around sweets, lieutenant?"

he shrugs. "maybe."

she makes him wait in the living room while you get her dress on (she wants a big reveal, coming down the stairs and all). you bought it off of etsy, a custom-made, princess-inspired dress. it has a big skirt of silk and tulle, with a big bow at her back, and when you look at her smile in the mirror, you feel that searing slice of something that makes you want to kill the man that almost ruined her evening.

she gets to do her big reveal. she spins at the top of the stairs to make her big skirt move, and then she's running down the stairs, giggling, laughing, and just as she makes it to ghost, he grabs her under her arms and tosses her into the air. she shrieks with delight when her big dress moves, and you bite your lip watching them. the sight of ghost hiking her up on his hip and commenting on her bow makes your mouth water.

fuck. have his arms always been that big?

they look funny. your daughter looks like the prettiest princess, and ghost looks exactly as he always does--like a SAS lieutenant. he might not have any of his gear on, but the cargo pants, thick boots, and windbreaker don't hide his physique.

"have fun, baby."

you come up next to her, kissing her face, and she clings to your superior, arms tangled around his neck as she waves goodbye. you give ghost the keys to your car, tell him to bring her back by seven, and then you pamper yourself while she's gone.

you drink a few glasses of wine. you take a hot bath. you pick a movie to watch and don't have to make sure the rating is at least PG.

when ghost finally comes back, you're laying on the couch with another glass of wine. pajamas on, blanket over your lap, and you smile when you see her passed out in ghost's arms as he closes the front door behind himself.

"asleep? already?" you giggle. ghost sets your keys down by the door before taking his boots off, and you watch intently as he carries your daughter up the stairs to put her to bed. you follow him, grabbing some of her pajamas from the drawer as he lays her down on the bed. you work together to get her little shoes off and shimmy her out of the dress, and as you get her into her clothes and back under the covers, she barely even moves. she's so tired, yawning and snuggling under her blankets, and you shut the door behind you, leaning against it as you blink up at your lieutenant.

he stares right back down at you. you reach a hand up and trace along the edge of his mask. it's quiet. inappropriate. he won't move away from you, and you won't move either.

you could get used to this. you could get used to watching more adult movies, drinking more wine, having time to fixed your chipped nail polish. you could get used to being bent over your unmade bed and fucked nasty.

you grab onto the crumpled sheets, arching your back more. your knees dig into the mattress as your ass hikes up, and ghost grunts as he uses your hips as an anchor and fucks into you harder. it's been ages since anyone's found your sweet spot, and ghost's cock is nudging it every single time his hips come back to meet yours. his thighs are nearly as fat as his cock, and you feel like your entire body is being rewired as he gives it to you so good, inside and out.

thumb against your clit, balls smacking your pussy, cock splitting you open--you used to think sex was made only for men, but maybe you just never found a real one to show you just how toe-curling it really could be.

if you thought it was good on your tummy, ghost shows you an entirely different feeling on your back.

it's so intimate. no one has ever looked at you this way before. his hands are intertwined with yours, and all you can do is cry and squeeze his hands as he sinks all the way inside of you and barely moves apart. in the dark, he takes his mask off, and you can feel the pant of his hot breaths as he grinds into you deep, slow, purposefully. the stimulation on your clit has your thighs shaking, and when you think the tears are too much, ghost flattens his tongue to lick them off before kissing you wet and languid.

ghost barely pulls out. he just circles his hips, punching back into you, and you see spots behind your eyes when he finally opens his mouth and groans into your ear. something about hearing his voice, hearing him falter, it makes you come. as soon as your cunt squeezes, ghost chokes, gripping your jaw tight and coming deep. you squirm underneath him, arching your back--he fills you up, so much so you can feel it spurting out around his cock and spilling out between your thighs.

you're too tired to protest when he sinks between your thighs after--you have to get clean somehow, right?

when you come into the kitchen in the morning, ghost is at the stove, your daughter on his hip and an egg frying in the pan.

he doesn't leave you when you take him back to work; and he doesn't leave you when you go back home. you should've known better, maybe. it's your own fault. ghosts like to haunt.

and this one is home.

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 11 — BREEDING

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — heizou, neuvillette, wriothesley, albedo

— warnings. — fem! reader, breeding, lots of cum n spit, hitting it raw, petnames used: darling, baby, rough syx

⚝ — HEIZOU

it's addiction, a form of fixation and heizou doesn't stop until you're crammed full of his cum— literally as his fingers spread his seed from your lips down to your chin to watch it mark you, your tears mixing in as he presses his thumb past your tongue, just to see how far you'll take it.

"you're a damn masterpiece," heizou coos, tilting his head with a grin that's not just wicked— it's fanatical, wild, the kind of grin a man gives when he's long past the point of reason and fully drowning in sexual passion. his fingers were still wet with you, his knuckles glistening, and yet he kept them poised just out of reach, just enough to make you twitch, grind, gasp like you're coming undone without him even touching you.

"look at you," he drawls, voice so sweet you'd never tell he's feigning innocence, "quivering mess for me already? you don't even know what to do with yourself, do you?"

without looking away once, the detective watches— fixated as your thighs tremble, as your hips lift just barely from the mattress, chasing friction like you'll die if you don't get it, body slick and aching, soaked enough to stain the sheets beneath you— and archons, does it make him smirk wider, you feel it, the raw sting of overstimulation threading through your gut, curling your toes, making your stomach pull tight with the weight of everything he isn't letting you have.

"fuck, i knew you'd take it all baby," heizou's already painted you in his spit and cum— yet it's still not enough, it never was— instead, he pulls his cock from your tightness just to smear the tip over your swollen entrance, patting his dick on your folds, laughing breathlessly when it makes a filthy squelch, "this mess? this is mine, mine, gonna fuck it into you until it's leaking out onto the sheets, no one else gets to see you like this,"

and the detective makes sure of it— everlastingly keeping you plugged full of his slender fingers, thick cock and tongue and when you cum again, after he's bred and bred and bred you the entire night, you're spasming and gushing so violently it splatters all over the sheets. yet he doesn't stop, instead, heizou just shoves his cock back in deeper, harder until you writhe beneath him, back bowing again and again— each arch a reflex, a raw plea for mercy as numerous sparks burst behind your eyes, "gonna mark you with it baby, yeah? you'll be dripping for days."

⚝ — NEUVILLETTE

neuvillette's formality cracks the moment he realizes what he's done— your folds already glistening, your mouth open and wanting, wanting him and archons, dragons beyond, the way you soaked him up was putting him on edge as he drops to his knees like it's judgment, tongue diving in to taste his mess, face buried, nose brushing your clit as he moans like it's the only language he knew, "so wet already, you— you need correction,"

he rasps— voice rough, an octave lower, soaked in something that might be reverence if it weren't so wretchedly obscene— and still, he doesn't let you touch yourself, not even when your thighs begin to shake around him, not even when your body rocks with the force of how close you were, how desperately your slick pussy clenched around nothing in search of friction.

you ache, no, you burn, for the pressure the moment his girth was pressing into your walls again, the smallest touch setting you on fire, for anything to soothe the overwhelming throb between your legs.

your hands twitch where he's pinned them down, the need so sharp it's nearly painful as your stomach coils, tight and low and heavy, and all you could think about was grinding your hand down to help yourself out, circling your clit fast and frantic until you fell apart.

but neuvillette only watches you, drinking in the sight of your helpless squirming, the flushed heat of your skin, the lust in your eyes, the way you beg without words.

the man wanted to see it— that aching edge where pleasure becomes unbearable, he wanted to know how far he could take it, how much you'll squirm, how much of his seed he could store inside you, how loudly you'll whimper, all because he won't let you come.

"you want it that badly?" he whispers, lips ghosting your throat, "oh so greedy, darling, so desperate, do you even know how you look like this? shaking for me?"

and he still doesn't let you touch yourself.

he fucks you until you sob, fills you until you cry, until your juices were slicking up his pelvis, spit frothed into the mess, his hands keeping you open wide before he pulls out to slowly rub his shaft between your folds again, your slick and his cum coating his erection so fucking nicely the overstimulation has you grinding down against his cock in mindless circles, hips chasing friction like you're possessed, like your body had forgotten how to stop.

"i need to see it," he growls, standing, slapping the head of his cock against your cunt, "need to watch it drip out," and when neuvillette fucks you full, it's with unbearable precision— every thrust calculated, dragging your walls wide and making you feel how his cum fills every inch, "don't try to hold it in, darling, let it spill out, let them all see how thoroughly i've claimed you."

⚝ — WRIOTHESLEY

to wriothesley it was certainly not enough to just fuck you— he wanted to destroy you, breed you until you're feeling only him and his warm seed pooling from your hole, the man wanted to see his release flooding your pussy, cum mixed with spit and arousal as he mouths at your chest, grunting into your skin.

"you're so fucking good at taking it," he pants, "i'm impressed," as his voice turns husky, cracked open at the seams, like he's trying to growl but the sound gets caught somewhere in his chest— because fuck, you're tight, yeah? tighter than he expected, tighter than he could handle without his breath catching and his rhythm faltering for just a split second.

naturally the handsome man doesn't say it out loud, but you could feel it— how his hips were stuttering every now and then, how his hands gripped you harder, how his mouth parted like he's choking on the heat of it all.

he's supposed to be in control, isn't he? always was, right? but the way you clenched around him made something shiver through his whole body as his forehead falls against yours, damp and hot, "fuck, you're gonna make me cum too fast like this— shit—'", as his cock drags so deep inside you it knocks the rationality off your head, your toes curling and thighs twitching in exhaustion, hips jerking involuntarily, yet he's thrusting down harder just to make you feel more of that unbearable stretch.

the obscene pressure made your mind go white and your slick drip down his thighs, "but you're gonna take more, aren't you? I'm gonna stretch this hole until it can't hold another drop," as wriothesley shamelessly spits between your legs before watching it drip down to mix with your slick, his groans landing on your ears as if it's heaven.

"gonna fill you again," he growls between thrusts, hips slamming into you, "again and again until i fucking see it running down your thighs," as he doesn't stop even when pretty tears bead your lashes— wriothesley just flips you over, presses your cheek to the soaked sheets and fucks you through your whimpers, "you're gonna wear my cum like a brand."

⚝ — ALBEDO

scientific? sure, terrifying and obsessed? please.

albedo watches every twitch, every pulse, every droplet that slips from your hole after the first round, "fascinating," he mutters something dark underneath his breath, fingers sinking into the obscene slick between your thighs— warm, wet, and clenching as though your body itself was begging.

he groans low when he feels the way you pulse around nothing, fluttering and soaked, hips twitching like you cannot bear the emptiness. yet his hips don't move at first— just press deeper, just spread you wider, parting the mess to watch how it drips and sticks, how your whole body quivers from the exposure.

albedo curses, "ahh, you're throbbing for me already? this way? this wet?" it leaves him like instinct, resembling life— something deeper than thought, older than want, "you're clenching so tightly, it's trying to hold me in," as he continues to be brutal the second time— driving in so hard your breath leaves your lungs, his mouth messy and open against yours.

"do you feel that?" he hisses, sharp and low, but you barely hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears, your toes curling helplessly, nails digging into his back as sparks of raw lust flare through you— wickedly so, unrelenting shocks that made your body flinch and jolt against him.

your stomach felt tight, heavy, on the brink of exploding— like it's about to break open from how close you were, how full you felt of his cum, how deep albedo was inside you.

every thrust knocks your head back into the pillows, making your body seize up like it's trying to run and stay all at once as he groans when you clamp down at his cock, and the way you twitch around him drove him into madness, "how it gushes back out when i pull? yet i hate seeing it leave you," as he spreads you wider, studies how his cum seeps out, then pushes it back in with slow, filthy thrusts, "again, you'll take it all again, i want you dripping from the mouth and cunt, maybe both— marked inside and out, i need to make it happen."

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[leafbowl]

You know that thing bikers do when they see a police car? The tap on their helmets? Yeah so Arsenal, Red Hood, Red Robin and Spoiler (who I think are the only ones who ride motorbikes outside of their vigilante personalities) do it whenever they see Nightwing. And you better believe it makes others so fucking confused.

Nightwing: *Drops down into the fight.*

Red Hood: *Stops everything he's doing to tap the top of his helmet.*

Spoiler: *Sees it and then stops to do it too.*

Red Robin: *Gets a giddy little grin and starts tapping the top of his head.*

Thugs: *All collectively very confused.*

Thug #1: Wha... What're they doin'?

Thug #2: Uhh I dunno.

Thug #3: Hey, isn't that what bikers do when they see a cop?

Thug #2: Nah. Nightwing's not a cop, dumbass.

Thug #1: Yeah, he's a vigilante. Wha's he need with bein' a cop?

Thug #3: But he's the type to snitch tho.

Thug #1: Well... I guess. Maybe that's why they do it, cuz he's such a snitch.

Thug #2: *shrugs* Maybe.

Thugs #3: Uh, guys...

Thug #2: What?

Thug #3: Ya 'ere that?

Thug #1: *Pauses but doesn't hear anything.* Uh nah.

Thug #3: Exactly. Where'd the fightin' sounds go?

Thug #2: Shit.

The fighting had stopped because everyone else had been taken care of. The batfam had just been waiting for them to finish their conversation like Alfred taught them to. He would be proud. Probably of the broken and fractured bones that followed. Well, he'd be proud of their technique, they reckoned. (To be honest, Alfred would be proud no matter what.)

Arsenal: So he just... told you all to stop?

Red Hood: *Shrugs.* Pretty much.

Red Robin: I don't get why B wants us to stop using 'dick' as a term of endeerment. It's a compliment! Being like Dick is the highest honour.

Red Hood: And that has nothing to do with the fact the Baby Wonder finds it infuriating?

Red Robin, grinning: Cassie hating it is an upside, I won't lie.

Nightwing: *Drops down next to where they're all gathered on a roof.* Hey guys, sorry I'm late, I-

Red Hood:

Arsenal:

Spoiler:

Red Robin:

Robin:

Orphan:

Nightwing: Uh guys? *Starts sweating because there's something wrong with the way they're all blankly staring at him.* How- how's everyone?

Red Hood: *Starts tapping helmet.*

Nightwing: *So concerned that something's wrong he doesn't clock it right away so he just stares, a crease forming between his eyebrows.*

Red Robin: *Taps against his hair.*

Nightwing: Wait a sceond-

Arsenal, Spoiler: *Taps their heads.*

Robin and Orphan: *Looks at each other. Holds eye contact and then starts tapping their heads to fuck with Nightwing.*

The next day a photo of Nightwing standing with his head bowed in defeat whilst being surrounded by Red Hood, Arsenal, Red Robin, Robin, Spoiler and Orphan who are all patting their heads is trending. People think they're in some kind of cult and that they were either sacraficing Nightwing or they were summoning something. The fact that Nightwing isn't spotted for the next week makes everyone lean towards the sacraficing.

(Jason made him promise he would play into the bit by not going out and letting his friends and/or his siblings patrol his city. Dick has never been good at saying no to his little brother. And, come on, Dick fucking loved the idea of people thinking he was being sacraficed. Also, he doesn't mind the head patting. Batman was the only one who thought it might reveal his identity. Dick was with Stephanie on it all, really. There was no way people would connect him to Nightwing and if they did, it's not like anyone else would believe them.)

It gets to the point that it's not even to fuck with Batman anymore. It becomes a normal greeting, something that bleeds into their civillian lives. People understand it more when it's directed at Dick Grayson but it's very endeering to see it. It all fuels all the Bruceman shippers when Tim Drake-Wayne is caught doing it to Nightwing.

[ariestrxsh]

❆ content warning: smut, use of toys, oral (f! & m!receiving), masturbation, cheating (kinda), getting caught, praise/degradation, voyeurism/exhibitionism, cuckold behavior, unprotected sex, threesome (ish), bf!chris, pervy!matt, gf!reader

❆ summary: chris buys you a dildo for christmas, and his brother matt, who has always had a thing for you stumbles upon you using it

Merry Chrattmas! 🤍 Sorry it's a little late. Inspired/requested by this ask.

Voyeur

"Alright, which one of you bought a sex toy?" Matt laughed after tearing open the package that had been left on the doorstep that morning without even bothering to look at the name of the recipient. He was holding up a glass dildo for the whole house to see. Nick's eyebrows flew up and his jaw dropped as his gaze meandered over to Chris from across the room.

"Give me that, asshole! What are you doing opening mail that isn't yours? What if it had been a gift for you?" Chris snarked, ripping the box and the toy out of Matt's hand. "Then I would have kindly asked you to return it," Matt chuckled, poking Chris in the side. Chris rolled his eyes.

"It's for my girlfriend, okay? Don't let her know that you've seen it, because she'd be really embarrassed," Chris responded, blushing. "I bet she'll look so good using it," Matt smirked, his imagination running wild.

It was no secret that Matt had always found you attractive. Everyone knew it. Chris knew it, Nick knew it, and even you knew it, but you'd oftentimes joke around, even to Matt's face, that you were a loyal Chris girl and that nothing could ever sway you.

Of course, Matt took this as a challenge and caused him to pine after you even more. You'd never admit to it, but you did secretly like the attention your boyfriend's brother gave you.

"Too bad you'll never know," Chris rolled his eyes at his brother's out-of-pocket comment and rushed off to his room to wrap the gift in private along with the pink Fresh Love hoodie he'd designed for you. He included a card in the gift that read:

"I hope you wear this hoodie and think of me the next time you get off without me. Merry Christmas, baby. I love you. Xoxo, Chris."

He scribbled in a poorly drawn heart at the bottom of the card. He swathed the box in gift wrap, tying a sparkly, pink bow around it and placing it under the tree.

It was only a few days later that you went over to your boyfriend's house to spend the night, and luckily, Nick was out for the evening, and Matt was on his way out, so the two of you were going to have the house to yourselves. It was the perfect opportunity for Chris to give you your present.

"You're going to love the gift my brother got you. It's gonna make you scream," Matt whispered into your ear and winked as he was getting ready to walk out the door. You rolled your eyes and scoffed at him, but your curiosity was sparked.

After he left, you and Chris sat in front of the fireplace in the glow of the burning wood and twinkling Christmas lights that were strewn around the tree. The scent of the sugar cookie candle that was burning down to the wick wafted through the air. Chris delicately placed the neatly-wrapped gift in your hand.

"I know it's not Christmas yet," Chris said with a warm smile, knowing you were the type of person who liked to wait until Christmas morning to open your gifts. You smiled back at him, fiddling with the pretty ribbon wrapped around it. "But?" You asked, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

"It's the kind of gift I want you to open alone," Chris responded, nervously biting his lip. You wrinkled your nose at him. Open alone? Too bad Matt knew what it was for whatever reason, you thought to yourself. You weren't sure where he was going with this, but that made it even harder to resist tearing open the gift.

"I'll make an exception. Just for you," you rolled your eyes in an endearing manner and began to tear off the wrap, revealing an unmarked box beneath the paper. You slowly removed the lid, and you gasped at the Fresh Love hoodie that was neatly folded on top.

It was your favorite color, and you clutched it close to your chest and gave your boyfriend an exhilarated smile. "Chris, I love it!" You glanced back down into the box where a card lay on top of some sparkly tissue paper. He'd made it himself, which made it that much more special. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you read the card aloud.

"Chris, what else is in here?" You wondered as you started rifling through the box. Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped as you examined the glass toy, and you picked it up by the pink heart-shaped handle. "Chris.. it's so pretty," you whispered.

"Not as pretty as you using it, though, I'm sure," he gave you a cheeky grin and nudged you. "I don't know how. You should show me," you gave him a fake pout and batted your eyelashes at him. You did know how to use it, but you wanted Chris to be the first one to use it on you.

"Take off your clothes," he lustfully whispered as you handed off the dildo to him, a smirk playing in the corner of your lip. You pulled off your sweater, revealing that you had nothing on underneath, and you took down the waistband of your pajama pants and your underwear.

"Fuck, you're already wet," Chris noticed aloud as you slowly spread open your legs, his fingertips lightly grazing your skin. He leaned down and started trailing kisses up your inner thighs while you gently combed through his hair with your fingers as he neared your heat.

He licked a long stripe up your slit, subtly flicking his tongue across your clit once he got to it. He placed your toy at your entrance and slowly pushed it in. You squealed and clamped your legs down around Chris' head as you stretched around the glass dildo.

He began to gently fuck you with it, listening to the pretty sounds that fell from your lips as you threw your head back. You gripped his hair, tugging on it as he picked up the pace of his tongue, quickly flitting it over your bundle of nerves. He closed his lips down around it, humming against your clit, your legs shaking at the sensation.

The dildo didn't feel quite as good as having sex with Chris, but it was good enough that you knew it would satisfy you the next time you were turned on and missing him. He worked the toy in and out of you at a gradually quickening pace, and your hips started to move in unison with it.

"Chris, you're amazing," you breathlessly purred, and he chuckled with your pussy in his mouth. He could tell you were getting close. He didn't fluctuate, his motions remaining constant while his pretty blue eyes flicked up to meet yours. You rested your hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to keep eating you as your whole body started to tremble.

"Yes.. please.. just like that.. mmm.. gonna cum," you said in a series of broken moans. You felt yourself squeezing around the toy the same way your thighs were squeezing around Chris' ears, and before you knew it, you were coming undone at the seams.

The pressure that had spent so much time building in your core finally reached its breaking point. You bucked your hips, riding the toy and grinding against Chris' face as you finished. Your broken moans turned to fervent whimpers, and your whimpers turned to desperate screams, just like Matt had predicted. Your eyes wandered towards the back of your head.

Chris didn't take his gaze off you. He loved making you feel good, and he relished in the way your body reacted to orgasm. He thrust the toy in and out of you and licked your sensitive button until you were completely finished and pushing his head away.

"Oh my god," you said, trying to catch your breath and recover from the intensity of your climax. Chris came up for air, his lips and chin glistening in your fluids. "That was so hot," he said in a low, sexy voice. You took the toy from him and leaned in to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue as the two of you passionately made out.

"You're so good at giving," you told him. "Gifts, I mean." The two of you laughed at your play on words. You both spent the rest of the night watching Christmas movies cuddled up on the couch with mugs of hot cocoa while the fire burned through the rest of the wood.

You and Chris eventually found your way to his bedroom where the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms tangled in the sheets. The warmth of his body wrapped around you and the comforting feeling of his hot breath on your neck was the last thing you remembered before you drifted off...

You awoke the next morning to Chris shifting around on the bed, and after you rubbed your eyes, you realized he was getting dressed to go somewhere. "Where are you going?" You asked in your sleepy voice.

"I'm going to go pick us up coffee and bagels. Just keep sleeping like a little angel, and I'll be back soon. I love you," Chris whispered, leaning down to kiss you and ruffle your hair.

You were hoping to sneak in a little early morning sex with him, but he was already putting his shoes on, and you figured you could just use the new toy he bought you while he was gone. "I love you, too," you responded in a sweet voice.

You watched him from your foggy window, flakes of snow starting to slowly fall from the sky. Your face lit up, excited that you were going to get your White Christmas after all. Chris blew you a kiss before he got into his car and sped off.

You sauntered over to the pretty box that held your gifts. You changed into the pink Fresh Love hoodie Chris had designed for you, and you twirled around in front of his big mirror, admiring how perfectly it fit you.

You reached for the phallic-shaped glass and held it in your hands, contemplating whether to wait until Chris got back or to use it. You decided on the latter, unable to contain yourself any longer.

While Chris was still out getting the two of you breakfast, Matt wandered in through the front door. He set his keys down, let out a sigh, and started off down the hall, completely unaware of what he was about to stumble upon.

He walked past Chris' room, but some movement out of the corner of his eyes caused him to stop dead in his tracks and take a couple steps back. He was surprised to find you there, considering he didn't think anyone was home.

What surprised him even more was what you were doing. You were laying on your back on Chris' bed in nothing but your pink hoodie, legs spread, and your pussy wrapped around the toy he'd accidentally opened in the mail a couple days earlier.

You were so enthralled with what you were doing that you didn't even hear him come in or see him as he leaned up against your door frame with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He raised an eyebrow as he studied the view, wetting his lips. It was everything he hoped it would be.

Your facial expressions were steeped in desire, ethereal moans rolling off your tongue, and your cunt stretching around the toy as you worked it back and forth. He immediately grew hard, watching you and imagining it was his cock pumping in and out of you.

Your eyes flickered up, realizing he was in the room with you. You gasped and shut your legs, holding the toy still inside of you as you clenched around it. "Please. Don't stop," Matt begged, reaching for the bulge in his pants and gently running his hand over it. "Keep going. Please. I just wanna watch," he softly begged.

It was so hard to see him stroke himself through his sweatpants and not do the same. You knew it was wrong to be feeling this way about your boyfriend's brother, but you felt your stomach drop as your eyes landed on the outline of his hard cock and before you knew it, you were spreading your legs back open and continuing to fuck yourself with your dildo.

"Does that feel good?" He asked you, and you timidly nodded at him with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He walked forward a few feet, coming around to the side of the bed to watch you more closely. He reached out and lightly brushed your cheek with the back of his hand.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you quietly told him, but you couldn't help the way you relaxed into his touch as he caressed your face. "It's not like I'm fucking you," Matt smirked, and as he said it, your mind was immediately filled with ideas about what it would be like to get fucked by him.

Matt brushed his thumb against your bottom lip and gently pushed it into your mouth. You accepted it and started lightly sucking on it while Matt reached into his sweats and pulled out his pretty cock. You were shocked at how similar it looked to Chris', and it made it even easier for you to justify to yourself that you weren't technically doing anything wrong.

You sped up the toy thrusting into you as Matt continued to poke and prod your mouth with his fingers while he fervently jerked off at eye-level with you. "Good girl," Matt whispered as he ran his other thumb over his tip, coaxing a shiny fluid to leak from it. You sped up the pace as you watched him.

You knew the two of you were crossing a line, but you couldn't help yourself. Matt was too busy watching your toy glide in and out of your hole, and you were too busy watching Matt fist his cock that neither one of you saw Chris standing in the doorway with bagels and coffee as he stumbled upon the two of you and the way you were each hungrily looking at one another.

"Oh yeah? So I'm out getting you breakfast and you're using the toy I got you in front of my brother?" He scoffed, breaking the two of you out of your trance and making each of you jump.

He expected this from Matt, but he was shocked to see this kind of behavior from you. Matt pulled his thumb out from between your lips, and you each brought your movements to a standstill.

The longer Chris fixed his eyes on the scene in front of him, the more he found himself getting turned on by you playing with yourself in front of his brother. "Don't let me stop you. At least let me enjoy the show," Chris said, setting down the bagels and coffee on his dresser as he made his way to the foot of the bed and sat down.

You and Matt were dumbfounded, wondering if this was some kind of test. You halfway expected Chris to get angry, break up with you, or even physically fight his own brother. Yet, he was calm, and he seemed like he might have even liked it.

"Come on. Keep going," Chris demanded, and after a moment of hesitation, you continued to pump your toy into your drooling hole. Matt stuck his pointer finger into your mouth, and you started lightly sucking on it. A soft sigh left Matt's lips as he imagined you sucking on a different appendage, and he went back to stroking his pretty cock.

As if Chris could read Matt's thoughts, he flicked his gaze over at you, "Why don't you help him out?" He asked, a smirk playing in the corner of his mouth. You nodded and then looked back over at Matt who was putting his dick in your face that was silently begging to be sucked on.

You accepted him, wrapping your lips around his thickness as he started rocking his hips back and forth. He emitted a moan and his hand flew up to tangle itself in your hair. "Good girl," he softly purred, grabbing onto a fistful of your locks and pushing it further into your mouth.

He wasn't sure how far Chris would let him go with it, but he figured he'd test the boundaries until either one of you told him he was taking it too far. His other hand wandered between your legs. He started rubbing your clit, eliciting a moan from you that reverberated against his cock, leaving him with a lovely sensation.

"You're such a shameless little slut, aren't you? Letting my brother touch you in front of me as if I'm not your boyfriend?" Chris snarked at you, but you could tell by the luscious tone of his voice and the way he was stroking himself through his pants that he was getting off on what he saw.

"Come on, Matt. Fuck her pretty little face. She can take it. I promise," Chris encouraged him. He tightened his grip on your hair and did as Chris told him, jerking his hips forward triggering your gag reflex.

Matt continued drawing circles on your clit with the pad of his fingers as he stared into your watering eyes. His cock twitched against the back of your throat as he listened to the sound of you choking on him.

"Good girl. You take it so well. I wish I could fuck you," Matt purred. You moaned against Matt's length at the idea of him plowing you while your boyfriend watched. Chris was still gently rubbing his tip through the fabric of his pants as he watched the way you and Matt interacted with another.

"Merry Christmas, Matt. You can do whatever you want to her," Chris told him, getting harder and harder as his eyes flickered back and forth between the two of you. Matt's eyes twinkled as those words left Chris' lips.

"Oh, don't tell me that. I won't be able to control myself," Matt smirked, pulling his dick out from behind your lips with a pop. Matt grabbed the handle of your toy and slowly removed it from you and placed it on your nightstand.

"Go crazy. Can't you see how bad the little slut wants it?" Chris asked, staring down at the fucked out expression on your face and your pussy that was clenching around nothing.

Matt positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his cock teasing your hole. "You want it, don't you? You like the idea of getting fucked in front of your boyfriend?" Matt chuckled, breaching your entrance and beginning to gently rock his hips back and forth with only the first few inches of him inside you.

You slowly nodded, screwing your eyes shut as your jaw dropped at the change in sensation of Matt replacing your toy with his throbbing phallus. With every thrust, he pushed it in a little deeper until he was completely bottomed out inside of you, hitting the perfect spot.

The sounds of each of your moans dragging out and becoming louder as Matt pumped away. He placed your legs on his shoulders, fucking you harder and faster as you felt the pressure in your core building and building.

He pushed up your pink hoodie, revealing your perfect tits to him, and he gently squeezed one as he admired them. "Fuck, look at these," Matt whispered, pinching your nipple between the pads of his fingers, eliciting a soft mewl from you.

You could see Chris out of the corner of your eye moving towards you and coming around to the side of the bed. He took your hand in his and started caressing the back of it with his thumb. "Is he making you feel good?" He whispered into your ear before kissing your forehead. "Mhmm," you hummed delightfully.

It was always a fantasy of his to watch you get fucked by someone else, and although this wasn't exactly how he pictured it, he figured he couldn't let the opportunity go to waste.

"You take it like a little slut, you know that?" Chris cooed in your ear before latching onto your neck. You nodded, relishing in the way he spoke to you and the way his lips felt as he sucked on your sensitive flesh.

Matt loved the way it felt to be inside of you. He'd been fantasizing about it forever. He'd never admit it, but he'd stayed awake many nights, ear pressed up against Chris' door with his hand in his pants, listening to the sound of you getting fucked. He'd memorized the way your sweet little moans would slowly morph into seductive screams every time Chris would bring you to orgasm.

Now he was the reason pleasured noises were cascading from your lips, and he couldn't get enough. He knew you were getting close. "Oh, that's it," Matt grunted as he threw his head back, feeling you squeeze around his cock.

"Are you gonna cum for my brother?" Chris purred in your ear, recognizing the way your body was reacting and knowing you were about to finish. You looked into Chris' eyes and slowly nodded as the knot in your stomach came unraveled, your pussy rhythmically clenching around him.

"Good girl," Matt breathlessly whispered, pounding into you as hard as he could. Your pleasure reached a crescendo, and you heard a ringing in your ears and a strong buzzing throughout your body as you came undone on Matt's cock.

You couldn't see or think straight. All you could feel was an intense surge of pleasure followed by a wave of calmness washing over you as Matt's dick started to throb inside of you. He pulled out at the last second, painting your stomach in his load and pumping his cock back and forth with his fist until he had milked himself dry.

His eyes rolled back in his head, and his moans filled the room as he finished all over you. "Oh my god," he breathlessly whimpered, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. Chris' eyes followed the mess he made, his cock jerking at the sight.

"Hey, Matt. Just letting you know, this was a one-time thing, and if you're not out of here by the time I come to my senses, I might fucking kill you," Chris said sternly. Matt nodded, quickly pulling himself to his feet and tucking himself back into his pants before darting out of the room.

"Loyal Chris girl, huh?" Chris snarked at you, using your own words against you. "Chris.." you started to say, expecting him to get angry with you next. "It's okay. I'm not mad at you. I'm not mad at Matt either. I just wanted to see him run away like a little bitch," he told you, his lips curling into a devious smile.

"I actually really liked watching you two together," he admitted, biting his lip. Your eyebrows flew up in a look of surprise. You could tell he liked it, but you didn't think he'd confess to it. "Come on. Your coffee's probably cold by now."

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[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤGRAMMYS 2025 * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N, worldwide famous singer, goes to the Grammys 2025 and brings Chris as her pair for the first time.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x singer!reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Y/N had been nominated for five Grammy Awards this year. Five. And yet, for some reason, the thought of stepping onto that carpet, under the flashing lights and watchful eyes of the entire world, made her more nervous than she’d ever been.

It wasn’t her first time - this was her fifth Grammy appearance - but the nerves never seemed to dull, no matter how many times she did this.

Her team had tried everything: chamomile tea, soothing massages, deep breathing exercises, playing her favorite calming playlist at a low volume in the background, even giving her a dozen of those custom-made chocolates with her face printed on them. But nothing helped. Not really.

Not even Chris’s kisses; though she had to admit, they were a very welcome distraction.

They were in a penthouse suite of a luxurious hotel in downtown Los Angeles, even though their house was barely a twenty-minute drive away. It was protocol, her team insisted. Every artist did it - getting ready in a hotel, away from distractions, with stylists, makeup artists, and PR people swarming around. It was meant to be a controlled environment, a perfectly curated lead-up to the biggest night in music. But it only added to the pressure.

Y/N stood in front of a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror, wrapped in a silk robe, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as a makeup artist blended soft eyeshadow onto her lids. Her hairstylist was behind her, curling strands of her hair into loose waves. She looked poised on the outside, but internally, her nerves were tying knots in her stomach.

Chris sat on the couch a few feet away, watching her intently. He was already dressed - black tux, crisp white shirt, and a bow tie he had spent fifteen minutes fighting with before her makeup artist took pity on him and fixed it for him.

He looked good.

Really good.

The kind of good that made her momentarily forget about the nerves. But she wasn’t the only one nervous tonight.

Chris had been jittery since this morning, though he tried not to show it. This was his first time attending something this big, this formal, and while he was used to attention, this was a whole new level. He was going to be surrounded by the most famous people in the world, and for the first time, he wasn’t just Chris Sturniolo, the YouTuber; he was Chris Sturniolo, Y/N’s date to the Grammys.

But instead of letting his own anxiety get to him, he focused on her, observing how her fingers twitched, manicured nails shining below the lights with every tremble.

"Baby." He cooed, standing and walking toward her as soon as the makeup artist stepped aside. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her exposed shoulder, his big hands finding home around her hips, squeezing the covered skin. "What are you feeling, huh? 'Can feel you stressing from across the room, doll."

Y/N sighed, her hands gripping the edges of the vanity table, being careful not to knock her knuckles against the three massive bouquets - Nick had arranged for all of them to be delivered straight to her room in that morning.

"I just... I don’t know, Chris." She murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I know I’ve done this before, but what if I don’t win anything? What if I disappoint everyone?"

Before she could spiral any further, Chris was already moving. His hands slid from her hips to her stomach, wrapping around her in a slow embrace. He pulled her against him, his chest firm against her back, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of her robe.

"Hey." He whispered, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Don’t do that."

His voice was gentle but firm, a quiet command that sent a shiver down her spine. She felt his breath against her neck, warm and familiar, grounding her.

"First of all." He continued, his arms tightening around her middle. "You’re the best singer out of everyone in that room tonight. You know that, right?"

Her eyes rolled.

"Baby, you can't say that when Billie Eilish, Taylor Swift-" She started, turning her head slightly, but he was already shaking his head.

"Nope." He cut in, resting his chin in the curve of her neck, his gaze locking onto hers through the mirror. "I said what I said. And for the record." He added, voice lower now, dripping with conviction. "You’re already the winner of everything in my book. Even the categories you’re not nominated in."

She sighed, heart pounding as his hands splayed across her stomach, his thumbs brushing slow, absentminded circles.

"Best Album? Yours." He murmured, letting his lips ghost over her jaw. "Best Song? Yours." His mouth traveled down to her shoulder, barely pressing against her skin, yet setting every nerve ending alight. "Best Human Being to Ever Exist?" He turned his head just enough to meet her eyes in the mirror again, his smirk soft but teasing. "You, obviously."

She let out a small, shaky laugh.

"Chris-"

"I’m serious." He interrupted, turning his head and nuzzling the soft skin of her temple, inhaling the rich scent of her Givenchy perfume. "Your fans love you. I love you. And, babe, let’s be honest, you could drop a single of you just breathing into a mic, and it would still go platinum."

That made her laugh, her eyes rolling with amusement.

"You’re gonna do your best tonight, like you always do. And no matter what happens, I’ll be right there with you."

She finally turned in his hold, her arms looping around his neck and her red tinted lips forming a small pout.

"Even if I trip on the carpet?"

"I’ll trip with you. We’ll make it a trend." Chris grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to the tip of her nose, being excessively careful not to smudge her perfect makeup. "Now, I think there's a worldwide famous singer who should be getting dressed, huh?"

Y/N's eyes stared into blue ones for a moment, smiling with the softness she found in them.

"Yeah... Yeah, you're right."

A sharp knock at the door broke their haze, followed by a loud voice.

"Y/N!"

The voice was unmistakable, high-pitched and full of dramatic flair, and before Y/N could even turn, Harry Lambert had burst into the room, arms spread wide, eyes scanning her from head to toe with theatrical disbelief.

"Oh. My. GOD." He practically floated toward her, his hands fluttering in the air like he was physically trying to grasp the vision before him. "Darling, how dare you stand there looking this stunning before even getting into your dress?"

Y/N barely had time to react before he pulled her into a tight hug, arms wrapped around her like he hadn’t seen her in years - even though they had spoken just yesterday. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her there for a beat longer than necessary, his touch radiating warmth and love.

"My baby girl." He cooed, pulling back slightly to cup her face. "How are we feeling? Nervous? Excited? On the verge of a breakdown?"

"All of the above." Y/N admitted, letting out a breathy laugh as he studied her with fondness.

Harry clicked his tongue.

"Well, you shouldn’t be, because you’re about to own this night. And if anyone so much as dares to breathe in your direction the wrong way, I will be throwing hands."

Chris chuckled from behind them.

"Good to see you, Harry."

"Christopher!" Harry turned to him with a dazzling smile, patting his chest in greeting before narrowing his eyes playfully. "The suit I chose for you was a very good choice, huh? Gucci looks good on you. Now, let’s be clear, your only job tonight is to stand there, look pretty, and worship Y/N like the goddess she is. Do you understand me?"

Chris raised his hands in surrender.

"Oh, trust me, I’ve been doing that since the second I met her."

Y/N felt her cheeks warm as Harry clapped his hands together.

"That’s my boy. Now, enough chit-chat! It is officially time to get my queen into the dress."

The entire room seemed to shift as the energy buzzed with anticipation. Y/N was ushered toward the dressing area, where the Gucci gown had been carefully laid out, glowing under the soft lights. Even without being worn, it commanded attention - the gold fabric shimmering as if infused with actual stardust, the dramatic ruffles sculpted to perfection.

As they helped her into it, every detail came to life. The strapless silhouette hugged her body in all the right places, the embedded crystals catching every flicker of light. The metallic sleeves, voluminous and artful, cascaded around her arms, while the matching ruffles at the bottom framed her steps with effortless grace.

When the final adjustments were made, Harry stepped back, his hands pressed to his chest as if he might faint.

"Oh, sweet heavens above." He whispered, looking genuinely overwhelmed. "I’ve outdone myself. We’ve outdone ourselves."

Chris, who had been sitting on the bed answering his brothers texts, looked up with Harry's voice, suddenly straightening up. His hands dropped to his lap, and his mouth hung open slightly, completely speechless.

"Wow." His voice came out strangled, like he had just been personally attacked.

Y/N turned toward him fully, the movement making the crystals on her dress shimmer, the light practically bending to her will. Chris visibly short-circuited.

"Are you- what- how-" He inhaled sharply, shaking his head as if trying to reboot his brain. "Nah. Nah. This isn’t fair. This should be illegal."

Y/N bit her lip, fighting a smile, but his reaction only got worse. His fingers threaded into his hair, his eyes raking over her from head to toe with pure, unfiltered obsession.

"Jesus fuck." He breathed out, voice a little rough. "You’re gonna kill me tonight, doll."

Harry smirked, tilting his head as he admired her.

"Oh, she’s not just going to kill you, Christopher. She’s going to kill everyone at the Grammys tonight. And I, for one, cannot wait to watch it happen."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The energy outside the venue was electric. Even from inside the tinted Range Rover, the deafening sound of flashing cameras and screaming paparazzi was unavoidable. Y/N shifted in her seat, inhaling slowly, feeling the vibration of the excitement just beyond the doors.

A hand suddenly slid over her thighs, warm and grounding, caressing the fabric of her dress.

"Ready?" Chris asked, his voice softer than the chaos outside.

Y/N turned to him, wetting her matte lipstick lips.

"Yeah." She breathed, even though her heart was hammering.

Chris smirked knowingly.

"Liar."

Before she could argue, the car door swung open, and an immediate wave of screams hit them like a storm.

Chris stepped out first, adjusting his suit as flashes exploded around him, the sound of his name already being yelled from every direction. He quickly moved around to face the inside of the car, offering his hand.

The second Y/N emerged, the chaos tripled.

"Y/N! Y/N! Over here!"

"Y/N! Christopher! Are you two official?"

"Y/N, do you think you’ll win tonight?"

Y/N barely flinched at the shouting - it was part of the job. Instead, she kept her chin high, gripping Chris’s hand as they made their way down the carpet. The venue was bathed in red and gold hues, a massive step-and-repeat wall covered in Grammy logos standing proudly ahead. The air buzzed with anticipation, celebrities lining the edges of the carpet, all waiting for their moment in front of the cameras.

A staff member approached, guiding them toward a designated spot.

"You first, Ms. Y/N." The woman instructed.

Chris gave Y/N a gentle squeeze before stepping aside, allowing her to take center stage.

And damn, did she own it.

The second she posed, the already flashing cameras seemed to explode.

The fitted, gold gown clung to her frame like liquid metal, sparkling under the lights. The voluminous, ruffled sleeves caught the air as she shifted her stance, making her look like some sort of celestial being - untouchable, ethereal. She turned her head smoothly, flashing a radiant smile as the photographers shouted for her attention.

Chris, standing just a few feet away, was not handling it well. His eyes never left her, completely entranced, like he was seeing her for the first time again, not even noticing the flashs directed to his figure.

Y/N, catching his expression, couldn’t help but smile shyly. She subtly tilted her head toward him between poses, raising a teasing brow.

Chris just shook his head, still gawking, before muttering under his breath.

"Jesus Christ."

The staff member signaled for Chris to approach Y/N for their couple photos. Y/N turned toward him, making a playful shooing motion with her hands as if to snap him out of his trance.

"Earth to Chris." She teased.

Chris didn’t respond - not verbally, at least. Instead, he stepped closer with large steps and grabbed her by the waist, carefully pulling her flush against him, careful with her heels but firm enough to steal a delighted gasp from her. The moment their bodies pressed together, the screams from the crowd outside the barricades and the clicking of cameras reached a new level of hysteria.

The cameras loved them.

Chris leaned in between shots, his lips brushing her ear.

"You think they got food inside?"

Y/N barely bit back a laugh, keeping her expression poised as she continued smiling for the cameras.

"What, you mean like caviar and tiny-ass lobster rolls?"

"I don’t care if it’s a plate of lettuce. I need to eat something before I pass out."

Y/N snorted softly with how dramatic he could be, bumping her hips against his just slightly, careful not to disrupt the pictures.

"You ate almost all of those chocolates back in the hotel. Where does it even go?"

Chris grinned, his fingers squeezing at her waist, effectively freezing her in place.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a giggle.

"Be serious, Sturniolo."

"I am serious." He looked at her then, really looked at her, and it sent something warm and electric curling down her spine. "You are so fucking beautiful, it’s actually stupid."

Y/N faltered for half a second, her breath catching, not from the flashing lights, not from the cameras, but from him.

Chris chuckled, clearly pleased her reaction.

"Want to give y'a post-celebration present so bad." His voice switched to low and airy, almost lost beneath the noise, but she heard it perfectly.

Y/N swallowed, her mind jumping to conclusions she probably shouldn’t be having on the Grammys red carpet.

"Hm, and what would that be?"

Chris smirked, his fingers flexing at her waist.

"Eat y’out."

Y/N kept her composure like a pro, smiling for the cameras with a practiced grin, but discreetly pressed her thighs together. Two could play this game.

But before she could fire back, a voice interrupted.

"Alright, guys! We need to move to the next area!"

Another event staff member gestured for them to proceed toward the interview section, their tone polite but firm. Y/N exhaled slowly, her heart thudding inside her ears.

Chris sighed dramatically, his grip on her waist tightening for just a second before he let go, traveling up to her hand.

"And here I was, thinking we could just stay here all night."

Y/N squeezed his fingers, tugging him forward.

"Come on, you menace."

As they walked toward the interview zone, the setup became clearer - a sleek, well-lit platform lined with various media outlets, each interviewer eagerly awaiting their next celebrity guest. But before Y/N could even register who was up next, a familiar voice rang out, unmistakably enthusiastic.

"Y/N, oh my God! Get over here!"

Emma Chamberlain.

Y/N's face lit up immediately, and without hesitation, she pulled Chris along, their hands still intertwined as they made a beeline toward Emma. The internet personality-turned-Grammys correspondent was practically bouncing on her heels, her eyes wide with excitement.

As soon as they reached her, Emma lifted her microphone with dramatic flair.

"Ladies and gentlemen, five-time Grammy-nominated Y/N L/N, everyone!"

Y/N laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"No way you just said that like an awards show host."

Emma grinned.

"I am an awards show host." Then, turning to Chris, she playfully narrowed her eyes. "And, of course, let’s not forget the man of the hour, Chris Sturniolo!"

Chris chuckled, giving a small wave, the silver ring on his index finger glinting against the camera flash.

"That’s me."

Emma wasted no time diving into questions, her energy infectious.

"Okay, first things first, how are you feeling?" She pointed the mic toward Y/N.

Y/N exhaled, a bright smile still gracing her lips.

"Honestly? I’m just... I don’t even know how to put it into words. Happy? Grateful? In shock? All of it at once?" She shook her head in disbelief. "I mean, the Grammys. It’s something you dream about as a kid, you know? And now, five nominations? I feel like I need someone to pinch me."

Chris gently squeezed her hand, leaning in slightly so his mouth was close to the mic, his cheek brushing hers in the process.

"Not gonna lie, I did pinch her earlier to check."

Y/N playfully swatted at him, making Emma laugh.

"Alright, but tell me everything. What were you doing when you found out you were nominated?"

At this, Y/N turned to Chris, already laughing.

"Oh my God, it was chaos."

Chris grinned, nodding while brushing his messy hair back.

"Totally."

Y/N faced Emma again, still giggling.

"Okay, so we were just in the living room, me, Chris, Matt, and Nick. It was so casual, literally just us eating burgers, watching the nominations roll in on TV, not thinking much of it."

Emma’s eyes widened.

"Wait, so you weren’t even refreshing Twitter like a maniac?"

"No!" Y/N shook her head. "I swear, I wasn’t even expecting anything. And then, boom. My name gets called for the first nomination, and I just screamed."

"Nick screamed, too." Chris jumped in, laughing.

Emma gasped.

"Nick would."

Y/N nodded rapidly.

"He did! So then, Chris kisses me, Matt’s literally jumping up and down, and it was just full-on mayhem. But then, like, a minute later, my name gets called again for another nomination."

Chris smirked, nodding his head.

"And again. And again."

Emma covered her mouth, delighted.

"So by the fifth time-"

"I was crying." Y/N admitted, grinning. "Like, full-on sobbing in Chris’s arms."

Emma dramatically put her free hand against her heart.

"This is what I live for." Then, turning to Chris, she grinned mischievously. "Alright, your turn, Sturniolo."

Chris blinked, looking at Y/N before going back to Emma.

"Me?"

Emma nodded, dead serious.

"Yes, you. Because I know you, you act all cool and chill, but I know you were losing your mind when she got nominated."

Chris laughed, shaking his head.

"I mean, yeah, obviously. I was going crazy. But I think it really hit me when I looked at her during the last nomination and realized, this is actually happening. Like, she’s that talented. The world is seeing what I already knew."

Y/N felt her face heat up, a mix of emotions swirling in her chest.

Emma pouted.

"Chris, that's so wholesome. You’re really that boyfriend, huh?"

Chris shrugged, squeezing Y/N’s hand.

"I mean, yeah. Have you met her?"

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, but her smile didn’t fade.

"I know, right?" Emma nodded at Chris's direction, laughing with Y/N's reaction. "Now, tell me, which nomination are you most excited about?"

Y/N didn’t even hesitate.

"Song of the Year."

Emma’s brows lifted.

"Because...?"

Y/N took a breath, her fingers unconsciously tightening around Chris’s hand.

"Because the song nominated for that category is Lavender Haze, and that song... it just means so much to me." She glanced at Chris, her expression softer now.

Emma’s eyes darted between the two of them, her curiosity sparking instantly. She glanced at Y/N, then at Chris, before turning toward the camera with exaggerated wide eyes.

"Ohhh, I know that look." She teased, pointing between them with a knowing grin. "Okay, spill, tell me about the song."

Y/N let out a breathy laugh with how eager she sounded, meeting Emma’s gaze again.

"You'll know all about it if I win." She winked, her tone warm.

Chris was quick to approach the microphone again.

"Not if, when."

Emma tilted her head, frowning as a pout grew on her lips.

"No way you're going to leave me with this curiosity." She sighed dramatically. "I guess I'll need to watch the awards with double attention." Emma winked to the camera. "Okay, I’m obsessed with you guys. This is too cute. But I won’t keep you any longer, go enjoy your night! And, Y/N, fingers crossed for all five wins!"

Y/N beamed, giving Emma one last hug before she and Chris were guided to the next section of the event. As they walked, the lights of the Grammys venue shining ahead, Chris leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.

"You’re killing it, doll."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The moment Y/N and Chris stepped into the grand main salon, the shift in the atmosphere was almost physical. The flashing lights of the red carpet were behind them, replaced by the elegant glow of chandeliers and the soft hum of conversation. Celebrities, industry giants, and music legends filled the expansive room, dressed in their finest, the air buzzing with anticipation.

A staff member immediately approached them with a warm smile, gesturing toward their assigned table.

"Good evening, Ms. L/N, Mr. Sturniolo. Right this way, please."

As they walked through the lavishly decorated space, Y/N’s fingers instinctively tightened around Chris’s hand, her nerves still tingling with the knowledge that the biggest names were around her.

Halfway to their table, a familiar voice called out from the side.

"Chris! No way- dude!"

Chris turned toward the sound, a grin instantly spreading across his face when he saw Troye Sivan standing up from his table, waving him over.

Troye had met Chris and his brothers just two weeks ago at a Prada fashion show, and the energy between them had been instantly chill and friendly.

"Troye, hey, what’s up, man?" Chris greeted as he pulled him in for a quick hug.

Meanwhile, Y/N turned toward Sabrina Carpenter, who was seated beside Troye in the most ethereal baby blue dress, its delicate fabric flowing like water over her frame.

"Sabrina, hi!" Y/N greeted, her voice lighting up as she fully took in the details of her look. "Wow, you look absolutely stunning. Like, actually unreal."

Sabrina’s eyes widened for a split second, surprise flashing across her face before it melted into the sweetest, most genuine smile. Without a second thought, she pushed herself up from her seat, reaching for Y/N as if they were lifelong friends and pulling her into a warm, affectionate hug. She squeezed tightly, her energy radiating pure kindness.

"Oh my god, stop." Sabrina gushed, pulling back just enough to look at Y/N, her hands still resting gently on her arms. "That means the world coming from you. And please, look at you!" She emphasized, eyes scanning Y/N from head to toe with genuine admiration. "You look like an actual goddess."

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head as she absentmindedly smoothed her hands over the golden fabric of her dress.

"It’s all Lambert’s magic." She admitted with a playful grin, referring to her trusted stylist. Then, with a spark of excitement, she added. "I heard you’re performing tonight, I cannot wait to see it!"

Sabrina practically bounced in place, her excitement just as contagious.

"Oh, that makes me so nervous but also so happy." She admitted with a laugh, her hands clasping together. "I just hope I don’t trip or something."

Y/N shook her head instantly.

"No way, you’re going to kill it. I already know it."

Chris and Troye exchanged a few more words, something about how amazing the Prada show had been and how they should schedule to do something together in the future, before Chris gave him a casual pat on the shoulder.

"We’ll catch up later, yeah? We gotta find our table before they go live."

Troye grinned.

"For sure. Enjoy the night, guys."

After one last big smile at Sabrina, Y/N slipped her hand back into Chris’s as they navigated through the room.

Their table was positioned with a perfect view of the stage, the paper cards on their seats spelling out their names in black ink below a selected picture of their faces.

As they sat down, Y/N exhaled, glancing up at the stage. A quick glance at the massive countdown screen told her they had ten minutes before the live broadcast began.

"Damn." She muttered, leaning toward Chris. "Didn’t even realize how much time passed outside."

Chris chuckled, his voice low.

"That’s ‘cause you were too busy looking hot and stealing everyone’s attention."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the amused smile that tugged at her lips.

"Come'ere, babe." He asked, extending his arm in her direction, asking silently for her to move closer.

Her eyes sparkled with affection, and she shifted her chair slightly, moving closer to Chris until she was practically pressed against his side. Without hesitation, he wrapped his extended arm around her upper body, pulling her in securely. The warmth of his body mixed with the familiarity of his presence was grounding and comforting.

Chris pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

Y/N tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes shining under the dimmed chandeliers.

"Thank you." She whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the room.

Chris furrowed his brows slightly, looking down at her, their faces so close he could feel her warm breath hitting his chin.

"For what?"

"For being here with me. For always being here for me."

His gaze softened immediately, and the way he looked at her - so full of quiet devotion - made her heart swell.

"Forever, baby." He murmured, squeezing her gently.

Before Y/N could say anything else, a new voice cut into their moment.

"Excuse me, I hope I’m not interrupting anything."

The voice was warm, familiar, and utterly unmistakable.

Both Y/N and Chris turned toward the sound, and in an instant, Y/N felt the entire world freeze. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttered, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she wondered if she had actually left her body.

Because standing there, just a few feet away, in all her effortless, golden-lit, legendary glory, was Taylor Swift.

Taylor Swift.

Y/N swore she could hear the heavens parting and angels singing in the background.

Taylor was an absolute vision in a stunning, strong red mini dress, her signature red lip effortlessly bold, her blonde hair framing her face in soft waves.

And she was smiling - smiling - at her.

"Oh my god." Y/N blurted out, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could even attempt to reel them back in.

Taylor let out a soft laugh as she shook her head lightly, eyes twinkling.

"I just wanted to say that I’m such a huge fan of your work. Lavender Haze is absolutely everything."

Y/N felt her soul leave her body.

Her brain quite literally short-circuited. Because- because what?

Taylor Swift, the Taylor Swift, her biggest inspiration, her songwriting idol, just complimented her music?

There was a very real possibility that she had just blacked out.

Chris shifted slightly beside her, maintaining his arm above the back of her chair, obviously trying so hard not to burst out laughing at how starstruck she looked.

Somehow, somehow, Y/N managed to keep her expression together, even though her heart was doing full-blown Olympic-level gymnastics in her chest.

"That means everything coming from you." She breathed, every word laced with pure, raw sincerity. "Thank you so, so much."

Taylor’s smile only widened, like she could feel how much those words meant to Y/N.

"Seriously." She said, her voice warm and genuine. "I’ve been listening to it on repeat. You’re insanely talented. The way you crafted that song... you have such a gift."

Y/N felt an actual tear prick at the corner of her eye. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hug her. She wanted to tattoo this moment onto her soul and never forget it.

And then, as if she couldn’t possibly adore her any more, Taylor turned to Chris, offering him the same bright, kind smile.

"And of course, you." She said, her tone playful but just as sincere. "I love what you and your brothers are doing on YouTube. It’s always fun seeing people bring fresh energy to the space."

Chris looked genuinely taken aback for a moment. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and for the first time, Y/N saw a flicker of oh wow, this is real life in his expression.

"That’s- wow, okay, that’s crazy." He said, running a hand through his hair with an incredulous chuckle. "Thank you, that’s- man, that’s insane coming from you."

Taylor grinned, her hand gently squeezing Y/N’s shoulder, grounding her back to reality.

"I won’t keep you guys." She said softly. "I just wanted to say that. Hope you both have the best night."

And just like that, she turned, walking back toward her table.

For a long, stunned second, Y/N just stood there, processing what had just happened. Then, with wide eyes, she turned to Chris, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Did that just happen?"

Chris, still looking way too amused, nodded, his grin stretching across his face.

"Yup." He confirmed. "And you just casually had a conversation with Taylor Swift like it was nothing."

Y/N let out a sharp exhale, pressing her hands over her face.

"I need a second."

Chris laughed, and before she could even register it, he was wrapping both arms around her, pulling her in tightly, his face pressing against her hair.

"Proud of you, popstar." He murmured, his voice laced with nothing but warmth.

Before she could respond, the lights dimmed, and the energy in the room shifted as a voice echoed through the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your host for the 67th Annual Grammy Awards, Trevor Noah!"

A roar of cheers erupted as the towering LED screens flanking the stage flickered to life, displaying Trevor Noah’s wide, mischievous grin. He strolled onto the main floor rather than standing on the stage, seamlessly blending into the sea of round tables where the biggest names in the industry were seated.

He adjusted the microphone in his hand, letting the applause die down just enough before flashing a knowing smirk.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen." He began, his smooth voice carrying through the arena. "This is it, the 67th Grammys! Music’s biggest night! The Super Bowl for people who cried to Folklore, danced to Beyoncé, and worked out to Travis Scott, all in the same day!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd as the camera panned to a few artists nodding dramatically in agreement.

"And listen, let’s be honest. The Grammys are basically just a really fancy dinner party where we all pretend we haven’t been stalking the winners list since yesterday." Another wave of laughter followed. "But tonight... tonight, we are celebrating the best of the best in music. The songs that made us scream in our cars, the albums that made us question our entire existence, and the artists who consistently ruin our Spotify Wrapped every year."

Trevor began walking casually between the round tables, grinning as he looked around at the audience.

"And let’s not forget the real stars of the night, the seating arrangements. Have you seen these tables? It’s like the ultimate Hunger Games. You got legends, you got rookies, and you got the poor artists who are just hoping they don’t get caught in an awkward cutaway during a joke."

The camera zoomed in on a few newer artists laughing nervously, earning a chuckle from the crowd.

Trevor continued weaving his way through the tables, his eyes scanning the sea of music’s biggest names.

"And speaking of icons." He said, stopping by a particular table. "Tonight, we have the one and only Y/N L/N with us!"

The moment her name left his lips, the entire arena erupted into cheers. The camera cut to Y/N’s table, her face instantly lighting up with a radiant smile. Chris grinned smugly as he watched her soak in the moment.

Y/N turned slightly to face the camera that was now focused on her, offering a soft wave. The massive screen above the stage displayed a live feed of her, the applause continuing as Trevor beamed.

"Now, listen, if you somehow missed it, Y/N is up for five nominations tonight!" Trevor announced, pointing at her with mock emphasis. "Five nominations, guys. For songs and the album she announced when she won last year. That’s how much of a legend she is."

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her cheeks warming as she watched herself on the big screen. The camera panned slightly to Chris, who was nodding with a smug expression, as if silently agreeing with every word Trevor was saying.

"Plus." Trevor continued, stepping closer to their table. "If Y/N wins tonight, she could be the first artist ever to win Album of the Year five times."

Gasps and cheers rippled through the audience, while Y/N’s smile grew impossibly wider.

"Which means, she would break the record of four wins set all the way back in 2024 by-" Trevor raised his free hand, making a show of pretending to check an invisible list on his palm. "Y/N L/N!"

The entire room erupted into even louder applause, whistles echoing through the space as Trevor dramatically motioned toward her again.

Y/N's eyebrows flew up, feigning surprise, trying to contain her giddiness while Chris chuckled beside her, mouthing 'that's my girl' to a camera pointing his way.

Trevor placed a hand on his hip, looking toward the camera with mock exasperation.

"So basically, Y/N is out here breaking her own records. Just casually deciding that four wins aren’t enough and going for five. That’s like running a marathon, winning, and then saying, 'You know what? Let’s do it again, backwards'."

More laughter filled the room, Y/N pressing a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling too much. Trevor grinned, looking at her one last time.

"Listen, Y/N, whatever happens tonight, you’re already a legend. But if you win that fifth Grammy, just promise me you won’t announce another album mid-acceptance speech. Give the rest of the industry a fighting chance, okay?"

Y/N laughed, shaking her head, and Chris patted her thigh under the table, looking thoroughly entertained.

Trevor winked before turning back to the audience, raising his mic once again.

"Alright, let’s get this incredible night started! We’ve got performances, surprises, and probably a few moments that’ll break the internet. Let’s do this!"

The crowd roared as the cameras pulled away, cutting to a sleek transition video, signaling the official start of the show. Y/N exhaled, stealing a glance at Chris, who simply grinned and pulled her back to his chest, pressing his lips against her cheek.

"You’re so winning tonight."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The moment the last notes of Birds of a Feather echoed through the grand hall, Y/N felt like she was floating. Billie Eilish had just delivered one of the most breathtaking performances she had ever seen, and she could still feel the goosebumps lingering on her arms.

She turned to Chris, her eyes shining with excitement, her heart still beating to the rhythm of the song.

"Billie is unreal." She gushed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Like, every time she performs, it’s like she’s singing straight to my soul."

Chris let out a chuckle, his arm draped lazily around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Nick would actually kill to be here right now." His lips quirked up in amusement. "I bet he’s texting us like a mad man."

Y/N laughed softly, already imagining Nick’s all-caps messages blowing up their group chat. But before she could even think of checking, the stage lights dimmed slightly, and the screens around the venue shifted. A familiar melody played in the background as a figure gracefully stepped onto the stage. The chatter in the audience softened as people turned their attention to her.

Taylor Swift.

Y/N straightened in her seat, her heart picking up speed.

Chris immediately caught the change in her posture and smirked.

"Oh shit." He teased, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. "Your idol is speaking. Do you need me to hold you so you don’t pass out?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling in her chest.

Taylor approached the microphone with that effortless charm that made the entire room fall silent. She smiled warmly, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear before speaking.

"Good evening, everyone." She greeted, her voice carrying easily through the venue. "Tonight has been incredible so far, and I am so honored to be here presenting this next award."

Y/N opened a genuine smile, squeezing Chris's thigh below her fingers.

"Album of the Year is such a special award because it represents not just music, but stories. It’s about the albums that stayed with us, that shaped our emotions, our memories. The ones that became the soundtrack to our lives." Taylor continued, her expression softening as she held up the envelope. "And with that being said, the Grammy goes to..."

She slid her fingers under the flap and carefully pulled out the card, unfolding it with precision.

Y/N could feel Chris’s arms tighten around her. His body heat a cocoon around her own as she clutched onto him, her pulse thundering in her temple.

A second of silence stretched. Then Taylor’s eyes scanned the paper, and the biggest, brightest smile took over her face. Her gaze lifted, seemingly searching the crowd for someone.

Y/N furrowed her brows slightly.

Taylor found her.

And then, with a warmth that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine, Taylor announced.

"Y/N L/N, Midnights."

The world tilted.

For a solid moment, Y/N didn’t move. She couldn’t move. The air in her lungs disappeared, her vision blurred instantly with unshed tears, and her mouth fell open in pure, unfiltered shock, her hands hovering near her mouth, trembling as realization crashed into her like a tidal wave.

Album of the Year.

She won.

She won.

Chris, on the other hand, reacted immediately.

"YES!" He shouted, his voice cutting through the noise as he punched the air, his excitement completely unfiltered. People turned, smiling, laughing, but Chris didn’t care. His hands were already on Y/N, his eyes scanning her face.

She wasn’t breathing.

"Babe." His voice softened instantly as he leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers. "Hey, you did it."

Y/N sucked in a sharp, shaky breath, but it wasn’t enough. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them, her body shaking with the force of emotions she had no chance of containing.

A broken sob escaped her lips.

Chris pulled her in before she could crumple, wrapping her up in the kind of hug that blocked everything else out. His arms were warm, steady, his lips pressing against her forehead as he whispered, his voice firm this time.

"You did it."

Y/N let out a wet laugh against his shoulder, her fingers clutching onto him for just a second longer before she finally let go.

He gently lowered his head, making sure she looked at him.

And God, the way he was looking at her.

Like she had just built the entire universe with her bare hands.

"Go get your Grammy, winner." He murmured, the words slow and soft and filled with everything.

Y/N let out another broken breath, nodding before finally, finally turning toward the stage.

The journey to the top felt surreal, like she was floating. The cheers, the applause, the faces she recognized - people she had idolized - they all blurred together.

And then suddenly, she was there.

Standing at the top.

Face to face with Taylor Swift.

Who was smiling at her, waiting for her, Grammy in hand.

Y/N’s breath hitched all over again.

Her hands, still unsteady, reached out, fingers closing around the golden gramophone. The weight of it sent a whole new wave of emotions crashing into her.

Before she could even process what was happening, Taylor pulled her into a hug - tight, warm, real.

"Congratulations." Taylor whispered against her ear, and god, if that wasn’t the most surreal moment of Y/N’s entire life. "You deserve this so much."

A choked noise left Y/N’s lips as she nodded weakly, her throat too tight to speak.

She deserved this.

She deserved this.

Her fingers traced over the Grammy, like she needed physical proof that it was real before she finally turned to the microphone.

She inhaled deeply. Opened her mouth.

"I-I don’t even know what to say right now." She admitted, biting her bottom lip. "I’m- god, I’m just so honored."

The crowd cooed, and Y/N let out a breathless laugh of her own, shaking her head as more tears slipped down her cheeks.

"This is insane." She said, shaking her head slightly. "Being nominated in this category, alongside so many incredible artists, artists I’ve admired for years, was already more than I could’ve ever dreamed of. To even stand beside you all tonight, to celebrate music with you? That was already everything."

Her chest rose and fell as she blinked away the heat gathering behind her eyes, sweeping her gaze across the crowd.

"I have to thank my incredible producer, my team, every single person who helped bring this album to life." Her voice wavered, thick with emotion. "You guys took my wild, messy ideas and turned them into something real, something that I never could have done alone. And I will never stop being grateful."

She wet her lips, inhaling deeply before her smile stretched just a little wider.

"My fans..." Her voice caught slightly, her hand pressing over her heart. "You guys have given me everything. You’ve let me tell my stories, and you’ve listened over and over and over again. You’ve made this dream of mine possible, and I love you more than I can ever put into words."

The cheers swelled again, voices from every corner of the room shouting her name. Her grip on the Grammy tightened as she shifted her weight slightly.

"To my family, Matt and Nick, my biggest cheerleaders." She laughed softly, looking at the main camera pointing at her. "I love you guys, you already know that."

And then, as if the moment had been waiting for this, her gaze lifted to him. Her breath hitched, lips curling into a smile that was just for him.

"And lastly." She said, her voice softer now. "To my boyfriend, Chris."

A ripple of excitement spread through the audience, but Y/N didn’t hear it. Not when those impossibly blue eyes were locked onto hers, not when his expression softened with something so tender, so proud, it made her knees weak.

"Thank you for being the creative genius that you are." She said, eyes never leaving his. "For staying up with me in the studio when I couldn’t figure out the right melody, even when I was on hour ten of tweaking the same one."

Laughter rolled through the room, and Chris grinned, shaking his head.

"For never doubting me." She continued, her throat tightening. "Even when I doubted myself. For being my biggest supporter. My muse. Every song, every lyric... You are in all of them.”

Chris exhaled sharply, his jaw tensing, his hand pressing over his heart as if feeling her love for him.

"Thank you." She finished simply, her voice steady, full of everything she couldn’t quite put into words.

The applause was deafening. A roar of cheers, of love, of celebration.

But all Y/N could hear was the thundering of her own heart.

This was real.

She had just won Album of the Year for the fifth time in a row.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The massive screens on either side of the stage illuminated with Trevor Noah’s face again as he took the microphone, now standing above all of them, his signature charm radiating through the room.

"Alright, people." He started, a knowing smirk on his lips. "This is it, one of the most expected award of the night. Song of the Year."

The audience erupted into applause, a tangible wave of excitement washing over the room.

Y/N could barely hear it. Her entire body felt like it was wound up in a coil, so tight that she might snap. Her heart pounded mercilessly against her ribcage as she focused on the only thing grounding her - Chris’s hand wrapped tightly around hers.

She could feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers curled firmly around hers, almost as if he knew she needed the anchor.

Trevor continued, his voice filling the grand space.

"Now, we all know Song of the Year isn’t just about a hit track. It’s about storytelling. It’s about lyrics that mean something that connects with people, that makes you feel something in your soul."

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut for a second. God, she felt like she was going to throw up.

Chris, meanwhile, kept his eyes locked on the stage, his jaw set, body tense. His grip on her hand tightening, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand once - just once - as if silently telling her, I’ve got you.

Trevor continued listing the nominees, their song snippets playing softly over the speakers, but Y/N’s mind was a blur. The only thing she could feel was her heartbeat hammering violently inside her chest.

She could barely hear Trevor’s next words over the rush of blood in her ears.

"And the Grammy goes to..."

A dramatic pause.

It felt endless. It felt cruel.

Y/N finally lifted her head, eyes darting to the stage.

Trevor’s gaze swept across the room before his smile widened.

"Y/N L/N, Lavender Haze!"

The room erupted. Applause, cheers bouncing off the walls, her own voice echoing from the speakers, but Y/N barely registered any of it.

Her breath hitched, her entire body jerking forward as if her heart had physically pulled her out of her seat. Her hands flew to her face, pressing against her eyes, trying to contain the overwhelming rush of emotions slamming into her all at once.

Oh, god. Oh, god.

Chris was already moving before she could even think. His chair scraped back, his arms were on her in an instant, pulling her up, grounding her before she could float away in all of this.

"Oh my god." The words tumbled out of her, barely a whisper against her palms, her chest rising and falling too quickly to keep up.

Chris didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around her tightly, anchoring her, holding her so close she could feel his heartbeat against hers.

"I am so fucking proud of you." His voice was right against her ear, steady, sure. "You are everything, baby."

That was it. That was what made the tears slip free.

But Chris didn’t let her hide.

With infinite tenderness, he pulled her hands away from her face, his thumbs sweeping over her damp cheeks. Then, before she could even catch her breath, he cupped her jaw and kissed her, firm, lingering, so full of love that everything else around them faded into nothing.

The crowd reacted instantly - cheers, whistles, camera flashes exploding in rapid succession - but Y/N only felt him.

When he pulled back, his hand found the small of her back, keeping her close, his face glowing with pride.

"Go get your second Grammy, superstar."

She exhaled shakily, nodding as she turned toward the stage for the second time in that night.

With each step, she forced herself to breathe.

In.

Out.

The massive gold-lettered GRAMMY AWARDS logo towered behind Trevor as he extended the award toward her, his smile warm and genuine.

"Y/N, congratulations." He said, offering a short but meaningful handshake.

Y/N took the Grammy statue with slightly trembling hands, whispering.

"Thank you so much." Before stepping toward the microphone.

As she turned, facing the sea of the world’s most influential artists, the weight of the moment finally settled on her. She was with her second award in her hands.

She barely had time to process it before her gaze instinctively found Chris.

He was standing at their table, hands tucked into his pants pockets, eyes locked onto hers. And when she hesitated, nerves bubbling up again, he gave her the smallest nod.

A simple movement.

But one that made her chest ache in the best way.

Y/N exhaled, adjusting her grip on the award.

"I- uh, I think I blacked out for a second there."

The room laughed, the tension easing instantly.

Y/N smiled, shaking her head.

"I genuinely don’t even know where to start. Again. This... this is insane."

She swallowed, her grip tightening on the Grammy as she steadied herself. The applause had started to fade, giving her space to speak, but her mind was still spinning.

"Lavender Haze is about love." She let the words settle, looking down for a brief moment before lifting her gaze straight to him. "The kind of love that blocks out the noise. The kind that just is, no matter what’s said, no matter what’s assumed. The kind that’s real."

Chris’s expression didn’t change, but she saw it, the slight shift in his jaw, the way his fingers curled against his palm, like he was physically stopping himself from reacting too much. From crumbling, maybe.

"This song wouldn’t exist without that love." Y/N wet her lips, heart hammering. "Without him."

A murmur rippled through the audience. People turned toward Chris, whose head finally dropped for half a second, his tongue running over his bottom lip before he glanced back up at her.

Y/N barely heard the movement. Barely noticed the cameras zooming in on them, barely cared about the entire world watching, because this wasn’t for them.

"This music is for you, Chris." Her voice was softer now, but no less sure. "And about you. And because of you."

Chris inhaled sharply, his chest rising with the movement. He was blinking faster now, his lips parting slightly, his entire body still, like if he moved, even a little, he’d break.

"You have been my safe place in ways I never even thought possible." Y/N continued, her voice thick with emotion. "You have shown me love in a way that makes the rest of the world fade out. And I wrote this because I needed people to hear what that feels like."

A pause.

Chris pressed his knuckles against his mouth, his gaze locked onto her like she had gravity itself wrapped around her fingers.

"So, I don’t need to thank anyone else for this." Y/N said simply, shaking her head. "This is you. This was always you."

The room was silent.

The world was silent.

Then, like a tidal wave, the applause crashed back over the moment, a roar of cheers and shouts as the weight of her words settled over the audience.

Chris didn’t move.

Didn’t clap.

Didn’t even breathe for a second.

He just looked at her with the most bright blue eyes.

She nodded, finally stepping back from the mic, Trevor clapping beside her before escorting her off stage.

And the second she made it back to her table, Chris was there.

Before she could even react, he pulled her against him, lips finding hers in a way that had the cameras flashing wildly, had people cooing, but none of it mattered.

Because for Y/N, all that existed was him.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Five nominations.

Five won awards.

She did it.

She had won five Grammys tonight.

She still couldn’t fully process it.

The air outside the main salon was crisp with the late-night chill, but Y/N barely felt it. The sheer exhaustion in her limbs, the dull ache in her feet from hours in high heels, and the weight - both literal and emotional - of the five golden Grammys in her hands left her in a haze.

Chris walked beside her, just as tired, but his expression was still warm with lingering pride. His free hand held two of her awards, his fingers occasionally brushing against hers as they made their way toward the grey wall - the makeshift backdrop set up just for the winners to take their photos.

Y/N’s sharp eyes were quick to spot something - or rather, someone - familiar.

Cole Walliser. The photographer behind every iconic Glambot moment and best photographs at major award shows.

The moment Cole noticed her, his face lit up in recognition, and he immediately called out.

"Y/N! Oh my god, look at these babies!" He gestured toward her stack of trophies, shaking his head in disbelief. "Get over here. You already know the drill!"

Y/N laughed, already making her way toward him, Chris trailing behind her with a wide smile.

"Oh, I think I remember it."

Cole smirked, playing along.

"Yeah? You sure about that? Feels like I’ve only filmed you a dozen times or so."

"Something like that." She teased before gesturing toward Chris with her head. "Brought a friend this time."

Chris scoffed, giving her the most offended look.

"Friend my ass."

Y/N burst into laughter, nudging him playfully, while Cole chuckled at their dynamic.

"Alright, what’s the game plan? We need to show these off."

Y/N barely had time to respond before Chris was already moving, helping her adjust the awards so she could hold them all without them toppling over.

"Wait, wait, here, give me that one." His voice was soft, concentrated, as he carefully restacked them, his touch both gentle and efficient. "Alright, you good? You got ‘em?"

She let out a breathy laugh, adjusting her grip.

"Yeah, I think so."

Cole grinned, stepping back to gesture toward the marked spot in front of the camera.

"Perfect, then. Right this way, Ms. Sturniolo."

Y/N choked on a laugh, and Chris practically beamed.

"Ms. Sturniolo, huh?" Chris turned to her, eyes shining with excitement, his grip on her lower back tightening slightly as he guided her onto the designated Glambot mark. "I like the sound of it."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her laughter betrayed how much she loved seeing him so giddy.

"Don’t let it get to your head, Mr. Sturniolo."

Chris grinned.

"Oh, it’s already there."

As Cole called out instructions, Chris stepped back, giving her space, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he lingered off to the side, watching her with the biggest, most heart-wrenchingly proud smile on his face.

Y/N could feel his gaze on her as she smiled to Cole’s moving camera. She tilted her head, posing slightly, but every time she caught Chris’s eyes in the background, her lips twitched into a barely-contained grin.

She couldn’t help it.

This moment was surreal.

She was standing there, arms full of Grammys, while her person stood just a few feet away, looking at her like she had hung the damn stars in the sky.

After a few more clicks, she shifted the weight of the awards in her arms before looking toward Waliser.

"Can we do one with Chris?" She asked, glancing between the camera and Chris himself.

Cole barely hesitated, quickly nodding.

"Oh, absolutely! Christopher, hop in!"

Chris blinked.

"Oh, I mean- I wasn’t-"

"Oh, shut up and get over here." Y/N teased, a playful glint in her tired eyes.

Chris huffed a soft chuckle before stepping forward, standing beside her as she started redistributing the awards.

"Here." She murmured, placing two specific trophies into his hands.

Song of the Year and Album of the Year.

Chris furrowed his brows slightly, glancing down at the awards before looking back at her.

"Doll-"

"These two." She said softly, eyes locking onto his. "I only got because of you."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers tightening around the trophies instinctively.

"Y/N-"

"Just hold them with me." She whispered, nudging him gently.

Chris exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a thin line before he gave in, nodding as they both turned to face the camera.

Cole then gave play on his camera, but Y/N barely paid attention to it. She could feel Chris's eyes at her again, his expression unreadable, almost like he was too full of emotion to put it into words.

When the last one was taken, Chris nudged her shoulder lightly.

"C’mon, superstar. Let’s get out of here."

She didn’t hesitate.

After exchanging warm goodbyes with Cole, Y/N and Chris started making their way toward the private exit where their Range Rover was waiting.

Y/N’s entire body felt like it was dragging now, the adrenaline wearing off fast. She wanted nothing more than to be curled up at home, in bed, preferably with Chris’s arms around her.

But before they could reach the doors-

"Y/N!"

A reporter suddenly appeared in front of them, stepping way too close for comfort. Y/N barely had time to react before the microphone was practically in her face.

"So, are you guys heading to the after-party?" The woman asked, her tone almost demanding, her smile overly eager. "What are the plans for the rest of the night?"

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by how aggressive the approach was.

Chris, on the other hand... His entire expression darkened. His jaw clenched, and his brows furrowed deeply, his grip tightening around the awards as he took a subtle step closer to Y/N, his entire posture radiating protectiveness.

If looks could kill, the woman would’ve been vaporized on the spot.

But before Chris could say anything, Y/N, despite being exhausted, handled it perfectly.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

Instead, she simply smiled, a polite, but pointed smile.

"I’m heading home, actually." She said smoothly, adjusting the awards in her arms. "To my family." The reporter barely had time to respond before Y/N added. "Thank you so much. Have a great night."

And just like that, she turned, walking away.

Chris blinked. Then, a slow, smug smirk crept onto his lips as he followed her.

Y/N didn’t give the woman another second of her time. She just kept walking, invisibly pulling Chris with her, her arm brushing against his with every step, greeting and thanking each staff member in the way with warm smiles.

Chris let out a low chuckle as they reached the car, expertly balancing both awards in one hand while using the other to pull open the door for her.

"Damn. That was smooth." His voice was warm, laced with amusement.

Y/N smirked at him over her shoulder, eyes twinkling despite the exhaustion sinking in.

"I’m too tired to deal with more people tonight."

Chris snorted, watching as she slid into the leather seat with a sigh of relief.

"Fair enough."

When he finally climbed into the seat beside hers, he shut the door with a groan, leaning his head back for a second before exhaling slowly.

And just like that, the moment they were sealed inside the warm car, blocking the sounds of loud voices and clicks, the exhaustion slammed into them both.

Y/N melted into the headrest, her eyes falling shut as she let out a deep, heavy breath.

"I feel like I ran a marathon."

Chris chuckled under his breath, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension.

"You did. An emotional one."

She hummed in agreement, her breathing slowing as the exhaustion took hold. Chris reached over instinctively, finding her hand in the dim light of the car, fingers slotting between hers with ease.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow and deliberate, grounding her in the quiet.

"M’so proud of you, baby." His voice was soft, almost a whisper, like he didn’t want to disturb the peacefulness settling over them.

Y/N turned her head toward him, eyelids heavy, but her lips curled into the smallest, sleepiest smile.

"Love you."

Chris lifted their joined hands without hesitation, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

"Love you more."

She let her eyes flicker down, gaze landing on the golden awards sprawled across her lap and the seat beside her. She reached out, fingertips tracing the engravings, still not entirely believing they were hers.

She let out a thoughtful hum. Five more Grammys.

"We’re gonna have to find space for these at home." She murmured, brows knitting together as she looked over at Chris. "I have no idea where we’re putting them."

Chris chuckled, shaking his head.

"Already taken care of."

She raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nick ordered a whole-ass display cabinet for that empty wall across from the kitchen." He admitted, shooting her a knowing look. "Figured we’d need it."

Y/N blinked, her lips parting slightly.

"He-"

"Yeah." Chris smirked. "So, we’ll put these there with the others from the past years..." He paused, his eyes twinkling playfully. "Until there’s no room left, popstar."

Y/N huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head before leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"At this rate." She teased, nuzzling his soft skin. "We’ll need a whole new house."

It was no surprise when, in the next TikTok, the boys recorded in their kitchen, the cabinet full of awards served as the background.

© vanteguccir

[c4tluver02]

too hot!

wc: 2.5k

summary: Going over to Steves for a pool day turns into races and playing mermaids.

warnings: r had female anatomy, Steve has a dirty mind, Steves taller than r.. nothing crazy!!

a/n: i feel like ive written like three pool pics w steve but i am who i am.

The July heat was no joke. Not even the blast of Steve’s car AC was enough to stop the sweat from dripping down your neck. He had offered to pick you up to take you to his place to swim. A nice cold pool waiting for the two of you sounded like heaven in itself. 

You were already in your bathing suit when he got to your place, only a small pair of shorts covered you enough for Steve's liking. Good thing you're gonna be in the privacy of his backyard he thinks. 

The drive to his place is nice, the music is playing and the gold in his hair is really poking out today. You swear the sun makes his hair lighter. He’s also wearing his swim trunks, already been in the cold pool trying to clean it before calling you. However, he's wearing a shirt making it appear as a normal outfit. But you know those short swim trunks better than anyone, they show just the right amount of thigh that makes your mouth water. 

“I like these.” Steve says pulling at the bow on your hip. He’s talking about your swimming suit you so comfortably show off. 

“Thanks baby. I hope I get a good tan.” You say as turn your body towards him more. 

“Did you hear the UV on the news? It’s at like 9 right now.” He really wishes you had something on because to drive and look at you was something he was having trouble multitasking. 

The conversation from there flows easily, both of you happy to be in each other's presence. 

–

Once you get to Steve’s place he’s quick to take his shirt off, lazily discarding it to the couch as he goes to the kitchen. 

Copying the same motion to take off your shorts you lay them next to Steve's shirt as you follow him. Both of you are now ready to swim and Steve got drinks for you two. He’s even sweet enough to open the door for you, the ground is so hot you can feel it through your thin flip flops. 

The sweetness immediately stops when he presses his cold can on soda against you back making you squeal. He laughs as you try to do the same back but sigh when you don't get the same shocked reaction. 

Steve thinks about pushing you into the pool when you bend over to dip your hand in, feeling the water out. But with the open soda if your hand and the teasing he just pulled he goes against the idea. 

“I think you having a pool is the best thing that ever happened to me.” You say as you step down the stairs in the water. 

This makes Steve roll his eyes and flash a pretty smile. “Really? The best thing that's ever happened to you?” 

You turn to him as you stand on the last step, thigh deep in the water, pretending to think about his question. 

“Hm, yep! I am pretty sure it’s the best thing to happen ever actually.” 

“Funny, cause I could think of a few things that would actually top being in a pool.” He says going into the water himself. 

“What, like sports and beer?” You giggle, flicking some water at him. 

“Mmm no I was thinking something maybe like pus-” You slap your hand against his mouth before he gets it out. Already a step ahead of his dirty mind, knowing him too well. 

Taking your hand off his mouth when he stops talking. “You’re awful Steve Harrington.” But it’s said with a smile, cheeks already burning red. 

“You look really pretty in your little swimming suit, have I told you that yet?” He asks walking  towards you. The area of the pool you are standing in isn't deep, the water hitting him at his stomach. 

“You told me you liked it but not that I look pretty in it.” Your lying against the wall of the pool, both of your arms laying out of it as you put down your drink. 

Steve cages you in putting down his own drink. “Well I think you look really pretty. Even without the bathing suit.” He adds cheekily with a wink. 

“Oh well thank you! How sweet of you to say that.” You play along. Steve always acts the same when he sees you in a bathing suit, sweet but ready to turn it to something else if you asked. 

“I am known for being sweet so that checks out.” He responds, giving you a quick kiss, removing his arms from your sides where he was trapping you. 

“Wait, I'm gonna go under.” 

“Okay watch out for sharks.” Steve says getting a drink of his soda. 

“That's not funny, you know I hate sharks.” You say turning to him with a frown. The single mention of it taking away your light demeanor.  

“Baby you're in a pool there's no sharks. Go under.” 

You do as he says despite wanting to roll your eyes and fully submerge yourself under the water. When you get back up you push your hair out of your face and it gives you an idea. 

“Steve, did you ever play games in the pool as a kid?” 

His relaxed look tells you he’s not really in the pool to play games but to sit and chill. You on the other hand have been in the water for 3 minutes and can’t sit still.

“Uh, not really. Never had anyone to play games with. Also I never really went swimming since I was home alone.” 

He says it so casually but your heart breaks for a second at the information. You knew he was alone a lot but maybe it was worse than he lets on.

“Well good thing I’m here we can play.” You give him a soft smile and grab his hand. He’s following along but unsure by what you mean. 

“Did you ever pretend to be George Washington?” The smile that breaks on his face is wide and you can tell he is already interested. 

“Um no what's that?” 

“Okay so you go underwater and then flip your hair over and then when you come up you fold it and you’ll look like George.” 

Steve laughs at the way you say his first name like you know him. “Can you show me?” You explained it fairly well but if he's gonna embarrass himself by getting something wrong he’ll be over and done with the games. 

You nod and do as you just said, under the water, coming back up, and flipping your hair over itself. Steve lets out a loud laugh at how you look, he’s clearly never seen this and it makes your heart grow twice its size. 

“You do it! I think you have long enough hair for it.” 

Steve copies and when he comes up he tries to fold it but obviously not as familiar with the motion as you are, it falls before it has a chance to stand. 

“Here lemme do it. Go back down and come up.” It may sound demanding but your tone is so gentle it’s anything but. 

For the second time he goes down and comes back up and you fold the front of his hair for him. It doesn't look as George Washingotn as yours does but the idea is there. It still gets a laugh out of you all the same and Steve knows he looks funny but to hear your laugh he couldn't care less how he looks.

“It’s close enough, I guess it’s a girl thing.” You shrug as you bend your head back to dunk your hair in the water, getting it back to its original state. Steve just shakes his head to get the water out. 

“What's another game you played?” Steve asks.

“We could rate each other's hand stands? I would do a bunch of tricks and make my parents rate them like I was a gymnast.” 

“Okay, do you wanna go first?” 

“Sure, ok when I come back up, give me a number from 1-10 based on how well I did.” You walk back from him a little so you don't hit him in the face when you bring your legs up. 

Steve can tell you've done this countless times because of how fast you go upside down and poke your legs straight out. 

Coming back for air you ask “So? How’d I do?” 

“I think that was a solid 9/10 you did really well!” His smile is contagious and you blush at his praise. 

“Thank you, now you go.” You say giving him space. 

Steve does as asked and when he is upside down he realizes this actually takes a bit of core strength. Too busy focusing on keeping himself up straight he lets his legs fall apart. 

“Okay, how was I?” He asks floating back up.

“That was like a 2/10. Your legs didn't even stay together! And you had sickled feet!” Steve doesn't even know what sickled feet means but it was true. 

“2/10?! It was my first time, coach, go easy on me!” 

“Okay fine maybe you can do better with front flips?” Steve's eyes widened at that. He can do a front flip no problem. 

“Okay watch, ready? Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.” He says getting out of the pool. You meant a small flip in the water but he must be so confident he could do it out of the water. 

“I won't blink, I have laser focus on you.” You promise. 

Steve takes a running start and does a big flip into the water. It is impressive you know you couldn't do that. 

When he resurfaces he asks what you would rate it. 

“I think that was a 10/10 and many know I'm a harsh critic.” You say clapping. 

“Thank you, no thank you, you’re too kind.” Steve says bowing. “Okay your turn.” He says swimming over to you, lightly pushing you out of his way so you can get out. 

“Okay, but I haven't done a flip in years. I am probably rusty.” You say walking out of the water. In Steve's mind you look like a Victoria's Secret model sensually getting out of the water, but in reality it's really cold and you feel like you're hunching over.

“Well I’m not a harsh judge unlike someone else.” 

You think about a running start like Steve did but you go against it. You do however make a big leap trying to get higher, this gives you barely anything and your flip is barely a flip. It’s more so a dive but when you touch the water you're folding. 

When you get out of the water you can hear Steves loud cackling. “Holy shit I thought my boobs fell out of my top.” This makes him laugh even harder. 

“Baby that was like a 0.5/10.” He jokes as you look down to make sure your boobs, in fact, didn't fall out of your top. Not that literally anyone (you or Steve) would mind.

You make a high pitched scoff. “I thought you said you weren't a harsh judge?” You're smaller than Steve and the way you almost drown trying to swim over to him is adorable. The doggy paddle isn't doing you any favors. 

Grabbing your arms to quickly drag you over to him, he gives you a hug. “That was barely even a flip.” 

You hug him back and wrap your legs around his waist. He’s holding you but because of the water you hold no weight. 

“I told you I wasn’t very good at them. And my top isn't for tricks. If I would have known I was gonna do flips I would have worn something different.” You try to defend yourself, but really you just can't flip. 

“It’s okay, at least you can do a handstand.” He can feel you twisting the hairs at the nape of his neck and the fact that your so close to him in this outfit, dripping wet, is starting to get to him. 

“We have one more thing to see who the real winner is.” You say letting him go completely. 

“And what's that?” 

“We have to race each other, whoever gets to the other side of the pool first wins.” 

Steve nods as he sees you messing with the time of your top. 

“Can you tie this tighter for me Stevie?” You ask moving your hair up and out of the way. 

Ready to help you in any way he notices the burn you're already developing. “Honey, your shoulders are already red.” Oh you did forget sunscreen. 

“It’s okay.” Another problem for another time. “Did you do it?” 

When he pulls taught on the strings he can feel just how heavy your chest is and it doesn't help his case. Nonetheless he ties it tighter and you give his cheek a quick kiss as a thanks.

“Ready?” You ask walking towards the wall for you two to start at. Your voice takes Steve out of his mind and walks with you. 

Both of you have your backs flat against the wall. “On three we go?” You ask. 

“Yeah I’ll count. One, two, three!” 

You both push off the wall as hard as you can but Steve goes way further than you. Thankfully you can open your eyes in the pool and you use it to your advantage. Using your arms to push you towards him you pull on the hem of his shorts. You dont pull hard, just enough to see the line between tan skin and pale skin but it makes Steve stutter. 

However, despite the move you pulled Steve still wins. When you both arise from the water, out of breath. 

“You little cheater!” Steve says using the last bit of air he had.

You giggle almost feeling light headed at the lack of air. “You were so fast!” It almost comes out whiny. “How are you so fast? That's not fair.” 

“I was a lifeguard. I guess I should have told you that before the race huh?” Steves squinting at the sun in his face. 

This time you give him a big splash and he gives you one just as big, if not bigger, back. Your squeals are loud, anyone who was passing by could hear them. The sound of a great time. 

“Okay Stevie that's all the games I have.” You say sighing. This was a lot of exercise. 

“That’s okay, I think we did enough in the pool, yeah?” He says, swimming to the other side of the pool to get your drinks. 

You just hop onto the ground and get out that way but you meet him to get your drink. 

“Did you wanna tan?” Steve asks, giving you a towel to dry off with.

“Can we eat something and then tan?” 

Steve doesn't really wanna tan but he’ll do whatever you want to do. 

“Okay baby, I got the watermelon you wanted.” 

“We can have watermelon and chips?” Steve doesn’t know why you’re asking him, he's gonna say yes either way. 

“That sounds good.” He agrees and opens the door for you to walk in. You’re still towel drying your hair but Steve can't get over how happy he is right now. He can't wait to spend the rest of summer like this.

[httpuckdrop]

closer – ws2

when you say you want will close, it's not enough to have him just next to you.

pairing: will smith x reader

genre: smut/fluff, established relationship!au

word count: 0.9k

warnings: very light smut, cockwarming

author's note: happy birthday sweet sweet boy <333 i was supposed to post a longer smut but i didn't have time to finish that aaaaaa :( anyways! hope you enjoy and hope you have a lovely day celebrating this wonderful holiday 🥰

you're already fast asleep in will's bed when he comes home.

it's much later than he had hoped, but there was an issue at the airport delaying the team from coming home. he hadn't expected you to be up waiting for him, but there's still something in his chest that tightens at the sight of you under his covers, body curled up and eyes fluttered shut.

he toes off his shoes with the grace of a man who's done this far too many times, before dropping his bag by the door, careful to not make any sounds – and then he screws up anyway by slamming his toe into the bed frame and hissing out a curse. he instantly prays that you won't have woken you up, but you've never really been a heavy sleeper. "will?"

your voice is thick with sleep, honeyed and slow, and his heart flutters at the sound of it. "sorry, baby," he whispers, already bowing down to kiss your cheek. "go back to sleep."

you hum, eyes unable to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time. "get in here. missed you so much." will just chuckles but obliges, pulling his sweatshirt over his head and stepping out of his jeans as quickly as he can before slipping into bed next to you. his hands reach for your sides, pulling you flush against him.

"missed you, too," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. you grunt in disapproval, though, signaling that it wasn't enough, so will laces his lips with yours instead.

will should've known from the moment your lips touched his; he should've realized what kind of mood you're in. instead, it takes him until the moment you bite down on his bottom lip and your hands wander south, fingers tracing the hem of his boxers, for him to understand your intentions.

he can't help but chuckle against your lips. he says your name in a tone that makes it sound like a warning, yet you don't care. "you're barely even awake, you don't have enough energy for this."

you whine. "but i want you." you give him your best puppy eyes. "i need you. need to... feel you close."

"i'm already pressed up to you, i think i'm plenty close."

you let out yet another impatient sound. "need you closer. need to know that you're here. spent two days without you… so i need you as close as you can be."

and that's when it clicks in his brain.

it's not sex you want, no lovemaking or quickie. it's not an orgasm or the sexual aspect of it that you're seeking; it's the intimate aspect. the reminder that he's real and yours.

and there's nothing in this world he'd rather do than reassure you of that.

he kisses you again, lips already parted and tongues brushing tongues. it's slow and warm, your mouths melding together like that's what they were made for. your fingers skim across the slight stubble of his jaw before brushing through his curls, hand settling at the back of his head.

when his hands move down to your hips, he isn't surprised to find that you didn't wear any underwear to bed. he merely smiles, running his fingers down the front of your thighs and then the insides. his face parts just an inch from yours, breathing heavily against your lips as he lets two fingers trail along your slit. "do you need me to..."

you open one eye to meet his gaze as you shake your head, or as much of a shake you can manage with your head nuzzled into the pillow. you're too tired to waste any time. "just need you inside me," you whisper.

will doesn't waste any time, pulling his boxers off and throwing them off the bed. one hand settles on your hip, helping guide you forward and sliding you down over his length.

a deep sigh leaves your lips, mixing with the groan slipping past will's, and he soon withdraws his cock before bottoming you out again. he stretches you out so deliciously, making your head tip back and giving him full access to the skin of your throat.

in these moments, you realize how strange it is that you're able to go on with your days without having him inside you. like this, you feel complete instead of empty; like your last puzzle piece has slotted into place.

you clench around him involuntarily, enveloping him in your warmth and sending a shiver down his spine. will trails kisses down the side of your neck and slips his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. he could just as well push you onto your back and fuck you silly now – but your breath is so steady, your eyelids too heavy, and he knows that it won't take long before you're out. this is all you wanted right now, anyway; maybe something more could happen tomorrow morning, but as of right now, this is enough.

his mouth find yours one more time and it's gentle enough to lull you into a sweet slumber. the last thing you have energy for is a murmur, a soft "love you, will" against his lips. while you might not hear him say it back, you feel it through your body; your heart responds by drumming a little more steadily, your skin tingling where he draws idle patterns along your skin. and you surrender to sleep with the knowledge that will's heartbeat beneath your palm is for no one other than you.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Perfect: Christmas

Alexia Putellas x Baby!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Mija

"I've got a present for you."

Alexia flips another page in her book. "Put it under the tree."

"No," Olga says," I'm giving it to you now."

Alexia frowns, finally putting the book down. "It's still a few days before Christmas. Why give it to me now? We're going to my mother's soon."

Olga huffs, rolling her eyes. "Can you play along for just a minute, please?"

"Fine. Fine. What do you want me to do?"

"Close your eyes."

Alexia does as she says, closing her eyes.

She can hear Olga moving about.

"And now hold your hands out."

Alexia holds her hands out and a weight is put into them.

"Open!"

You're in her arms, in a new sets of Christmas-red pyjamas with Santa's face in the middle and a big red bow placed on your head.

You're beaming, fingers pressed into your mouths as you kick your legs happily the moment Alexia makes eye contact.

"Well..." She says," If it isn't the best present in the world! Did you finally wake up from your nap, Mija? I think you did!"

You giggle hysterically as Alexia kisses your tummy and then your cheeks.

"Are you energised to see your Abuela and your Tia? All happy and excited?"

You keep giggling, going all limp in Alexia's arms as she draws you into a little cuddle that has you melting against her.

"A good present?" Olga teases as she pulls on her coat and shoes.

"The most perfect present," Alexia agrees as she forces your wiggling little feet into the cutest pair of boots she's ever seen.

They were a gift from Jenni, an old pair of Osita's that never once got worn because Osita cried the first time she'd tried them on. But they were perfect on you and you wore them happily.

Your little matching jacket is equally as perfect, the same as your little hat and your little scarf that Alexia gently readjusts as she pulls you out of the car while Olga goes up to knock on Eli's front door.

Alba's the one that opens it, allowing Olga in happily before blocking Alexia's way.

"Oh come on," Alexia says with an eye roll," You can't be serious."

"The baby," Alba demands, hands out waiting," I've been deprived of y/n cuddle for ages."

"What do you think, Mija?" Alexia teases, bouncing you softly," Cuddles with Tia Alba or cuddles with Mami?"

You say nonsensical words, nothing more than a string of babble and weird noises but Alexia nods along seriously.

"Sorry, Alba, she wants to stick with me."

She all but shoves past her sister on her way into the house.

"Finally!" Eli, like normal, is a bustle of activity and commanding her household likes it's a military barracks with members of the family sticking closely to the roles she's given them. "I've got a nice little area set up in the sitting room for you to help Mija make some Christmas decorations."

"Mami, she's only little-"

"And I did the same with you and Alba!" Eli waves away Alexia's concerns. "There's instructions on the table so follow them! She'll be making a paper snowflake."

Like Alexia had predicted though, she's doing most of the work. The folding and the cutting and making a little hole at the top so she can thread a tiny piece of green ribbon through it to hang on the tree later today.

You get to have the crayon though.

Eli, like her militarised conveyor belt of aunts and uncles making deserts in the kitchen, had already thought of everything so had preselected the green and red and silver and gold crayons for you to use so it's sufficiently Christmassy.

So, there you sit with the little paper snowflake Alexia made, clumsily scrawling on it with a crayon that you don't even really know how to hold properly while Alba attempts to coerce you into her arms.

You ignore her though, happy sitting on your Mami as she readjusts one of the bows in your hair and straightens out the little outfit you're wearing.

"And what do we do when Tia Alba's being pushy? We stick out tongues out at her!" Alexia demonstrates but you seem more interested in grabbing her tongue in your little finger than you are imitating her.

Before the end of the evening, Alexia manages to make you at least four snowflake decorations for the tree and you take great delight in scrawling over all of them in crayons that Alexia's sure Eli bought just for you.

The decorations hang on the Christmas tree right up until the special day and Alexia takes a moment to smile at your colouring before she sets you down in front of your mountain of gifts.

Perhaps she had gone overboard with the Christmas shopping this year but it was hardly her fault when everyone else had gone overboard too.

Your pile of presents is large and, settled amongst the very middle of it, Alexia can barely see your head poking out from the mountains of boxes surrounding you.

You're not very good at tearing open your gifts so after several minutes of watching you struggle, Alexia settles on the floor with you to help.

"Look, mija," She coos," Another football for you! And a jersey from Ingrid and Mapi. It's got your name on it!"

Most of your gifts have been football related making you the most kitted out baby Alexia's ever seen.

But there's also a toy puppy amongst all the football stuff and cute little outfits that matched many of Alexia's and even a cute little chalkboard and coloured chalk for your bedroom for when you got a bit older.

"And this is from me," Alexia says as she gently unwraps a photo frame," That's you and me, Mija. On adoption day. Look at how happy we are."

You clumsily slap at the picture before forcing it out of Alexia's hand to smack against your lips in a clumsy version of a kiss.

"Yes, Mija," Alexia laughs," That's exactly what I'm doing to you!"

[swarvey]

how they react to you getting hurt | sdv x g/n reader (part two)

part one

paper rings - harvey x reader

a/n: part two with the rest of the bachelors ! let me know if you guys want to see the bachelorettes <3

—

alex

this big softie starts to blame himself when he sees you with scratches and bruises

insists on following you on your adventures from that day forward

pretty much acts as a personal bodyguard for a week

you wince as you rub a disinfectant pad on the large scratch on the side of your arm, thankful your husband isn't due to be home for another couple of hours. he worries enough about you as is — the last thing he needs is something to feed his paranoia, as cute as it is. just as you're about to apply some ointment on your arm, you hear the front door open, alex's familiar voice ringing through the house.

"baby, i'm home!" he calls out, voice as bright as ever. you hear your pet pattering over to greet him. "aw, hey buddy! where's y/n, huh? have you seen 'em?" you swear under your breath as your pet betrays you, leading alex straight towards the bedroom. "are you in there, honey? grams didn't need as much help as i thought—"

you hear him suck in a sharp breath at the sight of you and the first aid kit spread out across the bed.

"i'm fine," you assure. he ignores you, eyes glued to your injured arm as he makes his way to the bed. "seriously, it's not even that bad."

"here, let me do it," he says, and you swear you've never heard him speak so softly. blinking in shock, you hand the bottle of ointment over to him, watching as he gently begins to apply it.

"alex, you're scaring me a bit," you half-joke. he's never been one to be so silent. "it's okay—"

"it's not, though!" your eyes widen as alex looks at you with gleamy eyes. "see, i knew you'd get hurt one day, and i still let you go off and do all these things alone. i should've been there to help you." his head bows in shame, and your heart breaks. "i'm sorry. i'll be by your side next time, i promise."

shaking your head, you wrap your unhurt arm around his neck and pull him into a hug. he gladly hides his face in your shoulder, his arms holding onto your midsection tightly.

"alex, there's nothing to be sorry for," you reassure, rubbing his back to provide some comfort. "this is part of my job, it's what i signed up for." he pulls away suddenly to look at you with serious eyes.

"then quit!" he exclaims. "i'll do it all, you can teach me."

you laugh. "as much as i love you, you are not taking over my grandfather's farm."

"well, i'll just do everything with you, then." alex nods to himself, grabbing the roll of bandages from the kit and beginning to wrap your arm. his eyes widen when he notices the bruises on your legs. "how did this even happen?"

"oh, i was gathering hardwood and some slimes snuck up on me. i fell, but i was able to fight them off." no response. "alex?" a dark look comes over your husband's face.

"get me a sword."

"what?!"

sebastian

seb is one of the bachelors i see respecting your strength the most, always subtly bragging about your fighting skills and the work you do on the farm (sam and abigail are thoroughly impressed)

that being said, he is all the more startled when he sees you limping home from the clinic after nearly passing out from exhaustion

tries to keep his cool, as he always does, but it's hard for him to see the person he cares about the most in pain

"wear the brace for a week, then stop by for another appointment with me so we can see how you're doing," harvey instructs, clasping the brace around your ankle. "drink plenty of water and eat something when you get back. and be mindful while you're working on the farm, i don't want this to be a regular occurrence," he chides.

the doctor had practically dragged you into his office after running into you in front of pierre's, half-conscious as you claimed you just needed some coffee.

"i will," you sigh, using his arm for support as you stand. "thanks, harvey. i owe you."

"no need to worry about that, just get some rest at home. i'm sure sebastian is wondering where you are."

shit. you chew your lip as you slowly make your way back to the farm, trying to find the right words to say to your husband. it's not like you to overwork yourself like this on the farm, but after waking up a bit too late in the morning, you'd found yourself rushing to get everything done. seb had been sound asleep as you worked, but with the sun beginning to set in the sky, you knew he had to be up and waiting for you at home.

sure enough, as you walk towards your front door, you see him already sitting on the front steps, a book in hand. his head quickly turns at the sound of your footsteps.

"you're back! did you have errands to run?" seb asks, setting his book down. "i thought you had a lot to do this morning?"

you hesitate, nodding slowly as you avoid his gaze. "i did," you answer, swallowing. "i was, ah, at the clinic."

"what? why—?" only then does he notice the bags under your eyes and the brace wrapped around your ankle. "hey, what happened?" he walks over to your side, slowly guiding you to the steps and helping you sit down.

"i'm alright," you say, though you unsuccessfully hide your discomfort as you stretch your hurt ankle out. "i twisted my ankle, is all."

"right." you know sebastian well enough to tell when he's worrying; his brow is furrowed, his eyes glued to the ground.

"come on, seb, don't be so dramatic," you joke, shoving him lightly with your shoulder. "it's not like i'm dying." he looks at you suddenly with squinted eyes, as if he's trying to decode your words. "what?"

"people tend to say that when things are worse than they are," he says, looking you up and down. "what really happened?"

"what are you talking about?"

"maybe i'll go talk to harvey." he begins to stand, but you grab his wrist and drag him back down.

"okay, okay!" the last thing you want is for him to take the doctor's words too seriously and put you on a house lockdown. "i just overworked myself in the heat, alright? seriously! harvey said i should be fine with some rest."

"really? that's all?"

"yes."

"all you hurt was your ankle?"

"yes."

"did you set up another appointment with him?"

"yes, seb, i'm fine!" you grab his arm and pull him closer, looking straight into his worried eyes. "look, see? i'm in one piece."

sebastian sighs, grabbing your hand and holding it tightly. "i know, you've always been strong," he says, smiling lightly. "just . . . don't overdo it, okay? i'm here to help you, too."

you smile back at him. "i know." you pause. "you know, harvey said i need to lay off the rest of my work today."

"yeah?" seb grins, helping you stand. "what are you thinking?"

you pretend to ponder for a moment. "maybe some dinner and TV? we still have that show we need to catch up on."

he laughs, wrapping an arm around you as the two of you head inside.

"whatever you want, dear."

sam

he thinks you're invincible.

completely freaks out when he sees you actually hurt for the first time

makes you spend the rest of the day in bed and brings you some of his mom's food

(claims it has healing powers)

the sun is still high in the sky when you leave the mines. your plan had been to spend the whole day gathering resources, but after a rough tousle with some monsters, you don't have the energy to keep going. your head is throbbing, and you're mildly aware of the cut on your forehead that finally stopped bleeding.

you make your way across the farm and toward your house, and you can hear sam practicing on his skateboard. you hope you can avoid him, at least until you're able to clean up your injury.

as you open the front door, though, a loud creak fills the air, and you freeze. the sound of the skateboard stops.

"baby, is that you?" sam calls out, walking around to the front porch. you keep your back turned. "did you forget something?"

"uh, no! no, the mines were just a bit empty today, so . . ." you trail off. you turn your head away from him as sam tries to look at your face, but sigh in defeat when he cups your cheek and makes you face him.

immediately, his eyes widen. "you're hurt!"

"i'm fine—"

without another word, sam grabs your hand and drags you inside, bringing you into the bathroom. he spends the next few minutes tenderly cleaning the cut on your forehead, apologizing every time you flinch in pain. then, he brings you to your shared bedroom, covering you in the sheets and bringing you a mug of your favorite drink.

"stay here," he instructs, "i'll be right back." he turns to your pet, tail wagging as it sits at your bedside. "you're in charge while i'm gone, alright? make sure they stay put!" you laugh lightly as sam hurriedly leaves the house, hearing the sound of his skateboard rolling away. you let out a sigh, closing your eyes as you begin to fall asleep.

"baby, wake up."

your eyes open to the sound of your husband beside you once again, holding a bowl of steaming soup.

"i stopped by mom's to get some of her soup. you know i'm not the best cook," he admits, "but you need to eat something with lots of nutrients to get better."

you laugh lightly, gladly letting him feed you the first bite. the warmth of the soup makes you feel already a bit better.

"thank you, sam," you say, looking at him gratefully. "i don't know what i'd do without you."

"hey, shouldn't i be saying that?" he jokes, planting a kiss on your cheek. "here, eat up. you need all the strength you can get!"

after you finish eating, you begin to sit up, stretching your arms.

"hey, what are you doing?" sam questions, setting the bowl on your nightstand.

"i need to check on the animals one more time," you sigh, ignoring the ache in your arms. he scoffs, grabbing your arms and sitting you back down in bed.

"right, and just what kind of husband would i be if i let you do that?" he straightens his back and crosses his arms, smiling confidently. "leave it to me!"

"sam."

"yes, dear?"

"do you even know what you'd be checking for?"

he pauses, arms dropping. "right," he says, sighing. "i guess i don't." you laugh, standing back up but grabbing his hand.

"come on, you can be my assistant for tonight."

"yes!"

[vagabond-umlaut]

you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry

only the sun has come this close, only the sun

gojo satoru x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; gojo LOVERBOY™️ satoru; you aren't any better than him [but less poetic abt the predicament]; tw: pregnancy, 1 tiny mention of throwing up; satoru calls you 'cookie'; and he redefines the word besotted here; his thoughts are also a little yandere-ish but tht's cute, methinks; 2.3k wc; i just wish satoru was real and in my arms rn T-T

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

the fic title and summary don't rly hv a very strong connection to the fic plot— except the fact they fit both satoru's & reader's characters in this series to a tee ^_^

fic title and summary from 'gps' by shauna barbosa // header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

you are clingy.

always have been, in fact, now that gojo thinks about it. long before the two of you were married. long before you were engaged. quite a long time before the two of you were anything apart from friends at best, acquaintances at worst.

yet now, as he feels a pair of arms squeeze tighter around his middle, not really still very much squeezing the air out of him— your husband reckons you've grown loads clingier now—

and he loves you for this. loving you even more when he feels kisses being pressed into the space between his shoulder blades.

soft lips, a tad chapped. not without the shy grazing of your teeth.

just how he likes it.

very much how he adores you.

affection, settled deeper than should be feasible into the hollow of his chest, flutters a little when you nuzzle into his back; that pleased little hum of yours quick to follow it. smiling, gojo turns his head a touch to catch a glimpse of you. it takes a beat before you remove your face to lock eyes with him, before returning your face to his back.

he huffs a chuckle, sounding incredibly fond all the same. his feelings for you can never be suppressed anyway. time has proved this to him enough number of times.

he runs a finger down the length of your arm, relishing how it leaves a line of goosebumps in its wake—

"you wanna tell me something, cookie?" your husband finally asks.

your reply doesn't come immediately. and when it does, it is nothing more than a noncommittal noise. too spoiled. too stubborn. a bit too satisfied as well, the emotion further expressed when you nuzzle his back yet again.

gojo's smile grows bigger. his cheeks hurt a little.

he thinks he can live forever with this kind of pain, not even a sigh of complaint ever leaving him.

"aha—" he exclaims loudly, still soft enough to keep the quiet of this sweet bubble you've pulled you both into, "so it's just my irresistible charm that's making you so clingy tonight, hm?"

another beat passes.

and just when he thinks he might have to do with another one of your indistinct sounds for an answer, you speak. to be more precise, whine and grumble, everything so sweet in your adorable voice.

"it's not me being clingy, 'toru— it's the baby— the baby is making me so clingy. making me feel as if i can't live even for one second without squishing you like thisss!!!"

the first reaction your tightening grasp brings out is the wind getting knocked out of his lungs— the second reaction being all that oxygen, nitrogen and carbon dioxide being replaced by a feeling so fierce and so tender— the strongest thinks his knees would have buckled under its weight had he not been lying down but standing—

not that he really minds that, though.

for you, he's always on his knees. whether you ask it of him or not. the only light in this world he is willing to bow his eyes before.

it takes him not too much effort but gojo makes a point of struggling whilst he shifts in your hold. and grins when he finally comes face-to-face with you, drinking in the way your brows are puckered and lips a little parted in an incredulous expression.

his grin simmers down however, when his six eyes notice the spark in your tummy. so tiny. so blinding. so priceless— to him and you both— he knows this, surer than he is of the scars on his palms.

thumbing the hem of your t-shirt, he hums, dragging his eyes back to be drowned in yours, "how many weeks along are you, wifey?"

"satoru," you start, voice turning sharper and just as skeptical as your face was, still is— only to be shushed by a finger to your lips. the man addressed feels his heart skip a beat at your confused big scowl— it's got to be a crime to be as cute as you— really!!!

he pinches your cheek lightly.

"it isn't like i don't remember that, cookie. i just wanted you to say it— c'mon, tell me quickly!" he presses, noting then utilising the moment your face begins to lose its cynical hue over his words.

the scowl lingers there however, twisting your delectably pretty lips—

"nine weeks," you say, hooking a leg over his waist to pull him closer. can he be any closer to you, though? your answer is always a yes, he knows you well enough to know this.

"thirty-one weeks more before we meet our baby."

it's not exactly thirty-one weeks; it's thirty weeks and five days before either of you can meet the baby, but gojo decides not to point out the error. you always hate it when he points out your tiny errors and make a point of snarking about it every time he opens his mouth to speak a word next— the man is wary not to upset his wife, yes, thank you very much.

he offers a sage "hm" in response, one he observes you accept slowly. the scowl lifts itself into a curve so fond— gojo thinks once before he vaults his next query your way. not wanting to see that smile vanish in front of him—

the ask won't cause anything so. but he can never be too sure. he has read too many books and articles to not grasp how fragile pregnancy hormones can make one be.

he tucks a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear.

fingers tarrying there when he sees you lean into his touch— not akin a moth to a bright flame, no. he can never hurt you. not even for once in his wildest dreams—

but how the north pole of a magnet hurries towards the south pole of another magnet. so different in their nature, a perfect pair of opposite crafted by the nature— maybe that's why nothing can ever stop them from rushing to each other once they're proximated, the lines of their mutual attraction existing even when thousands of miles apart.

just like you and him.

contrasting, complementing, completing each other every instant, in every facet of life.

he lets his fingers dance through the tangles in your hair, unravelling the knots in there. that pleased little hum of yours reaches him once again.

stowing the sound away, later to be placed on a pedestal in an ornate glass case as the most valuable praise ever given to him for his effort, he runs a gentle hand, nails scratching your scalp carefully.

"and at nine weeks old, just how big might our baby be?"

"i think there is a chart comparing our baby's size to fruits..." syllables unhurried and a pinch mumbled, you press your heel to draw him in a little more. "i did not really read that too attentively— oh. but. yeah!" a grin forms on your features, sleepy still twinkling in excitement.

"shoko sent me a link to this website earlier today— any ideas, 'toru, what it might be about?"

gojo does have an idea. he has a very, very good idea.

but he chooses not to say that aloud. you look so extremely adorable when you are being this excited. he would hate nothing more than to see your amped up self getting interrupted by him.

he shakes his head. your grin brightens. eyes crinkling with a glint, he can tell even without looking, is knowing.

the tips of your fingers caress his bare back, softer than a breath. "it's about when our baby forms which organs— our baby's eyes are being formed now!!! isn't that too cute, 'toru?"

"it is, cookie," he hums without any hesitation, six eyes activating one more time to zero in on that teeny-tiny spark. then deactivating when he looks back up to your sleepy eyes. a terribly tickled, equally wicked glimmer creeps into his grin. "so our baby is just like a tiny ball of cells with two big blue eyes, huh? they must look so scary, heh— ouch!"

your pinch did not really pain him, but gojo does his best to mimic an awfully wounded puppy, sogging wet from the rain and waiting at the doorstep with his moving blue eyes— it takes less than three seconds before you let go of your glare with a sigh.

you massaging the sore spot on his arm, your husband watches you give yet another sigh.

"first of all, there's no guarantee our baby will have your eye color and not mine, 'toru," you explain, pinning him under your drowsy stare, "it is very difficult to predict that for sure— and secondly: i'll punch you if you ever call our baby scary— sure, they don't really look like a human in this moment, but they'll slowly get there in forty weeks— as per the website, their face, hands and feet are forming in the ninth—"

"okay, alright!! i get your point, my insanely smart, insanely beautiful, insanely sexy wife," gojo cuts in, smiling while warning bells chime in his head at the faintest gloss in your eyes—

but maybe they weren't noisy enough. that is why he doesn't bite his tongue, rather continuing, "but you weren't actually blaming our poor human-ey baby for your clinginess, were you? it's not like they have a telepathic communication set up with you— hell, maybe they haven't even started forming their brain!"

"the baby's brain starts forming by the fifth week, satoru," your quiet reply reaches him exactly when he gets his last giggle out. the moist sheen in your eyes grows more prominent.

and his insides begin to twist—

one-third helpless. two-thirds contrite.

you don't stop talking, tone lower than he has heard you use in nearly forever, "and you better not comment on my bond with our baby— i'll punch you twice if you—"

"i wasn't doing that and i promise to never make you feel that way, my cutie-pie cookie," gojo interrupts, voice far gentler than earlier, just as low as yours, "but feel free to throw me out the house if i ever do that, even accidentally. okay?"

you're not okay.

you never are, when it comes to you being actually harsh to him, even when he's the one asking you to be— shakespeare once called love to be blind— your husband doesn't think you're blind, however. it is your well-contemplated decision to see his mistakes and see each of them as excusable, perfectly pardonable, no matter how silly or serious the world might regard them to be—

you make a noise. somewhat annoyed. unhappy too, yeah. before you push your face into the crook of his neck, nose nuzzling into the flesh there.

you would have bitten him by now. but he reckons you might be a bit too tired for all that. you couldn't even finish your dinner before facing the urge to throw up tonight, yet again.

feeling sorry, almost, gojo resumes his ministrations to your hair, half because you need to fall asleep now; the hands on the clock are close to striking midnight. the other half because he just loves playing with your hair— only to still when you suddenly pull your head back.

brows furrowed as you peer at him, eyes big and earnest.

"you don't really mind when i hug you like this, do you, 'toru?"

"no, cookie!! of course not!!" the man wastes not even a breath before he rushes to explain— because seriously, what!??

sure, he wasn't the first one to fall between you two. but ever since he did fall, he has never not expressed how every second away from you, every fraction of an instant away from you, causes him pain.

and yeah, he might have been a tad too dramatic whilst doing so, but you've always been so good at reading him— then why on earth can't you read him now? why don't you read, he loves it when you seek him out, he loves you more than anyone and anything else??

"good," your satisfied little chirp gives him a light shove away from his frantic thoughts. something tells him he should be put on alert by the way your lips curve into a smug smile next.

but gojo finds himself uncaring. just immensely relieved as he trails his fingers from the back of your head to your chin. thumb reaching out to brush the corner of your infectious smile. you continue.

"but even if you did mind, sorry not sorry— you were the one who put the ring on my finger, so you have to deal with everything i'm, mister!! no refunds nor complaints can be filed here, gojo-san~"

and neither refunds nor complaints he wishes to file, satoru muses to himself as he cups your cheek in one hand. bending down to steal the taste of your beam, your tease, your love for him on his tongue—

not when he has received the world in exchange for letting go of that poor splintered mess of a heart, he used to call his, but is now yours.

and will always stay yours—

"hey 'toru— what will you do if i chomp on your fingers right now, like really hard? will you yell? or will you be the freak that you're and enjoy it, huh?"

gojo pauses.

and wonders.

is there any binding vow one can make to secure oneself to another in every lifetime, for all eternity?

he hopes there is.

your husband really, seriously hopes there is—

'cause no way in heaven, earth or hell, does gojo satoru want to let go of you— and he will not let go of you.

this idea was ROTTING in my brain for ages, but wht gave me the spark– the boost to write this was the wonderful sukuna fic written by ari @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat ❤️❤️❤️ i seriously love u & ur writings sm, babes 🥹🥹 everyone pls go check their masterlist out. it's studded w diamonds and pearls 😌😌🥰

and this is also for my sweet & sour bestie mimi @avatarofstars 🤭🤭— u 🤝 me in being clingy af towards our fictional hubbies 😂😂🥰

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[in-som-niyah]

GirlDad!Jason who supports you all throughout your pregnancy; holding your hair when you get sick, rubbing your sore feet and ankles, holding you through cramps/braxton hicks, buying you everything you craved etc.

GirlDad!Jason who cried for hours after she was born. His little girl, just as beautiful as you, all bundled up in soft blankets. He never believed he could love someone so much, it was like his entire body was burning with love and compassion for this little bean in his arms. For once, the world stopped, just for him.

GirlDad!Jason drives the most carefully he ever has in his life when coming back from the hospital. Despite your incessant giggling about how you've never seen him so scared, he drove like a damn senior citizen. He was carrying the most precious cargo, could you blame him?

GirlDad!Jason who changes diapers, feeds, bathes and plays with your daughter. He never leaves her for more than 5 minutes, and is involved to the point of mild annoyance. You would put your daughter down for 5 seconds and return to her gone, and in his arms. It's the most adorable thing though, you wouldn't trade it for the world.

GirlDad!Jason who can't stand to see your daughter upset. It's a trait he developed when she got to the toddler age, always fussing about everything she can't have and Jason giving in. Every time.

GirlDad!Jason who cries on her first day of kindergarten. Would never admit it though, but he hates seeing her grow up. He dreaded the day she learned how to tie her shoes and zip up her coat independently. It makes him feel like she doesn't need him anymore :(

GirlDad!Jason who will, without fail, play princesses, hair salon, tea party and barbies with his daughter. It doesn't matter if the world needs saving or if Bruce is up his ass, his daughter comes second to nothing. Even if it's to kiss a minor booboo she got while running around the house.

GirlDad!Jason who always brings back little trinkets and toys for his daughter. Her bedroom will be cluttered with stuffed animals and shiny things that caught his eye or reminded him of her. She would anticipate his key in the door which meant daddy brought home something for her. No matter how old she gets, he won't stop.

GirlDad!Jason who absolutely fucks up bullies. Be it in kindergarten or in college, Jason will make sure she and her friends are never bothered again. I cannot disclose his methods for legal reasons.

GirlDad!Jason who doesn't freak out about periods. He's so loving and supportive and doesn't ever make her feel ashamed about it. He'll bring her tea, hot chocolate, hot water bottles, painkillers, heating pads and rub her back if she's in a lot of pain. He'll take the day off to stay with her, and never force her to go to school on those days.

GirlDad!Jason who absolutely spoils his daughter shamelessly. Mom said no more sweets? Well dad sure isn't going to place a bag of candy under her pillow the next day. She wants a car for her 16th birthday? His baby gets a pink Porsche with a bow on top. She's obsessed with X artist? All the merch in the world miraculously ends up in her room.

GirlDad!Jason who will tower menacingly over her first partner. It doesn't matter how much you or your daughter like them, Jason's imagining a thousand ways to hide their dismembered body.

GirlDad!Jason who needs to be talked down from killing said partner when he finds his daughter balled up in a crying mess on her bed when they break up. Nobody makes his precious girl sad. He'll definitely egg their house without your knowledge. He buys her everything she could ever ask for to make her feel better, no matter how stupidly expensive.

GirlDad!Jason who's always up to a conversation. No matter how embarrassing or personal, he'll listen and give honest advice. Because he's so open, your daughter almost never hides anything from him.

GirlDad!Jason who bawls after dropping her off at university. Again, would never admit it, but sleeps on the floor of her bedroom for the first month she's away. He can't help but miss his little (adult) girl. He also flips through pictures and videos on his phone of when your daughter was little and sheds a few tears. Honestly it only makes you love him more.

GirlDad!Jason who still doesn't like your daughter's college partner. He's better this time around, but still. Don't put murder past him. Yet.

GirlDad!Jason who cries when your daughter shows him her shiny new engagement ring. He's so excited yet terrified. His baby girl is all grown up now.

GirlDad!Jason who walks your daughter down the isle with the brightest smile on his face. He slowly comes around to liking her fiancé(é) and honestly wishes them well.

GirlDad!Jason who meets your daughter at the hospital, ready to meet his new granddaughter for the first time. He holds her in his arms, just like he did his daughter, and gleams knowing the cycle is repeating itself. He couldn't be more excited.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: sequel to this post i guess??? i needed something cute with jason and his daughter bc..... well..... we don't talk about my own father :D

night night guys

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Perfectly Purple

Written for the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Hawkins Library on the main card and Pastel on the Hop into Spring bonus card

Rated: T

Words: 1,301 [also on AO3]

Tags: Pre-S1; Pre-Steddie; Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington; Jealous Eddie; Eddie Munson is a little shit

There's a cardigan draped over the backrest of Eddie’s favorite chair. It's pastel purple, with a shiny row of mother-of-pearl buttons and a delicate satin bow on the collar. 

“Huh,” says Frank, putting his books down on the table and looking around the empty library. “Looks like someone forgot their jacket.” 

“Not someone,” Eddie mutters, lifting a soft, knitted sleeve between two fingers, as if the frills on the hems might turn into fangs any second. “Nancy Wheeler.” 

Jeff, who just slid into the remaining chair, stops rifling through his backpack and frowns up at him. 

“Nancy who now?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wheeler. From freshman year? Little Miss Goodie Two Shoes with the perfect brunette locks and large baby blues. Aspiring new member of the newspaper club. Best friends with Holland from band. Looks a little like a sad baby deer most of the time, if baby deer wore stockings and hair barrettes. C’mon Jeff, show a bit of an interest in our fellow students.” 

Jeff gives him a look.

“Maybe if you showed a little less interest in our fellow students and a little more interest in your books, we wouldn’t be stuck here, having to redo this report. What’s the matter with you? Where does this sudden obsession with random freshmen come from?”

“It's not an obsession,” Eddie claims. This is ridiculous. Why would he be obsessed with little Nancy Wheeler and her perfect hair and her perfect smile and her perfect pastel atrocity of a purple cardigan? “I am merely trying to stay up to date on the social ecosystem of-”

“She’s dating Harrington,” Frank says from behind his book. Jeff’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“What, really? Since when?” 

They both turn to face Eddie. 

“How am I supposed to know?” he snaps, as if he has no idea. As if he doesn't know that it's been two weeks and three-and-a-half days since Harrington and Wheeler arrived at Karen Friedman's birthday party together. As if he isn't aware that Wheeler was wearing this exact cardigan when they snuck out to kiss between the rose bushes in the backyard. As if he wasn't there, lurking in the shadow of the garden wall like some hideous, voyeuristic goblin with a lunchbox full of weed. 

Jeff's eyes go soft. 

“Shit, man. That blows, I'm sorry.” 

“Sorry?” Eddie paces in a circle in front of the stupid chair with Nancy Wheeler’s stupid cardigan, gesturing wildly at nothing in particular. “What are you sorry for? The way our peers keep mindlessly reenacting the same hollow clichés of mediocre small town life over and over again, not knowing that this is the very thing that's trapping them in this capitalist hellscape of a society? Because you're right, that totally blows.” 

“Okay,” Frank says. “No more Mountain Dew for you. Now how about we all calm down and start working on this-” 

But Eddie isn't done. 

“Oh, look at me, I'm Nancy Wheeler,” he says, yanking the cardigan from the chair and draping it over his shoulders, letting the empty sleeves dangle by his sides. “I'm pretty and polite and smart. I study for fun. I've never had to redo a report in my life. I'm gonna pass high school with flying colors and maybe even go to college, and then I'll throw it all away to become a perfect little housewife and raise some airheaded jock’s brats.” 

Jeff snorts a laugh. “Oh my God, you do look a bit like her. You should keep that thing, maybe you'll get Harrington fooled.” 

Frank raises his book again, doing his best impression of a guy who just wandered in by accident and has never seen these lunatics in his life. 

“Maybe on a moonless, cloudy night,” he says. “If we get him drugged and concussed first.” 

Eddie snatches the book from his hand. Frank curses and tries to grab him, but he lets out a high-pitched giggle and dances out of reach. 

“What was that, Steve?” he chirps, leaning his back against the nearest shelf and clutching the book to his chest, fluttering his lashes up at an invisible conversation partner. “You want to go to prom with me? Little old me? Oh, I'd love to!” 

“Quit that, you moron,” Frank hisses. Jeff, meanwhile, has collapsed on the table and is desperately trying to stifle his laughter. “If one of Harrington’s entourage catches you, they'll kick your ass.” 

Eddie gasps. 

“What did you say, Steve? You think I'm the prettiest girl in school? Oh, gee, you're awfully handsome, too.” 

“I give up,” Frank groans. “I don't know why I put up with you.” 

Eddie twirls a lock of hair between his fingers. 

“No, really, Steve,” he sing-songs. “I think you're, like, sooo dreamy with your broad shoulders and your muscles and that smile, and all of daddy’s money. Did you do something to your hair, Steve? It's so floofy. I wanna run my fingers through it while you shove your tongue down my-” 

“I've been trying out a new hairspray,” says a voice. “Thanks for noticing.” 

The world stops. Eddie stares at Jeff and Frank, hoping against hope that one of them has secretly been working on one killer of an impersonation number, but they've both gone still as statues, gawking at something to his left with wide, horrified eyes. 

Eddie turns. 

Steve Harrington is looking back at him from where he materialized between the shelves, like a malicious demonic entity summoned by calling its name thrice. If malicious demonic entities wore varsity jackets and polo shirts, that is.

“Hi,” he says. “Munson, right?” 

Eddie chokes on his own spit. A sound leaves his mouth. It sounds like “hurghlflugh.” 

Harrington wrinkles his brow and comes closer. Eddie tries to back away, but the shelves behind him refuse to open and swallow him whole, and where the hell is that goddamn portal to Narnia when you need it? He opts for screwing his eyes shut and raising the book that’s still clutched to his chest like a shield, waiting for the punch. 

Except the punch doesn’t come. 

“I’ll need that back.” 

Eddie opens one eye. Harrington has extended one hand and is watching him with his head tilted to the side, mouth twitching and eyes sparkling with what looks an awful lot like reluctant amusement. 

“I know you guys are into roleplaying or something,” he says, “and I’m not judging. Whatever floats your boat, right? But Nancy is waiting in the car, and we have movie tickets, so I just wanted to hop in and get her jacket.” 

He wiggles his fingers and gives an impatient little nod at the cardigan. The very cardigan that is still draped loosely over Eddie’s shoulders. 

Eddie has never stripped out of a garment as quickly in his life. He wishes the circumstances were sexier, but here they are. Harrington’s fingers brush his as he takes the jacket. 

“Thank you,” he says politely. “Purple looks good on you, by the way. If you ever feel like adding a bit more color to your wardrobe.” 

Eddie watches how he turns, tossing a wave and nod at Jeff and Frank before he disappears between the shelves again. Somewhere at the other end of the library, the door clicks shut. 

Eddie’s legs give out. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, landing ass-first on the library floor. “What the fuck just happened?” 

Frank sighs and rises from his chair.

“I’m not sure. But I know two things. One: I’m not doing any study groups with you ever again.” He bends and extends a hand, but instead of pulling Eddie to his feet, he just picks up the fallen book. As he turns to walk back to his seat, he gently pats Eddie on the head. “And two: You might wanna invest in a nice cardigan or three.” 

More Steddie Bingo

[phoenixblaze1412]

Hi ! Imagine baby Zandik, or even younger segments just treating you like their parent. Go seek you when they hurt their knees from falling, ask for help with homework older segments gave them or even just asking for a hug or you playing with them. Could I request that? Only if you feel like it ofc. (Sorry if my spelling or sentence are weird, English isn't my first language)

The child was small—smaller than the other Segments, his frame frail from having been created not for war or science, but something… softer.

Dottore never said what he intended him to be. Perhaps even he didn’t know. But to you, the answer had been obvious the moment you saw him.

He was just a child.

And children deserved to be loved.

—————

"Look! Look!"

The tiny Segment tugged at your sleeve, bright eyes shining with excitement as he held up a torn page from an old book. "I drew this!"

You smiled, kneeling beside him to get a closer look. The paper was rough at the edges, a relic of one of Dottore’s discarded documents, but the scribbles covering it were bright and full of life. A mess of crayon strokes, clumsy yet full of meaning.

It was a sketch—of you.

"Is that me?" you asked, pointing at the smiling figure.

The child beamed, nodding eagerly. "And that’s me! And that’s—" he hesitated, lowering his voice. "That’s Father."

You followed his gaze to the third figure—a towering presence in a long coat, standing slightly apart.

Dottore.

The sight made your chest ache. The child's depiction of him was not unkind, but there was something uncertain in the way he had drawn him. As if he did not know where he belonged in the picture.

"You did a wonderful job," you murmured, ruffling his hair.

He giggled, pressing closer to your warmth. "I wanna draw more!"

"Then we’ll draw as much as you want."

—————

Dottore was not a sentimental man. His creations were meant to serve a purpose—each carefully calculated, each a necessary piece of his grand design.

But this child…

This child defied logic.

He was not an instrument of war, nor a mind of scientific brilliance. They were small hands covered in crayon dust. They were tiny feet padding through the lab, their laughter foreign against the sterile air. They were the one Segment that did not bow at his feet, but instead reached up with open arms.

It was baffling.

"You spend too much time with them," Dottore remarked one evening, watching as you helped the child arrange his drawings into a messy pile.

You didn’t look up. "He's just a kid."

"He is a Segment," he corrected. "Not a child."

At that, you did look at him, lips pressing into a firm line.

"He can be both."

Dottore’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. He never appreciated being challenged. But before he could respond, a tiny voice interrupted.

"Father."

The small Segment approached hesitantly, holding up a fresh drawing. Their fingers curled slightly at the edges of the paper, uncertain. "I made this one for you."

For a moment, Dottore said nothing. His gaze flickered between you and the child, before finally taking the drawing.

It was simple. Three figures, hand in hand. The crayon lines were uneven, but the warmth in it was unmistakable.

You. The child. And him.

Dottore exhaled slowly.

"...Hmph."

The child shifted, waiting for his reaction. When it didn’t come, they hesitated, then moved to your side, fingers grasping at your sleeve. You responded without hesitation, pulling them close.

Dottore watched. His hands curled slightly at his sides, the drawing still held between his fingers.

For all his intelligence, he didn’t know what to do with such a thing.

Later that night, as the lab grew quiet, you found the child curled up beside you, his tiny hands resting against your arm. Sleep had claimed him, his breath soft and steady.

Dottore stood by the doorway, watching.

"You let them cling to you like an attachment," he remarked, tone unreadable.

You exhaled softly, running a hand through the child’s hair. "If being loved is an attachment, then I don’t see the problem."

Dottore scoffed. "Love is not a necessity in my research."

You glanced at him, your gaze steady. "Maybe not in your research."

A pause.

Dottore said nothing. He only turned, his coat shifting as he left the room.

But in the dim light, forgotten on the desk, lay a single crumpled drawing.

Untouched. But not discarded.

—————

The nights were the hardest.

In the daylight, the child found distractions—doodling on scraps of paper, following you around the lab, tugging at the Segments’ coats until one of them indulged hisncuriosity. But at night, when the world was quiet and shadows stretched long across the floor, there was no escaping the fear.

It always began the same way. The shifting of blankets. A tiny, trembling breath. Then, the quiet sniffles, stifled as though the child feared making too much noise.

You stirred at the sound, blinking groggily before realizing what was happening. Without hesitation, you shifted towards him, already reaching out.

"Nightmares again?" you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

The child didn't answer right away. He only curled in on himself, small fingers gripping his blanket too tightly, his tiny shoulders shaking.

Gently, you pried their hands free and pulled them into your arms. He came willingly, burying his face in your shirt as if trying to disappear into your warmth.

"It’s alright," you murmured, rubbing slow, soothing circles on their back. "I’m here."

His breath hitched. "It was dark," he whispered. "I couldn’t see you."

Your heart twisted painfully at the quiet admission.

The lab was often dimly lit, filled with the hum of machinery and the cold glow of alchemical solutions, but the dark of night was different. It was isolating, stretching on endlessly, swallowing up small, scared children who just wanted to be held.

You tightened your hold, pressing a soft kiss to his hair.

"I’m here," you repeated, firmer this time. "And I’ll always be here."

For a moment, he simply clung to you, his tiny body trembling against yours. You continued to hold him, running gentle fingers through his hair, humming quietly—a tune with no name, just something soft enough to keep them grounded.

Eventually, his grip loosened. His breathing slowed, steadied. The tension in their small limbs melted away, and warmth seeped into you as they relaxed completely.

Even in sleep, their fingers curled lightly against your shirt, as if making sure you wouldn't leave.

You pressed another kiss to their forehead and whispered a promise—one only they would hear, nestled safely in your arms.

"I won’t let you face that darkness alone."

—————

Dottore found you both in the garden.

The child was curled up in your lap, clutching a small, broken machine—one of his old prototypes. Their fingers worked clumsily, trying to fix it while you guided their hands, voice patient and warm.

Dottore didn’t speak right away.

For the longest time, he simply watched.

The way you held the child with such care. The way their eyes shone with delight at your praise.

The way they trusted you so completely.

"You’ve grown attached," he finally said.

You didn’t look up. "They deserve kindness."

Dottore hummed, stepping closer. The child noticed him then, eyes lighting up as they scrambled to their feet.

"Father! Look what we fixed!"

He held up the machine, wobbling slightly in their eagerness.

Dottore took it, examining their work with an unreadable expression. Then, after a long pause—

"Acceptable," he muttered.

The child grinned, turning to you with wide eyes. "Did you hear that?! He said it’s acceptable!"

You laughed, ruffling their hair. "See? I told you you were brilliant."

Dottore exhaled, shaking his head. "You’ve made them insufferable."

"And you love them anyway," you replied easily.

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he placed a hand on the child’s head—gentle, brief, but unmistakably fond.

The child beamed, practically glowing under his touch.

And in that moment, even Dottore couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Life in the lab remained the same—filled with research, experiments, and the constant hum of machinery. But in the quiet moments, the ones that existed outside the rush of work and duty, a softer reality had settled into place.

The child was a constant presence, trailing after you or one of the Segments, always eager to learn, to build, to understand the world in their own way. And though Dottore rarely voiced his approval, he was always watching.

One evening, you found him in his study, reviewing reports, when a familiar weight settled against his side. The child had climbed onto his chair, pressing against him with a sleepy murmur.

Dottore tensed for a moment before sighing, setting his work aside. "You're supposed to be asleep."

The child yawned, clinging to his sleeve. "Was waiting for you."

His fingers twitched. After a long moment, he hesitantly rested his hand on their back. The child hummed contentedly, shifting closer.

From the doorway, you watched with a small smile, not saying a word.

Some things didn’t need to be spoken aloud. And for all his denials, for all his exasperated sighs and muttered complaints, Dottore never once pushed the child away.

[put-me-through-the-wall]

Imagine Retired!Price who has nothing to do in his new found free time

His team was finally able to convince him to put down the gun and rest. He's done more than enough for others.

But after years of constant movement and missions he isn't comfortable with sitting in one place.

He starts to go on long walk in the afternoon to fill his time

Mostly people watching or checking out the local businesses.

One night as chilly afternoon turns into a cold evening he finds himself wondering into retro diner all lit up by neon lights.

He finds a booth and takes a look around at the polished but dated looking restaurant.

it brought him a feeling of comfort he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Hello sir, can I get you a drink to start?" A sweet voice chirps

He turn to meet your sunny smile all dressed up in a baby pink button up dress, waist cinched with a mini apron. Hair pulled back with a matching bow.

"Hello..." John looks down to your name tag. "Bunny?"

"Oh" you laugh, "It's just a nickname. The old timers think it's cute"

"What does that say about me, then?"

"You don't look too old to me."

"Let me get a coffee, bunny"

From that point on John made sure to come by the diner every night.

Rain, sleet, or shine you could bet he would be there.

You weren't there every night of course but it thrilled him to think of the possibility of seeing you again.

Always greeting him with a, "Hey stranger" or "You come here often?"

Always dressed in that little faded pink dress.

Your conversation started to take up more of your shift as time went on.

Evolving from cordial to friendly and occasionally flirty.

"Bunny, what does your boyfriend think of you working all the time?"

"I don't have a boyfriend, John"

"Then what do you do all day when you're not here?"

"Waiting for you to ask me on a date"

Then you both laugh but John knows his time will come and he's a patient man.

He was always a generous tipper, even before the flirting

He loved to watch you run around the place, espically when it was busy.

You handled yourself well under pressure. Never letting a difficult customer get under your skin.

He love to way you look after a long shift with your hair slightly tousled with a pen or two stuck somewhere in your hair or behind your ear.

He'll stack his empty plates up nicely to make it easier for you to pick up.

Pushing them to the edge of the table signaling to you he was finished up.

He made sure they were steady too, especially so after one unlucky afternoon that had you sweeping up the shards of glass under his table with an embarassed blush warming your cheeks.

But seeing you on your knees sweeping up your mess made unpure thoughts flood his mind.

He began thinking about what you wear outside of work.

What you wear when you go out.

What you look like when you don't wear anything at all.

Then one rainy afternoon, John blows in to find his usual booth vacant and waits patiently for your typical sweet greeting.

Instead you rush over and drop his coffee on the table with a thud causing tiny brown droplets to splatter over the thick rim of the diner mug.

"What's crawled up your skirt, little rabbit?" John chuckles.

You frown down at him, pulling your notebook and a pen from your apron pocket. "I'm not in the mood today. What do you want to eat?"

"I know I was a little late but, the it's pouring outside. Don't be upset with me, bunny" He says, refusing to drop his joking tone.

"John" You snip.

He likes the way you say his name when you're angry.

"What's wrong?" He looks up at you with sincerity and you finally drop your arms and sigh.

"It's been a hard day. My boss is just being a total tool. The other waitresses are shit and no one is tipping well. Don't say anything but, I think I'm gonna put in my two weeks" You're words tumble from you in a rush.

"You're going to quit?"

"I can't keep working like this. I hardly make enough for rent and I still have no time to myself," You take a breath and shake your head. "Sorry, I shouldn't talk about money stuff with you. You're just here for dinner."

"Let me help you,"

"No, I don't need help. I'm fine, just a little overworked. I shouldn't have brought it up. Forget it."

"Let me take care of you"

You laugh but he does not.

"Come live with me, you'll never have to work again."

"Okay stop now, this isn't funny."

"Do you see me laughing?"

"You don't even know my real name"

"Aren't you tired? You're far too pretty to be so stressed. This job will always be here if you change your mind. I don't think you will though."

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

A/N: This turned out longer than anticipated but hope you enjoy. I just want a Price to sweep me off my feet and make me a house wife :'-)

ﾒ𝟶

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[laswells-ashtray]

Russell has never cared much for babies. He doesn't fawn over them when he's shown a picture of them and doesn't care to hold them if he didn't play a part in making them. Putting them in silly little outfits doesn't amuse him nor does putting ridiculously large bows on their head.

The first time he holds Phillip as a newborn, he doesn't feel his knees weaken or tears sting at his eyes. There's no overwhelming urge to cradle and coo at him. He comes to terms with the fact that he'll die fighting for his son and there's no law that's worth considering in the face of keeping the infant in his arms safe and happy.

Phillip isn't the cutest thing he's ever seen like so many others claim when looking down at their child. He reminds Russell of a gun because as he stares down at the little one who's fussing in his arms, he prepares his finger for any trigger that will help him ensure a good life for his boy.

So, when his son is six months old he's in a store looking for diapers, a new lighter and Gatorade and spots a little fuzzy onesie that looks like a bear, he buys it with his wife in mind.

He knows she'd get a kick out of it, that's why be buys it. She'll take a handful of photos and he'll likely keep one in his wallet until it's worn and torn. That's why he buys it.

He tells her exactly that when he gets home, he bought it with her in mind. That's why he smiles when he sees it.

It has nothing to do with the little boy who crawls across the couch towards him, blonde tufts of hair sticking out from under his hood with the soft brown bear ears. How the baby grizzly crawls onto his lap and tugs at his sunglasses with drool-soaked fingers until he surrenders them. How he watches Phil stick the leg of the glasses in his mouth and try to bite at it despite the fact that he's only just started teething. How he growls at the baby bear on his knee and he gets a soft babble in return.

He buys the bear onesie for his wife, no other reason.