#and she's so small and snug in his arms

[beautyofattolia]

Enid: Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?

Wednesday: I’m a knife.

Tyler, from across the room: She’s the little spoon.

[sturniqlo]

Motherly Instincts- M.S

summary: mom!y/n has trouble putting the baby back to sleep, dad!matt sees that's she's getting overwhelmed and near the edge of breaking down. BLURB

cw: slight cursing, ANGST; crying, being overwhelmed, postpartum depression, FLUFF; soft kisses, reassurance, comforting

an: i tried my best to not use a name for the baby but i kept getting confused when i used the baby and y/n in a sentence so i chose a random name | lowercase intended | a continuation(?) to spilled water

masterlist | mia masterlist | join my taglist

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"got the baby back to sleep?" matt asked and opened his arms back up for y/n to crawl into him. "mhm." she hums, and snugs herself into his arms. he wraps his arm around her shoulder and she leans her head on his chest. y/n's eyes keep going back and forth between the movie playing on the television in front of them and the baby monitor that sits on the coffee table.

"hey, she's okay, i promise you. i'm sure she's fast asleep by now." he whispers and places a kiss on her forehead. "i know, but what if her swaddles comes undone. or what if it's too tight?" she bites the inside of her cheek, worrying.

matt frowns slightly, for the past couple of weeks, y/n hasn't really been herself. she's more quiet, she gets irritated quickly, she only interacts with the baby when it's necessary "i just- she's so fragile, you know?" is her excuse.

in reality, everything is right. y/n has been trying so hard to create a bond with her baby girl. she's tried so hard but, there's something inside of her- almost like a voice- telling her that she isn't fit to be a mother, that her baby doesn't like her. she sees how matt and his brothers have a bond with her own baby, who she grew for nine months. it gets to her.

y/n always has to excuse herself and cry in the bathroom when she sees her baby crack a smile with someone who isn't her, or when mia isn't fussy when someone is carrying her. there has been multiple occasions where mia doesn't let y/n carry her and she squirms in her arms but, when she's given to matt, she isn't fussy anymore. it breaks y/n's heart.

2:36am

the clock on y/ns nightstand reads. the speakers of the baby monitor begin to fill the room with the wails of baby mia. she mutes the monitor so matt won't wake up. swinging her legs over the bed, she puts her slippers on and walks to the door to leave the room. entering the nursery, the cries only get louder. she goes to the crib and sees that her pacifier had fallen next to her small head.

"hi, baby. mommy's here." she whispers, she carefully picks her up in her arms and grabs the pacifier and tries to put it back in her mouth. mia takes it and y/n sighs in relief. she cradles her for a couple more seconds until she sees the babys face churn in discomfort, the pacifier coming out of her mouth and hitting the floor, cries fill the room again.

"oh no, let's get this cleaned up." she tries to stay calm and squats down to pick up the pacifier. before she heads down she places mia down on the changing table and undos the swaddle. "do you need a diaper change, is that it?" her shaky hands unclip the onesie and starts to take off the diaper.

cleaning her up and changing her into a new diaper, her cries don't stop. y/n feels a lump start to form in her throat and she blinks her tears away. "are you hungry, baby? let's get you a bottle." she puts her back in her arms and grabs the pacifier so she can clean it while she's downstairs.

y/n runs one of her frozen breast milk pouches under warm water and proceeds to pour it into a bottle once it's warm and melted, however with a crying baby in her left arm, and a shaky right hand, the bottle falls on its side and the pouch of milk slips from her grip. "shit." she curses and a tear slips down her face. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry." she tells the crying baby in her arm. grabbing a different frozen pouch she manages to pour all of it into the small bottle.

putting the nipple of the bottle into the babys mouth, she refuses and her cries get louder. y/n tries not more time and mia takes it for a couple of seconds and repeats what she previously did with the pacifier. y/n places the bottle down next to the spilled milk and cleans the pacifier before heading back up into the nursery.

she moves side to side patting the baby lightly on the bottom, trying to soothe her to sleep. "i- i don't know what you want." she whispers, looking down at the baby's blue eyes that resembles matt's so much. however, these pair of eyes are sad and leaking tears.

in their shared room, matt flips over and tries to put an arm around y/n. he feels the spot empty and cold, waking up and sitting up he begins to come conscious of his surroundings and hears the cries of his baby. his bare feet meet the cold wooden floor and he heads out the room into the nursery where he sees y/n wiping tears from her eyes and hears the wails of the baby.

"babe, what's going on?" his raspy voice says. y/n looks up and sees matt standing there. "she's- i don't- she won't stop crying, i don't know what she wants. i've- i've tried everything, she won't stop, matt." his heart aches at her quivering voice. "it's okay, let me have her." matt walks closer to his two girls and y/n hands mia to him.

once the baby is in matt's arms, her cries stop. this makes y/n's eyes well up even more. "hey, why don't you go to our room, i'll be there in a sec, okay?" he grabs her jaw and kisses her forehead. "o- okay." she nods. as bad as it sounds, matt wished that she hadn't stopped crying right away in his arms. he saw the way y/n's eyes welled up again. he wished it would've taken him some time to get the baby to calm down.

y/n remembers of the mess downstairs and heads down to the kitchen. wiping both the milk and her tears, she hears matt coming down the stairs and she turns around. "hey, is she- is she asleep?" she says, trying her best to smile. "yeah, here, i'll clean this up." matt grabs the napkins from her and he cleans it up. "is it okay if i go back up?" y/n asks.

"of course, i'll be right up." matt turns around and nods at her. matt waits a couple of minutes before going back upstairs so y/n can have a moment to herself.

"you okay?" matt says as he closes the third bedroom door. y/n places the baby monitor back down on her nightstand after unmuting it and turns around to matt's voice. "am i a good mom?" she blurts out and sits on the edge of the bed. "what? of course you are. you're the best. why do you ask?" he goes to sit next to her. "i feel like i'm not. i mean, mia doesn't even like me. she doesn't let me hold her whenever i just want to. i cant even put her to sleep when she wakes up. i- you put her straight to sleep by just carrying her, i can't do that." she cries into matt.

"y/n, baby, you're the best mom ever." matt says and she shakes her head. "matt, you're not listening to me, i can't- i'm- i'm not good enough. i don't have motherly instincts. i'm- i'm the worst."

matt shakes his head and gently grabs her face in his hands. "baby, believe me when i say this. you are the best mommy for mia. did you change her diaper just now?" he asks and she nods. "did you make her a bottle?" she nods. "did you give her, her pacifier?" she nods again. "did you go to her when you heard her crying?" she nods. "see, you do have motherly instincts, my love. nobody told you what to do, you just did it." he smiles at her. "please, believe me, babe."

"and, it's okay if we can't figure it out right away. we're first time parents, of course it's going to be hard. we're learning." her cries have now turned into sniffles. matt wipes away the last of her tears and kisses her nose, making her giggle lightly.

"feelin' better?" matt murmurs against her hair. they had moved from sitting on the edge of the bed to matt cuddling her, kissing her hair from time to time. "much better. thank you, babe. i- i think i have postpartum depression." she whispers the last part. "oh." he says. "i want to get help, i don't want to feel like this anymore. i want to enjoy these moment with her. she's not going to be this little for so long." she looks up at him.

"you get all the help you need. i'll be with you every step of the way, alright? me and mia will be right next to you." she smiles at his words and he presses a soft kiss to his lips. "thank you." there's a beat of silence until matt speaks. "please don't ever say that she won't be this little for so long. one moment she needs us to change her diaper and next thing you know, i'm walking her down the aisle." y/n gasps. "okay, let's not go that far. she's not even two months old yet."

"you're right."

[nivisdreaming]

Kinktober Day 1: Size - Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

WC: 1.1k

CW: Size play, predator/prey dynamics, established relationship, piv penetration, no protection, creampie, teasing, praise, sub!reader, dom!miguel, subspace implied, reader gets fucked so good she passes out, aftercare is included

Notes: first time writing for miguel? pog? also welcome to kinktober everyone its gonna get freaky >:)

Miguel is constantly pinning you to things. He’s not even doing it on purpose necessarily, he’s just so big.

It’s not his fault that he’ll reach for something over your head, or try to scooch behind you in the kitchen or hallway, and all of a sudden you’re pushed against the nearest surface being towered over by a 6’9 spider hybrid.

What is his fault is how he abuses it once he realizes how flustered it makes it. He’s always been very perceptive when it came to you. He knows how your cheeks flush red with embarrassment, how your breath hitches, and your thighs squeeze together in need, right as you look upward to view him caging you in. It always gives a sickening ego boost. You’re just so small compared to him. Breakable. Fragile. Delicate. Delicious.

He starts subtlety. Sneaking behind you when you’re making morning coffee, hovering behind when you work at your desk, and of course, getting you down on your knees for him whenever possible. It doesn’t take long to escalate however, coming to a head one night before he is set to attend a Spider Society gala with you as his plus one.

You slide the dress up your body carefully, allowing the snug material to cling tight around your breasts in its strapless style. You straighten it out and peered over your shoulder to call, “Miggy? Can you come zip me up please?”

You adjust your hair and makeup in the mirror as you listen to his lumbering footsteps, smiling when he appears behind you, his eyes tracing over your curves in the reflection. He takes a step closer, and the way his shoulders dwarf yours causes your breath to hitch. He slides a hand up your side and another comes to rest on the back of your neck. You open your mouth to make the request again, but the air is knocked out of you as he pushes forwards, pinning you firmly to the floor-length mirror without looking away from his scanning of your body.

“Sweet, tiny little thing. You’re so easy to push around, aren’t you, mi princesa?” He pushes his hips forward to rut against your ass, and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head from the combo of his growling tone and his hot erection against you. He leans down to nip at your earlobe before muttering, “I know you love how much bigger than you I am. Does it make you feel all funny? To know how I could wreck you, how I could turn you into my cowering prey, stuck underneath me? It makes your brain all fuzzy. And it makes your cunt dripping wet.” He uses the hand on your side to tug up the dress, exposing your bare ass. He scoffs at the lewdity and gives one of the round globes a spank, forcing a whimper from you.

You watch him in the mirror as he blocks you in on all sides while running a finger down to your folds, teasingly sliding it against your entrance before bringing it to his month to suck off the slick. He hums in approval and moves his arms to sit on either side of your head, leaving you boxed in but free to move against him.

“Spin around. I wanna look you in the eyes while I stretch your tight pussy to it’s breaking point, and if I see you look away I will make sure neither of us sees this event tonight.”

You gulp and slowly twirl around, having to crane your neck to meet his eyes even as he leers down at you. He places a hand over yours and coaxes it to the front of his crotch, using you to squeeze at his bulge before instructing you to undo the zipper and pull him out. You obey without hesitation, allowing him to tug down the top of your dress and reveal your tits as you do. His cock springs eagerly from its confines, precum already leaking from the tip that has flushed a deep purple.

Instinctively you try to drop down to your knees, your clouded headspace demanding that you needed to gag around him as soon as possible, but he manhandles you back up and off the ground with your wrists above your head and legs wrapped around his slutty waist. The rough force has you moaning softly, eyes already glazed over despite the lack of direct stimulation. It makes him chuckle darkly.

He lines his tip up with your entrance and gives no warning before sliding in with a single thrust. The slick dripping down your thighs is plenty of lube as he begins an earth-shattering pace, hips slamming into yours and tip kissing your cervix with every thrust. He leans down and vigorously sucks and bites around your breasts, littering them with hickeys while you cry on his cock, sobbing hysterically from pleasure.

He pulls away from his marking to take in your appearance, at the fat globs of tears gathering on your cheeks make his hips stutter and his abs tense. “God, princesa, feels so good to corrupt you like this,” he switches his grip from your hip to your tummy so he can thumb at your clit, “So ruined for me. Molded this tiny cunt to my dick, so it’s perfect just for me.” You whimper at the praise, jaw dropping open and tongue lolling out as he slides against the spongey spot inside you and rubs fast circles around your bundle of nerves.

“That’s it, my good little girl. So delicate, just gotta take care of you by breaking that poor little brain every once and awhile. Go ahead sweet thing, cum on me, show me how good little prey thank the predators.” His words send you spinning into the abyss, everything in your body pulling taunt and then snapping back as your vision goes from white to black and suddenly you’re so light and floaty that you can’t feel the way you soak Miguel’s cock, nor the way he cums deep inside you as your walls milk him dry. You don’t feel him carry you to the bed, or feel him drag the damp cloth between your legs. You don’t feel how he kisses both your cheeks in hopes of getting your eyes to flutter open, to no avail.

What you do feel is when he pulls your trembling body against his broad chest, rubbing up and down on your arms softly and whispering to you. “Mi amor, you gotta come back to me now. Open up those eyes for me. You did so good for me baby, surprised you made it as long as you did without passing out on my dick. C’mon, wakey wakey corazón.” His words are encouragement enough to float back downwards, settling into his touch until you have enough strength to pull your eyelids open and peer up at him with large doe-eyes. “Aw, welcome back little girl. Te amo.”

[lottiies]

what, too big, sweet thing?

cw: mdni, fem!reader, drabble, size difference, breeding kink, mention of birth control, aftercare

note: he could crush me. not that he would because he’s a sweetheart, but omg pleaseee i wanna be lovingly smushed by him ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝<꒱ྀི i cannot describe the positions well, hope you guys understand

umm anyways, yes <3 thinking about how bulky he is.

him kneeling back on the heels of his feet and shoving his cock inside you while you straddle his hips, one of his hands splayed against the plush of your ass while his other arm is slung around the small of your back, keeping your back arched so you’re pressed against him all nice and snug.

you reach back to hold onto one of his hairy forearms—the one whose hand is fondling your ass. your nails leave indents on his skin, the slight tinge of sharp pain only making him slow down his pace so he can focus more on deep thrusts and making sure he buries himself to the hilt, until his balls are pressed up against your bottom.

or when he’s prone boning you, rutting into you from behind and making the mattress shake. your hands clawing at the sheets so hard your knuckles turn white. it’s only natural to need to clutch onto something when a hunk of a man is making your vision all blurry and rearranging your insides. right?

“leon…so big…fuck.” your sentences are all chopped up and spoken through high-pitched gasps, all you can do is say whatever words come to mind first.

“i know, i know i’m big. feels good, doesn’t it? you love this dick?”

geez, what a bastard. you nod eagerly.

one of his hands leaves the side of your hip, instead reaching over to slide his hand on top of yours. massive, of course, his fingers spread yours apart to accommodate the size of his. and god, you’re sure your fingers can’t spread anymore than that.

or hello? when he has you in a mating press, murmuring false promises of getting you pregnant against the shell of your ear. “c’mon sweet girl, you’d look so pretty with your stomach all swollen. what do you think?”

yours hands settle on his biceps, squeezing the built up muscles. so beefy. the headboard is slamming against the wall so aggressively you’re scared the wood will chip and break. okay, actually, no you’re not. you’re not even worried about that. you have better things to be concerned about, like whether leon is going to break you in half or not.

leon’s very aware of how big he is compared to you, even with his mind all clouded with thoughts of how good your cunt is and how much he wants to make you gush around his cock, he still manages to keep some rationality and keeps some of his weight off of you.

“mhm, want it. wanna get knocked up by you.” you whine in response, acting as if you weren’t on birth control and way too fucking unprepared for such a thing. not a problem, a girl can fantasize, can’t she?

it’s always so cute to him when you cum, the way your entire body writhes around while he cages you in entirely, the way you babble his name out endlessly, and he has to kiss you to shut you up. “so noisy.”

he always takes care of you afterwards. cleaning you up, massaging your entire body because yeah, being manhandled into different positions as if you’re a soft pretzel is taxing!

“here?” he asks, his hands on your hips, kneading away the discomfort that had built there. you’re just glad you didn’t get a cramp while he was fucking you.

he can’t help but laugh a bit (a lot) when you try to get up and your knees buckle. what an ass. but he’s also nice, so he carries you to whatever destination you desire until you tell him you’re completely okay.

[bi-writes]

the lamb experiment

a body is given. and it cannot be taken back.

pairing: ghost (+ tf141) x curvy!fem!reader word count: 6.3k summary: the 141 are not known for their pliancy. in an effort to take back control, they send a lamb to slaughter.

cw: (18+) mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!tf141, military criticism, unhealthy power dynamics, graphic descriptions of violence + gore + torture + murder, themes of dubcon (but reader is consenting), piv, cumplay, fear play, size kink, praise kink, curvy!reader with hair long enough to hold

You don't think you've ever been the object of anyone's affections, not really. Although you are blessed with many gifts, even physically, you do not see yourself that way when you look in the mirror. How you feel inside betrays you when you look in one, and instead of staring too long, you always turn away.

This time, you stare. Because her ass looks nice, and her skin looks soft, and her face isn't disagreeable.

This reflection almost terrifies you. In front of you lies a woman you do not know.

She looks good. Your clothes are a size too snug, and it squeezes all the parts of you that normally you attempt to hide. Your thighs, the cinch of your waist, every curve you cover up with your uniform normally is on display, and instead of your hair in a standard bun, it lays free. You are anything but the soldier you always see, and just when you think about running, there is a knock at the bathroom door.

You open it, straightening out your outfit, and you look down shyly when you see the face on the other side of the door.

"It's...a little tight," you say, tugging at the waistband of your pants, but the woman tuts, crossing her arms over her chest as she steps back to look you up and down.

"It's as it should be," she responds, very matter-of-fact. "Now follow me. Need to debrief before your flight."

Her name is Laswell. You have not been graced with any other name, and you suspect it is because she wants you to call her Laswell and nothing else. She is blunt and intelligent, and there is no room for anything but the truth with her. If you answer her with a lie, she waits until she hears what she knows is expected.

When you sit, she spreads a few files out in front of you. Four manila folders, three packed with documents and pictures, one with documents only. You reach for one, eyeing the labeled name.

MacTavish.

You open it, and you're overwhelmed with the information. You see a man with pretty blue eyes and a military history that would put your old squadron to shame. Flicking through the pages, there are numerous confirmed kills, no small list of disarmed explosives, reports written by others and himself that even at a quick glance exude something impressive, utmost intelligence and extensive knowledge. You take note of his unique hairstyle; shaved sides of his head and tuffs of dark waves that run down the middle. You acknowledge how much you like when it gets a little long, falling in curls over his forehead.

The next file is equally as large. You flip it over, and you tilt your head to the side when you see a picture of him. He isn't posing, but his stature is one of confidence, and he's gorgeous. A strong facial structure, dark eyes. He keeps his hair short, and his skin is dark, and as your eyes roam lower, you notice the strong muscles of his forearms as he grips a rifle. His skill sheet is no less impressive than his sergeant counterpart. He has been in so many dangerous situations, and he comes out with nothing but scratches; and he seems to be deadlier with nothing but his hands than any small firearm could be.

Kyle. It's fitting.

You look away from his pretty face to their commanding officer. There is a picture of him with the other two sergeants, and you notice how he stands taller than them, but just as broad, and you think military fatigues suit him well. He wears his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and you can see the expanse of his strong arms and his large hands, and you take note of his carefully sculpted beard and the hat he wears. When you flip through the history, you are overwhelmed with the amount of ops he carries under his belt. This man is a war machine. You suspect there is a number on his head somewhere, in some distant country, and it makes you shift in your seat when you realize this isn't someone easy to kill.

He does the killing. And that's all that matters to the Crown.

John. That is the one that has to matter most.

"He's the one who calls the shots." Laswell's voice cuts through your heavy thoughts. She takes the last folder and opens it for you, and immediately you notice the lack of photos here. "But this is the glue."

Ghost. That is the name that sits on the official documents, but there is a dirty sticky note pasted next to it with Laswell's chicken scratch.

Simon Riley.

"His name is redacted," she says simply. "And so is his face."

"He has no face?" You ask, and when you realize how you worded it, you think it a stupid sentence, but Laswell only stares.

"Not one that matters," she responds. You look back down at the documents. He is tall, and you observe that he's most skilled with a sniper rifle, although he doesn't lack confidence or efficacy in any other form of combat. Hand-to-hand, smaller firearms, rifles, he uses them all with a terrifying accuracy, and you pull the papers closer to you as you read more.

"The glue," you murmur, not quite understanding. "And what am I supposed to be?"

"The solvent. The hammer. Whatever the fuck I need you to be."

The thing that breaks it apart. The thing that tears. The thing that makes them bleed.

And so you lie. It is what you do, what you are taught. Laswell is good at it, and you are a fish to water with it. You lie until it comes as easy as breathing, you learn to pretend until it is all you know, and when you create your second life, it is easy because it is the only one Laswell tells you to know.

You are a soldier, and you do as you're told. When your orders are to forget who you were and become something else, you do it, because that is how it works. And you know what you are in Laswell's eyes--you are a weapon, and you gave your body to the state, and she can do what she pleases with it.

And you know, really, what she expects you to do.

It isn't spoken of. She never says it out loud. But when you study the files she gives you, you notice there are more details that what is necessary. You learn more about them, in ways that feel intimate, that feel secret.

That John's favorite color is red. That MacTavish likes a traditional meal. That Kyle has a sweet tooth and likes jazz. That Ghost downs two fingers of Kentucky bourbon to unwind.

They are things to help make them agreeable, you think, but agreeable in what way is up to you.

But red looks good in lace. You've been told the stomach is the way to the heart. Chocolate is supposed to be an aphrodisiac. And alcohol is the perfect enabler--and armed with this information, you will divide and conquer.

Break and tear apart. Separate. Sever the bond. That is your mission, that is what you've been told to do, and you will do it because that is what a good soldier does, and this is all you are.

Laswell's pet. Her pretty little soldier. The hammer to her nail, the bone for her dogs, the string that will mend the ones snapped by her own puppets.

She wants control, and she isn't stupid, and neither are you. When you look in the mirror again, you understand why she picked you. No matter how far her men stray, they cannot change what they are at their core.

Men.

And men are fickle.

You suspect, you hope, even these ones are. They are not gentle, and Laswell makes sure that you learn well why it is they need supervision. She shows you pictures, videos, eyewitness statements of their spiral into violence.

It's not that they weren't war criminals before, but they were her war criminals. Unsanctioned ops, sure, but they toed a line that was drawn for them. But then the red tape became too much, even if there wasn't very much of it for them.

They began to ignore orders. When they were told to stay put, a sergeant would slip off, and under the guise of protecting them, all four would end up in a firefight. And when this became a frequent excuse, they stopped coming up with them. They simply showed up in manila folders like the ones you held, enemy casualties sometimes in the hundreds, and they did not appear even when required.

Debriefing? Their connection was bad. A hearing in front of their superiors? They're on a mark, and they cannot move. And then it was just silence. The occasional response to real crisis, and then back underground, until all Laswell could get from them were limbs taken off the enemies they weren't allowed to kill just yet.

They knew how to disappear. They knew how to hide. They knew how to stay put, come back up overground, and then scurry back underneath where no one would find them.

But that wouldn't do. Not for the CIA, not for SAS, not for either of their governments who soon realized they had let loose a group of soldiers-turned-mercenaries who hold valuable secrets that could put their politicians at the forefront of Congressional hearings, NATO violations, and then in the right mess of breaking off relations with a numerous amount of countries they already held fragile relationships with.

The 141 is a liability. They need to be the ones pulling the reigns again, no matter the cost--and they tell Laswell to do it, and to spare no expense and to pull back the curtain on what she believes might be crossing even the lines she has drawn before, to go beyond it.

She draws this line around you. A circle, a fence, wrapping around you as she molds you into what she needs you to be. She is honest. Not always kind, but honest, and because she is, you want to succeed.

Finally, you can be of use. Finally, there is something that will give you purpose. Even if it hurts, even if it kills you, you want to give her what she needs, because it isn't fair.

You have already given them everything, and you have nothing to show for it. So you paint your face, and you zip up the tight pants, you lie and you learn and you listen, and when she tells you that they will not be gentle, all you reply is, "I won't be either."

Men are fickle. And they fucking deserve this.

You are wearing red when John sees you for the first time. It is in your hair, a bright red scarf that keeps it out of your face, and you know he looks right at you and not through you when your eyes meet.

When he eyes the open door of your room later that evening, you pretend not to notice his gaze when he drinks in the sight of you in red lingerie.

It is the first morning you are with them that Johnny wakes to the smell of something in the rec room. You stand there, at the stove, stirring a wooden spoon in a warm pot, and when he steps in, you turn to see him, and you smile. You exchange no words, but when you hold a tasting spoon out to him with a soft potato and a spoonful of wonderful broth, he can't help the way he closes his eyes. There's a beautiful woman cooking stovies in the rec room, and when he opens his eyes, you are looking right back at him.

And then it's the music that plays in the evening that catches Kyle's attention. They are trailing back to their rooms after drills, and he catches sight of you in your room, and he can hear Ella Fitzgerald, and when you look over your shoulder, he is there, and he doesn't shy away.

And then--fuck--it is so easy.

Wherever you go, they follow. Unconsciously, you suspect, but they do, and you live the lie, and it feels fucking euphoric. You know you've won when you run your knuckles down John's cheek for the first time, and he keens, nuzzling the side of his face into your hand and chasing after your touch.

They are animals. You watch them when you join them on ops, rifle in front of you as you follow them, and you keep a neutral face as you observe them wreak havoc. They kill and they maim, and they sleep like the dead at night, as if the heinous ways they kill do not bother them at all. John points, and Kyle pulls the trigger. John nods his head, and Johnny detonates, nothing but a dull reflection in those blue eyes. John clicks his teeth, and Ghost sweeps.

He sweeps, and he kills, and if it wasn't so fucking terrifying, you would have admired the way he did it. The elegance that he took on an entire room of moving targets, how he never let himself be pinned down in one spot. Whenever someone gets too close, he goes hand-to-hand, and it's fucking brutal the way he finishes them off. He keeps throwing knives in his boot, and they sink into eye sockets as if running through tender meat. He puts blades through their mouths and doesn't let them go until the light leaves their eyes.

You hate that it makes you warm. That there is something deep in your belly, that twists there, that tells you that you like it. When he turns around and meets your eyes, wringing the blade out of someone's neck and letting them drop on the floor at your feet, you don't flinch. You simply kick them to the side and step over them, and Ghost watches as you lick over your teeth as you pass by him.

Insatiable. Fucking hungry. He eyes the sway of your hips, and when he finds his next target, he uses his hands again just because he needs to feel flesh under his gloved hands, needs to tear it apart. And when he feels you watching him again, he grunts as he stands to his full height. He's a fucking bear, and you leave him with a hint of a smile before you turn the corner.

You are not sure if you are pretending that day.

They ravage, and then they go back to their beds, and they wash the blood from their clothes with ease--and the worst part of it all is that you do it, too. You come out of the same places that they do, and your face is splattered with their targets. Your jeans have flecks of brain matter, your hands are dirty with someone's singed flesh. When you finally stand in the light back at their base, all John does is sit you in front of the bathroom mirror and wipe at your face with a warm towel.

He tells you how good you've done. How special you are. How he has never seen a woman keep up with them so easily, fit into their pack like she was meant to be.

He says that you belong, but he doesn't say to who. You wonder, for a second, if he means that you belong to them all.

When you report back to Laswell, you tell her this. What you don't tell her is what you've had to do to gain this status. You don't tell her about the blood you spill. You don't tell her about the bodies you see or the men that lose their faces or how worked up the boys get after an op and how it takes them hours between your legs to lose the adrenaline.

You don't tell her this because this is for you. It's all for you.

They tell you things you aren't supposed to know. When you're in their beds, they talk, and you listen. Kyle tells you about the man they are keeping in the cellar. That he's been there for 29 days, and he hasn't said a word, but that Ghost will be next to speak to him, and he will talk then.

Kyle tells you that it is a mercy that Ghost hasn't visited him yet, but they are done playing nice. When he says this, you have the image of Ghost standing over a man who pulled a gun on you in your head, and you remember watching him with a sickening relief as he pressed his thumbs into the man's eye sockets and pushed they were nothing but squished matter. You squeeze your legs together; and this time, you don't feel bad about it.

Johnny begs for you, his bonnie lass, to keep close to him on the next op because you strayed too far today. He fucks you to make you say yes, his lips on your ear as he tells you to promise him that you'll do as he says, and that if you promise, he'll let you come. So you promise, and he fucks you boneless, and the next day, you are glued to his hip when you raid a foreign embassy for nothing but answers.

You know they know. They don't say it out loud, but you know that they all know where you go at night. One night, you are kneeling under John's desk, kissing the pearly tip of him before taking him down your throat for what feels like hours. The next, you are letting Kyle bend you over his desk, rattling it against the wall as he tells you how pretty you are. And in the morning, you are pressed against the shower wall, Johnny holding your wide hips in his hands as he fucks into you, begging you, bonnie, please--give it to me, tha's it, right there, ye can do it, good girl--

Good girl. That's what you are. You're a good girl, and you do as you're told. You smile, and you keen, and you give them big, soft eyes, and you let them have the illusion of control. Maybe they think they're pressuring you. Maybe they think they scare you. Maybe they think this is why you get on your knees for them or let them pool your pants at your ankles or allow them to have you whenever they want, but the reality is that you want it, and you need it, and this is working.

They don't even realize you've fucked them into submission because they're too busy showing off.

A domino effect. You expect them all to fall once you have the captain, but there is one chess piece that does not move willingly.

Ghost.

He is an unmovable object. He stands still and rigid, and he is a statue that refuses to be pushed or pulled in any direction but one he deems. Even in the middle of the nights, when you notice he is awake, he never joins you when you drink his favorite bourbon outside. He doesn't ask for a cigarette when you smoke one, even though you never actually take a puff of it. He passes by you, and he doesn't look at you, and you are invisible.

You want to be content with what you've accomplished, but it isn't enough.

This is the glue. He is the glue, and without him, everything falls apart, and you cannot fail. There isn't room for it. And maybe you feel bad for preying on the parts of Ghost that you think he prefers to keep hidden, but you need to catch him before he gets too far away.

A kitchen accident. A knife that plunges too deep, that draws blood and makes you cry. You are in the bathroom, tears coming down your face, blood in the sink, and your hands are shaking as you try and patch yourself up. You are loud enough to draw the attention of the lieutenant whose door is only just across the hall, and when he sees you there, he doesn't leave you.

One moment there is nothing, and the next, he is behind you, a pervasive warmth at your back, and you whimper when a gloved hand wraps around your injured hand. Wordlessly, he turns the faucet on, running your hand under the water, and you hiccup, looking away and breathing deeply.

He wraps your hand in his room. You sit on his bed, and he works to cover the wound, and you know he has done this before. Soothed another's tears, quieted soft cries, covered up cuts and bruises and things that will scar.

He kneels in front of you, and when he stands to his full height, you tip your head back to look up at him. You think you will meet a soft gaze, but he glares, and he seems angry. When you open your mouth to speak, he tsks, and your tip trembles as you close it.

"Y'can fool the others," he says lowly, finally. "But not me."

You frown, confused. When you sniffle, he snarls.

"I know why y'r here," he murmurs. "Isn't the first time Laswell has sent one of her little...toys."

You clench your jaw. For a moment, something envious rattles you. You aren't like anyone else. You are certain no one has accomplished what you have, that no one has gotten this close to rock the fucking boat or pet the beast. He doesn't get to demean the progress you've made like this, even if he's figured you out, because you aren't going anywhere.

Not until you get everything you need.

"Excuse me?"

"Y'r a spy. You're CIA's whore, and I don't like y'here, puttin' y'r bloody nose where it don't belong," he kneels, his voice low and gruff, and he reaches over and grips your chin hard. "Y'may have fooled them. In their fuckin' beds...in their heads--" He draws you closer, and you swallow. "But y'r not in mine."

You meet his eyes. They are dark, and they are meant to scare you, but the feeling that runs through you isn't one that terrifies you. He is a magnet--and you can feel the field of his presence, and it has you. This is supposed to be your show. They are men, and they are stupid, and you hate them, and Ghost should be eating out of the palm of your fucking manicured hand, but there he is, spitting against his mask, and it is you that aches to see what is underneath the cotton.

"So, little lamb..." Ghost rumbles, and it is with his entire chest that he speaks. "Wot is it you're here to do, eh?"

You shake your head, "N-Nothing. She...all she told me was that this was a joint operation...CIA and SAS--"

"Y'r on the piss, I know that," he hisses, clicking his teeth. "Joint operation," he laughs, but it is without humor. "Is that we're calling this now? Being barracks bunny for the 141?"

"Fuck you," you snap, shoving his hand off. "You're a fucking bastard, and if you think--"

"If I think wot, eh?" He stands, and you choke as he grips you by your throat, lifting you off of his bed and forcing you against the wall. You grip his wrist, but it is useless, because he's a brute, and you are nothing to him. He holds you there on your toes, and you grip him tighter, but he doesn't budge. Even digging your nails into him doesn't make him flinch. If anything, he seems amused. "Wot kind of trainin' she make y'do, eh? Did ya have to practice? Who'd y'shag to get y'r stripes?"

"Eat shit," you spit, and he snickers. There is fire in your eyes, venom on your tongue, you are a fighter, and when the world is so quiet, fighting feels good, and he knows this feeling well. He understands what it means to be nothing and then something, what it means to worthless and then useful in the eyes of government and government alone.

Because you are useful, but only to Laswell, and only as this, whatever this is. Whatever you are. Pet, prize, toy--it doesn't matter what the name is today, but it will stick tomorrow, and you wonder, sickeningly, if that is your destiny.

To be unknown. To be used. To be the property of what you do not know. To be given, to be taken, to not know and to be content with not knowing.

To accept it because it is still better than whatever you were before.

He sees this. He looks into your eyes, he breathes in, and he hums, and when his grip loosens just enough, you put your toes on the ground, and you lean in, and there you are.

One and the same. Bitten, chewed, spit out, two people who are products of their suffering and the culmination of their sheer fucking will to live, even if the living is miserable.

Maybe that is what it is. Maybe it's what's broken that will put you together. Ghost is the glue, you are the solvent, and you will make it so.

Because I can't fail, I can't do it, I won't go back, I can't go back--

"I'm here for me," you whisper. "I'm here for me, and no one else--" You gasp, and it isn't a lie, not really. You are here for you, this is for you, even if it is at the downfall of someone else. If you need to step on necks to get ahead, you will.

Ghost is the last piece. The last one you need to move. He is stuck, but now you know what it is you need to do, you know how to set the game into motion.

"Ghost," you breathe, and it's soft, it's quiet. You meet his eyes, and you lean close, and he feels your breath on the front of his mask. "It's not what you think."

"You're a lamb."

"I don't wanna be a lamb."

"It doesn't matter what y'want, y'are a lamb," he growls, and you whine, and he hums, and you can see the crinkle of his eyes, and you know he must be smiling. "Tha's wot y'are, and y'can't run away from tha'."

You blink, and he stares, and there is understanding. You are prey, and you belong, but you don't know where. But then you remember you are a soldier, and it isn't your job to know. Your job is to lie still and let them have you.

And to not tell my handler how much I like it.

"It's what they made me," you whisper, and when there are tears in the corner of your eyes, he is gentle. He smooths his hand down your throat, rubbing a thumb over your trembling lip, and you know that he understands you. "It's not what I wanted."

"It's never what we want," he murmurs. "Never."

You hold your breath when he cups your face with a big gloved hand. Dark eyes on soft ones, and you wonder what it would be like to have him. He doesn't keen the way John does, doesn't kneel the way Johnny kneels, doesn't follow and listen without objection the way that Kyle does. No, he's a brick wall, and you need to be what knocks him over. You need to shake the foundation, split it in two.

You need to sever the fucking bond and do your fucking job.

"So when can I have what I want?" You ask him softly. "When...when is it my turn?"

He tilts his head to the side, curious, and you slide your hands up his forearms, over the muscle of his biceps. He is everything you cannot have.

And he is everything that you suddenly realize you want.

Forbidden. Unrelenting. The oxygen to a raging fire. He isn't the glue, he's the catalyst to whatever the fuck you bring to the experiment, and even though you know this will be disaster, you want it. You want it so badly.

Destruction tastes so good. Control is victory. Sex is power, and you want him, you want this, you want him to have you, to own you, to make you see what he sees, because it will be familiar because you are the same.

"Y'r a soldier," he says lowly. "Not about what we want. 's about what they want."

"Fuck what they want," you groan, looking away, and then a few tears slip down your face. "Fuck what they do with us. If I die for them, they only tick some fucking statistic. It means nothing. So why can't I do what I want with the time I get before...before I'm just...before I'm nothing again?"

And there it is. The mirror you hold up. The common ground. The level playing field. The two paths that cross, this is it, I have it, I have it, I fucking have it, I have him, he's mine--

He kisses you. You don't get to see his face, but his lips are there, a precious amount of skin that you're blessed with seeing until your eyes are closing.

His bed is warm. He fills it well, the breadth of him almost too much for its size, but it doesn't matter because he fucks so well. He eats your cunt because he's hungry, your thighs on his shoulders shaking as he laps at your wet folds.

He does this different. John is soft and slow, Kyle takes his time, and Johnny is always eager and sloppy. But Ghost watches. He slides his tongue in soft motions, watching, and when your thighs twitch and shake, he does the motion again. He flattens his tongue and drags it, and when you whine and arch your back, he revels in the way you move. He drinks what you spill, he fucks you with his tongue, and this is different because this isn't just attraction.

There is something about him. Something underneath the layers he covers himself with, under the mask, something that you can see that others cannot even though he doesn't take those layers off.

You know this is true when he's inside of you. His mask hasn't come off, but his mouth is on your ear, and he groans, and he talks, and you feel like he spoils you this way. Ghost never talks. You wonder often if maybe he has a limited amount of words, and he never says more than he has to lest he runs out of them. His eyes speak, and it's more than enough, but now, he talks, and it is a gift, and now you know.

He cradles your head as he fucks you, and he kisses you until you can't breathe, and then when he talks, it takes everything in you not to beg for more.

"Such a nice cunt...'s so nice..."

"Fuck--y'feel me, luv? Right there--" And he presses his palm down on your stomach, and you cry when he grabs your face and forces you to look at him, because he's cruel and he's mean, but his cock feels so good--

And you think it can't get better, and you think he can't go any deeper, and then your thighs are wrapped around his waist, and he's leaning over you, and you think you're forgetting your name.

You forget yourself. You forget the reason you're here. It's so hard to think when you're not yourself, when your mind is in the stars, when everything feels far away and so close all at the same time. There is a place for him inside of you now, and you know that even though he will ruin you, even though he already has, you will never be rid of him.

You've severed the bond. You've made your own.

When he kisses you again, and when he grinds his hips down so nice that your clit aches, you know suddenly what it feels like to have real control. The feeling that Laswell chases, the feeling she wants so fucking badly that she's made your body a weapon, your cunt a tool, your brain the hivemind that will make her every wish come true, you understand now.

You will make the sky blue, the birds sing, but you did not realize the power you held until you had Simon "Ghost" Riley buried so deep in you, that you aren't sure you're even really here anymore.

You gnaw on his arm, your tongue tracing the tattoos there. You taste sweat, and you swallow it, and you go numb thinking about having more of him inside of you. You want to bite and eat and take as much of him that he will let you--no.

You will bite and eat and take as much of him that you want, because he's yours, and you get whatever you want.

Your fingers grasp the cotton of his mask, and your grip is enough to pull his lips off of you, and when your eyes meet, the gaze is different. He's desperate. For once, there is something disorderly there, and he pants, and he wants something from you, and finally you have something to give him.

You fuck it out of him. You lay him on his back and let him look at you, and you fuck him because it feels good, because you want it, too, because it's all that matters. You cry into his mouth, sob, "please--! please, please, please--"

And he tugs on your hair in response, guiding your hips as he loses his composure, "'ve got you...y'r mine...'s olright, yeah--nggghhh, fuck, luv, th's it..."

You do want it. You do need it. You need them, but you want Ghost the most, because he is the piece that does not move. He is not willing to do anything except for the sake of his pack. Ghost is impenetrable, even your pretty cunt isn't enough to change his mind, but that isn't what this is.

This is mercy. Ghost, he is the product of all of his misery. You, you are the result of every man to ever betray you, the outcome of your unwavering desire for revenge. You are the same, somehow, and he knows this, and that is why can't help himself. That is why Ghost is underneath you, that is why he bares his mouth to you and lets you lick into it and allows you to taste the forbidden fruit.

Because he thinks you are him, and he thinks you think so, too, and all he's ever wanted in his life is just for someone to see him the way he saw himself.

When he comes, he paints your cunt and fills you, and you collapse, your body on fire as you come down from a high that takes your breath away. His big hands cradle you against his chest, and you don't move, too afraid to let go, and he kisses your face when you whimper. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and when he pulls out, you gather it up on your fingers and suck. He groans, and he kisses you, and then he sinks back to his knees because he doesn't hear the ringing in his ears when his mouth is on your pretty pussy.

You're just a lamb, it's all you are. Handpicked by Laswell to head into the lion's den, a scarred animal that has no one to protect her, straight to slaughter.

He knows what it feels like. He knows what it feels like to be used and forgotten, to have nowhere to go, to be backed into a corner with no way out, and he pities you.

Ghost pities you because there is nothing behind your eyes except fear. But it's a lie. You're so good at it now. It's a lie, and you tell it so well, and you're warm inside. Not from taking the last moving piece, but from the satisfaction of knowing you have done what others cannot. What others never could.

It's late when you finally settle beside him. He leaves you when you ask for something to eat. You watch him slip clothes on haphazardly and leave, the door swinging shut behind him as he shuffles to get what you need.

To provide. To protect. To shield. Ghost is good at those things, you knew he would be. A man does not nurse a brother back to health without it, does not protect his mother and defy his father without being good at being a dog.

He's a good guard dog. And when he goes, and the door is closed, you smile because the dog is mine, all fucking mine--

You reach for your phone, and you pull up the only contact in it. You type a simple message, and then you send it, and for good measure, you shut the device off, tossing it into the pile of your discarded clothes.

>> we have joy.

You are good at pretending. You can tell a lie without blinking. You have been taught to be this thing, and you do it well, because you are a soldier, and this is your mission, and you cannot fail, and you didn't fail.

When you see Laswell again, many weeks later, she is not surprised to see you covering up with long sleeves and keeping your hair down. One tug on the collar of your shirt, and she gets glimpses of the love bites that have marked bruises all across your skin. She lets you go, tells you to sit, and she smirks.

You smile back this time.

Men are fickle. And they fucking deserve this.

"Good girl," she takes out another manila folder, but it's different this time. When you open it, you have schedules of upcoming ops, intel the boys are working, evidence of their reckless abandonment of order in favor of the chaotic success of getting the job done. You have seen this first hand, you know what they do and how they do it. But now there is another factor, another subject, right in the middle of it all. It is you.

Laswell takes a seat, spreading out the papers, and you meet her eyes. This time it's different. This is the truth, and you want to feel bad for your betrayal, but you don't. The fact of the matter is that you and Laswell, together in this room, have more power at your feet than you know what to do with.

A lamb to slaughter, and yet you sleep with the wolves.

"Alright," she says. "Now let's get to fucking work."

[ssahotchnerr]

no but imagine pre-relationship aaron with fem!reader who can fall asleep anywhere & in the most uncomfortable positions known to mankind 💀 aaron is both terrified and amazed bcs how do you keep doing that 😧 but then every time he sees you like that he slowly & carefully arranges you in a more comfortable position 🥹🫶🏻 & the team gives him shit for it 💀

(luvie can I be 🪷 anon 🥹🫶🏻)

makeshift

omg stop i love that cw; fem!reader, bau family banter, pining aaron <333

falling asleep in a federal prison, may seem like a hard thing to do. surrounded by the worst of the worst, distant yells from the inmates floating down the hall, the mere location itself. but apparently, not for you.

the facility was currently on lockdown, meaning no one was going in or out, and therefore you were stuck overnight. as a result, the warden offered one of the locker rooms to be strictly the bau's 'break room', so to speak.

after his last, rather unpleasant interview of the evening, aaron was hellbent on a fresh, but not very good, cup of coffee. as he pushed the door open and entered, his focus diverted straight to you.

you were laid across a steel bench - eyes closed, hands clasped over your stomach, absolutely gone to the world. however, if you moved an inch - or probably less - would you completely topple onto the hard floor.

"you're kidding." aaron deadpanned as he looked at you in pure astonishment, coffee long forgotten.

"she's been like that for thirty minutes now." jj commented from where she was leant against one of the sets of lockers, head bent down as she scrolled through her phone. "but are we surprised?"

"nah," derek snorted lightly. "but hey, better than the floor."

"tell me about it." a low grumble came from reid, somewhere.

aaron's face pulled into one of discomfort, his brows drawing into a line above his eyes. the surface you were asleep on, had to be cold, for starters, by nature of the material and the a/c was still kicking in high gear despite the cooler temperature outside. the flat metal had to be highly uncomfortable, no cushion underneath you at all, most likely digging into your shoulder blades. you'd inevitably be waking up to an angry back, which aaron knew from experience - from past events where you miraculously drifted off in questionable positions.

eager to lessen the outcome, aaron shrugged his suit jacket off his shoulders. he balled it up, situating it snug under his arm.

next, he crouched beside you, cradling your head in his hand as he lifted it gently. at the movement, you stirred, a small noise escaping you and aaron froze, waiting for you to settle back down before resuming his actions. part of him feared his current, drumming heart would somehow rouse you more.

but once you had, he slid his jacket underneath your head - a makeshift pillow. it wasn't much, but it would at least alleviate some of the pressure collecting in your neck, and you wouldn't be as sore when you awoke. the next thing he had to figure out, something to lay on the ground, on either side of you, to soften the fall in case you were to-

"that's real cute hotch." derek grinned, grabbing aaron from his thoughts. "when you make up my bed next, can you add one of those pillow chocolates? thanks."

"funny."

aaron stole a glance at you, a calmness brushing over him and the ends of his lips daring to tug upwards into a smile. he couldn't help himself - sure, he wished you weren't fast asleep on a bench that could cause potential harm if you budged, but it didn't hide the fact that you were, well, you.

his hopeful, hidden attempt didn't go unnoticed by one person though, who naturally had to open their big mouth.

"that's nothing compared to that case in montana," aaron shot dave a pointed look to quit it, but only got a wink in return. "hotch practically carried-"

"dave."

"aaron." dave quipped back, an eyebrow quirked high in amusement, but fell silent. although, his witty expression didn't falter, as if he were noting to aaron that it wouldn't be difficult at all to be persuaded to continue.

"whoa whoa there, rossi," morgan straightened his posture, a hand out. "go on."

[rafecameronssl4t]

Babysitting || Drew Starkey x fem!reader

Summary: day out babysitting Liliana 🙈 fake social media pics at the end aswell!!

Warnings: NONE! pure fluff

Word count: 1,478

A/n: Baby fever is astronomically high rn and those pics Mackayla posted did NOT help whatsoever

MASTERLIST

Divider by @yoonitos

“Babe! They’re here!” Drew calls out from the front door, his voice brimming with excitement. You quickly make your way downstairs, your face lighting up with a broad smile. Today, you and Drew are babysitting his niece, Liliana, while Mackayla and Garrett enjoy a much-needed day together.

“Hi!” you greet Mackayla warmly, pulling her into a tight hug. “Thank you for letting us look after her,” you say, your voice filled with genuine gratitude. Mackayla giggles, hugging you back. “I know how much you love looking after her. Plus, Drew mentioned you were missing her more than usual these past few weeks.”

You glance at Drew, who’s smiling at himself. “Garrett is just getting her from the car. She fell asleep as soon as we started driving,” Mackayla explains, looking back at the vehicle. Drew steps closer, wrapping his arm around your waist and planting a gentle kiss on the side of your head.

Moments later, Garrett comes into view, carefully walking up the steps with Liliana fast asleep in her capsule. He approaches with a quiet smile, trying not to disturb the sleeping baby. Drew reaches out and gently takes the capsule from Garrett, cradling it with care. “Thanks again for agreeing to do this,” Mackayla says, her smile broadening as she looks at both of you.

“Of course! You know Drew and I are always here if you need someone to look after her,” you reply, your voice warm and reassuring. Mackayla pulls you into another hug, her appreciation clear. “You guys have fun!” you call out as she and Garrett begin to walk back to their car, waving at the two of you.

~

“She awake yet?” Drew asks as he enters the living room, pulling on his shirt. “Yeah,” you reply, smiling down at Liliana who is standing on your thighs, her tiny hands gripping your fingers for balance. Her wide smile mirrors your own, and her eyes light up at the sight of her uncle.

“Look, who’s that?” you say, pointing to Drew as he approaches. Liliana’s face lights up even more, and she starts squealing with delight, her excitement contagious. “Hi baby,” Drew grins, putting his hands out to her. Liliana leans eagerly into him, her little arms reaching out.

Drew scoops her up effortlessly, bringing her close and planting a kiss on her cheek. She giggles, her small hands patting his face as she snuggles into him. Drew looks at you, his eyes shining with happiness. “She’s so happy to see her uncle,” you say, watching the sweet interaction between them.

“She’s my favorite little girl,” Drew replies, bouncing her gently in his arms. “Did you have a good nap, Liliana?”Liliana babbles happily in response, her bright eyes taking in everything around her. Drew laughs, his heart clearly full as he holds her close.

“I got the bags ready, and her stroller is already in the car,” you say, grabbing the car keys from the kitchen counter. You glance at your phone, where the weather app is open, showing the perfect temperature for Charleston. “The weather is perfect today,” you add, looking up with a smile.

“Let’s go then,” Drew smiles. “You excited, Lili?” he asks, turning his head to look at Liliana in his arms. She grins widely, clapping her hands with glee, making you giggle at her infectious enthusiasm.

“Here, I’ll put her in her car seat,” you offer, taking Liliana gently into your arms. She coos happily, her little hands reaching out to touch your face as you head outside. Drew follows, locking the door behind you and grabbing Liliana’s bag.

You carefully secure Liliana in her car seat, ensuring the straps are snug but comfortable. She looks up at you with wide, curious eyes, her smile never fading. Drew places her bag in the backseat before getting into the drivers seat. He adjusts the rearview mirror to get a better look at his niece, “All good?” He says to you as you put on your seatbelt, “Yep.”

As Drew drives into Charleston, you both glance back a few times, smiling as you watch Liliana’s wide, curious eyes take in every building and tree that passes by. Her excitement is palpable, her little hands occasionally pointing at something that catches her attention.

“You think we need the stroller? I can always just use the baby carrier,” Drew suggests as you carefully lift Liliana out of her capsule. “Whatever feels more comfortable for you, babe,” you reply, glancing at Drew with a reassuring smile as he retrieves the baby carrier from the back and packs it into your bag.

Arriving at your favorite café, you and Drew walk in together, Liliana balanced comfortably on your hip. Drew pauses to chat briefly with one of the staff members, arranging for a table outside.

Liliana squirms with excitement, her eyes wide as she takes in the surroundings. You settle into your seats, Liliana comfortably sat on Drew’s lap as you both look at the menu.

“Want some table water?” Drew asks as he stands up to go place the order. “Yes please,” you grin, feeling Liliana’s little hand wrap around your thumb as you gently bounce your leg up and down to keep her entertained.

While Drew is away, you take a few photos with Liliana, capturing her adorable expressions and joyful demeanor. As you’re admiring the pictures, you notice a group of teenage girls across the street. They clearly recognize you and Liliana, excitedly pointing their phones in your direction.

“Hi y/n!” they call out enthusiastically, prompting you to wave and smile back at them. Liliana lifts her small hand, joining in the wave, which elicits delighted squeals from the girls. Just then, Drew returns with the water. “Who are you waving at-” he begins to ask before he sees the group.

You chuckle as smiles, and he waves back at the girls. Their squeals of excitement make both of you giggle. “Do you wanna go thrifting after this?” You say to Drew as you cut up a small piece of your pancakes and feed it to Liliana. “Yeah, why not,” He smiles, watching you and his niece interact, quickly snapping a pic of the two of you.

~

With Liliana snug against Drew in her baby carrier, you walked to your favorite vintage thrift store, occasionally stopping for photos with fans along the way. Inside, the elderly lady behind the counter greeted you warmly.

“Well, aren’t you an adorable family,” she smiled. “Oh, she’s-” you began, but Drew interjected with a gracious smile, “Thank you.” You exchanged a glance with Drew, both amused and touched by his charm. Turning back to the lady, you smile.

“Let me know if you guys need a hand with anything!” she called cheerfully as you and Drew looked around at the assortment of vintage items. “Will do, thanks,” you replied, your voice tinged with gratitude.

The day continued with shopping in Charleston—Drew spoiling Liliana as always—and a visit to the beach at sunset. The moment she was strapped into her capsule, she fell asleep and you made sure to snap a photo to send to Mackayla.

When you arrived home, Drew decided to let Liliana continue her sleep on his chest while you prepared dinner. The house was quiet and calm until the doorbell rang and your phone buzzed. You pouted at Drew, saddened that it was time for Liliana to go home. Drew chuckled softly, carefully rising from the couch with his niece still asleep against him.

“Hey,” you greeted as you opened the door to find Mackayla and Garrett standing there. “How was your guys’ day?” you asked, stepping aside to let them in. As you all settled on the couch, Mackayla began sharing the details of their day, and Liliana ended up resting on your chest as you listened.

“Did you guys want some dinner before you leave? I made a lot tonight,” you offered, hoping to extend Liliana’s visit. Drew chuckled, knowing you were making excuses to keep her longer, and Mackayla caught on too.

“Thanks for the offer, but we already ate,” Mackayla giggled as she stood up to retrieve her daughter. You turned away playfully, a mischievous grin spreading across your face while Drew struggled to contain his smile.

After a few moments of playful evasion, you finally gave in and handed Liliana back to her mother. “Promise you’ll come back soon!” you called out as Mackayla placed Liliana in her car seat.

“Promise!” Mackayla replied with a smile. Drew draped his arm around your shoulder, and you both waved as they drove away.

yourusername

Liked by madelyncline, mackayla_davila, drewstarkey, brooke_starkey and 4,974,028 others

Squishy 🥰

view more comments

madelyncline: CANT WAIT TO SEE HER AGAIN 😆

↘️ yourusername: me neither!!!

mackayla_davila: thinks it’s about time you have your own @/drewstarkey 🫢

↘️ yourusername: that’s what I’ve been saying :(

↘️ drewstarkey: 👀

↘️ user01: HELLO?! DREWS COMMENT??? WHATS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN

user02: we can all agree that y/n and Drew’s babies would be hella cute 🥹

user03: can’t get enough of Drew and his niece!!

user04: they’re so cute it acc hurts 😭

~

drewstarkey

Liked by yourusername, garrettdavilla, odessazion, jonathandavissofficial and 6,048,272 others

@/yourusername would be a great mom.

view all comments

yourusername: so make me one 😢

↘️ drewstarkey: yes ma’am

↘️ yourusername: come upstairs then!!

↘️ jonathandavissofficial: oh?

↘️ user01: I CAN’T WITH THIS

↘️ user02: YES MA’AM?! R U KIDDING ME

odessazion: ya’ll are cute

user03: how does it feel to live my dream @/yourusername???

user04: living for the Y/n x Drew x Liliana content 🥰

user05: SHES SO CUTE!

~

[vapekingg]

could i request playing suck and blow at a house party and steve deliberately drops the card to kiss reader? like in clueless lol

Your wish is my command.

Steve x Reader

TW: Implied drunk sex, drinking

Boy. Girl. Boy. Girl. Boy. Girl.

Steve. Robin. Eddie. Nancy. Billy. Carol. Tommy. You.

Eight bodies sit in a tight circle at the center of the Harrington home. It’s not a typical Saturday night. Steve’s parents are out of town for the weekend and what started as a small gathering somehow turned into a rager, has now dwindled down into just a small gathering once again.

It’s nearly three in the morning. You’re tired, and you’re absolutely drunk, and you aren’t exactly sure why Eddie was so incessant on playing this game, but the promise of cuddling up next to Nancy in the guest bedroom if you’d just get it over with is too good to surpass.

You sit back on your palms and observe everyone surrounding you. Nancy’s eyes are half lidded and she’s slurring something unintelligible while leaning against Eddie’s arm. Billy is looking at Carol with the same smile he gives Mrs. Wheeler at the pool and neither of them seem to care that Tommy is nearby. Robin’s tired, you can tell. Her mom was supposed to pick her up a half hour ago. On the other side of you is possibly the only person other than yourself who still has a semblance of their own bearings.

Or it seems that way, at least.

Steve has been fucking shitting himself all night.

“What, are you just gonna keep watching her from across the room like some… forlorn lover?” Eddie had teased him earlier in the night. And to his credit, Steve had been staring.

He couldn’t help it. He had just enough liquid courage in his veins to help him stand on the precipice of making a move, without ever really being brave enough to take that leap.

Besides, it’s just easier to watch from afar, isn’t it? No ruining the “friends-of-friends” relationship that the two of you have. No making things weird if things go south. And things do tend to go south for Steve.

Once party goers began to say their goodbyes, Eddie had whispered his idea to Steve between a shared cigarette by the pool. And Steve had agreed. That fucking liquid courage had allowed him to, but where was it now?

Steve sits beside you screaming internally. He can feel the heat of your fingers where they sit only inches from his. The plush meat of your thigh presses snug against his knee, Eddie had insisted that everyone squeeze in as tight as possible. He swears he can smell you. The cherry vodka that you’ve been taking shots of all night with Nance. It weeps off of your breath every time you throw your head back with laughter and Steve has purposefully stayed away from that bottle all night just so he can taste the cordial sweetness on your tongue for the first time.

“Suck. And. Blow.” Eddie’s words are loud and demanding of attention, but sexual. And for good reason.

He has a cheeky grin on his face, an ace of spades fixed between two fingers. All eyes are on him, but unfortunately for you, you’ve caught his attention.

“Only fair that the birthday girl start us out, right? Counter clockwise.” He holds the card across the circle and you look at him with surprise.

“Why do I have to pass it to fucking Tommy?” You spit while snatching the card from his hand.

“Because we’re not giving Hargrove the chance to plant one on my girl,” Tommy juts in quietly enough that Billy apparently doesn’t hear him.

Which is a fair argument, you can’t lie.

You roll your eyes. Just one game. That’s the only thing standing between you and sleep.

The circle quiets as you bring the card to your lips. Had this been earlier in the night, it might’ve stuck to your lipgloss and Tommy would’ve really had to suck to get it loose. It rests loosely against your parted mouth now, your breath caught in your chest as you turn toward Tommy and lean in. One stutter in your lungs and you’ll be fighting Carol in the fucking driveway for planting one on her man.

You don’t drop it, though. Tommy leans toward you and kisses you through the card. Even with that protection you can tell he’s uncoordinated and eager.

From his lips to Carol’s, from Carol’s to Billy’s, from Billy’s to Nancy and so on. It feels drawn out. Everyone has to make a thing out of their kiss, don’t they?

You watch through bleary eyes as Robin passes the card from her lips to Steve, thrilled that this is finally over.

Until Steve turns toward you, ace of spades still pressed against his mouth.

Sleep who? You're more awake than ever. You freeze for a second as he begins to inch closer, unsure now of how this game works or what you're even supposed to do.

But then Steve waves you toward him. With the forward, "come here" motion of his two fingers, Steve nods. Somehow reassuring you that this is okay, this is standard. Right?

So why are you only just realizing how thick his lashes are? They frame his warm chestnut eyes beautifully, enhancing the summer tan sitting on his skin and the freckles accompanying it. Of course you've thought about Steve Harrington like this before, at least mildly. Everyone has. But now it feels...

His eyes start to flutter closed as his face nears, his head tilting to seemingly fit yours. Normal, fine. Your heart doesn't drop until you feel those same two fingers he'd used to beckon you forward on your thigh. Tracing your skin, brushing the plush flesh of your outer knee just gently enough for a chill to settle over your skin.

Steve's nose tickles the tip of yours, his forehead coming to rest against your own. You can smell his cologne so well, the vanilla and cedar tones that smother your sinuses. It’s almost strong enough for you to taste, the alcohol on his tongue permeating through the air and coming nearly close enough for it to bleed onto your tongue, if it weren’t for the card protecting his lips.

Except now there isn’t a card protecting his lips.

You see a flash of bubblegum pink, his flushed lips becoming visible as the ace of spades slips between your bodies. It happens quickly: his free hand in your hair, your mouth being pressed against his, the hoot and holler of guests surrounded you at a deafening volume.

But now you know what Steve’s tongue tastes like. He slips it past your lips, presses it against your teeth until you grant him access to your curious mouth, and then you taste the shots he’s been taking all night. Intoxicating a rich, pouring down your throat to intoxicate you further.

You don’t know when, but your hand moves up. You find the collar of his shirt, dragging him toward you even in the close proximity. Steve hesitates at first. His fingers stiffen in your hair as he forgets how this works. Is he supposed to pull back? Climb on top of you? Instead, his other hand reaches for the loop of your jeans.

“Everyone get the fuck out,” he mumbles against your lips, and no one seems to hear him but he’s still pulling you forward. Pawing at your waist, reaching for the button on your pants and kissing you over and over and fucking over again.

“I said everyone get the fuck out!” Steve shouts this time.

And the hoots and hollers die into laughter and scrambling feet, car keys jangling and a front door slamming. Your back meets the Harrington living room carpet and you feel Steve’s hot breath move down your chin, over your throat until he reaches your chest.

Maybe you can do without sleep for just a little bit longer.

[misspygmypie]

Meet & Greet... and more? Pt. 4

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Words: 2179 Click here for Part 3

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando stood in the paddock tapping his foot impatiently as he checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time. Today was race day and while the adrenaline from the race was always thrilling it was the thought of seeing Y/N and her son that made him particularly excited this morning.

Oscar walked in and his eyes widened as he saw Lando practically bouncing on his toes. “You’re really pumped today. I take it you had a good evening with them?”

“Last night was amazing. We had dinner together and Noah fell asleep on my lap. Y/N and I had a fantastic conversation too! I’ve been thinking about them a lot. I just can’t wait to see them today.”

“It’s great to see you so happy about it.”

Before Lando could respond Y/N and Noah entered the hospitality area. Noah’s eyes were wide with wonder, soaking in the sights and sounds of race day. Y/N looked relaxed and happy, her smile warm as she scanned the room.

“Good morning, champ” Lando called out with a grin, waving enthusiastically. Noah’s face broke into a grin as he spotted him, he wiggled himself out of his mom’s hold and moments later got scooped up by the young driver. 

“Are you gonna win today?” he asked with earnest curiosity.

Lando’s eyes twinkled as he held Noah close. “I’m going to do my best. It’s wonderful to have you here cheering me on!”

Noah nodded solemnly, his tiny face serious. “I’m sure you’ll win. You’re the best!”

“He’s been saying that all morning,” Y/N joined in, “I think he’s your biggest supporter.”

“There’s just one little thing missing,” Lando replied before putting the boy down and darting off towards a table in the back. He returned a few moments later, carrying two neatly folded shirts. One was a child-sized shirt and the other was slightly larger but still snug. Both shirts had the name Norris and the number 4 printed on the back. Lando handed Noah his shirt first. “I thought you might like to wear this today.”

Noah’s eyes grew wide in awe as he took the shirt. “I always wanted one of those because it’s got your name on it!”

“That’s right,” Lando said, crouching down to help Noah put on the fabric over his head and helping him getting his arms through the small holes. “Now you have one and you’ll be my lucky charm.”

Once Noah was all set Lando turned to Y/N holding out the larger shirt. “And this one’s for you. Just in case you want to show a bit of support too.”

Y/N accepted the shirt with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Lando. This is really sweet of you.”

As she slipped it on the Brit felt his heart beat faster. Seeing Y/N in his shirt, the fabric hugging her figure perfectly, made his pulse quicken. The way she looked in it was effortlessly stunning and the sight of her wearing something so personal to him sent a rush of warmth through him. 

Noah beamed, his shirt fitting perfectly and he looked up at Lando with stars in his eyes. “I’m going to cheer so loud for you!”

Lando chuckled, then led them into the garage, where the atmosphere was already buzzing with activity but far more controlled than in the paddock. 

He led them to a quieter corner where he had set up a special area for them. “I thought Noah might like to be even more involved,” Lando said with a grin. He handed the boy a pair of large, padded headphones. “These are for you, they’ll let you listen to everything that’s going on in my car. How cool is that?”

“Wow, really? This is so awesome!”

“Enjoy the race, buddy, I’m going to get suited up now,” he directed at the boy and took a step toward Y/N. “Before I go, I just want to say thank you for coming and supporting me.”

He opened his arms and, without waiting for a response, pulled Y/N into a gentle hug. As he held her close he softly placed a light kiss on the top of her head. “It means a lot to me that you’re here.”

Y/N, surprised but touched, hugged him back and smiled. With that Lando headed towards his car, leaving Y/N and Noah in their special viewing area. 

Will, Lando’s engineer, had been observing the interaction and an idea popped into his head. “Hi, Noah! I hear you’re going to be our special guest today. Do you want to help me with something very important?”

Noah smiled at the man and listened to what he had to do.

_____

Once Lando was in his car and settled for the race he heard a crackling over the radio. “Hello, Lando! Can you hear me?”

The driver’s eyes widened in surprise and a chuckle escaped him as he realized who it was. The sound of the young, enthusiastic voice was both adorable and unexpected. “Wow, Noah, is that you?” he said, his voice warm and amused.

Noah’s voice crackled through the radio with an endearing, high-pitched cheerfulness that immediately brightened the garage. “Yes, it’s me! I’m doing the radio check. How do you hear me?”

The crew, used to the serious tone of race day communications, paused and exchanged amused glances. The atmosphere in the garage was noticeably lighter as Lando laughed quietly. “Loud and clear, Noah. You’re coming through perfectly. How’s everything on your end?”

The 4-year-old, clearly delighted that the radio check was such a big success, did a little happy wiggle in his seat. “Everything’s good and everyone’s working really hard. Good luck, I’m cheering for you!”

“That’s great to hear and thanks buddy, I’ll do my best out there.”

“Great job, Noah,” Will’s voice came through next. “You’re all set. Lando, we’re ready to go when you are.”

After spending the first half of the race in the garage Y/N and Noah decided they wanted to see more of the cars and found their seats in the spectator area. They watched as the cars whizzed by, the sound of engines loud and Lando’s car flying past them near the front of the pack. Y/N felt her heart race with every lap, her gaze flicking between the track and her son’s excited face.

“Look, Noah! Lando’s in the top three” Y/N pointed out as they approached the final laps.

Noah’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Go, Lando! You can do it!”

As the final lap of the race drew to a close they were on the edge of their seats, eyes glued to the track. The roar of the crowd was deafening as Lando crossed the finish line in second place, securing a spot on the podium. Y/N’s heart swelled with pride and she glanced down at Noah, who was practically vibrating with excitement.

“I knew he could do it, mommy!”

During the podium ceremony Lando stood proudly on the second-place step, a beaming smile on his face. His eyes scanned the crowd and after searching for a little while he locked eyes with Y/N, raising his hand in a friendly wave, his grin widening.

When the ceremony ended, Y/N and Noah made their way back to the paddock, eager to see Lando once more. They finally spotted him chatting with his team but his attention was immediately on the boy he saw running towards him, his small arms outstretched.

Lando’s eyes lit up and he quickly scooped Noah up, lifting him into a warm, enthusiastic hug. 

“Hey there, champ” Lando said, his voice filled with affection. “You did an amazing job earlier and I’m so glad you’re here.”

Still holding Noah, Lando turned towards Y/N with a smile that spoke volumes, embracing her tightly. The hug was unexpected but warm and genuine and it made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

Lando’s team, who had been observing the interaction, exchanged knowing looks. They noticed the connection between Lando and Y/N, something that went beyond the typical fan-driver relationship. 

After a few more minutes of conversation Lando took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he looked at Y/N while Noah was being entertained by one of his team members. “I was wondering… would you be interested in having dinner with me? I’ve arranged for a babysitter at the hotel, so Noah will be in good hands.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, the invitation somewhat surprising her. “I’d love to,” she replied smiling, her heart fluttering in her chest, “but is it really okay with the babysitter?”

“Absolutely,” Lando nodded with a reassuring smile. “I want you to enjoy the evening without any worries. What do you say?”

Y/N glanced at Noah for a second and then brought her attention back to the young man in front of her. “I’d be happy to join you.”

“Perfect,” Lando said, his smile broadening. “I was hoping you would agree.”

_____

An hour and a half later Lando paced restlessly in his hotel room, his mind swirling with nerves. The dinner with Y/N was rapidly approaching and despite the excitement he found himself overwhelmed.

His phone buzzed and for a second he feared it was Y/N telling him she couldn’t make it and was relieved when he saw it was a text from his team mate.

Oscar: Hey, mate! Heard you’ve got a big night ahead. Need some company or advice?

Lando let out a deep breath and quickly responded. 

Lando: Yes, please. I’m losing my mind right now.

A few minutes later there was a knock on Lando’s door. He opened it to find Oscar standing there with a reassuring smile. “Thought I’d drop by and help you out. How’s it going?”

Lando stepped aside to let him in, still fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt. “I’m a mess. I’ve never been this nervous before a date. What if I mess up?”

Oscar took a seat on the edge of the bed and glanced at Lando’s outfit, a smart but casual ensemble consisting of black pants and a simple white dress shirt. “You look great. Seriously. What’s got you so worked up?”

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes flicking to the mirror trying to smooth out some crinkles in his shirt. “It’s just, what if Y/N doesn’t feel the same way? I mean, I haven’t known her and Noah for very long. What if I’m reading it all wrong?”

Oscar leaned back, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “From what I’ve seen she seemed genuinely interested in you. And Noah adores you, kids usually have a good sense of these things.”

“I hope you’re right,” Lando nodded slowly but still looked unsure. “It’s just… I can see a future with them. Even though it’s been such a short time, something about them feels right. I mean, Y/N is so incredibly beautiful, inside and out. And Noah, he’s just the cutest kid ever. I can’t stop thinking about how perfect they are.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Wow, you really are smitten, huh?” He asked amused,” who would have thought that Lando Norris, the ladies’ man, would be here thinking about settling down?”

Lando blushed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect it either. But it just feels different this time. I’ve never felt this way so quickly about someone. I mean, Y/N is just… she’s so kind and genuine. The way she smiles and the way she talks, it’s like she lights up the room. And Noah, he’s just this perfect little kid. I’ve barely known them, but it feels like there’s something really special here.”

Oscar chuckled, clearly enjoying Lando’s heartfelt monologue but wanting to reassure his friend. “If you’re feeling this way, I’d say it’s a good sign.”

“Yeah, but what if I’m getting ahead of myself? What if I’m imagining something that’s not really there?”

“Look, sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith. It’s clear you’ve made a great impression on both of them. Just be yourself tonight, trust me, that’s all you need to do.”

Lando took a deep breath, trying to absorb Oscar’s words. “Thanks, Oscar. I guess I’m just overthinking things.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Oscar said with a grin. “Now, let’s make sure you look sharp. You’re already halfway there.”

With Oscar’s help, Lando made final adjustments to his outfit and took a few moments to steady himself. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and a hint of confidence began to return.

“Alright,” Lando said, looking at himself in the mirror with a determined nod. “I think I’m ready.”

Oscar walked up to his friend, giving him an encouraging nod and brotherly pat on the back. “Good luck, mate. Go and have a great time. I’ll be here waiting to hear all about it.”

Lando smiled, feeling a renewed sense of calm. “Thanks, Oscar. I appreciate it.”

_________

Click here for Part 5!

Tag: @barcelonaloverf1life @remmysthings @poppyflower-22 @vickykazuya @hadids-world @ririyulife @deafeningunknowntyrant @lexiecampos @littlegrapejuice @eloriis @yawn-zi @landossainz

[raspberrybesitos]

the water’s warm | abby anderson x f!reader

Valentine’s Masterlist | Main masterlist | Palestine

Please take some time to go through the Palestine link. If you enjoy my writing, I ask you to help Palestine in any way you can.

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~1.5k

Summary: You and Abby enjoy a bubble bath together on Valentine’s Day.

Warnings: no outbreak AU, established relationship, fingering (r!receiving), finger sucking, needy!reader, bit of needy!Abby, pulling Abby’s hair, fluff, pet names (baby, pretty girl, good girl), bit of praise kink, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: this is my first ever Abby fic, my first ever wlw fic actually. Abby is one of my favorite characters, so i thought i’d try my hand at some Abby fic. i’m nervous… anyway, i hope y’all enjoy!! as always, not beta’d - all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @hitobaby

She sighs deeply as she unlocks the door to your shared apartment. Work sucked as usual and she’d called you telling you she’d be off late this evening - Valentine’s Day. You hadn’t been upset, you’d been more than understanding. Making her all the more frustrated as you’d patiently waited for her.

“Baby?” Abby calls out, hanging her keys on the hook beside the door and kicking off her shoes before entering the hall. Soft music blooms from your shared bedroom, your humming accompanying the sound. She pushes the door open, walking inside the bedroom. Steam seeps from the slightly ajar bathroom door. The sound of running water and the scent of lavender permeating the air. Abby opens the door, revealing you digging for something in the cabinets in that black silk little robe that drives Abby fucking crazy. Your ass teasingly on display.

“Hi, baby,” Abby says gently, careful not to scare you. You startle, whipping around, clutching some towels. Fear vanishes and transforms into excitement, relieved to see your girlfriend.

“You’re home. I didn’t even hear you come in,” you mumble, setting the towels down on the sink counter before bounding to her. Smiling softly at you, she envelopes you in her strong embrace, her t-shirt snug against her taut biceps. Wrapping your arms around her neck, you crash your lips onto hers. Her hands resting on your waist, rubbing small circles onto your silk-covered skin. Sighing into each other, one of her hands glides to rest on your cheek as she deepens the kiss.

It’s a lazy kiss, languid and heady. She savors the taste of you on her tongue, the sweetness from the wine you had before she got home intoxicating her senses.

You always taste so sweet.

She pulls back, both of you breathless, before she dives into your neck. Littering kisses on the column of your throat, giggles bubbling from you.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to you too,” you say through your laughter, her kisses tickling your skin. She snaps her head up, a gentle grin gracing her features. “Happy Valentine’s Day, pretty girl,” she says before capturing your lips in a chaste kiss. Disconnecting from your lips, she resumes her feast, pressing kisses all along your chest.

“How was work?” You choke out, gasping softly as she bites that spot on your neck. “Don’t wanna talk about work,” she grunts, soothing the sore spot with her tongue. Your eyes flutter shut, sighing as slick starts to pool in between your bare thighs. “A-Abby. Gotta turn off the w-water, baby,” you pant as she sucks on your neck. She reluctantly releases you from her grip, letting you shut the water off.

She groans when you bend over to switch the faucet off, your ass just barely poking out beneath your robe. You chuckle softly, teasingly wiggling your ass a bit before you gasp. Her strong hands cup the globes of your ass.

“You teasing me, pretty girl?” She rasps huskily, lips brushing against your earlobe. Arching your back, you press your ass against her mound as your hands flit to the silk tie around your waist.

“Maybe,” you giggle, untying your robe and wriggling out her grasp. You slide the black silk down your body, letting it hit the floor and climb into the tub before Abby can grab you again. Sinking into the bubble filled tub, you settle in with a sigh. Lavender infiltrating your senses, the warm water soothing all tension in your body.

You gaze up at your girlfriend - her eyes turning blacker with hunger by the second. A smile splays on your face, eyes crinkling with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

“Care to join me? The water’s warm,” you taunt. Abby does not need to be asked twice. She hastily strips off her clothes, tossing them on the floor next to your robe. Clambering into the water, you scoot forward allowing her room to settle in behind you.

Abby lets out a satisfied hum as you settle against her, your back flushed against her chest. Her nipples pebbled from the draft in the air. The suds coating both of your bodies, Abby runs a callused hand along your arm as she litters gentle kisses on your neck.

“Missed you today, pretty girl,” she rasps against the shell of your ear. Her hand skates down your body, resting atop your navel, lips attached to your neck. Your skin clammy and coated in lavender as the steam rises in the bath.

“Missed you too, Abs,” you whisper softly as her fingers tauntingly hover above your core. She abruptly skates her hands to your breasts, tweaking your nipples in between her rough fingertips. A breathy moan shudders from your chest, back slightly arching into her. Her teeth nipping at your jaw before a rough hand cups the side of your face, forcing your gaze onto hers. She slams her lips against yours, kissing you ferociously, mercilessly. Teeth gnashing and tongues tangling together, Abby groans as she swallows your moans.

“Look at you. All fucking needy, and I’ve barely even touched you,” she teases, her swollen lips ghosting over yours, glimmering with saliva. You writhe in her hold, letting out a soft moan. “Need you, Abby. Been w-waiting for you all day,” you whine.

“Shhh, shh shh shh. All day huh, baby?”

All you can do is nod, intoxicated on her touch alone. She presses a soft kiss to your jaw, her hand swiftly slithering to your aching clit. Her fingers hovering around where you need her most. “Gonna give you what you want, baby,” she whispers, lips brushing yours and her nose pressed against yours.

She slowly draws circles on your throbbing clit. You throw your head back against her shoulder, moaning in relief. “That better, baby?” She taunts.

“Uh huh,” you moan. Her fingers move faster against your clit, slick pooling at your entrance.

“Tell me how it feels, baby. This what you wanted? Waiting for me to come home and play with this pretty pussy, baby?”

Her words have you clenching around nothing. The pressure in your belly builds as the coil winds tighter and tighter.

“Y-yes, baby. F-feels so good, ahh,” you whimper, hips bucking up into her fingers. Her free hand pinning you down.

“So greedy, baby. What else do you need, pretty girl, huh?” She asks, no, mocks. Teasing you as she slows her pace on your clit, eliciting a cry from you.

“No, no! Don’t stop, please, Abby!” You beg, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Abby smirks. “Not gonna stop, baby. Wanna hear you say it. What do you want, baby? Tell me,” she says, nipping at your neck.

“Need you to fuck me, baby. Fuck me with your fingers, please. Need you inside, Abby, inside, please,” you nearly wail, babbling breathlessly. With no preamble, she shoves two fingers inside your aching cunt, your eyes roll to the back of your head. Her thick fingers immediately hitting that spongy spot. 

“Fuck, baby. Always so fucking tight for me,” she groans. She pumps her fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, feeling your warm slick gather in between your thighs under the now-cool water. You moan uncontrollably, babbling nonsense as she fucks you with her fingers. A gasp cuts off your moans as she roughly cups your jaw once more, turning you to face her again as she shoves her thumb into your mouth. Moaning around her, you reach behind Abby’s neck and harshly tug her braid. Abby can’t help but moan at the sight and feel of you. 

Your slick collecting on her fingers, your ass rutting against her clit, your back writhing against her nipples, your tongue swirling around her thumb, the forceful pull of her hair.

She nearly comes right then and there.

Abby messily ruts her hips against your ass, humping you as she seeks relief for her aching clit. Moaning in tandem, she picks up the pace, fucking her fingers into you harder and harder. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum on my fingers. You’re so close, baby, I can feel it. Squeezing my fingers so fucking tight,” she grits, her thumb swirling circles on your clit as her fingers punch your g-spot.

Her words snap the coil in your belly, your orgasm blinding your vision as your slick coats her fingers. Stars bursting behind your eyes as they roll to the back of your head. Your body on fire contrasting the rapidly cooling bath, bubbles dissolving as you ride out your orgasm.

“There ya go. That’s it. Good fucking girl, coming all over my fingers. So good for me, pretty girl,” she praises, groaning as you clench her fingers so tightly they nearly slip out. Wailing in her grasp as she holds you closer to her, if that’s possible.

An endless stream of moans floods the air. Abby, Abby, Abby the only thing you’re able to articulate as you scream her name.

Abby fucks you through your high, slowly returning back down to Earth. Panting as you catch your breath from your mind-blowing orgasm, Abby’s muffled, distorted voice grounds you back in reality.

“Hmmm?” You hum, feeling a tender kiss on your temple.

“Said you did so good for me,” Abby says softly, placing a kiss in your hair. You giggle, always bashful when she praises you. Settling back onto her strong chest, you contentedly hum while lazily closing your eyes. Her kisses a balm for your being.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, pretty girl. It’s still Valentine’s Day and I’m not done with you just yet.”

[melathan]

bangchan x fem! reader "your body will remember me."

word count — <1k

warnings — NSFW, 18+. pervert(?) bangchan, drugged! reader, dub con. choking, piv/penetration, overstimulation, squirting, dumbification, drunk sex (sorta), use of nicknames (babygirl), unprotected sex (be safe yall)

editor note — i saw bangchan's new solo and was like . mm. christopher in the building yall.

You were in a daze, red and black filling your blurred vision and your body heating up to a dangerous degree. And yet, your tongue was loose, your mouth spilling out noises and nonsense. Your numb fingers gripped the pillow, your cheek flush with the firm mattress.

“Good girl,” He mumbled behind you, his large hand dragging along your neck and gripping it. His other hand splayed on your lower stomach, holding your hips up to connect them with his own. 

After seeing you like this, Bangchan didn’t feel so guilty anymore. Sure, you were the one to initiate the conversation. But he was the one to initiate this.

You let out another garbled moan, eyes rolling into your skull. Your legs trembled, your cunt clenching down on him. He let out a breathy curse as he gripped your stomach, his slow, hard movements stuttering.

Something about slowly dragging his thick cock against your tight walls, feeling everything as the veins made you shake and drool, was so much better than fucking you into the mattress–

The gold party dress that caught his attention in the first place was on the pillow, the straps stressed and nearly torn. Your lace bra was still intact, but the panties were torn and hanging on your ankles. Chan’s red tie was knotted snug against your eyes, small tear stains already penetrating through the silk fabric.

You felt his tip brush agonizingly slow again on your g-spot and you convulsed. “C-Chan–”

“Shh,” He hushed you, pressing two fingers against your wet mouth. You welcomed them instantly, your tongue messily swirling around the digits. “You��re being such a good girl for me, baby. So good…”You whined again, almost like an injured animal. The noise grounded Chan for a second, realizing his situation.

He was fucking the girl of his dreams, the only thought occupying his mind, his obsession…

She was drunk on liquor and Chan’s cock, resulting in a babbling, sloppy mess. 

He hissed, going to lift up your hips even higher. He started pistoning into you, the abrupt change of pace making you scream. You gripped the sheets, drool soaking the mattress, and the tears darkened the silk tie even more. 

“Chan-! S’too much! Too much– Chan~!” Did he mention that he started on you two hours ago?

You convulsed even more violently, your sloppy lips opening in a silent moan as you cum for the nth time. Chan felt a familiar pressure building up against his cock, but he hissed and continued to shallowly fuck you. Your hips jolted, toes curling as he fucked you while squirting

You were so sensitive you felt like you could pass out. You could feel every inch, every vein– fuck even the coarse hair. You felt everything.

Your arms flail, but he manages to catch them and pin both down with one hand. He continued fighting against your orgasm, your essence going everywhere. 

He leaned to your ear, his teeth clenched and jaw taught. “Relax, baby girl. Daddy’s taking good care of you, right? He’s making you feel so good, right?”Your head lolled, more hoarse moans leaving you. At this point, your wet cunt and his thick dick was louder than your moans. It was more arousing to him, faintly hearing your whimpers but mostly the wet slapping of your hips against his. 

You probably will kill him next morning. Sure, you’ll know that you fucked him. But you wouldn’t know the alcohol buzzing in your veins, tainted with a drug thanks to Chan, melted a hole in your memory. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but at least he knew.

His camera knew. His photo and video library knew too. He let out another hiss, tossing his phone aside as he instead rammed your hips against his, having you move on his cock. At this point you were dead weight, letting the man use you like a limp doll. Within minutes he came, a loud curse leaving him as thick cum flooded your abused hole. A garbled complaint left you, but you couldn’t complain about the sticky warmth left between your legs.

Fuck, he hoped that you were on the pill. If not, well…

He gripped your neck again, making your back arch as he lifted you up to his mouth. “I just need your body to remember, baby.

“Your mind can find any other guy, but your body knows it belongs to me now.”

08.25.24

[celestemona]

⋆˙⟡ — ALWAYS BY YOUR SIDE

there is no greater happiness in the world than being with his little sister, according to cameron. i mean, isn't she the most precious thing?

pairing: dad & husband! wriothesley x fem! reader

cw: slightly ooc, domesticity, parenthood, siblings being adorable. fluff. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

.

Cameron carefully adjusted the carrier strapped to his chest, ensuring his little sister, Marie, was snug and comfortable. Her small hands waved excitedly in the air, and her wide eyes curiously took in the sights around her. Cameron beamed proudly, feeling like the best big brother in the world as he carried the baby through the bustling areas of the fortress.

“Look, Mae, it's Mr. Wolsey and Estienne!” He pointed to the sentinel and the coffee shop owner who were talking not far from their posts. They both smiled at the sight of the two siblings, giving a small wave.

Marie gurgled happily, shaking her tiny hands again as if in response.

“Hello guys. Thank you for your service,” Cameron said on her behalf, his voice filled with the pride of a big brother showing off his adorable baby sister.

As they continued their walk, they encountered several inmates who greeted them warmly, and some who even paused their tasks to play with the happy little girl. Marie's chubby cheeks and innocent smiles melted even the hardest hearts in the fortress. Cameron couldn't help but puff out his chest a little, enjoying the attention his sister was receiving.

A few moments later, as he turned the corner, the boy came across Wriothesley, you, and a few guards in range, deep in conversation. You carried a stack of documents while the others listened to you attentively. When you saw Cameron and Marie, your faces lit up.

“Why, if it isn't my favorite little lady,” Wriothesley approaches, his voice warm and affectionate. He reached out to take Marie out of the transporter, but Cameron quickly turned his body, shielding the girl from her father.

“Step back, Dad. I'm the one taking care of her today,” Cameron protested, giving the older man a determined look, “We're in the middle of our walk, and only brother and sister are allowed.”

Wriothesley raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so? Well, I think Daddy deserves some time with his princess too.”

Cameron shook his head, holding Marie a little tighter. “Nu-uh. Not now. You'll have to wait for your turn.”

You, who until then just watched the interaction in silence, laughed softly. You handed the paperwork to a nearby guard and crossed your arms, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before your eyes. The other officials around you also exchanged amused glances, enjoying the playful family drama.

Marie, confused by the tension developing there, tugged at the fabric of Cameron's shirt, catching his attention. 

She cooed something in her own language, her eyes shining with adoration.

Cameron's heart melted instantly, but he remained steadfast. Though it was crystal clear to both you and your husband the pride and exhibitionism that emanated from your son.

“See? She wants to be with me.”

Wriothesley sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “The courage of this boy. Very well. You won this round, Cam, but I'm not giving up that easily.”

You approach your husband from behind, smirking mischievously. “Maybe we should let Cameron have his time with Marie, dear,” you suggested, winking at the teenager, “Besides, it seems like she’s pretty happy where she is.”

Wriothesley pretended to think about it, a pout almost imperceptible, then nodded. “Okay, but don’t think this is over,” he said, giving Cameron a mock-serious look. “I will return to my princess.”

Cameron smiled triumphantly and said goodbye, continuing his walk with his little sister. The baby girl clapped her hands and laughed excitedly, happy for the attention and play between her father and brother.

As they walked away, you turned to Wriothesley, laughing softly. “You two are like big kids,” you teased. “It’s lovely.”

Wriothesley shrugged, a fond smile on his face as he watched his children disappear around the corner. 

“What can I say? She has us all wrapped around her tiny finger.”

The guards exchanged amused glances once again, shaking their heads with smiles.

The fortress may be a place of order and discipline, but moments like these brought a warm feeling that everyone appreciated.

For Cameron, the hike with his sister was a cherished memory in the making. And for Wriothesley and you, seeing your children bond so closely made your hearts fill with pride and love. As Marie's sweet laugh echoed through the halls, the family knew these moments were priceless.

trivia: wriothesley is around 40s here. we love a old man, girl's dad.

a/n i wrote this very quick so i don't know if it's good but i like it?? i've been inspired by your brainrots and mails in the few past days and saved all of them. nonetheless, i'll be reducing the number of posts because i'm leaving my studies behind lol thank you for your reading! anon who suggested their interaction, this post is for you <3

[luveline]

I would love to see Derek with a super confident sunshine gf but May be she gets super shy and flustered when he compliments her or makes a dirty joke and just like the first time it happens and Derek is so taken aback by her shyness bc he's used to her being chatty and confident

“Hi, Dr. Reid.” 

Derek knows it’s gonna be a good day when you come in already flirting. 

“Hi,” Spencer says. “Want a bagel?” 

“Thanks, handsome, but I already had breakfast.” Derek leans back in his chair to watch you, and you see his moving, turning your attention to him with an equally brilliant smile. “Hi, Agent Morgan.” 

“You can call me Derek, baby.” 

“No, I don’t think so,” you say lightly. You pull your pea coat tighter against yourself and give a breath. “Is it cold in here today, or is it just me?” 

“There’s a problem with the radiators,” Spencer says. “They sent out an email this morning to dress warmly. It’ll be fixed by tomorrow, apparently.” 

“Oh. I didn’t see. I don’t think I’m dressed for the cold,” you say, looking down at your short heels. “I would’ve worn sneakers like you, Spence.” 

“I brought some extra socks?” Spencer says. 

“Well, keep me a pair in case I need them?” you ask. 

“Sweetheart, if it’s warming up you need, you come straight to me,” Derek says, his tone warm as his promise, “I’ll find a way to keep you comfortable, that’s on my life, don’t waste your time with anybody else.” 

He doesn’t mean it to sound so heavily sexual, but he absolutely did mean for it to be an innuendo. Regardless, he isn’t expecting this —you look straight to Spencer like you want to check he’s heard it, and you fluster hard, fisting the strap of your purse where it’s snug over your shoulder, a small smile playing on your lips. 

“Okay,” you say shyly, nodding, looking at the space to the left of Derek’s shoulder. “Won’t waste my time.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve always been sweet like that, your sunny disposition drew him to you like a moth to a flame, and yet Derek can’t recall ever having made you fluster so quickly, and so visibly. 

Derek suspects he’d find neck hot under his hand with a flush if he touched it. laughs loudly, pen in his hands wagging up and down as he fights the urge to say anything else and prolong your agony.  

You give a soft laugh, flustered, embarrassed and breathless, tapping his ankle with your shoe. “That was a bit mean.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says, sorry Spencer has to be here to see it, “I was kidding.” 

“I know!” You also give Spencer a sorry look.

Spencer, while sometimes slow to pick up subtle social cues, thankfully gets the idea and stands up from his chair. Derek follows suit, though he doesn’t scarper for the kitchen. 

“That caught me off guard,” you say, laughing again as he offers his arms to you. 

“What happened?” He tugs you forward. You tuck your arms behind his neck to kiss his jaw, the morning hello.

“You said it like you were bossing me around!” you defend yourself.

“And you liked that?” 

“Stop, stop,” you laugh. “I wasn’t expecting it. You never boss me around. You’re nicer than anybody gives you credit for.” 

“You think so?” he asks, still teasing, but also vaguely smug. To get to hug you in the office, arms on your waist, prettiest face ever made, Derek can’t help himself. “I really will keep you warm. I’ll get you a heater.” 

“You’re my heater.” 

“I’m hot-blooded.” 

You part ways with mutual reluctance. “You’re something, Derek.” 

He enjoys making you laugh, and the shy tilt of your head as you’d recovered, but he’s much happier when you’re bundled up at your desk with a hot cup of coffee and his promised space heater plugged in at your feet, chatting across the way to him about what you want to do this weekend if he doesn’t get called away. 

“Maybe we can buy a couple of DVD’s and you can warm me up all weekend,” you suggest, an attempt to pretend you aren’t bothered by his comment anymore, that it had been a momentary lapse in judgement. 

Derek’s content to give you anything you ask for. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” 

[clockwayswrites]

Part 2

Part 1

Danny & Cass, Cyan, Wind chime bells @wandixx

Cass placed the backpack down on the kitchen counter, unzipped it, and spread the opening purposefully.

Alfred looked from the bag to Cass, one pointed white brow raised. Keeping her eyes locked with Alfred, she took an apple from the fruit bowl and placed it inside the bag.

A moment later the brow lowered and a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “Ah, looking for a picnic, Miss Cassandra?”

Pleased he had gotten it, Cass nodded eagerly and held up two fingers.

“A picnic for two? Is one of your siblings joining you?” He asked.

Cass shook her head.

“Ah. Are you off to see a friend?”

Cass nodded and scooted the bag a little closer towards Alfred.

“Well then,” Alfred said after a beat, “any allergies your friend has?”

She took a moment to think about and then shook her head. She’d always seen Danny eat everything that either of them could get their hands on.

“And is your friend human?”

That was an odd question. Cass’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“You would not believe the things that both Master Richard and Master Jason got up to,” Alfred answered, looking like a man who had been long suffering.

Cass gave a little giggle, which softened Alfred’s expression.

“If you will give me a small time, I will put together a meal for you and your friend. Perhaps, while I do so, you would go and let Master Bruce know that you are going out.”

That seemed odd, but Cass figured it was part of being in a family now. They often liked to know where she was or tell each other when they were going somewhere not the manor or would be be back to the manor. It was still taking time for Cass to be used to all of these rules that weren’t rules.

Knocking she understood now, it was apparently polite and sneaking through the shadows was not. To that end, she knocked on the door to Bruce’s study and waited for the slightly distracted ‘come in’ to enter.

“Cass,” Bruce said with a smile when he looked up from his work. “How are you doing today, honey?”

Cass gave him a thumbs up as he turned on the tablet on his desk and spun it around for her. Her tongue stuck out just slightly as she looked for the right images.

🦢🫱🥪🎒 🏠🐦‍⬛➡️🌆

Bruce watched her put in the images. “Ah… Alfred is putting food in a bag for you and you’re going into the city?”

Cass nodded.

“Alright…,” Bruce said slowly. He tapped the edge of the tablet in a soft rhythm. “Thank you for letting me know. First off, do you have your phone with you?”

Cass pulled it out of her back pocket.

“Good. Do you remember what we talked about with the emergency button? How even if you don’t think you need the help, you should press it if there’s any trouble?”

Cass swiped over to the left screen and the large button on it before locking the phone again.

“Alright. Are you willing to wear an alert bracelet too?” Bruce asked and purposeful leaned back into his chair and forced himself to relax. “That way if your phone is taken or breaks you can still press the bracelet. It has a tracker in it, but we won’t use it unless we need to or you tell us too.”

It didn’t really mater to her, she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t trust them, so Cass gave a little shrug and help out her wrist.

Bruce gave an amused snort and opened up one of his drawers. “If you’re any example, daughters really are easier than sons.”

The bracelet, black of course, was a little snug, but it was low profile enough not to get in the way. Cass adjusted it just slightly before she was satisfied. She was confused though when Bruce stood.

He gave her a soft smile. “I’ll drive you into the city. I have some paperwork there I should get anyways.”

That was a little bit of a lie, but Cass decided not to call him on it and simple held out her hand for Bruce to take.

-

“You aren’t supposed to come out here anymore,” Danny said. He’s trying to look mad— arms crossed with a wide stance, but the way he looked at her from under his black bangs gave him away.

Cass patted the spot on the roof next to her. It’s one of their favorite spots to watch the sunset together. Not only was the view of the sunset over the waters amazing, but when there was a breeze they could hear all the bits of metal tied to the bridge next to them clink in the wind. It made Cass sad to think of Danny watching it up here alone now.

He gave an aggrieved sigh but took the indicated spot. Once he’s seated, Cass starts pulling out the food. There are bulging sandwiches, fresh fruit, salty chips, and best of all cookies.

“Wow,” Danny said. His hand twitched like he wanted to just reach out and start eating before the food disappeared.

Cass handed him a sandwich.

“You still shouldn’t be out here,” Danny protested, but the words were muffled by the large bite of food.

Cass just smiled and started on her own.

Part 3

[pretentious-blonde]

turning pages

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: making the most of the beginnings of autumn, steve takes his girl to a bookshop. only problem is, he is clueless as to what she is talking about.

warnings: none, steve being insecure?

a/n: today feels like the first day of autumn so I wanted to write something for steve being obsessed with his girl <3

The crisp autumn morning was a blessing after the oppressive heat of the summer. The wind carried with it the scent of fallen leaves and the familiar smell of burning wood, probably from a distant bonfire. Steve took in the beauty of the morning as he walked with you, practically glued to your side, matching your every step with his own. 

The sun shone bright above the pair, but did little to heat the two of you. Instead, it covered the trees in a warm orange glow, complementing the leaves that continued to fall. The colours only added to it—crimson reds and burnt oranges, scattered across the pavement you strolled down, giving a satisfying crunch as you both walked. 

Wrapped up warm next to him in her oversized jumper was his girl, clad in an old winter coat that looked like it could swallow her whole. Her cheeks were flushed from the chilly breeze, making her features appear even softer. He didn’t think that was possible. 

She took a sip of her hot chocolate, something she was so excited to finally have now the weather had cooled down. He was more of a coffee drinker himself, but he wouldn’t let her know that, especially when her eyes lit up as she ordered one for him too. Giddily handing it to him and watching as he took his first sip. 

For her, it would be his new favourite. 

He watched the way her breath came out in small clouds, the morning light illuminating her face and a few strands of hair that framed her perfectly. 

He couldn’t hide the smile from his face even if he tried; he thanked the coldness for hiding his own reddening cheeks. Everything about her mesmerised him, even more so today—the peaceful look in her eyes, the way she looked so snug in her layers, radiating warmth despite the dropping temperature. She had to fight him off that morning after he insisted on wrapping her up more, offering up his jumper collection for her comfort. Eventually, she gave in and didn’t fight when he draped his scarf around her neck, tying it up and tucking it into her jacket. 

He wanted her to always be comfortable. Always be happy. 

His own hot chocolate helped to warm his fingers, every sip reminding him of the sweet girl next to him. As the two of you walked, you could feel his gaze wandering to you, your eyes wide and sparkling as you talked about everything and nothing. Your laughter rang aloud at something he said and his heart leapt in his chest, he felt lucky for being the cause of it. 

Every now and then, he’d reach out and gently brush a stray leaf from your coat or adjust his scarf as you tell him off for fussing too much. You do it all with a small grin, he knows you secretly love it, and all he is thinking about is how he’d do anything to keep that smile on your face. 

As you continued to wander along the street, he felt you pause next to him before grabbing his arm with excitement. He chuckled as you dragged him in the direction of the bookshop, just happy to be in your company. 

“C’mon, I didn’t know this was here!” You tell him, practically skipping towards the entrance. 

“Neither did I, honey,” he says, keeping his tone upbeat so as to not dim your enthusiasm. This was not exactly his comfort zone and the last thing he wanted was for you to think you were dating some kind of fool. 

As you pulled him inside, he was hit with the cosy smell of old parchment, similar to the one that filled your apartment. Probably due to your overflowing bookshelf. The lighting was dim and inviting, flowing over your form as you began to wander down the aisles. He watched from afar as your brows furrowed in concentration, carefully inspecting each new book you spotted. It was clear you were in your element. 

The boy tried to act casual, leaning against one of the shelves, tucking his hands in his pockets. But internally, he was nervous. He knew nothing about books. Years of trying in class but failing miserably, his skills were more social ones, not academic. His mind started overthinking the entire situation. Maybe you liked smarter guys, men who could recommend you something, knowing immediately what you would like. Someone you could drink hot chocolate with and exchange reading materials while talking about obscure authors and their works. 

“This place is pretty cool, angel,” he said while pretending to look around. 

You tore your gaze away from the book in your hand, your smile bright. “I know right? I can’t believe we have never seen it here before.”

You carried on perusing the shelves, this time taking Steve with you, picking up a few classics that you have read previously. You held up a second-hand copy of Pride and Prejudice, your eyes glinting with excitement. “This is an absolute favourite. Elizabeth Bennet falls in love with Mr Darcy. He is so misunderstood in my opinion. It’s all about social class and personal growth—I love it. Real old school romance.”

He nodded enthusiastically as he listened intently to what you were saying. Mr Darcy, Bennet…right. Got it. His small smile never fell as he tried to keep up with your rambling. “Yeah, sounds great, honey. I mean—if you say it’s that great—I believe you.”

You laughed and shoved his shoulder teasingly. “My opinion is always correct. Okay, let me show you…” you scan the shelf to try and find another title. “This one,” you hold up a book with the author Shirley Jackson printed on the bottom. 

“This one is a bit of a psychological thriller. It’s about two sisters living in isolation, and it’s got this eerie, unsettling vibe. You’d probably laugh if I told you it’s a bit of a horror novel. I mean, I don’t exactly see you reading ghost stories.”

“I’m sure it’s super creepy. I’ll take your word for it.” He tried to sound convincing, but his mind was elsewhere. What’s a psychological thriller again? Fuck.

You continued to talk about books, stopping to tell him what you loved and what you didn’t about each one. Steve found himself more focused on how adorable you looked when you were passionate about something. Your hands gestured animatedly as you described the plots and characters, and he couldn’t help but be completely enchanted by your enthusiasm. His smart girl. 

He wanted to ask questions to keep you talking, but he was worried about saying something that might seem stupid. What if I ask the wrong thing? He didn’t want to seem clueless—god—if only he had paid more attention in English class. Maybe then he could at least try to humour you better. 

Instead, he just kept nodding, offering encouraging smiles and the occasional, “That sounds really cool.” Just hoping it was the right thing to say, wracking his brain to find a more exciting adjective than ‘cool’.

As you continued to browse, Steve’s eyes caught sight of a familiar cover on a nearby shelf, The Great Gatsby. He hadn’t thought about that book in ages, but he remembered reading it—pretending to read it—a while back in class and tried desperately to remember something—anything—from the plot. Trying to act casual, leaning over you as he pointed at it, your senses suddenly filled with the smell of bergamot and amberwood. 

“Hey, Gatsby. I, uh, liked it.” He ran a hand through his hair, an action that you quickly learnt he did when he was stressed or unsure, you could hear the hesitation in his voice. Steve regretted speaking up immediately. Everyone had read it, or at least studied it back in school. It was hardly impressive. He just wanted to contribute somehow. Wanted to share something with you that you were passionate about. 

You turned to him with a warm smile, clearly seeing through his nonchalant facade. “You’ve read The Great Gatsby? I love Fitzgerald’s work.”

Steve’s face turned a pretty shade of pink at your reassurance. God, you’re too sweet for him. 

“Yeah, I remember it being pretty good. I mean, it’s definitely one of those books that, like, sticks with you, right?”

You chuckled and gave him a playful nudge, the action alone making his chest tighten at your innocent touch. “Definitely. I’m impressed you remembered it. You’ve got good taste.”

Steve’s smile widened, his eyes filled with adoration, your response made him feel like he was doing something right as relief washed over him. He reached out, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m just happy I’m with you, honey. I like you telling me this…stuff. You make it all sound so interesting.”

You beamed up at him, your eyes shining. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. As long as you’re ok with me talking your ear off.”

Please, he thought. He would listen to you ramble all day.

When you had finally finished looking around, you had narrowed it down to only two books you were going to buy, clutching them both close to your chest. Steve walked up beside you, grabbing the slightly battered copy of Pride and Prejudice along with the Shirley Jackson novel you’d had gushed to him about earlier. You glanced at him in surprise as he added them to the stack at the counter.

“Wait, why are you getting those?” you asked, tilting your head as he reached into his pocket, handing the cashier the cash. 

Steve shrugged casually, brushing off your question. “Because you like them, and I’m gonna read them,” he said with a confident grin, holding the door open for you as you both stepped back into the cold air outside, books in hand.

You blinked up at him as you stopped walking, shaking your head at the thought of inconveniencing him. “You really don’t have to, you know. I wasn’t trying to make you read them.”

He stopped when you did, giving you that soft, classic Steve look that always made your knees go weak. 

“Nonsense,” he replied, his voice full of affection as he held a hand up to your stressed face. “If you like them, angel, I’ll love them. Plus, I kinda want to know what you’re talking about when you get all excited next time you bring me here.”

Your heart melted on the spot. “You’re too nice, you know that?”

His confident expression faltered, now looking more bashful. He slipped his hand into yours as you continued your walk, not wanting it to get cold. 

“Only for you,” he said, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze. “And I’ll read anything if it means I get to hear more of what you gotta say.”

You glanced up at him, a playful smirk playing on your lips. “Oh, really? Gonna give you a pop quiz and everything once you’ve finished them if that’s the case.”

Steve chuckled, feeling the pressure already with your teasing threat. “Quiz me? Uh, maybe let me get through a few chapters first, honey.”

“I’ll make flashcards for you and everything. You’ll be an expert on Austen when I’m done with you.” You giggle. 

He laughed, shaking his head at your antics. “If I suddenly become a literary genius, it’s all thanks to you, angel.”

You leaned closer to him, taking your hand away from his so he could wrap a strong arm around your shoulders. 

“I like you just the way you are.” The words fell out of your mouth with ease.

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide how he felt after hearing you say that. Your words would be replaying in his head for weeks to come. “Keep sweet-talking me, and I might even start quoting Pride and Prejudice just to impress you.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that,” you teased. “You as Mr. Darcy? Perfect.”

“At your service, Miss Bennet.” He said, giving you a small bow, he hoped he remembered names right from earlier.

You burst out laughing, feeling warmer thanks to the sweet boy next to you. He pulled you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as you continued down the street together, tucked under his shoulder, hot chocolate now cold in your paper cups. Not that it mattered, he would buy you as many as you liked as long as he was with you.

[pseudowho]

Thinking about Takuma Ino, who becomes a father so young when you fall unexpectedly pregnant. Thinking about the fear in your eyes, the shaking hands going to hold each other's, the positive test clasped between them. The way Takuma reassures you; "it's okay, it's okay, I always wanted to be a dad...sure, not this soon-- but we'll be fine. Better than fine, we'll be great."

The way Takuma goes for a walk that night, after you've cried yourself to sleep, crouching down in an alleyway with his beanie'd head in his hands, wondering how he could possibly ever be a good father. Wanting to marry you, to do things 'right', but afraid you'd think he only wanted to marry you because of the pregnancy.

The way Takuma arrives on his mother's doorstep (the mother who raised him alone, young, single) in the dead of night, pale-faced. The way his mother holds him as he cries and apologises at the dining room table, his face in her robed chest. The way she cups his face, and stares into his eyes; "we can do this, together, the right way. You're a good boy. Now be a good man."

The way Takuma learns to be a father, from his mother, who was his whole world. The way Takuma works himself to the bone, squirrelling money away, booking in with estate agents to go and view your first home together in a way that makes your hormonal heart clench.

The way Takuma's head hits the pillow, weary after working all night, then comes straight up again as he hears you vomiting in the bathroom, kneeling behind you to stroke your hair back, holding you gently round the waist on the tiled floor; "attagirl...it'll be better soon, right? Toughest girl I know. Doin' such a great job."

The way Takuma takes up embroidery, buying cheap plain clothes for the baby, because he can't afford much, but adding small artistic touches of beauty; a frog with a toadstool hat, a little trailing succulent vine, a shooting star.

The way Takuma is bright and excited; there for every scan, every class, every milestone. The way Takuma puts on a brave face. The way Takuma hides in the staffroom at work, his head in his hands, creaking under the weight of responsibility. The way he feels a strong hand clasp his shoulder, a beige suit, a blue shirt, a leopard print tie at the corner of his eye; "I know you're going to say no...but I'd like to buy a gift. For both of you. For the baby."

The way Takuma feels so ashamed for accepting help; the way a crib, a beautiful buggy, a snug and safe car seat, all gradually arrive at your new home. The way he tries to insist on paying Nanami Kento back. Nanami naturally refuses, pretends to be inordinately interested in his newspaper.

The way Takuma can't help but buy the baby a few beanies. The way you retaliate by buying an outfit that looks just like Ino's. He is thrilled.

The way Takuma's embroidery has advanced so well, he makes four little Auspicious Beasts to hang from a mobile above the crib.

The way Takuma paints beautiful, geometric, zany black and white shapes on the wall in the baby's bedroom; "They only see black, white and red at first babe. Neat, right?"

The way Takuma is pale throughout your labour, his eyes feverish, your pain so much harder than any battle he's ever been to. The way his tears hit him in a huge whooshing breath, a head-holding groan of relief when his baby son is placed on your chest, wet and crying, a little angry clenched face. The way Takuma rests his cheek on his arm at the top of your bed, gazing down and sniffling as his son holds his finger.

The way Takuma takes you both home, proud, woefully in love, still wondering how he's ever going to grow up and be a man, without realising he's already so much more of a man than so many others in this world.

Thinking about young dad Takuma Ino.