#but the first one was like an actual kiss and this is more them leaning in to kiss

[loafysainz]

TAKE US DADDY | LN 4

lando norris!dad x mom!reader

warn: fluffffffffff

this story is actually a the sequel of the story Don't Go Daddy.

Lando was already dressed, bag packed, and his car waiting outside, but he refused to leave without saying goodbye properly. The past weeks, Noah and Leo had been ridiculously clingy—like little koalas attached to his legs. If he left without waking them up, there was no doubt they’d wake up in tears, wailing for him. But now, as he stood in their dimly lit rooms, watching their peaceful faces, he felt his resolve weaken.

First, he crouched beside Noah’s bed, gently brushing the messy curls from his forehead. "Noah, buddy, wake up," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Noah stirred slightly, brows furrowing, but he just whined and buried his face deeper into his pillow.

Lando chuckled. "C’mon, mate. You gotta say bye to me properly."

Noah let out a grumpy hum, eyes still shut, and when Lando wrapped an arm around him, the little boy automatically snuggled closer. Instead of waking up, though, he just sighed contentedly and went back to sleep.

"Oh, c’mon," Lando groaned playfully. "You little traitor."

He peppered kisses all over Noah’s forehead, cheeks, nose—wherever he could reach. Noah squirmed, whining in protest, but didn’t actually push him away. Lando figured that was a win.

Noah let out the smallest, sleepiest hum before finally cracking his eyes open. “Daddy?” His voice was thick with sleep, and instead of getting up, he immediately rolled into Lando’s chest, snuggling into his warmth.

Lando chuckled, running a hand down his little back. “Sleepyhead,” he murmured, hugging him tight.

Noah only made a small, content noise before—just like that—falling back asleep in his arms. Lando sighed, completely torn between waking him up properly or just letting him be. In the end, he settled for placing a few more kisses all over Noah’s chubby cheeks, whispering, “Daddy’s going to work now, okay? Be good, take care of Mommy and Leo. Daddy loves you, Noah.”

Noah barely reacted, just wriggled a little before letting out the softest, tiniest sigh. His little lips were pouty, his face smushed into the pillow, and Lando had to physically stop himself from squeezing the life out of him. Instead, he pressed one last lingering kiss to his forehead and reluctantly stepped away.

Now moving to his next target.

Leo.

Leo was in the exact same position Lando had left him in last night. His little troublemaker was sprawled out in his bed, mouth slightly open, chubby cheeks flushed, and one hand clutching his tiny stuffed lion. Lando leaned in and peppered kisses all over Leo’s chubby cheeks, then nuzzled into his neck playfully.

Leo stirred, stretching like a tiny cat before blinking up at him with the sleepiest, happiest smile. His eyes weren’t even fully open yet, but his little teeth peeked through, all bright and shiny.

“Daddy…” he mumbled sleepily, reaching out with tiny hands. Lando immediately scooped him into a warm hug.

"Yeah, bud?" Lando grinned, rubbing his back.

Leo let out a deep sigh, still not fully awake. "Can I hug you… for one hour?"

Lando blinked. Oh, come on. That’s not fair.

"One hour? That’s it?" Lando teased, rocking him slightly. "What if I wanna hug you forever, huh?"

Leo hummed in thought for approximately two seconds before going, "No, no."

Lando burst out laughing. "Alright, then. One hour it is."

But literally two minutes later, Leo wiggled out of the hug, pressing his tiny hands against Lando’s chest. “Okay, Daddy. it’s been one hour!”

Lando cracked up. “That was NOT an hour, little scammer.”

Leo just grinned sleepily, dimples showing, and Lando swore his heart was going to burst. He gave him a few more smooches, leaving his cheeks all rosy before tucking him back under the blanket.

“Daddy loves you, Leo.”

And with that, he finally left the room.

****

Finally, he made his way to Y/N. She was awake, all soft and warm-looking in bed, watching him with that unreal, angelic face of hers. Lando sighed dramatically. “You sure you don’t want to come with me? Just pack up the kids and go?”

Y/N shook her head, smiling softly. “They have school, Lando.”

Lando groaned, flopping onto the bed beside her. “They’re literally babies. They don’t need school.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, reaching out to fix the collar of his hoodie. "They’ll be okay, you know."

Lando let out a breath. "I know. It’s just… they’ve been so clingy lately. What if they freak out when I’m gone?"

Y/N smiled softly. "They’ll be okay. And if they do get upset, we’ll figure it out, yeah?"

Lando just stared at her for a second, completely mesmerized. "You know you’re really pretty, right?"

Before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her, deep and slow, like he was trying to make it last. Like he didn’t want to leave at all.

And honestly? He really, really didn’t.

But work was work.

So, he pulled away, kissed her forehead, and finally—finally—headed out the door.

****

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of a homemade meal as Y/N stirred the pot, humming softly to herself. The warm atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of tiny feet running down the stairs—fast, urgent, and filled with distress.

“Mommy!!” Noah’s voice cracked as he ran straight into the kitchen, his little brother Leo right behind him, his chubby cheeks already stained with tears.

Y/N barely had time to turn around before Noah wrapped his arms around her legs, his tiny frame shaking. Leo, slightly slower but just as upset, clung onto her other legs with a whimper.

Their lower lips trembled as they still clung to their mom legs, searching for something—or rather, someone.

“Where’s Daddy?” Noah sniffled, wiping at his eyes with tiny fists.

Y/N’s heart squeezed at the sight of them. “Daddy’s at work, love. He left this morning, remember?”

“We want Daddy!”

Leo nodded furiously, his bottom lip trembling. “We wanna go wif Daddy…”

Y/N softened instantly, brushing their curls back gently. “Oh, sweetheart. Daddy’s working, and you guys have to go to school. Remember?”

“But we wanna see him!” Noah insisted, his voice breaking with a hiccup. “We wanna go wif him! We wanna see Daddy work! Please, Mommy!” Now both of them were crying—hiccuping, sniffling, noses all red and runny.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry—Daddy will come home soon.”

“NOOOOOOO,” they both wailed in unison. “WANNA SEE DADDY NOW!”

Y/N exhaled, biting back a fond smile. “Okay, okay—let’s call him, okay?”

The second those words left Y/N’s mouth, both of them perked up just a little, their cries reducing to sniffles as they nodded frantically. Y/N grabbed their phone and pressed Lando’s contact. Within seconds, the call connected, and his face popped up on the screen.

“Hey, love—”

Before he could finish, Noah and Leo started sobbing all over again. “DADDY!!!”

“Whoa—what happened? Why are my two little spider-man crying?”

Noah and Leo immediately scrambled to get closer to the screen. “DADDY!!!” They wailed in unison, tears streaming down their flushed cheeks.

“Oh no, what’s wrong, buddies?” Lando frowned, clearly distressed.

“We wanna go wif youuu!” Leo sobbed, pressing his face against the phone screen as if he could somehow teleport to his father’s side.

“Wanna see you nowwww,” Noah hiccupped, face all scrunched up as more tears streamed down his cheeks.

Lando’s brows knitted together, his lips forming a little pout. “Oh, my babies… I miss you so much too. But I’ll be home soon, yeah?”

“NOOOO!”

At this point, their crying was getting dramatic—shoulders shaking, little gasps in between sobs, faces all blotchy and red. Y/N could hear a few people in the background of Lando’s call chuckling softly, obviously overhearing the whole scene.

Lando looked wrecked. Like, visibly about to drop everything and fly back home. Y/N met his eyes through the screen, and in that moment, they both knew—there was no way they could just let the boys cry like this.

Y/N sighed, already knowing where this was going. "Lando, should we just—"

"Yes. Absolutely yes. Bring them here. I don’t care how, just—just get here."

And that’s how, just a few hours later, Daddy wouldn’t have to miss his boys for long—because now the boys were running straight into their daddy’s arms, giggling through the very same tears they had shed that morning.

[treatbuckywkisses]

one thing abt me is im going to read angst no matter how much it hurts me :')

their friend group is so cute & fun I loved the relationships you made between them

     “ Bucky, thank you for the offer, but-” Bucky interrupted you before you could continue,” Come on, doll. Just one date. I’ll keep it friendly,” there was a hopeful look in his eyes. There was a clear conflict of interest as coworkers if you said yes. If you said no, then things could go back to the way they were. You would, however, never get to see what Bucky was like on a first date. Something you found yourself intrigued to find out. He's so dreamy!! doll gets me every time 🥹

     You tensed up, Bucky pulling away when you did. “ Doll, was it bad? Did I do something wrong?” You shook your head profusely,” No, Bucky, you did everything right. This has been the best date I’ve ever had. It was amazing and you’re amazing, but this. . .this can't happen,” you tried to make yourself clear, but your voice faltered towards the end. He looked wounded,” What? Why? Y/n, I have feelings for you and I can tell you have feelings for me too. The way you kissed me now-” you stopped him there,” Please forget about the kiss. Forget about this ever becoming something more. It can’t and it won’t.” He was baffled and could barely form any words,” Why? You just said this has been the best date you've ever been on. How can everything be going so wrong now?” He leaned against the capsule, shaking his head in disbelief. The sight of him made your heart ache. NOOOO:( this hurts my tummy bucky is literally so precious and simply just trying to have a good time & follow his heart why would anyone break it 😭

     “ I’m not,” with that said, it's like you threw the key back at him. The ferris wheel came to a stop, neither of you moving to leave. Bucky was looking at you as if you were a stranger—maybe you were now.  I'm actually going to be violently ill over this for DAYS. how could you do this 😭😭 

     Nevertheless, Bucky insisted on convincing you otherwise, following you with the teddy bear in hand. You weren’t the only ones leaving, so the crowd was dense and easy to get lost in. In less than a minute, however, he lost sight of you. His hand no longer in yours making sure that didn’t happen.  UGH NO:(, the hand comment I'm ACHING :( this is so devastating 

so according to the law (my rb of the prequel thing) i must sue you, so pay up🫶🏻 (just make them in love)

Conflict of Interest

Pairing: Detective!Bucky Barnes x Lawyer!Reader

Summary: After the many failed dates Natasha set you up on, you decide to give up on the dating scene all together. That is until Bucky makes it his mission to change your mind, but will he be enough to change it?

Word Count: 2.9k

Warning(s): angst + fluff / mentions of homicide and case details / cheating (from side character) / drinking / failed dates / heartbreak

a/n: In Five Years Part 2 is taking me longer than expected to write, so here’s a small fic in the meantime! My finals are in two weeks and I can’t wait to get them done and over with to finally have more free time to write! Thank you for reading! ❤️

➵ Prequel Drabble // ➵ Part II 

     “ No more, Nat. I can’t go on another date,” you shut down Natahsa’s latest offer, taking a sip of the freshly brewed coffee she made. She rolled her eyes, sitting next to you on the leather couch in your joint office.“ Y/n, you’re seriously going to turn down another guy? I haven’t even told you anything about him yet,” she egged the idea on. You shook your head, handing her the latest case you were assigned to prosecute. “ Can we please just focus on this case? The trial is in a few weeks and we need to be prepared,” you refused to entertain this conversation any longer. 

     “ I just think you’ll really like th-“

     “ No.”

     “ But this guy is really cute and a doctor an-“

     You gave her a stern look,” No, I’ve decided to stop dating all together. They never end well and at this point emotionally, I can’t handle it.” You stood up to grab one of your law books. You needed to brush up on the precedents for previous crimes of passion in New York. Natasha sighed, glancing over the first file,” Your dates haven’t been that bad.” 

Keep reading

[anticipatedexhale]

Can you do the arcane characters with a s/o who is obsessed with their looks and how they’re perceived to others?

Hellooo <3 ofc I can!!

Just a disclaimer u are absolutely gorgeous and wonderful just the way you are! Inside and out! Don't let fake standards and false words put by society get to you please, love yourself just the way u are because although it's the hardest type of love to achieve it's also the most fulfilling<33

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Wish I could be like you, but I’m not that cool.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨୧

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, ekko, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi, sevika

☆ ◞ summary: when you care too much it starts to backfire on you, when you think you lost everything they are right beside you.

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader, tons of bad talk about ones body and self, insecurities that may be triggering you some so please be careful while reading.

Jayce Talis.

Jayce had always been confident—he knew who he was, what he stood for, and never really cared much about what others thought of him. So when he started noticing how much you worried about your looks and how people perceived you, it caught him off guard.

At first, he thought it was just normal self-care. Everyone liked to look good, right? But then he started picking up on the little things.

The way you’d constantly check your reflection in any shiny surface you passed. The way you’d subtly adjust your outfit over and over, as if trying to perfect it. How you’d bite your lip and glance around nervously when someone so much as whispered near you, convinced it was about you.

And when you two were out together? Forget about it. You agonized over every detail—your hair, your posture, your expressions. Always making sure you were just right.

Jayce hated seeing you stress over it.

One evening, you were getting ready for an event, adjusting your outfit for what felt like the fiftieth time, inspecting yourself in the mirror with a deep frown.

"Does this look okay?" you asked for the third time in ten minutes. "Maybe I should change. Do you think people will—"

Jayce sighed and gently grabbed your hands, pulling you away from the mirror.

“Babe,” he said softly, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why does it matter so much what other people think?”

You hesitated, looking down. “I just… I don’t want to embarrass you. Or myself. People talk, Jayce.”

His expression softened. “I don’t give a damn what people say. And you shouldn’t either.”

You sighed, but he wasn’t done. He cupped your face, tilting it up so you had to look at him.

“You’re already perfect,” he murmured. “I don’t care what you’re wearing, how your hair looks, or what people think. They don’t see what I see.”

You swallowed, throat tight. “…And what do you see?”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Someone incredible. Someone who makes me laugh, who makes me proud every damn day. Someone I’d still be crazy about even if you walked into that party wearing mismatched shoes and a potato sack.”

You let out a startled laugh, rolling your eyes. “A potato sack?”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Yep. You’d still be the best-looking person in the room.”

You sighed, leaning into his touch. “…You really don’t care?”

“Not one bit,” he promised. “I just want you to be happy. Not stressing over what a bunch of nobodies think.”

His words hit deep. And for the first time in a long time, you actually believed them.

Maybe—just maybe—you didn’t need everyone else’s approval.

Maybe Jayce’s was enough.

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Mel Medarda.

Mel had always been surrounded by high society, where appearances were more than just about beauty—they were about power, influence, and command. She’d been taught from a young age how to control the room with a well-placed smile, a confident stance, and the right attire. But while she had mastered the art of fitting into the expectations of others, she’d never let them control her.

When she first noticed your obsession with your appearance—how you would fret over the smallest detail, constantly worry about what others thought, and always seek validation from the people around you—she didn’t rush to correct you. Instead, she observed, trying to understand why it mattered so much to you.

One evening, you were preparing for another event, this time a gala held by Piltover’s elite. You stood in front of the mirror, your eyes darting between your reflection and the wardrobe full of options, your fingers pulling at your hair, your expression one of deep dissatisfaction.

“Mel,” you said, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t think I’m ready for this. I’m just not—”

She stepped into the room with the effortless grace she was known for, her gaze soft yet intense as she approached you. “You’re just not what?” she asked, her voice calm but laced with concern.

“I don’t know… I feel like I don’t belong here,” you confessed, your hands wringing together. “I keep thinking about what people will say when they see me. What if they don’t think I’m… enough?”

Mel’s brow furrowed as she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, turning you to face her fully. “Let me ask you something,” she began, her tone serious but tender. “Why do you care so much about what they think?”

You looked down, not quite able to meet her eyes. “Because if I don’t look a certain way, if I’m not perfect, I feel like I won’t matter.”

Mel took a deep breath, stepping closer to you, her hands gently lifting your chin so you had no choice but to look at her. Her gaze softened as she studied you for a moment, her fingers brushing the side of your face.

“Sweetheart,” she began, her voice quiet but steady. “You are already more than enough. I’ve seen you, not just with your looks, but with your heart, your intelligence, your strength.” She smiled softly. “You think people are only judging you based on how you look, but the truth is, they want to see you. They want to know you—the person who carries themselves with such grace and confidence, the one who makes them wonder how they missed such brilliance.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as her words sank in.

“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to fit into others' expectations. To be what people wanted me to be,” Mel continued, her eyes locking with yours, unwavering. “But I realized that I will never be happy that way. And neither will you. So stop letting your worth be defined by others. You have everything you need inside of you already.”

You blinked, the warmth of her words washing over you. “But… I still feel like I’m not enough sometimes.”

Mel gently cupped your face, leaning in until her forehead rested against yours. “Then let me remind you every day how much you mean to me. You’re perfect just as you are.”

You swallowed, a smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’m starting to believe you.”

With a soft chuckle, Mel pulled back slightly. “Good. Now let’s go out there, and when they look at you, let them see the amazing person I see.”

And as she helped you get dressed, there was a quiet understanding between you two. Mel never pressured you to be anyone else, but she also knew how to help you realize that you had more power than you gave yourself credit for.

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Viktor.

Viktor’s perspective on beauty had always been one of deep pragmatism. His entire life had been about improving, evolving, and focusing on the mind’s capacity to achieve, while the world outside often seemed obsessed with superficial qualities. He’d never cared much for what others thought of him or how he looked. But when it came to you, it was different.

He’d noticed, more and more, how often you seemed preoccupied with your appearance. You would spend hours before a mirror, adjusting your clothes or making sure every strand of hair was in place, always worried about what others might think. Sometimes, even after all the effort, there was a quiet dissatisfaction in your expression, and it made him wonder how much you truly believed in yourself.

One evening, after a long day of work, Viktor arrived home to find you sitting on the couch, still in your outfit from earlier. Your gaze was fixed on your phone screen, scrolling through images of other people’s lives, comparing your appearance to theirs. Your posture was tense, your brows furrowed in frustration.

Viktor quietly approached, his voice soft yet steady as he spoke your name. “You’re still awake? What’s going on, love?”

You glanced up, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just thinking. About how everyone seems to have it all figured out. How they look perfect, and I’m… well, I don’t know.” You trailed off, your gaze dropping back to your phone.

Viktor, noticing the sharp contrast between your usual confident self and the person sitting before him, knelt beside the couch, taking your hand gently in his. His tone was patient, understanding, but there was a certain firmness that made you look up at him.

“Your worth has never been determined by someone else’s perception of you,” he said, his voice quiet but intense. “You’ve spent so much time trying to please others, trying to fit a mold you never asked for. But I need you to understand something, love…”

You looked at him, unsure, waiting for him to continue.

“You are far more than just the sum of your physical appearance or the validation of others,” Viktor continued, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You are a person of substance, of intellect, of heart. And that’s what I fell in love with. Not the way you look, but who you are.”

You swallowed, feeling a lump in your throat. Viktor’s gaze softened as he reached for your hand, gently lifting it to his lips. “And you don’t need to change for anyone. Not for me, not for anyone.”

There was silence between you, broken only by the soft hum of the city outside. His words settled in your chest, easing the tension that had built up over the past few hours.

“I just feel like I’m constantly chasing something I can never achieve,” you admitted quietly. “Trying to be perfect, trying to be what everyone else expects.”

Viktor’s eyes darkened with concern, but he smiled gently. “What if I told you that the most perfect version of yourself is already here? Right now, in this moment? That you are more than enough, as you are?”

His words were simple, but they carried the weight of years of wisdom, of someone who had seen the world through a lens of endless improvement. Slowly, you found yourself leaning into him, feeling the comfort of his embrace and the security of his steady presence.

“I’m still learning, Viktor,” you whispered, your head resting against his chest. “Learning to accept myself.”

“And I’ll be here,” he murmured, his voice warm and unwavering. “Every step of the way. To remind you that you’re perfect, not because of how you look, but because of who you are.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words sink deep into your soul. In that moment, with Viktor by your side, you realized that the person you needed to please the most was yourself. And with him, you finally understood that your worth was never tied to anyone’s expectations—but rather, to the person you were, inside and out.

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Caitlyn kiramman.

Caitlyn was never one to place much value on appearances. Sure, she knew the importance of looking presentable, especially in her position, but she also understood that true beauty went beyond what the eye could see. For Caitlyn, what truly mattered were values, intellect, and integrity. But when she noticed you often fretting over your appearance, constantly adjusting your outfit, and seeking validation from others, it tugged at her heart. She could tell you weren’t feeling your best, but didn’t know how to reach you—until one quiet evening.

After a long day at work, Caitlyn came home to find you in front of the mirror once again, changing clothes, adjusting your makeup, and constantly re-evaluating your reflection. She leaned in the doorway for a moment, watching you with a concerned expression.

You didn’t even notice her at first, your mind lost in the whirlwind of doubts that always seemed to surface when you weren’t in her company. “I don’t know, Cait. What if I’m not enough?” you muttered under your breath, pulling at the collar of your shirt as if it could make you feel better. “What if they don’t think I’m… beautiful enough?”

Caitlyn stepped into the room quietly, her voice gentle but firm. “Why do you think that?”

You jumped, not expecting her to be standing so close. “Oh… I didn’t hear you.” You gave a weak smile, clearly still upset.

“Babe, what’s going on? You’ve been like this for a while now,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours. She stepped closer and reached for your hand, her touch warm and reassuring. “What are you looking for?”

You hesitated, glancing at your reflection before turning to face her. “I just… I feel like people judge me all the time. What if they don’t like how I look? What if I’m too much for them? Or not enough?”

Caitlyn’s expression softened with a mix of empathy and concern. She could feel how deeply you were struggling, and though she didn’t share your worries about appearances, she understood the burden of those feelings. She gently cupped your face in her hands, tilting your chin so your eyes met hers.

“Look at me,” she said, her voice low but confident. “You are enough. Right now, in this moment, you’re more than enough.”

You blinked, her words striking a chord deep inside. “But what if people think I’m…”

She cut you off gently. “You are beautiful, but more than that, you’re incredible. You make a difference. You’re kind, intelligent, and strong. No outfit or hairstyle is going to change that.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as her words began to sink in. “But what if I’m not… what people expect?”

Caitlyn smiled, her hands gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t need to live up to anyone’s expectations but your own. I fell in love with you for who you are, not because of how you look. And I’ve never been more proud of you than I am right now, just by being yourself.”

Her sincerity made your heart swell, and despite your lingering doubts, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Caitlyn didn’t care about the opinions of others; she cared about you—and that was all that mattered.

“I guess I’ve been so focused on trying to be perfect that I forgot how to just be me,” you admitted softly.

Caitlyn chuckled, her thumbs gently rubbing circles on your cheeks. “And I’ll remind you every day that you don’t need to be perfect for anyone. You’re perfect for me.”

You leaned into her touch, a sense of comfort settling in your chest. “Thank you, Cait. I really needed to hear that.”

She smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Anytime. And just so you know, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, inside and out. You don’t have to change a thing.”

In that moment, you realized that your true beauty didn’t lie in how others saw you, but in how Caitlyn saw you—and how you saw yourself when you let go of the expectations that had once held you back.

---------------------------------------------------

Vi.

Vi had always been more about strength and character than appearances. She had a no-nonsense attitude and didn’t care much for superficial things. Whether in a fight or just hanging out, she preferred to focus on what truly mattered—what was inside a person. So when she noticed you obsessing over how you looked, constantly tweaking your outfit or worrying about how others perceived you, it threw her off. She couldn’t quite understand why you’d feel like you weren’t enough when to her, you were already perfect just as you were.

One evening, after a particularly tough day, Vi returned home to find you sitting on the couch, eyes glued to your phone, flipping through social media. You’d been quiet all evening, and she could tell something was bothering you. As she approached, she noticed you adjusting your outfit for the fourth time, pulling at the hem of your shirt, checking the mirror again.

Vi raised an eyebrow, concern flashing across her face. “You good, babe? You seem a little… distracted.”

You didn’t look up, still preoccupied with your reflection. “I don’t know. I just feel like people always judge me. I mean, look at them, Vi,” you said, showing her your phone screen, where a bunch of influencers and well-dressed people filled the screen. “Why can’t I look like that? I don’t know… I just feel like I’m never enough, no matter what I do.”

Vi looked at the screen for a moment before setting it down gently, stepping closer to you. “Hey, look at me,” she said, her voice a little more serious now. “I don’t get it. You’ve got all this beauty inside and out, and you’re worried about some picture on a screen?”

You gave a little laugh, but it was hollow. “It’s not just a picture, Vi. People always notice what I wear, what I look like. I feel like I’m always trying to fit into something I’m not.”

Vi tilted your chin up, meeting your eyes with that intense, protective gaze of hers. “You don’t need to fit into any mold, babe. You’re not some... trend to follow. You’re you. And trust me, that’s more than enough.”

You looked away, unsure. "But people don't see that. They only care about the surface."

Vi sighed, her expression softening as she sat next to you. She took your hand in hers, her grip strong but comforting. "You know what I see when I look at you? I see a person who's been through a lot, someone who doesn't need to put on a mask to be loved. Someone who's real. And that's what makes you so amazing. I don't give a damn about what anyone else thinks. And I know you don't need to change for anyone."

You let out a breath, trying to hold back the feelings bubbling up inside. Vi, with her blunt honesty and genuine affection, had a way of cutting through the noise, and for the first time in a while, you felt like maybe you weren’t as lost as you thought.

Vi leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. “You know I love you for exactly who you are, right? And if you’re worried about how others see you, then maybe you should let them see the real you. Because that’s who I love. The real you. Not some version of you trying to impress everyone else.”

You could feel her words sinking in, easing the pressure you hadn’t even realized had been building. You felt a sense of calm begin to wash over you as Vi’s embrace tightened, holding you close.

"I know I'm tough and rough around the edges," she whispered, a playful smile tugging at her lips, "but you don’t need to be anything other than what makes you happy. And if that means wearing your favorite old shirt or going makeup-free, I’m still gonna think you’re the best thing in the world."

A small laugh escaped your lips, and you found yourself relaxing into her warmth. “Thanks, Vi. I needed that.”

Vi grinned, kissing the top of your head. “Anytime, babe. Just remember: you’re perfect to me, just the way you are.”

In that moment, surrounded by her love and honesty, you realized that the only opinion that truly mattered was the one that came from within—and with Vi, you were finally starting to believe it.

------------------------------------------------

Jinx.

Jinx was many things—chaotic, unpredictable, and loud—but when it came to you, she was surprisingly sensitive. Her world had always been in a constant state of madness, but there was something calming about being with you. You were her rock, her one constant in the storm. That’s why it bothered her so much when she noticed you obsessing over how you looked, always fidgeting with your clothes, your hair, or your makeup, constantly worried about how others saw you.

One evening, after a particularly wild day of mayhem (courtesy of Jinx, of course), you sat on the couch, staring at your phone screen. Your brows were furrowed, your thumb scrolling through social media, comparing yourself to others. Jinx had been watching you for a while, and it was starting to get under her skin.

"Hey, you!" she suddenly called out, practically throwing herself onto the couch next to you, her usual enthusiasm filling the room.

You jumped a little, distracted. “Oh, hey, Jinx. What’s up?” You didn’t look up from your phone, still fixated on the images that seemed to be making you feel worse with every swipe.

Jinx tilted her head, studying your face closely. Her blue hair bounced as she moved, and her expression softened just a little. “You’ve been like this for a while now,” she said, a hint of concern lacing her voice. “Why do you keep looking at that stuff?”

You sighed, showing her your phone. “I don’t know. I just feel like I’m always trying to keep up with everyone else, you know? They always look so… perfect. I feel like I don’t measure up.”

Jinx blinked, her usual manic energy quieting for a moment as she processed your words. "What do you mean, perfect?" she asked, her voice almost childlike in its confusion. “Perfect’s boring, though! I mean, sure, it’s fun to be perfectly insane, but... you’re way cooler than perfect! Who needs to be that?”

You looked at her, a little unsure. “I just… I don’t know, Jinx. I feel like I’m always trying to be someone I’m not, trying to look like everyone else. But nothing ever feels good enough.”

Jinx leaned back dramatically, her arms spread wide. “You wanna know something? I don’t think you need to look like anyone else, ever!” she said, her eyes wide and full of her usual chaotic energy. “You’re already amazing the way you are, and I don’t get why you keep looking at that stuff. I mean, look at me—no one can look like me and that’s what makes me awesome! So you just need to be you, okay?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her randomness, even as a weight still sat heavy in your chest. Jinx smiled brightly, completely oblivious to the way her words were beginning to work their magic. “I know you think you gotta be something you’re not, but I love you just as you are. You’re like… the best thing ever! You don’t need to change anything to impress anyone, especially not me.”

She leaned forward then, her hands clasping yours tightly. Her wild eyes softened as she looked at you with an intensity that was rare for her. “I love you, okay? You—with all the stuff you think isn’t perfect. I don’t need a perfect you. I need you, the one with all the quirks and the weird little things that make you you!”

You blinked, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at her words. Jinx had a way of making things seem so much lighter, her chaotic nature always breaking through the heaviness of your own doubts. Her laugh was like music, and the more she spoke, the more you felt the pressure you had been putting on yourself start to lift.

“Jinx,” you whispered, squeezing her hand. “Thank you. I think I just needed to hear it from you. I’ve been so focused on trying to change, I forgot what made me… me.”

“Exactly!” Jinx exclaimed, throwing her hands up like she had just made the greatest revelation in the world. “Just be you, and if anyone else doesn’t get it, then they’re the ones who are messed up! You’re freaking awesome, and I’m lucky to have you.”

She pulled you into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around you with surprising gentleness. "Don’t ever try to be anything other than you again, okay?" she whispered into your ear. “I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

You rested your head on her shoulder, feeling a sense of comfort in the chaos that only Jinx could provide. With her by your side, maybe, just maybe, you could start to let go of the expectations that others had placed on you—and just embrace the person you were.

And with that, Jinx’s chaotic energy became the balm you didn’t know you needed, reminding you that in this world of uncertainty, the most important thing was being true to yourself.

---------------------------------------------------

Ekko.

Ekko had always been a little different. The way he saw the world wasn’t about appearances or surface-level stuff—it was about people, their hearts, and their actions. It wasn’t lost on him that you seemed to care a lot about how others perceived you, constantly stressing over what to wear, how to look, or whether you were keeping up with the trends. At first, he didn’t really understand it. Why would you care what other people thought when you were already so incredible in his eyes?

One evening, after working on his latest invention in the workshop, Ekko was looking forward to spending some quiet time with you. He’d been busy with the repairs and inventions for the underground, but when he finally entered the room, he immediately noticed something different about you. You were sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine, occasionally staring at the mirror, then back at the pages. The quiet tension in the air told him something was off.

He walked up to you and gently sat down next to you. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softer than usual. "You seem… distracted."

You looked up, surprised to see him. You hadn’t realized you were being so obvious about your self-doubt. "Oh, I’m fine," you lied, trying to smile. "Just… you know, trying to figure out what to wear tomorrow. Something that’ll make me look good enough for the crowd, y’know?"

Ekko frowned slightly. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes, the way your fingers were nervously flipping through pages. He didn’t need to be a genius to see that something was bothering you.

He leaned back against the couch, giving you a moment to breathe before speaking up again. “What crowd? I thought you were more about being yourself, not some image you’ve got to keep up with.”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, well… sometimes it’s hard. I mean, look at everyone else, Ekko. They’re all perfect—well-dressed, confident, always looking like they’ve got it all figured out. I just… I don’t know. I want to feel good about myself, but it feels like I’m always falling short.”

Ekko let out a small sigh. He had seen you struggle with this before, but hearing it out loud always tugged at his heart. He knew what it was like to feel like you didn’t measure up, especially in a world that made it easy to compare yourself to everyone around you. But to him, you were already more than enough.

"You don’t need to be like anyone else, you know that, right?" Ekko said, his voice calm yet serious. "I get it, everyone around here seems to care about appearances or ‘keeping up with the Joneses,’ but that’s not what makes someone special. You’re already incredible. The real you—not some idealized version of yourself—is what I love."

He took your hand, gently guiding you to face him. "It’s not about looking like someone else. It’s about being you. And when you’re you, that’s when you shine the brightest. You’re unique, and that’s what makes you stand out. Not some perfect look or what other people think."

You felt a lump form in your throat, his words piercing through the insecurities that had been building inside. Ekko was always so patient with you, always grounding you when the chaos of the world started to feel too heavy. His belief in you, in who you were as a person, was unwavering.

"Ekko, I’m just so used to trying to fit in," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "It feels like everyone expects me to be perfect, to look a certain way."

Ekko shook his head, his hand moving to brush your hair behind your ear, his touch gentle and tender. "You don’t need to fit into anyone’s box. You fit into mine, and that’s all that matters. You’ve got something they don’t—your heart, your mind, your creativity. You’ve always had it, and I see it every single day."

He stood up, giving you a playful grin. "You know what’s really cool about you? You can pull off anything—whether it’s a fancy outfit or a worn-out hoodie. You make it look good because it’s you. And honestly, that’s way more impressive than anything I’ve ever seen."

You couldn’t help but laugh, a little of the weight lifting off your shoulders as you finally met his eyes. “You really think that?”

Ekko nodded, his eyes full of sincerity. "More than anything. I’m proud of you, just the way you are. You don’t need anyone’s approval, especially not when you’ve already got mine."

You stood up to face him, feeling the warmth of his words sink in. There was no need to change for the world. You had Ekko, and that was more than enough to make you feel seen and loved.

"I love you, you know that?" you whispered.

Ekko grinned, his eyes lighting up as he pulled you into a hug. "I love you too, more than you’ll ever know."

In his arms, you felt safe—safe to be yourself, flaws and all. Maybe it wasn’t about perfection after all. Maybe it was about finding the people who truly saw you, the real you, and loving you for exactly who you were.

---------------------------------------------------

Sevika.

The quiet buzz of the dimly lit workshop was disrupted by a small, sudden sigh. Sevika paused, her fingers lightly gripping the wrench she was working with as she looked over at you. You were at the far corner of the room, your attention focused on the full-length mirror. Your gaze was distant, eyes scanning every inch of yourself, your expression more tense than usual.

She could see the way your shoulders tensed, the slight frown on your lips, and she knew that look all too well. It was the look of someone caught in the trap of self-doubt, obsessing over things that didn't truly matter. Sevika, who always carried herself with quiet confidence, couldn't help but notice how much you seemed to care about things that didn’t define your worth—things like appearance, status, and the opinions of others.

Without saying a word, Sevika set her tools down and walked toward you, her large frame cutting through the space with the same assured steps she always had. There was something about your current mood that tugged at her, an instinct to take care of you when she saw you struggling.

She came up behind you, leaning her back against the wall and crossing her arms, just watching. There was no rush to intervene. Sevika had learned that sometimes, you needed time to process things on your own before anyone could help.

After a moment, you spoke without turning to face her. "Do you think they’d like me more if I looked different? I mean… everyone seems to have something special about them. What if I’m just… not good enough?"

The words hung in the air, fragile and raw. Sevika stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Hey," she said, her hand resting on your shoulder, urging you to meet her eyes. "You’re not ‘just’ anything. And you’re not here to be ‘liked’ by anyone else but yourself."

You swallowed, still unable to fully meet her gaze. "I don’t know, Sevika. I just—sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, I can’t live up to… to what they expect, to what everyone else has. I don’t know how to be comfortable with myself."

Sevika’s eyes softened, her hand gently turning your chin so that you finally faced her. "You don’t need to worry about them. You don’t need to worry about being perfect, because there’s no such thing. No one is perfect—not even the ones who pretend they are."

Her voice was steady, filled with that unwavering confidence that made her so impossible to ignore. "You’re one of the strongest people I know, and that’s not something that comes from looking a certain way. It comes from what you’ve been through, how you keep going despite everything. That’s what I admire about you. Not how you look, but the person you are."

Your breath caught, the frustration in your chest softening with her words. For a moment, you let yourself believe her, feeling the weight of your insecurities ease just a little.

"I think you forget sometimes that people who truly care about you… the ones who matter, don’t give a damn about your looks," Sevika continued, her thumb lightly tracing your cheek, her touch gentle yet powerful. "You think I’m here because you’ve got the perfect image? Nah. I’m here because you’ve got heart. You’ve always had it."

A rare, soft smile tugged at her lips as she leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "And you think I’d let someone like you get away with being anything less than amazing?"

You chuckled softly, the tension melting away at the sincerity in her words. Sevika’s tough exterior had always been there, but in moments like this, she allowed her softer side to show, especially when it came to you. You could see in her eyes that she didn’t just mean what she was saying—she believed it wholeheartedly.

"Sevika, I—"

She cut you off, her finger lightly tapping your lips. "No more self-doubt. No more comparisons. You’re incredible. Just as you are."

For once, the mirror didn’t seem so important. It wasn’t about how others saw you, but how you saw yourself through her eyes. Sevika may not always say a lot, but in moments like this, her actions spoke volumes. You let yourself lean into her touch, the assurance in her presence becoming your anchor.

She leaned in close, her voice softer now, just for you. "Now, let’s forget about everyone else for a while, yeah? Tonight’s about you, about us. You don’t need to impress anyone but yourself."

And as you let her embrace you, a weight lifted, one you hadn’t even realized you were carrying.

--------------------------------------------------

Authors note: I really do apologize if this isn't to ur liking my darling or it feels repetitive I just really could not come up with different scenarios dear God I was about to crash out..

[bloatedandalone04]

Kiwi

Summary: You’re pregnant with Rafe’s baby, and he’s more stressed out about it than you are (and rightfully so).

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: fluff, swearing, protective rafe, soon to be dad rafe, smut, angst if you squint, unprotected sex, pregnancy.

You were steadily entering your second trimester, which was shaping out to be a little easier than your first. You were still craving the weirdest food combinations, but Rafe would never complain about needing to go out and buy them for you since the grateful smile you always gave him made his heart feel so full. 

Seven years with you, and he was still as crazy about you as he’d been since the first date. 

With that being said, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend to like your weird (and sometimes really fucking gross) pregnancy cravings. But he would have to, since you’re carrying his baby like a fucking champ, and you looked so stunning while doing so. 

Rafe had just gotten back from a grocery store run, sporting a bag full of odd food choices for you, and he set it down on the counter before leaving the kitchen to go find you. 

You were in the living room, your feet planted on the couch as you scrolled through your phone. Why you were standing on the couch, he had no idea, but the thought of you accidentally falling was the first thing that flashed through his head, and he was not about to let that happen. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he rasped, quickly walking over to you and grabbing your waist. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? You’re four months pregnant, babygirl, you need to be careful. Jesus Christ.”

“I am being careful,” you defended yourself, holding your phone in one hand while your other ran through his hair. You looked around the living room, your eyes flickering between every corner as you stayed standing on the couch. “I saw a spider, and I don’t know where it went. And you know how much I hate spiders. I had to make sure it didn’t crawl on me or something. Then I would’ve been the one having a heart attack.”

You sounded so unserious, but Rafe knew you were being completely genuine. Your fear of anything that had more than two legs was no joke, and he couldn’t count the times he’s killed something for you on both hands. 

“Plus, I’ve only been standing here for, like, five minutes,” you added, looking down at him and shrugging casually, as if you didn’t feel the way his grip tightened on you at your words. 

“Five minutes is too fucking long,” Rafe muttered, shaking his head afterwards as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against your belly. “You’re not thinking straight right now, are you? That’s the only logical explanation for this.”

His big hands stayed planted on your waist, keeping you steady as he pulled away and looked up at you, his blue eyes wide and full of nothing but adoration for you and the little life growing inside of you. 

“You’re going to give me gray hairs, you know that right?” he grunted, a smile forming on his lips when you let out a soft laugh. 

“Ooh, silver fox Rafe,” you teased, draping your arms around his neck as he helped you off the couch. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. You’d look so fucking hot with gray hair, baby. Like, so fucking sexy. So don’t tempt me.”

Rafe scoffed, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Silver fox? I’m twenty nine, baby, not forty,” he mumbled, “But, I guess if you like that sorta thing…who am I to judge?”

You laughed, leaning into his touch as you pressed your lips to his jaw. “I like anything that involves you,”

He smiled down at you, his hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I like anything that involves you too, babygirl,” he murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed against yours. “Actually, I love everything that involves you.”

Then he was leaning all the way in and kissing you deeply and slowly, his hands sliding down your body until they grazed your ass, and then he was full on groping you through your leggings. 

You whined against his mouth, your lips pressing more firmly against his as you pulled him impossibly closer to you until your bump was pushing against his abs. “You always have to one up me, don’t you?” you muttered, “And what’s with you always grabbing my ass? You’ve been obsessed with it since we got together.”

Rafe smirked down at you. “Of course I’m obsessed with it, it’s part of you,” he replied, and you pressed your lips together. 

“You are so fucking sweet and sexy and I think we should go to our bedroom before I-” you cut yourself off by screaming directly into your husband’s face as you practically jumped back up onto the couch with wide eyes. 

Rafe didn’t even need to turn around to know that the eight legged creature who scared you before had made its big return. “What did I tell you?” he muttered, taking you into his arms as he lifted you from the couch. 

“Rafe! Stop, it’s literally right there and it’s so fucking big,” you protested as he carried you out of the living room and into the kitchen. Once he had you sitting safely at the breakfast bar, he slid the bag of food over for you to inspect as he grabbed a piece of paper towel. 

“Stay here, okay? Eat something,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he walked back into the living room to find the harmless insect that had been tormenting you during the entire time he was gone. 

-

You were pulling Rafe along with you towards the bedroom, your lips all over his neck and jaw, but he was moving so slowly. You were now six months pregnant, and Rafe had become more and more protective of you, if that was even possible at this point. 

And while you loved him for it, his hesitation every time you initiated sex was making you go crazy. You were so turned on, and you needed your husband. 

“Rafe,” you moaned, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you walked backwards. “I need you. I need you so bad. Please? I promise, I won’t break.” you whined, nearly stumbling as you pulled him along with you. 

Rafe’s hands instantly tightened on your waist, his thumbs brushing along the underside of your belly as it pressed against his abs through his shirt. “Easy, babygirl,” he cooed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.” 

While you knew he wanted to be gentle and sweet with you, you also knew exactly how to rile him up and get him going. Rafe had been obsessed with your body since the second he first saw you completely bare, and his obsession had only intensified once your body began to change due to your pregnancy. 

You stepped back and pulled your shirt over your head, revealing your breasts that had grown so much, they were nearly spilling out of your bra. You watched Rafe bite his lip before you moved onto your leggings, and you stepped out of them and kicked them aside as well. 

Rafe groaned as he pulled off his own shirt and jeans, his hands finding your waist again as he moved to sit on the bed. “Come here,” he murmured, sliding your panties down your legs before he guided you onto his lap. 

You willingly went, a needy whine leaving your lips as you settled on top of him and pulled down his boxers, freeing his hard cock. “I love you,” you moaned, kissing him as you began to rub yourself along his dick. “I love you so much.”

He gripped your hips, guiding the slow rolls of your body. “I love you too, baby,” he groaned, “More than my next fucking breath.”

His words made your head feel all fuzzy, and he lifted you slightly to position himself at your soaked core. When he eased you back down onto his cock, you both let out a sound of relief as you came together as one, and you reveled in the feeling of his big hands on your body. 

“Fucking perfect,” he praised, his eyes hooded as his hands slid around to grip your ass gently.

You moaned loudly, holding onto his shoulders as you rolled your hips against his as best as you could with your bump persistently brushing against his stomach. “Fuck,” you whimpered, arching your back a bit and making your chest press right up against his. “Oh fuck, Rafe, you feel so good.” 

He felt so good, you were powerless to stop the loud moans from leaving your mouth as you rode him. Rafe’s hands slid up your back and fumbled with the clasp of your bra before he pulled the fabric away from your body, his palms immediately roaming over the newly exposed skin. “Fuck, babygirl, you’re so tight and wet for me. Sweet pussy was made for my cock,” he grunted, rolling your nipples between his fingers until they pebbled under his touch. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Then he was leaning in and kissing you deeply, his tongue brushing against yours as he met your bounces with upward thrusts of his hips. You moaned against his mouth, his words making your body heat up in a blush. You’d never get tired of hearing him say things like that. 

His hands moved to your belly, and he caressed it as he broke the kiss and buried his face against your shoulder. “God, you feel so good,” he moaned, making your blush deepen as you moved a little faster and a bit harder.

“Rafe,” you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair as you felt your thighs start to burn from over-exertion. “Oh, fuck…I’m gonna cum.” you warned, feeling the knot that had been steadily building up inside you start to tighten. 

Rafe grunted, reaching in between your bodies until the heel of his hand was pressed firmly against the underside of your belly and his fingers were brushing against your clit. “Yeah, cum for me, baby,” he murmured, his other hand moving to your hip as he guided you to take him a little harder. “I’m close too.”

His fingers pushed you over the edge, and your head fell forward onto his shoulder as you came for him. A cry left your lips as you weakly bounced on his lap, your legs shaking a bit as you pulled on his hair. “Fuck,” you gasped, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders as you felt him thrust a few more times before he stilled.

A deep groan left the back of his throat as he held you close to him, his warmth filling you up from the inside out as he let out harsh pants against the side of your neck. “I’ll never get over that,” he muttered, placing soft kisses along your shoulder as he ran his hands up and down your back. “I’ll never get over you.”

You grinned as he gently eased you off him and moved back on the bed, taking you with him as he leaned back against the pillows. “Good,” you hummed as he turned you around and spooned you from behind. “Because I think you’re stuck with me for life.”

When you guided his big palm to rest on your belly, Rafe pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head as his thumb rubbed along your swollen skin. “Good,” he echoed. “Because you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. You’re all I want in the world.”

A lazy smile formed on your lips as you snuggled back against him, and only a few seconds later, you had fallen asleep.

-

Not me working on my birthday again...thanks for reading x

[inkedinshadows]

if ur still taking requests may I please ask for prompt #22 with cassian? it can be fluffy or smutty or both 🥰 thanks love ur blog btw!! 🩷🩷🩷

Starved For Your Touch

Pairing: Cassian x f!reader

A/N: Hi anon! Thank you so much <33 I wanted to include smut but inspiration for fluff found me first! I love drama queen cassian, hope you enjoy it 💕

Prompt: "You're such a tease today."

Warnings: none really, just a very tiny short piece of angst if you really squint

Word count: 1.5k

You had recently realized just how much Cassian craved physical contact, and your new favorite pastime was denying him of it. You wanted to see how far you could push him before he snapped.

Apparently, just a day.

You chose a short summer dress, fully aware of the way it hugged your curves and made your legs look longer. Cassian wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you, and you were determined not to let him touch you.

When you walked into the living room, he was lounging on the couch with Rhys and Mor. You greeted them with a smile, and Cassian’s face lit up when he saw you. Without interrupting the conversation, he reached for you, but you stayed just a few inches out of reach, merely brushing his hand with a teasing smile as you made your way to the kitchen.

When you walked back out a few minutes later, you let him grab your hand and pull you closer. You knew he wanted you to sit on his lap. You both loved it. But today you didn’t, opting instead to settle on the couch beside him. He frowned but didn’t comment.

“You look lovely, sweetheart,” he said instead. “This dress suits you.”

“It really does,” Mor chimed in from her armchair. “Which means your hands will be all over her in three… two…”

You and Rhysand chuckled, but Cassian grinned. He didn’t even try to deny it.

“Actually, I have to go,” you announced, cutting the moment short.

Cassian stilled, his arm half-lifted as he was about to drape it over your shoulders. “You’re leaving already?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m going shopping with Elain, remember?” You patted his knee before standing and looking at Mor. “Want to join us?”

Her smile widened. “You know it.”

You leaned down to kiss Cassian, just a brush of your lips against his—more a promise of a kiss than an actual one. He tried to keep you there, to deepen the kiss, but you pulled back.

“Always eager for more,” you murmured, and booped his nose. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

Following Mor to the front door, you turned back to wave at Cassian, catching the stunned expression plastered on his face.

Rhys just looked amused.

~~~~~~

Cassian was waiting when you returned home a few hours later.

Mor and Elain had already come back, but you’d stayed behind to buy one last item—a flimsy piece of lingerie you thought he might like.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked as the door closed behind you. “Not since the girls came back, I hope.”

“I saw you arrive through the window.” Cassian pushed off the wall and stalked toward you, an accusatory finger pointed in your direction. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you assumed was supposed to be an intimidating expression. It never worked on you. He could be intimidating when he needed to—he was a warrior and a general, after all. But when he pretended, his lips jutted out slightly in a pout and a small crease appeared between his brows.

“And what is it?” you inquired, trying to walk past him and up the stairs. You were carrying a few full bags and just wanted to drop them off in your room.

Cassian’s arm shot out to block your path. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not until you tell me why you haven’t kissed me all day.”

You cocked your head. “I have kissed you today,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Only three times and they were just little pecks.” Then, as if it was obvious, he added, “Which don’t really count.”

“Oh, you poor big baby,” you chuckled. “What if I’m just saving the best for last because I bought something I know you’ll like?”

Cassian’s eyes darted to the bags in your hands. He tried to peek inside, but everything was neatly wrapped. He looked back at you. “Something like…?”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before he could stop you, you slipped under his arm and headed for the stairs. “I’ll leave these in our room,” you warned as you began the short climb. “And if I find out you snooped around, I’ll return the surprise.”

Cassian’s outraged gasp followed you up the stairs. You could practically see him clutching his chest, as if your words had struck him like a dagger to the heart. “When have I ever done something like that?”

“Cassian,” you scolded, not even bothering to turn around.

“Alright, alright.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I promise.”

~~~~~~

When you joined the others downstairs, some were already gathered around the table, their choice of seating casual as always. But Cassian had saved you a spot beside him, and as you approached, you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, my love,” you murmured, making sure to brush your fingers along his wing as you settled into your chair.

He inhaled sharply, drawing a pointed look from Amren on his other side. She merely rolled her eyes before turning back to her conversation with Azriel.

“Sorry,” you quipped, feigning innocence. “I didn't mean to.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “What is going on?”

You shrugged off his question, focusing on filling your plate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His gaze remained fixed on you, tracking your every moment. Holding back a laugh was harder than you’d expected, but you schooled your features into an unreadable expression.

“You’re such a tease today,” he muttered. “The dress, the kisses, now my wing…” His eyes darkened slightly as he watched you take the first bite of your food. “And this morning, when you got me so worked up only to slip out of bed before I could—”

“Cassian.”

Both of you looked up. Rhysand sat directly across from you, his brows raised. It was the same look he wore when waiting for someone to admit they had done something wrong.

“What?” Cassian scowled.

“If you really can’t avoid discussing your personal life during family dinner, at least keep your voice down.” Everyone was looking at you now, but Rhys went on, an amused smirk appearing on his lips. “Besides, I’m sure Y/N has a good reason for keeping you high and dry.”

Laughter rippled around the table, but Cassian only glowered. With a smile, you placed your hand on his thigh, hidden from the others’ view. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, pressing another soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He simply grumbled, “Oh, you will.”

The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully. Your hand lingered on Cassian’s leg, but he paid it little attention. He seemed distant, glancing toward Azriel more than once throughout the meal. The Shadowsinger merely raised an eyebrow each time their eyes met.

Had you gone too far? Maybe you shouldn't have teased him in front of the whole family.

When dinner ended and everyone moved into the sitting room for drinks, you watched as Cassian left without a word. You made to follow him to apologize—for real this time—but Azriel pulled you aside before you could.

His expression was so grim that you paused before you could ask him to talk later.

“What’s wrong?” you asked instead.

Azriel hesitated. “I’m worried about Cassian. Is everything okay between you two?”

Your heart sank. Of course Azriel had noticed, but for him to be concerned enough to pull you aside… maybe you had really pushed Cassian too far. You needed to talk to him as soon as possible to explain things.

“No, Az, it’s fine,” you started, trying to explain. “It’s just that I—”

Your words turned into a startled scream as two strong arms suddenly wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

Cassian’s laughter boomed in your ears as he crushed you to his chest. “Got you!”

Your hands flew to his forearms, your heart pounding. “What… what are you doing?” you mumbled, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

Azriel’s lips curled up into a smirk. “Good luck with him,” he said before slipping away to join the others in the sitting room.

“What…?”

Cassian began striding toward the stairs, still holding you from behind, your feet dangling uselessly above the floor.

“You shouldn't have let your guard down, sweetheart,” he murmured in your ear. “You really thought you could tease me all day and get away with it?”

Azriel. He had distracted you just long enough for Cassian to sneak up behind you.

Cassian set you down on the first step, only to spin you around and scoop you up again. “Now I’ve got you, and you’re not going anywhere. You have a whole day to make up for.”

You wrapped your arms and legs around him as he started up the stairs. A breathless laugh left your lips. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“Worse than that.” He grinned, his hands sliding from your thighs to your ass, squeezing playfully. “I’m touch-starved. So why don’t you start fixing that?”

This time, you obliged him, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his before he even reached your bedroom door.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[dumb-ster-fire]

Inner Circle Banter x fem! reader - Part 2

Azriel x mate!reader

a/n: I saw how people loved the first one so I made another.Here is more unhinged Y/N 🫶🏻

warnings: NSFW language

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Inner Circle was a mess. A hilarious, drunken mess.

Y/N lounged on the couch, her head thrown back in laughter as Cassian dramatically slurred his way through a story that had long since lost any coherent plot. Mor was draped over Amren—who, despite being the smallest among them, was somehow holding her liquor the best—while Rhys was slumped back in his chair, lazily swirling the wine in his glass as if he were still trying to uphold some dignity. Feyre was giggling into her own drink, her cheeks flushed, while Nesta sat beside her, eyes glassy but still managing to look unimpressed.

Azriel? Oh, Azriel was leaning against Y/N, his usually composed self utterly gone as he pressed his face into her shoulder, murmuring something unintelligible. His shadows were sluggish, barely responding to him, as if even they were drunk.

“I love you,” he mumbled against her skin, voice thick with alcohol.

Y/N grinned, poking his cheek. “I know, Az. You told me five times already. And then you tried to fight Cassian because he ‘breathed too close to me.’”

Cassian, still dramatically sprawled over the arm of the couch, scoffed. “I was breathing! What was I supposed to do? Stop??”

Azriel lifted his head slightly, his hazel eyes narrowing. “Maybe.”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, her fingers brushing through his hair as he huffed and nuzzled closer again, clearly deciding he was too drunk to keep arguing.

Rhys, ever the instigator, lazily gestured between them. “You two are disgustingly cute. It’s offensive.”

“Bold words from a man who practically worships the ground Feyre walks on,” Y/N shot back, smirking.

Feyre laughed, elbowing her mate. “She’s got you there.”

Meanwhile, Mor had somehow convinced Amren to take another shot, which resulted in Amren standing on the table, proclaiming in her small but fierce voice, “I was a GOD before any of you existed!” before promptly sitting back down like nothing happened.

Nesta, watching all of this unfold, slowly took another sip of her drink. “I hate all of you.”

Cassian slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning sloppily. “You love us.”

Y/N, still cuddling a very tipsy Azriel, raised her glass. “To being an absolute disaster!”

The Inner Circle cheered—or, in Azriel’s case, just hummed sleepily against her shoulder—as they all drank, fully embracing the chaos of the night.

Mor, absolutely hammered, slumped against the couch with a lazy smirk as she eyed Y/N and Azriel. “So, Y/N,” she slurred, twirling the last bit of wine in her glass, “is Azriel your type?”

Y/N, equally drunk but ever the menace, grinned wickedly, barely missing a beat. “Ah, yes,” she said dramatically, lifting her hands like she was painting a masterpiece. “Gentle and loving but also will choke and spit on me… chef’s kiss.”

Silence. Then absolute chaos.

Cassian howled with laughter, nearly falling off the couch, pounding his fist against the armrest. Rhysand actually choked on his drink, eyes wide in stunned amusement. Feyre’s face turned a deep shade of red, trying so hard not to spit out her wine. Even Nesta looked momentarily stunned before she smirked behind her glass.

Mor gasped, covering her mouth before dissolving into uncontrollable giggles. “Oh my gods, I love you,” she wheezed, slapping Y/N’s thigh.

Azriel? Poor, poor Azriel.

The male had been lazily leaning against Y/N, all content and warm in his drunken haze—until that. His entire body tensed, and his head snapped toward her, his hazel eyes wide as if she had just announced their sex life to the entire continent.

“Y/N,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, his ears tinged red.

“What?” she giggled, batting her lashes at him. “It’s true.”

Cassian, still cackling, wiped a tear from his eye. “Brother, you are so screwed.”

“Literally,” Mor added between snickers.

Rhys, who had finally recovered, grinned like a cat who had just been given the juiciest piece of gossip. “So, Az, anything you’d like to confirm or deny?”

Azriel glared daggers at him, but before he could even attempt to salvage his dignity, Y/N leaned in, her drunk mischief on full display, whispering against his ear, “Don’t worry, babe, I didn’t tell them about the rope this time.”

Azriel let out a long sigh, leaning fully back against the couch, clearly accepting his fate.

Meanwhile, Mor lifted her glass. “To Azriel being the perfect balance of soft and filthy!”

The Inner Circle cheered, and Y/N—still smug and delightfully tipsy—leaned back against her mate, smirking like the absolute menace she was.

Azriel was suffering.

Not in the way he had suffered on battlefields, or through centuries of pain and shadowy burdens. No, this was an entirely new kind of torture—one that involved his mate being an absolute menace, his so-called family reveling in his humiliation, and him being too drunk to properly shut any of it down.

Y/N, meanwhile, was thriving.

She was still perched in his lap, looking far too pleased with herself, while the Inner Circle continued their drunken revelry. Cassian, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, still wasn’t over it. “Choke and spit on me,” he wheezed, practically collapsing into Nesta, who rolled her eyes but was biting back a smirk. “That was legendary.”

“I mean, it’s good to know he meets expectations,” Mor teased, swirling her drink.

Rhys, ever the opportunist, lounged back with a smirk that screamed trouble. “You know, I always suspected Az had a secret wild side. But this?” He exhaled, shaking his head. “This is delightful confirmation.”

Azriel groaned, dropping his head against the back of the couch. He’d faced wars with more dignity than this.

Y/N, full of unholy glee, kissed his cheek again. “You love me,” she sing-songed, absolutely insufferable.

Azriel lifted his head, fixing her with a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. “…I do.”

Cassian let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh shit, he admitted it. In front of witnesses. It’s over for him.”

Feyre, shaking with silent laughter, raised a brow at Az. “Honestly, I didn’t expect this side of you.”

“I hate this side of me,” Azriel muttered, reaching for his drink as if that would somehow erase the conversation.

Y/N, with the biggest shit-eating grin, leaned in again, whispering just for him, “Liar. You love that I’m saying this in front of them.”

Azriel, deadpan, took a very long sip of his drink.

Mor smirked at Y/N. “So, when are you teaching me how to get a mate to be the perfect mix of sweet and depraved?”

Y/N, without hesitation, threw an arm around Azriel’s shoulders, smirking. “Step one: Find a stoic, broody male with a secret filthy side. Step two: Break him.”

Cassian actually howled at that, nearly falling off the couch. Rhys was howling too, wiping at his eyes. “Oh fuck, she got you so good, brother.”

Azriel just sat there, silently suffering, as Y/N nuzzled into him, smug and victorious.

And, gods help him—he did love her for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night only spiraled further into chaos.

Cassian, still wheezing from laughter, slammed a hand down on the table. “Alright, alright—we have to make this official.”

Y/N perked up in Azriel’s lap. “Make what official?”

“The breaking of Azriel,” Cassian declared grandly, gesturing wildly with his half-empty glass of whiskey. “For centuries, he was the untouchable, brooding mystery. Silent, deadly, repressed.” He pointed at Y/N with the authority of a drunk philosopher. “And then you showed up and turned him into a man who admits his feelings, growls at people who look at you too long, and—” He paused dramatically. “—is apparently a choking enthusiast.”

Azriel groaned and buried his face in Y/N’s shoulder, while Mor cackled, Nesta snorted into her wine, and Rhysand grinned like the bastard he was.

“You make it sound like I did witchcraft on him,” Y/N teased, idly playing with Azriel’s hair.

Cassian pointed again. “I knew there was something supernatural about you.” He turned to Feyre, suddenly serious. “Feyre, paint a picture of Az’s descent into sin.”

“Please don’t,” Azriel muttered into Y/N’s shoulder.

Feyre, biting back a smirk, tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I could capture his internal struggle—the battle between his old, broody self and the broken man who now worships at the altar of his mate’s chaos.”

Rhys beamed. “That’s art.”

Azriel groaned louder.

Y/N, full of mischief and absolutely loving this, turned and whispered against his ear, “You do worship at my altar, don’t you?”

Azriel lifted his head just enough to give her a look—one that promised payback. But she only grinned wider, completely unrepentant.

“Alright, final proof that Az has been fully corrupted,” Mor said, raising her glass. “Y/N, what’s the filthiest thing he’s ever said to you?”

Azriel straightened immediately. “Nope.”

Y/N tapped a finger against her lips, pretending to think. “Hmm… Oh! There was that one time—”

“Y/N,” Az warned, voice low and dark.

Y/N, completely ignoring the danger, continued, “—where he told me exactly how he planned to—”

Azriel moved.

One second, Y/N was sitting in his lap, the next, he had her thrown over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. She let out a surprised yelp, then laughed, pounding a playful fist against his back. “Az! Put me down!”

“Nope,” he said simply, standing up. “Goodnight, everyone.”

“BOOOOOO,” Cassian and Mor jeered in unison.

“Coward!” Rhys added.

“At least let her finish the story!” Nesta called after them.

But Azriel was already carrying Y/N out of the room, ignoring every taunt, Y/N still giggling and squirming in his hold.

“Azriel, you love me!” she sing-songed again, clinging onto him as he walked.

He gave her a firm smack on the ass, making her yelp. “Oh, I know.”

And then, to the Inner Circle’s absolute delight, Y/N’s laughter echoed down the hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel had barely taken three steps down the hall, Y/N still slung over his shoulder, when she purred, "You know I love it when you spank me."

He froze.

The Inner Circle-who had definitely not left yet

-erupted.

Cassian nearly fell out of his chair. "OH MY GODS!"

Mor howled. "| KNEW IT!"

Rhysand, the absolute bastard, actually clapped.

"Confirmed!"

Nesta just rolled her eyes, sipping her wine. "Of course she does."

Azriel, who had thought he was saving himself from further embarrassment, had severely underestimated Y/N.

Y/N, still hanging over his shoulder, giggled and wiggled her hips just to tease him. "Mmm, and you do it so well, Shadowsinger."

Azriel gripped her thighs harder, his shadows curling around them in warning. "Y/N," he growled lowly.

But she just smirked. "Are you blushing, love?"

Cassian lost it. "OH MY GODS, HE TOTALLY IS!"

Azriel let out a slow breath, then, very calmly— very deliberately-adjusted his grip and smacked Y/N's ass again.

The sharp gasp she let out made the room go dead silent.

Then she let out a little pleased hum, wiggling again. "See? Told you I loved it."

Azriel vanished them in shadows before anyone could scream again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[heavyhitterheaux]

“Fix your attitude or I’ll do it for you” Joe to wifey 🤪🥵

Joe was really trying to be patient, but all in all it was wearing thin since you had been difficult with him all day and he couldn't figure out why.

It started this morning when you woke up and he asked you what you wanted for breakfast because he had enough time to fix it before he left.

He had told you the day before that he was going to be gone the majority of the day and that's when your mood had turned sour. You get it, he had things to do that he was responsible for, but you kept thinking to yourself that there was no reason why it was the off season and you felt like you had to make an official appointment to be able to spend time with your husband.

But what you didn’t know was that Joe was actually getting things for the nursery and the twins' playroom and planned to stash it at Ja'Marr's house so that he could surprise you. He had been trying to carve out time to do it, but seeing as it was the middle of the season when you told him you were pregnant made it harder.

But because of his absence, he sent you to get your hair and nails done. He also flew Erin and Alisha to Cincinnati at the same time and he asked them to take you out for the rest of the day so that he could keep you occupied.

When he finally got back, he walked in the house and saw you sitting on the floor in the living room as your back was leaning on the couch flipping through channels on the TV.

Joe sat down next to you and leaned over to kiss your cheek as he started to play with your hair.

“Hey baby doll.”

“Hi.” You quietly replied, but Joe brushed it off and thought nothing else of it.

“Why are you on the floor? Is your back hurting again? I can get your pillow for you.”

“It's fine. Leaning on the back of the couch is helping.”

“Your hair looks pretty. I like the color.”

“Thanks.” You told him as you finally settled on watching Powerpuff Girls.

It was quiet for a few minutes before Joe grabbed your hand and caught your attention once more.

“Is something wrong?” Joe asked and you literally let out a huff.

“What makes you think that, Joseph?”

“Whoa. You saying my name makes me think that. First name basis? Seriously?”

“You have been gone ALL DAY.” You whined as you crossed your arms to look at him.

“I… so have you?” Joe replied with a confused expression on his face and you instantly rolled your eyes.

“So, do I have to schedule an appointment to spend time with my husband during his off season? Because OBVIOUSLY I DO.”

“First of all, fix your attitude or I’ll do it for you.” He told you and you let out another huff.

“I was doing something so that I could surprise you, but I didn’t expect for this to be your reaction. I literally flew in Erin and Alisha because I knew that this was going to take me all day because you haven't seen them in forever and I got met with an attitude from my wife when I came home.”

“I…” You started to say, but Joe cut you off.

“I'm not done. I was getting things ready for the twins’ nursery, playroom, and getting things for you too to help make the rest of this pregnancy as comfortable as possible. All you had to do was send me a text saying that you missed me and I would have come back. Simple as that.”

“You can never just let me be dramatic for one day!? I'm pregnant!”

“You being too dramatic is actually the problem whether you're pregnant or not and you know better. No, you don't have to schedule an appointment to see me but you might need to start if this attitude doesn't go away. But I get it that you missed me and were frustrated. Now are we done?”

“Yes! Now can you fix my attitude for me? I think I still have it.” You asked as you smiled at him and batted your eyelashes and all he did was shake his head at you as he came to a realization.

“I… you did this because you wanted me to dick you down, didn't you? You weren't even mad to begin with.” He asked while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner! I got to see my best friends, get my hair and nails done, and chill all day. I LOVE when you get all mad at me. Your voice gets deeper and whew. I want you to put me through the mattress.” You told him as you kissed him multiple times and moved yourself to sit on his lap.

“What am I going to do with you?” Joe asked before he busted out laughing.

“Nothing because you love me. Now take your clothes off.”

[pretentious-blonde]

for you? always

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: you’re unravelling—badly—but steve refuses to let you fall apart alone

warnings: toxic work environments, crying, SWEET STEVE OMG

a/n: i made a part 3 but can be read as a STANDALONE, and once again, it is hurt/comfort. i just love sweet steve!!

if people want another part i am down. pt. 1 pt. 2

It might be an exaggeration, but Steve Harrington didn’t think life could get much better than this. 

He was standing behind the counter at Family Video, half-listening to Robin as she complained, not really giving her his full attention. She could have been ranting about his terrible sorting system, or the stain on the carpet neither of them had managed to get out since last week. He wasn’t too sure. His focus was more invested at the clock on the far wall, waiting for it to hit 6 p.m. 

It was Friday night, closing time. Normally, he’d be stoked to clock out and get home, maybe lounge around or hang with the kids. But for almost four weeks now, his evenings had been filled with something—someone—more exciting. 

He was aware of how annoying he had gotten. Hell, even Robin teased him about it, calling him the “lovesick puppy,” for the amount of times he was caught staring out the door wistfully, hoping you would wander in on your lunch break. 

She wasn’t exactly wrong, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Plus, if he could put up with months of her pining after Vicky, she could put up with it for a little while longer. 

Four weeks—four perfect weeks since that first time you let him take you out for dinner. He brought you to Enzo’s, the fanciest spot in town, really trying to impress you.

He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face remembering it: the two of you tucked into a booth, your eyes lighting up when you tasted the pasta, holding it up for him to try it from your fork, your giggle when he got some of the sauce on the side of his mouth. He became acutely aware of your laugh, actually. It was quickly becoming one of his favourite sounds. 

After he’d driven you home that night and dropped you off at your door, he’d stood there, wanting so badly to kiss you, but also not wanting to assume just because you let him before, he could do it again. 

So, he’d leaned in awkwardly, maybe an inch too far, and you’d given him the sweetest little smile that told him to relax and pulled him in the rest of the way. That moment was etched into his memory, something he found himself revisiting over and over. 

And from there, it had only gotten better. 

The second date at the local diner (you’d shared fries with him and stole a sip of his milkshake), the movie night where he insisted you pick the snacks—any snacks, your call—and still ended up grabbing M&Ms halfway through the film, claiming it was for “variety.” Then there was the afternoon you invited him over to bake cookies—insisting it would be a fun bonding activity—only to end up with flour in your hair and half the dough on the floor, while Steve practically bent over double laughing at how grumpy you looked in your patterned apron. 

And that perfect night at Lover’s Lake. God, he was happy you hadn’t grown up around here. He took full advantage of your lack of knowledge about the location. It was magical, lying on a threadbare blanket underneath the stars. You’d called him “a total sap” when he waxed poetic about constellations he barely remembered the names of.

He had caught you smiling at him like he’d hung the moon himself. He’d stolen a kiss—okay, maybe two, or three—when you’d turned your head toward him, and the surprise on your face melted immediately into something so soft. It made him sure you were feeling the same as him. By the time he was driving you home, hand resting on your thigh, you both felt like you’d just lived out a scene in one of those old romance movies he pretended not to like.

Then came your visits to his territory. He could still picture the day you stepped through the door, a shy smile on your lips. He tried to maintain some level of professional cool, but the moment Robin saw you, she took it upon herself to tease him relentlessly. “So you’re the one Harrington won’t shut up about.” 

He’d glared but couldn’t hide the flush in his cheeks. You’d just grinned, leaning against the counter, and introduced yourself to Robin, who then spent the rest of the shift chatting with you while Steve tried to play it cool and failed miserably. Yet somehow, that failure felt okay—good, even—because seeing you click so easily with his best friend just made his day sweeter.

Yes, the last month had been a whirlwind—one that left him with a permanent giddy glow. He liked you, really liked you, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever. And it wasn’t just because you looked great in every light—though, let’s be honest, that didn’t hurt—but because you seemed to get him. You found humour in his dumb jokes, shared your own stories with him, and let him into your life without any of the hesitations or expectations he’d grown used to.

Even Robin had mentioned how he didn’t snap at customers as much. He threw a glance in her direction, who was now tapping her fingers on a shelf impatiently. 

“Dude,” she said, rolling her eyes, “if you stare at that clock any harder, it’s gonna melt.”

“Give me a break,” Steve smirked, flicking his gaze back at the time. “I’m just… in a good mood, okay?”

“You just want to get out of here to see your girlfriend,” she teased in a sing-song voice.

“She’s not my—” He paused, the flush creeping over his cheeks again. “We haven’t exactly— I mean, yeah, we’re kinda… I dunno, it’s been a few weeks. She might be my girlfriend.”

Robin laughed, smacking him lightly on the arm as she approached. “You’re so far gone, it’s painful to watch. Honestly, it's jarring watching you be all heart-eyed lately.”

He wanted to deny it, but instead he found himself laughing too. Was it that obvious? Judging by the glances from Robin and the kids—especially Dustin—it definitely was. But he couldn’t bring himself to care; if being obvious meant you were in his life, then so be it.

Finally, the clock hit closing time. Steve turned, circling the counter to the front entrance. He flipped the sign to “Closed,” already imagining what he might do for the rest of the night. 

You told him to come over that evening at around half past, maybe order some late-night takeaway, or go for a drive, or just hang out on the couch, do nothing but talk about your days. It all sounded equally perfect to him. 

As he began turning off the main computer, the store’s phone rang, shrill and unexpected in the quiet. He exchanged a puzzled look with Robin. 

Who the hell was calling this late?

You arrive at your apartment with shoulders hunched. Your day at The Hawkins Post had been a complete train wreck. You’d expected to face challenges when you got into journalism—no one just handed out dream assignments on a silver platter—but you hadn’t expected to be treated like the office errand girl.

All day, you’d been fetching coffees, photocopying pages, and biting your tongue whenever they cracked jokes at your expense. You told yourself you could handle it, that it was just part of paying your dues. But this afternoon, when they were brainstorming story ideas for the week’s paper, you’d jumped at the chance to volunteer something—anything. Before you could even get more than a sentence out, they’d laughed it off, practically shooing you out of the room.

You clenched your fists, trying not to let tears burn at the back of your eyes as one of the senior editors—some balding guy who’d never bothered learning your name—actually said: “Why don’t you just get us another round of coffee, alright hun?” 

You’d never felt so small in your life.

Now, alone in your living room, the tears finally came. Hot, embarrassing, unwelcome. You kicked off your shoes and tossed your bag aside, your mind buzzing with memories of the condescending smirks you’d gotten. It felt like a punch to the stomach. Made you question what you were even doing there. 

The clock on your bookshelf read 6:00 p.m. That meant Steve was probably about to close. You’d said something about grabbing dinner, or even just hanging out at your place to watch that cheesy horror flick you’d both joked about. Normally, the thought would make your heart lift. But right now? You felt too raw to face him.

Not that you didn’t want to see him—you did, desperately. But something inside you balked at the idea of letting him see you like this: tear-streaked, puffy-eyed, humiliated. It’s too soon for that, you had only known him for about a month. No point in handing him your emotional baggage just yet. Maybe that was a two or three month sort of milestone. 

With trembling fingers, you picked up the phone and dialed the number he’d scribbled on a scrap of paper “just in case” you needed him. A part of you wished you had the strength to ask for him, to ask for comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

It rang a few times, and your stomach twisted painfully. Then, his voice came through, warm and cheerful, exactly what you needed and exactly what you felt you didn’t deserve right now.

“Steve?” you asked hesitantly. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve’s tone instantly made your eyes sting with fresh tears. “I’m just finishing up here. Shouldn’t be too much longer. You alright?”

You swallowed, forcing your voice not to crack. 

“Uh… yeah. I mean—no, not really.” You cringed at how shaky you sounded. “I’m not feeling so great, so, um… I think I’m gonna have to cancel tonight.”

There was a moment of silence, and you could practically hear his eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, really? You sure you’re okay? Like fever or something? I can—”

“N-no, I promise, I’m good,” you cut in too quickly, wiping at your cheeks even though he couldn’t see you. “Just think I need some rest.”

“Right. Yeah, okay.” He sounded so disheartened. You didn’t like disappointing him. “If you need anything, will you call me? I can be there in like ten minutes.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, guilt gnawing at you. He was so sweet, and you were lying. Well, half-lying. You weren’t okay. But you couldn’t tell him that. At least not yet.

“I’ll be fine,” you murmured instead. “Just… sorry to cancel.”

He hesitated, that warm voice going even softer. “No, don’t worry about it. Feel better, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Steve,” you said, barely keeping it together. “Talk later.”

You hung up before your voice could betray you. The moment the line clicked, you tossed the phone aside, heart feeling heavier than before. God, you just hoped he wouldn’t be upset—or that he wouldn’t pry deeper. You didn’t trust yourself not to break down if he asked the right questions.

Still, a tiny part of you wished he’d come anyway.

Steve set the receiver back on its cradle, staring at the phone for a moment longer than necessary. His stomach did a little flip, the kind it did when something was wrong. He could usually read you pretty well by now—your moods, the subtleties in your tone. And that phone call? It screamed distress.

Robin, who’d been watching from across the store, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, glancing at her. “She canceled.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Robin’s face immediately fell into sympathy. “That really sucks.”

He shook his head, grimacing. “No, I don’t think it’s… I mean, I hope it’s not that. She sounded off, like… said she wasn’t feeling well.”

Robin tilted her head. “She’s sick? Flu or something?”

Steve chewed on his bottom lip, trying to reconcile the tension in his gut. “She said she just needs rest. I offered to bring her something, but she shot it down.”

Robin gave him a long look, then sighed dramatically, piecing together the puzzle. 

“Harrington, come on. You told me she just moved here, right? She’s got no family around? No close friends yet?”

“Yeah, she’s new,” he admitted, mind flashing back to the time you mentioned how weird it was living in a town where you barely knew anyone.

Robin folded her arms. “So, if she’s not feeling great, she’s gonna be alone.”

“Yeah,” Steve repeated, slower this time. A prickle of realisation stirred in him.

“Which might mean,” Robin continued in her usual exasperated tone, “that you, as the devoted whatever-you-are—boyfriend? friend? something—should maybe check on her anyway.”

His eyes widened. “But she said—”

“People say a lot of things,” Robin cut him off. “Sometimes they don’t want to feel like a burden. Or they’re embarrassed. You, of all people, should get that, right?”

A flicker of memory—Steve himself blowing off concerned offers because he didn’t want to look weak—made him swallow hard.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “You think the pharmacy’s still open?”

Robin gave him a small, genuine smile. “Definitely. Swing by, grab some tea or cough drops, or whatever else might help. And maybe the grocery store for soup.”

Steve nodded firmly, adrenaline already buzzing in his veins. You’re alone. You’re upset. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let you suffer through that. Not if he could help it.

“You’re a genius.”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here.” She waved him off. “And call me later—if you’re still alive. Just in case she actually has the plague or something.”

“Ha-ha,” he shot back as he flew around the counter, grabbing his jacket and headed for the door. 

Steve hovered outside your apartment door, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, an overstuffed bag clutched in one hand. He’d stopped at three different stores, grabbing tea, soup, your favorite candy, a variety of painkillers—everything he could think of to help you feel better.

Maybe he was totally wrong about the situation. I mean, hey, it wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe you truly wanted space. Maybe he’d overstepped. Maybe he’d come off overbearing. 

But the memory of your shaky voice on the phone nagged at him. He couldn’t just stay away. You’d insisted you were fine, but your voice cracked at the edges. Better to let you tell him in person than for you to suffer in silence. So he took a breath, rang the doorbell, and braced himself.

When you opened the door, it was worse than he expected. Way worse. Every bit of resolve he’d mustered wavered.

You were still in your wrinkled work clothes, eyes red, cheeks blotchy. It was obvious you’d been crying, and the sight of it knocked the air from his lungs. Instantly, all of Steve’s doubts vanished, replaced by a need to do whatever he could to help.

“Hey,” he said softly, attempting a small, reassuring smile. You looked ready to apologise, but before you could say a word, your eyes brimmed with fresh tears. His heart clenched as he gently pushed the door open wider and slipped inside, letting the bag drop beside him.

“Hey, c’mon,” he murmured, pulling you toward him immediately. Not expecting to find you in this state, but nonetheless prepared to help. “It’s okay. Talk to me, yeah? Are you—are you feeling sick, or…?”

You stood there, overwhelmed, arms shaking as you let yourself cling to him. Steve’s heart ached—the same way it did when he saw one of the kids upset, except this was deeper, more urgent.

Your lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you closed your eyes and sank further against him, your breath catching in a muffled sob.

It was all he needed to hear.

He readjusted his arms to fit you better, cradling the back of your head, letting you cry into his shoulder. He could feel how shaken you were, how close you were to coming completely undone. It made him want to bury you in every comfort he could possibly give.

“Shh,” he whispered, voice steady. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re alright.” He didn’t know if those things were true, but by the end of the evening, he would make sure they would be.

You pressed your face into his chest, holding him like he was the only solid thing in your life right now. He felt the tremor in your shoulders, the ragged rise and fall of your breaths, and it lit that familiar spark inside him—he needed to fix this. Except he didn’t know how yet. But he would try. So for now he just held you, gently running his hand across your back.

Eventually, he guided you away from the door, nudging it shut behind him with his foot. He decided it would be better to get you settled before trying to get you to talk.  

“C’mon,” he murmured, leading you to the couch. “I…I brought a bunch of stuff—tea, soup, that candy you like…” He tried a tentative smile, but worry still ached in his gut. Those things seemed rather redundant now that he spoke them aloud. When he looked at you, it appeared you didn’t even register what he was saying. Whatever was ailing you, it certainly wasn't the flu.

“Hey,” he said again, voice hushed so as not to scare you. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” His gaze flicked over your tear-stained cheeks, and you could practically feel the genuine concern radiating off him. “I just… I want to help. I can’t help until you tell me what’s wrong. So… let me try, okay?”

His words hung in the air, soft and pleading. There was so much earnestness in his eyes, it almost hurt. He was trying so hard, and you could tell he was moments away from offering every solution under the sun.

That was who he was—a guy who dove in headfirst, wanting to protect and fix. And though part of you still felt hesitant, the rest of you knew you needed him right now. His soft, brown eyes begging you to let him in. 

It would be cruel to tell him not to worry, especially since he already saw the state you were in. You took a deep breath as you tried to gather your thoughts. 

“Work was… hard,” you start, voice trembling on the last word.

Steve nods, encouraging you to continue. “Yeah?” He scoots a little closer. “Tell me about it, angel.”

You bite your lip, hesitating. The humiliation still burns in your chest, but as soon as you see the concern in his eyes, the words begin tumbling out.

“All the guys at the paper,” you say, swallowing hard, “they basically laughed in my face today. I wanted to pitch an idea—I thought, maybe if I showed some initiative, they’d take me seriously.” You pause, a bitter laugh escaping your throat. “Turns out, they don’t.”

He inches forward, the couch creaking beneath his weight. “They laughed?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, blinking away tears. “The whole room, practically. They didn’t even let me finish. Just told me to go make more copies or bring them more coffee. I felt so stupid. Like I’m not cut out for any of this.”

Your voice cracks, and Steve’s expression tightens with empathy. He raises a hand to your cheek, carefully brushing away a stray tear with his thumb before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I know how you feel,” he says softly. Then he corrects himself with a small shrug. “Well, not exactly. I know someone else who went through that crap. I don’t know the full story, but from what I heard, it was awful.”

Nancy let slip here and there snippets from her time at The Hawkins Post. The incessant ridicule, the constant demeaning remarks. It irked him then, but now? He was vexed. Grown men picking on you all for a power trip? Unbelievable. 

He had to school his anger before he said something regretful, he always did have a sharp tongue. What you needed now was comfort, not someone going on a rampage on your behalf.

“Really?” You ask.

“Yeah. But you know what I do know?” Steve continues, his voice dropping to a firm, truthful tone. “Those guys? They’re idiots, alright?”

“Maybe…” A shaky laugh escapes your lips, and you sniff, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand. “They made me feel like a complete joke.”

“No way. Not even close.” He shakes his head firmly, like he wants to banish that thought forever. He won’t allow you to linger in self-doubt. “You’re brilliant. Look, you picked up and moved across the country by yourself, found a place to live, and started a brand-new job in a town where you barely know anyone. That takes guts.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the weight of the day pressing in again. “Feels like it was a dumb move,” you admit, voice quieter. “Like I’m playing dress-up in a grown-up’s world, and everyone else can see I’m an imposter.”

A flicker of protectiveness flashes across Steve’s face. He can’t stand the idea of you belittling yourself—he’s seen how you throw yourself into your work, how bravely you uprooted everything to move here, how determined you can be when you set your mind on something.

“Hey,” he says, tilting your chin so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “Don’t say that. You’re strong, you’re smart, and if they can’t see that, well…” He shrugs. “That’s on them. They’re the ones missing out. I swear half those guys probably haven’t stepped foot outside of Indiana.”

When you lean into him, relief flickers in his chest. 

Thank God, maybe he’s getting through. 

He tucks you closer against his side, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Whatever you decide to do, you’ll crush it,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “I believe that.”

“Yeah?” you ask, voice thick.

“Absolutely.” He gives you a little squeeze. “You want a new job? You’ll find one. You want to stay and prove those assholes wrong? You’ll do that too. Just say the word, and I’ll be right there to cheer you on. Or beat them up, if that’s easier.”

Despite the tears still threatening at the corners of your eyes, you let out a half-chuckle. “I’ve never really been much of a quitter,” you admit, the first spark of determination returning to your tone.

“Didn’t think so,” he says with a grin, admiration evident in his voice. “Strong girl like you? You’re gonna do just fine.”

You nestle closer into him, thankful beyond words that he’s here, that he understands in a way you desperately needed someone to.

Steve’s just relieved that you’re letting him be the one to help you shoulder the weight. Something else he realised this evening was that he hates seeing you hurt, but if being here—listening, comforting—helps even a little, then it’s worth every second.

You exhale a shaky breath and smooth down the front of your shirt, eyes still puffy from crying. You feel lighter, like a burden’s been lifted just from having Steve here. Even with a hint of embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” you say, voice quiet. “For making you worry, I mean. I should’ve just told you what was going on.”

Steve’s gaze flicks over your face. “You didn’t—well, okay, maybe I was worried,” he admits, a tiny wry smile tugging at his lips. “But I’d prefer it if you just told me when you’re sad. I mean, I can’t fix everything, but I want to help—when you’ll let me.”

You nod, fingers picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I still feel bad for lying earlier. Telling you I was sick.” You let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “You got me soup and everything.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, shifting with a touch of bashfulness. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t at least try to look after you?”

A beat passes, and then your eyes snap to his. 

“Boyfriend?”

Steve freezes, colour blooming across his cheeks. 

Shit.

“Uh… yeah?” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, that’s—what did you think we were doing? I figured we were… you know, dating. I pick you up, I pay for stuff, sometimes we—uh—we kiss—” He falters, stumbling over his words. “Not all the time, but—”

You press your lips together, fighting a smile as you watch him ramble. Something tender wells up inside you. It’s like he’s laid himself bare—admitting out loud how he sees you, how he sees this. And it’s so damn endearing you can’t help the small giggle that escapes.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you tease, reaching to gently poke his cheek.

He groans, cheeks going even pinker. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, covering his face with one hand. “I can’t believe—”

You place your hand over his, coaxing him to look at you. “I like the idea of you being my boyfriend,” you say softly, each word weaving comfort through the space between you.

“Yeah?” His eyes widen, and for a second, he looks almost boyish with relief. “You do?”

A small smile curves your lips as you lean in. “Yeah.” 

You slide a hand to his cheek, guiding him into a kiss—slow, sweet, and laced with the warmth of everything you’ve been lacking back all day. He exhales against your mouth, shoulders easing with the gentle press of your lips. His thumb strokes lightly over your jaw as he returns the kiss, and you taste a hint of peppermint from the candy he’d been snacking on in the car. When he finally pulls back, breath a little unsteady, there’s a stunned happiness in his eyes. 

“So…” he murmurs, voice catching in his throat. “I’m your boyfriend.” He tried to make it sound like a joke but you could see the question behind his statement. He wanted full clarification here. He wanted to hear you say it out loud. 

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “Yes, Steve. You’re my boyfriend.”

“That’s—God.” He laces his fingers through yours, a giddy laugh bubbling from his chest. “That’s—yeah. Glad we cleared that up.”

You both end up in the kitchen soon after, unpacking the soup he brought. It’s nothing fancy—just store-bought chicken noodle—but it warms you from the inside out as you eat together, perched on stools by the counter. He slides you half the candy he picked up, and you pass the bag back and forth, bumping shoulders with quiet smiles. There’s something so normal about it—the day’s troubles left behind in another world.

Later, you curl up on the couch together, switching on the TV. Steve insists you get first pick after the day you had. You flick through the channels until you settle on some old sitcom that neither of you pay much attention to. You’re more focused on the weight of his arm around your shoulders, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Eventually, the clock inches toward midnight. The hum of the television plays softly in the background as you shift to look at him. 

“Hey, are you working tomorrow?”

He winces a little. “Yeah,” he says, regret threading through his voice. “’Fraid so. Saturdays are insane. I tried to switch shifts, but Keith was being a total pain. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t apologise,” you shake your head. “I was just wondering if… you wanted to stay here tonight.” Your cheeks warm slightly at the invitation. “I live closer, and I’ve got a spare toothbrush somewhere. Plus…” You clear your throat, dropping your gaze momentarily. “I’d really rather not be alone tonight.”

Steve’s eyes flicker with surprise and then a rush of tenderness. “You—you want me to stay? I mean, I don’t want to impose. Not like in a—like we don’t have to—I mean—”

You cut off his rambling by resting a hand over mouth. “Steve.” Your smile is gentle. “Stay the night, please? I’m asking you to.”

He searches your face, seeing sincerity there, and his entire demeanour softens. You’re too damn sweet for your own good, he swears. 

“Alright,” he breathes. “Yeah. I’ll stay.” Then he leans in, pressing a slow, grateful kiss to your temple. “Thank you.”

Eventually, the two of you shuffle into your bedroom, quietly laughing as you rummage around for that spare toothbrush you promised. You lend him an old T-shirt that’s slightly snug across his shoulders, which only makes you giggle more. By the time you both slip beneath the blankets, the mood has shifted from the sadness of the day to the tenderness of tonight. 

He wraps an arm around your waist, and you snuggle into his chest, breathing in his soft scent. For a moment, neither of you says anything—it’s enough just to lie there, safe and comfortable, heartbeats syncing in the quiet. 

“Night, sweetheart.” He murmurs and you sigh in agreement, already being lulled into sleep. It’s a happy sound—one that makes him pull you closer as you drift off. 

You stir awake to the warmth of Steve’s arm still draped over your waist. Morning light filters through the curtains, illuminating the little dust particles swirling in the morning light. The alarm you set starts to go off and he lets out a quiet groan, burying his face in the curve of your shoulder as if he can hide from the responsibilities of the day. You can’t help but smile, tracing idle patterns on the back of his hand.

“I don’t wanna go,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin.

You push a sleepy chuckle past your lips. “You have to—Robin would miss you too much.”

“No she wouldn’t.” He sighs dramatically, rolling onto his back and turning off the blaring sound. “Probably count it as a blessing not to put up with me for a whole Saturday.” But there’s a small, silly grin on his face that betrays the fondness beneath all the complaining.

A short while later, you’re both in the kitchen, sipping hastily brewed coffee due to your shared reluctance to get up. You lean against the counter, watching as he rubs sleep from his eyes and nurses his mug like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. You don’t say anything about the state of his hair, enjoying the way it falls messily across his forehead. 

“You sure you’re feeling better?” he asks, gaze flickering over you, still laced with concern even though you’ve assured him more times than you can count.

You nod, a softer smile pulling at your lips. “I am. Thanks to you,” you add, nudging his foot with yours, blushing with how sappy you’re both being.

He tries for a humble shrug, but the flush creeping up his neck is unmistakable. “Anytime, angel.”

Before long, the clock reminds him that time is up. He slips into yesterday’s shirt—grimacing a bit at the wrinkles—and heads for the door. You follow, hands clasped around your mug. At the threshold, he turns to you, pressing a gentle goodbye kiss to your lips.

Then another.

And another.

“Steve, you’re gonna be late.” You let out an exasperated laugh, placing a firm hand on his chest.

He grins like a kid caught stealing candy. “What—trying to get rid of me already?”

“You know I’m not,” you sigh, rolling your eyes as you gently shove him. “I’m literally seeing you after you clock out!”

His voice lowers playfully as he backs out the door. “Damn right you are.”

He winks, then sets off, leaving you with a warm, tingly feeling long after he disappears from sight.

When Steve finally strolls into Family Video, he finds Robin already at the counter, re-shelving tapes. She glances up, raises an eyebrow, and greets him with a lazy wave.

“Hey. So… how’d it—” She stops mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes at him. “Wait a second.” She points accusingly at his shirt. “That is the same outfit from yesterday. You did not—”

“Whoa,” Steve lifts both hands defensively. “It’s not like that, okay?”

Robin sets down the tapes, folding her arms over her chest. “Then enlighten me. Because it sure looks like you had a fun night.”

“Ugh,” he groans, scrubbing a hand across his face. “It was—look, it’s not what you think. She was having a rough time, I went to check on her, and… well, I stayed over. Nothing crazy.”

Robin cocks her head, curiosity replacing her initial look. “So she’s okay?” She may not know you as well as Steve did, but if you were important to him, you were important to her too. 

“Yeah. She will be.” He nods, and a small, proud smile graces his lips. “My girl’s tough.”

Her eyes light up. “Your girl, huh?”

He bobs his head, trying to hide the giddy surge that washes over him. “Yeah. Officially.”

Robin squeals—actually squeals—and Steve flushes, glancing around to make sure there are no customers to witness it. 

“We have to do a double date!” she says, practically bouncing on her heels. “We’ll get Vickie—”

“Rob,” Steve pleads, fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from curving up too high, “let’s not scare her off, okay? One step at a time.”

“Fine,” Robin huffs, but she’s beaming at him. “But soon. I’m serious.”

He rolls his eyes, yet there’s no denying the warmth in his expression. The truth is, he’s never felt so content. The memory of your smile still fresh in his mind, and the knowledge that, yes, you’re his girl. Officially.

“Yeah, we’ll figure something out,” Steve says quietly, stocking a few tapes behind the counter. His voice is softer than usual, carrying a note of contentment Robin hasn’t heard in him for a long, long time.

She shoots him a conspiratorial grin. “I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, thinking of how you looked in the morning light, how sweet it felt to hold you close and kiss you goodbye. He looks out the window toward your apartment, knowing you’re going to be there when he leaves in a few hours. “Me too.”

[ghostgirl-22]

Hiii ik you’ve heard this before but you literally write the yummiest Artrick smut!! Their dynamic is sooo good

I was thinking about Art and Patrick trying frotting for the first time? Maybe they’re dry humping and then Art’s really getting desperate and Pat suggests they do it skin-to-skin? Penny for your thoughts!!

I thank you anon! I love you and I apologize for getting to this so late <33

CW: 18+, NSFW, Patrick my little pining baby.

—-

I think it’s Patrick’s birthday some random Thursday night in January and Patrick makes Art come out with him on the day because he’s gonna celebrate with Tashi on the weekend. Art’s in a bad mood at first. He tries to pretend he isn’t but Patrick knows he’s still annoyed that Patrick has her.

“I can’t stay out late.” Art says coolly. “So if you want a real celebration with me… maybe you shoulda went out to eat with her midweek instead.”

“You want to come out to eat with us this weekend?” Patrick smirks, rubbing his back. “Just a romantic dinner. Me, my girlfriend and my best friend. Probably the most romantic thing ever.”

“Fuck off,” Art shrugs him away. They’re going to a frat party. Art knows one of the frats has insane parties every night of the week which Patrick says is pretty impressive.

“Only reason to join that frat is if you plan to take at least five or six years to graduate from a four year program.” Art says, judgmentally. “Actually, it’s probably what you’d pledge if you went here.”

Patrick lets him be bitchy and goes to get them both drinks. As Art gets tipsy he starts to loosen up. He’s getting drunk on Jell-O shots. His lips turning red and his cheeks flushing. His eyes go all moon shaped when he’s giggly. Patrick is a little obsessed, wants to make him giggle more. They get drunk enough to dance. Both of them dancing together and then dancing with various college girls. Patrick avoiding it when one of the girls leans in to kiss him. She kisses Art instead before her friend grabs her. They both giggle with each other and run to get more shots.

Art’s looking after them dazed and so drunk… Patrick grabs him away. They go to the dj table and request Apple Bottom Jeans for the third time and everyone cheers when it comes back on.

It’s dark and loud, strobe lights going off and Patrick realizes how drunk Art is when they’re on the sofa and he’s leaning on Patrick, nibbling at his throat. Patrick feels warm, hot even, he tangles his fingers into Art’s golden curls to keep him there. “I wanna lie down,” Art sighs in his ear after a minute. Which leads to Patrick guiding him upstairs in the frat house, the bass from the music thrumming through the house even though it’s much quieter upstairs. There’s a couple making out in the hallway. Some girls hooking up in the the bathroom tub while another girl is dozing off on the toilet seat.

Patrick finds an empty room and Art falls onto the bed. Patrick shuts the door and crawls on the bed, lying down next to him and before he realizes what’s happening Art climbs on top of him. “‘M so horny,” he groans, eyes half closed, dizzy drunk and barely aware of what he’s doing. Patrick is immediately hard. He thought he knew everything about Art but this is fucking new. Art is humping him through the fabric of their jeans, grinding, rutting, like a fucking animal in heat. Breathing hard, moaning loudly, chasing his orgasm. It’s so fucking hot.

”Oh fuck,” Patrick breathes. “Holy shit.”

“Mm wanna come Patrick, please. I need it.” Art whines.

“Fuck, mmkay. Come here… maybe we need… need more friction.”

”mm, yeah, please,” Art gasps.

“Yeah? Let’s…” Patrick grabs at Art’s zipper, swallowing hard. He’s had weird dreams about fucking Art for quite some time, weird wet dreams where he’s made a mess of him. So many dirty dreams this feels like deja vu.

But this is better than the dreams. Best fucking birthday ever. He’s easing it out of Art’s boxers. He’s seen it of course. When he didn’t need anything in his head to make himself cum… just the sight of the messy blond boy on the bed across from him spilling it too quickly all over himself. Always dazed by it. It was enough to send Patrick into the stratosphere, every fucking time.

And now he’s touching it, gripping it. Swollen purplepink, and heavy. He undoes his own pants. Art’s thrusting into his fist, eager. Hips rolling.

“Skin to skin, gonna feel so good,” Patrick mumbles, it’s nonsense. He’s half out of his mind. He takes hold of his own cock, lined up along Art’s and starts fisting them both. Art on top of him, the only sound is the endless thumping of the music, the squeaking of the bed inline with their hips rocking, and the breathy moans spilling from their mouths.

“Oh fuck. Oh yes,” Art whispers. He has his eyes closed but Patrick can’t stop staring at him. Lips parted, chest heaving, face flushed, hair falling into his eyes, clothes all disheveled. He’s leaning back, palms resting on Patrick’s thighs so he can thrust his cock mindlessly up against Patrick’s. So hot Patrick might die. And then, as always, it’s taking him by surprise. Come spurting out of him, covering Patrick’s fingers, his t-shirt. He’s whining and moaning and gasping “Fuck… oh fuck…yes…”

Patrick’s not far behind him. His fist now coated in jizz he’s gripping them both tighter, fisting them faster. Art’s making these breathless little “oh” noises, so delicious it makes Patrick shiver and then he’s seizing up, his balls tightening as he spills hot sticky strings of pearly come all over his palm, Art’s jeans and his own t-shirt.

“God it’s so fucking hot, you’re so fucking hot….” Patrick whispers, breathlessly as Art settles sleepy onto his chest. Patrick wipes his dirty palm on the bed and ponders vaguely the poor frat boy who’s gonna be taking this blanket to the laundromat. He kisses Art’s mouth, the way he’s always wanted to, and Art sighs into it. He’s got the hiccups all of a sudden, little ones escaping between kisses which is actually kinda fucking adorable. Art rolls off of him eventually, curling up on his side. “Need to…*hiccup*… so sleepy.” He mumbles.

Patrick sighs, looking up at the ceiling as Art starts to drift off. They’ve been drunk as fuck before, even spooned in bed together, but never like this. He’s not sure what just happened but he thinks he’ll go crazy if Art has no memory of it when he wakes up.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve couldn't believe he was doing this, but it was for Robin, and it was his day off. He literally had nothing better to do. He shouldered Robin's backpack and walked into the front office of Hawkins High. He grinned. Janice was still working at the front desk. He leaned against the counter and flashed her his best smile.

"Hey, Janice, those glasses look great on you. . .really slimming," Steve said, and she giggled, blushing. "I was hoping you could do me a favor. . ."

Steve didn't feel too guilty about using her weird little crush on him to get into Robin's classes and take notes for her. Janice looked down on anyone who wasn't a jock or a cheerleader. Steve thought about his life for a moment. . .God, it was pathetic that if he was so bored that he actually wanted to go back to school for a day. He nodded to a few people in the hallways and went to Robin's first class. It wasn't so bad. . .it was refreshing to catch up on what he had missed the first time. He didn't actually do any work. He just copied some notes. The second class wasn't so bad either, although people he didn't like kept trying to talk to him. The third class was far better. . .it was his favorite subject. He was surprised when he got to Robin's desk, and Eddie Munson sat next to him.

"Hey, Buckley, kiss any frogs - you're not Buckley," Eddie said.

"No, but I can understand the confusion, we do look alike," Steve said.

"You look nothing - yeah, you're fucking with me," Eddie said, narrowing his eyes at him. "What is King Steve doing gracing us with our presence?"

"Robin's sick. It's my day off, and she wanted me to take notes for her. I'd rather be here than be at home," Steve said. "What were you about to ask Robin?"

"Well, I was going to ask her if she kissed any frogs that turned into princes - princes. . .that turned into princes," Eddie said rather quickly. "Uh, it was an inside joke."

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. Steve was slow, but he wasn't that slow. Eddie had stumbled and put too much emphasis on princes. He was going to say princesses.

"You know," Steve hissed, lowering his voice.

"Of course, I know. She wrote it on her fucking shoes, man," Eddie whispered. "Everyone else is too caught up in their own shit to notice, but I sat right next to her. You know, too?"

"She's my best friend in the world, my platonic soulmate," Steve said. "Of course, I know."

"Platonic soulmate, huh?" Eddie grinned. "I think I have one of those."

"Really?" He asked.

"Her name's Ronnie," Eddie said.

"You're fucking with me," Steve grinned.

"I am not," Eddie laughed quietly. "She's up in New York studying to become a lawyer. Ronnie. Robin. Ronnie. Robin. Yeah, it's funny. . .we've been friends since we were eight. I once tried to kiss her because I thought it was the logical next step in our relationship. Silly me."

"No way, I tried to hit on Robin," Steve said with a grin.

"Well, we're both idiots," Eddie cackled.

"I'm not going to disagree," Steve said.

Steve wanted to say more, but the teacher hushed them, and they had no choice but to begin taking notes. Eddie leaned over casually, his big brown eyes pleading with him.

"If I go to sleep, can I borrow those notes?" Eddie asked innocently.

"Does Robin lend you her notes?" Steve asked.

"Yeeess," Eddie said, laying his chin on his hands, blinking at him, and Steve gave him a look. "Okay. So, no, she doesn't."

"Then why would I?" Steve asked.

"Because she's not the boss of you," Eddie said.

Steve looked at him and thought about it for a moment. No, it was clearly a trap.

"No," Steve said firmly.

"You're mean," Eddie pouted.

Steve smirked as Eddie began scribbling furiously in his notebook, muttering and looking over at him every so often. When the teacher was done, she handed out work for them to do in class. Steve took that up along with Robin's homework. While everyone else worked, he pulled out a book. He wasn't very far into the book when he noticed that Eddie was struggling. He leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Do you want some help?" He asked.

"You wouldn't help me before," Eddie said.

"I wouldn't help you skate by," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "But I can show you some tricks that helped me."

"By all means, my liege," Eddie said.

Steve scooted closer to him, and looking over Eddie's paper, he showed him easier ways to solve the problems. He could feel Eddie's eyes watching him, and he couldn't help but feel warm inside at the feeling of Eddie's gaze on him.

"Did you get all that?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I did," Eddie said, smiling softly. "You're pretty smart."

"Don't sound so surprised. The whole dumb jock thing is just a stereotype," Steve said.

"It's a shitty stereotype," Eddie said in realization.

"Definitely," Steve said. "Just like it's a shitty stereotype that people who play D&D worship the devil."

Eddie and Steve locked eyes. Hazel eyes peering into brown. . .there was a deep understanding there. . .that they weren't so different after all.

"So. . .why don't you want to be at home?" Eddie asked.

"My parents are there, and they're not exactly proud of me for not getting into college or working at a menial job instead of working for my asshole homophobic father," Steve whispered. "Plus, they'd rather not be around their queer son, so I get out of their hair when I can."

"You're. . .gay?" Eddie asked in surprise. "But all those girls. . .?"

"I didn't sleep with that many," Steve rolled his eyes. "It's such an exaggeration. And I'm bisexual. . .more than one gender for Steve Harrington."

"And you're telling me this why. . .?" Eddie asked, not unkindly.

"Because you get it, man," Steve replied.

"Oh, you mean because of Robin?" Eddie asked.

"Not just Robin, I mean, aren't you - ," Steve said and stopped when Eddie just looked at him. "Okay, I'm asshole. I just assumed - ,"

"Everyone does it," Eddie said. "I don't know why."

"Could be because of the way you represent the freaks and the outcasts. Most people assume the majority of them are queer but you'd surprised how many there are among the conservatives," Steve grinned. "But it also might be because of the hanky hanging out of your ass pocket."

"My hanky?" Eddie asked in confusion.

Steve leaned over and whispered in his ear to tell him about the code amongst people like him and Robin. Steve pulled back and watched his dumbfounded face.

"You okay, there?" He asked.

"Well, that makes total sense. . .I think I was actually fucking hit on a couple of times when I went out," Eddie said. "Honestly, I wear it because most metalheads do, plus it's useful. I mean, I've had sex a couple of times, but I've never done stuff like that. I mean, sure, I have handcuffs on my wall so I wouldn't be opposed to being chained up and spanked - ,"

"Mr. Munson!" The teacher yelled.

"Ooh, did I say that a little too loudly?" Eddie asked, and Steve snickered.

After class, Steve started walking to the next one while Eddie got chewed out by the teacher. It wasn't long before he heard someone call his name, and before he could turn around, he felt someone run into his back. He turned around, grabbing Eddie by the arms to steady him.

"Did you get in trouble?" Steve asked.

"Nah, I reminded him that he really shouldn't hit on his students," Eddie grinned. "Anyway. . .you want to sit with us at lunch?"

"Sure, Dustin will be thrilled," Steve said and Eddie laughed.

"I'm flattered by the way," Eddie said with a grin.

"By what?" Steve asked.

"By the fact that you thought I was queer. . .huge compliment," Eddie said. "And you're also, clearly in love with me. . .very flattered about that."

"I am not!" Steve scoffed.

"Sure, you're not," Eddie cackled.

They parted ways, and after fourth period, Steve met up with Dustin and Mike.

"This is so cool!" Dustin exclaimed. "Can you come to school with us everyday?"

"No, man," Steve laughed. "I got work."

"I bet you'd want to go to school with your mother," Mike teased.

"I would love to go to school with my mom. She's awesome!" Dustin yelled.

Steve laughed and placed his hand on Dustin's head, shaking it affectionately.

"I've been invited by your dungeon master to join you guys for lunch," Steve said.

"You spoke to Eddie?!" Dustin gasped.

"Yeah, and he's actually kind of. . .cool," Steve said.

"I told you!" Dustin exclaimed. "Mike, did you hear that?! He thinks Eddie's cool."

"I'm literally standing on his other side," Mike said. "And of course, Steve thinks Eddie's cool. Steve’s not stupid."

"Thanks, Mike," Steve grinned.

Steve followed them into the cafeteria, where they got their lunch, and then headed towards the Hellfire table. He glanced around the room, and his eyes landed on Lucas. Steve raised his eyebrows at him questioningly, and he shook his head. He turned back to the table, feeling disappointed, but he understood. Eddie was sitting at the head of the table with an empty chair next to him. His eyes caught Steve’s and he waved eagerly before slapping the chair next to him.

"I think he wants you to sit next to him," Mike said.

"I think so, too," Steve grinned in amusement.

Eddie really was cute. How he ever thought he was scary was beyond him. Steve adjusted Robin's backpack and walked over to the chair meant for him. He sat down in it, smiling, and Eddie quickly introduced everyone.

"Steve Harrington's really joining us for lunch?" Jeff asked.

"I told you. . .he's cool," Eddie said.

"Didn't you graduate?" Gareth asked.

"I'm taking notes and collecting homework for my friend, Robin," Steve replied.

"Couldn't you have just asked for the teachers to send everything to the front of office?" Jeff asked.

"Sure, but then I wouldn't be hanging out with you guys," Steve said.

"Oh my god," Jeff said, looking into his eyes. "You actually mean that."

"Look, I'm sorry for the other douchebags on the team who made you feel like all jocks are out to - ," Steve started to say.

"Your parents are home, aren't they?" Dustin asked, slamming down his tray for dramatic effect.

"Yeah," Steve shrugged.

"Shit, man, sorry," Mike asked. "I know your parents are total assholes."

"Do they know?" Eddie asked, leaning close to Steve to 'whisper'.

"We know," Dustin and Mike said together.

Eddie snapped his head to look at them. Steve snorted. He really needs to work on his whispering. Mike and Dustin's head snapped to look at each other.

"You know?" Mike and Dustin asked.

"Of course, I know!" Dustin and Mike exclaimed again.

Oops, did he forget to tell them that they knew?

"Steve dated my sister for a year. Whenever his parents were home, Steve had dinner with us and occasionally slept in the basement," Mike said. "He's always welcome around our house."

"I am?" Steve asked.

"Duh," Mike rolled his eyes. "Can't you tell that we care about you?"

"Have you looked at your face when you talk to people?" Jeff asked. "You and Gareth both are a couple of grumpy looking bears."

Before Mike could open his mouth to say something, a basketball came flying out of nowhere and landed on Dustin's tray. Food flew everywhere, including on Dustin. Steve scowled, and he quickly located the source. Jason Carver was laughing with a bunch of his friends. He turned away from the Hellfire table. Big fucking mistake. Eddie moved to get up, but Steve pushed him back down. He grabbed the basketball and judged the distance. Yeah, he could do it. Steve threw his arm back and tossed the basketball. He was pleased when it made a loud thunking sound as it hit Jason in the head. He stumbled into his friends' arms as the cafeteria gasped. Jason whirled around and glared at Steve.

"You might want to keep an eye on your balls, Carver, you don't want to lose them," Steve said.

"Pathetic, Harrington," Jason said. "At least I'm not a disappointment to my family name."

"Yeah, finds someone who gives a shit, Carver, because I don't. At the end of the day, it doesn't fucking matter," Steve said. "You don't scare me. I've seen bigger pieces of shit than you. However, if you go after my kids again. . .I'm going to make you piss your fucking pants. All it takes is a few phone calls."

Steve stared Carver down, his eyes narrowed. At first, it didn't seem like he was going to call him on his bluff, but then Carver huffed and yanked his friends back down with him. Steve sat down to find the entire table, looking at him in shock.

"Holy shit," Gareth breathed with wide eyes.

"Uh. . .sorry, did I make that worse for you guys?" Steve asked.

"I mean, probably, but it was so fucking metal," Jeff said.

"It totally was," Dustin beamed and even Mike couldn't stop from grinning.

Steve looked over at Eddie to find him looking at him wide eyes, his mouth open in awe of him.

"Eddie? Are you okay?" Steve asked and waved a hand in front of his face.

"He gets like this sometimes," Jeff said, looking at Eddie in confusion. "Although, I didn't think he'd get like this over you. Give him a minute."

"Okay. . .here, Dustin, you can have my lunch," Steve said and began cleaning up the mess.

"Thanks, Steve, but I'll go get a new one," Dustin said. "Eat yours."

By the time Dustin came back with a new tray, Eddie snapped out of it. . .whatever it was.

"Fucking metal," Eddie breathed. "Are you an angel?"

"Definitely not," Steve said with a smirk.

A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER. . .

"I still can't believe it. I was joking when I told you to sub in for me," Robin said.

They were currently at Family Video, even though it was closed. It was inventory day, and they were both stuck with the job.

"I was bored, Robin, and my parents were home!" Steve exclaimed.

"You went in my place and fell in love with a straight man," Robin said. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry for you."

"Oh, you should also know that I flirted with Vickie for you," Steve said.

"WHAT?!" Robin shrieked and almost dropped the tapes. "Steven Robin Harrington, I swear - ,"

"Relax, Robin Steven Buckley, I was fucking with you," Steve said. "A little sympathy for my plight wouldn't kill you, you know?"

"Asshole," Robin said, but she was smiling slightly. "Have you tried talking to him?"

"Yeah, but he keeps running away from me. He once zig zagged through the entire school parking lot, screaming," Steve sighed. "I think I freaked him out with my sexuality."

"If he's okay with me, then he should be okay with you," Robin said.

"Robin. . .you know that's not exactly true. You know there's people within our own community who don't accept people like me. You remember what happened when we visited that gay bar. That guy accused me of pretending to be gay and said there's no such thing as bisexuality," Steve said. "And his friend agreed, but he said that I was a confused gay man. He told me that it was okay to be myself while rejecting who I am! How the fuck does that work?"

"Yeah, that was fucked up. I didn't know who to punch first. . .okay, so, you have a point, but maybe he's freaking out about something else," Robin said and sighed. "And if he is being like that, then I'll dismember him slowly while he's still alive and then let him bleed out."

"You'd do that for me?" Steve asked.

"Of course, you're my dingus," Robin said, stroking his hair. "And I expect you to do the same."

"Of course," Steve scoffed and then paused. "You know, Dustin said he left town last weekend. I mean, he came back, but he wouldn't say where he went."

"Yeah, this is definitely something else," Robin said. "I'm going to go to the bathroom, and when I get back, I fully expect all these negative thoughts to be gone."

"How long have you known me?" Steve scoffed.

"Surprisingly less than a year," Robin said.

"It feels like we've known each other our whole lives," Steve said.

"I know," Robin said fondly and then disappeared into the back.

Steve knelt on the floor and tried to focus on the inventory, but his thoughts went back to Eddie. It took one day for Steve to screw that up. . .although he couldn't figure out how he screwed it up. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a tapping on the door. Steve sighed and stood up.

"Can't you read the sign? We're closed - Eddie," Steve froze when he saw Eddie standing at the door, his hands in his pockets.

Eddie pulled one of his hands out of his pockets and waved awkwardly. Steve looked at him for a moment, studying him. Eddie's big brown eyes looked apologetic and guilty. Steve sighed and moved to the door before letting him in. Eddie slid past him, and he closed the door behind him, locking it back. Steve crossed his arms and looked at him expectantly.

"Hey," Eddie said awkwardly.

"Hey," Steve said. "Is that all you have to say or are you going to run away from me again?"

"No. . .no, definitely not. I've just been struggling with something, and I haven't been able to deal with it. I decided to go up and visit Ronnie. We talked about it for a long time," Eddie said pausing. "We've finally come to the conclusion that I've been struggling with the whole bisexuality thing."

"Well, I'm sorry that my sexuality bothers you," Steve said, angrily. "And if you can't tell, that was sarcasm. . .go fuck yourself."

"Fuck! No! That's - ," Eddie was interrupted by a loud scream.

Robin dove over the counter and tackled Eddie to the ground. Eddie shrieked.

"PREPARE TO DIE!" Robin yelled.

"No! No! I'm the same! I'm the same!" Eddie yelled as Robin slapped him, and then she took a box cutter out of her pocket. "I'M BISEXUAL, I'M BISEXUAL!"

Robin dropped the box cutter, but she remained on top of Eddie, frozen.

"Pardon?" She asked.

"That's what I was struggling with. . .my own sexuality. . .ever since Steve threw that ball at Jason Carver," Eddie said. "And I didn't know what I was feeling, so I didn't know how to talk to you so I did what I always fucking do when I get scared. . .I ran."

"Well, this was a rather awkward breakdown in communication," Robin said and got up, helping Eddie. "Thank God, I didn't want to have to kill you. I mean, we have the means to make a body disappear, but I did not want to go through it. Good luck, Steve."

Eddie watched as she disappeared into the back again and he looked back at Steve, his eyes comically wide.

"What the fuck did she mean by that? You can make a dead body disappear? Steve, what did she mean by that?" Eddie asked.

"Never mind about that," Steve laughed. "Tell me more about you realizing you're bisexual because of me."

"Okay, but we're going to come back to that other thing. . .right?" He asked.

"Eddie, focus," Steve said.

"Well, I mean, that's pretty much it," Eddie said. "I like you. . .a lot."

"I like you a lot, too," Steve replied.

"Now what?" Eddie asked.

"Well, this is usually the part where we - "

" - fuck?" He asked.

"I was going to say kiss," Steve laughed. "But I like that your mind leaped frogged to that, but I'm pretty sure that Robin would kill us."

"Damn straight!" They heard Robin yell, and then she laughed. "HA! Get it? Because none of us are. . .Goddamnit, I'm hanging out with Dustin too much."

"Right, so kiss?" Eddie asked.

Steve laughed, cupped the back of his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. Eddie froze before melting into it, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. He deepened the kiss as Steve wrapped his arms around his neck, enjoying the way his lips moved against his. . .so soft and plump. God, Steve wanted to kiss him forever. Eddie pulled away, leaning his forehead against his.

"I'm sorry, I should have worded that better," Eddie said. "And I shouldn't have run away from you. . .in one single day, you turned my life upside down. . .although, I guess I've been struggling with my feelings for a long time. According to Ronnie, you're not the first man I flirted with."

"I didn't always know about myself either, so it's okay, Eddie, I get it," Steve said. "You're here now."

Steve buried his head into his shoulder and hugged him tightly. Never would he have been so grateful that his platonic soulmate had gotten the flu or that his parents had been home. . .It's funny how life works out like that.

[trippiexlove]

Heart of a Woman

Author Note: Based on the song Heart of A Woman by Summer Walker. Y'all chose it! I hope you enjoy. If you want to leave a song request for a one shot please comment on this post. Check out my master list for other one shots / stories.

Warning: Smut, Angst, P in V, Oral (f! receiving), Profanity, Praise, Toxic Relationship

Pairing: Zilla Fatu x Black OC

Word Count: 3,210

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Only thing that saving you...

Is a Heart of a Woman…

Indya leaned over the large island in the kitchen of the house she shared with her boyfriend of three years, Isayah. 

Pissed wasn't even the word. She was livid. 

Moments ago she received a random message from an unknown number. It was a message every woman dreads to get. 

A coming to you as a woman message. 

Normally she would ignore it, majority of the time it was just women trying to ruin their relationship. She knew how popular Isayah has become in the last year. His wrestling career really taking off this past year. She knew groupies came with this lifestyle. She had trusted him. But this was a constant cycle they went through. 

But this message was different. It had actual concrete proof. Pictures, screenshots and screen recordings of multiple messages and FaceTime calls.

She couldn't help but to feel the hurt and betrayal. Most of all she was more upset with herself. Knowing that this wasn't the first time, but continuously keep giving him second chances. 

She was so focused on the messages. Continuously scrolling through them, in denial, trying to find something that didn't make this true. The more she kept looking it the more she became upset. Indya was so focused on the messages until the familiar ringtone, signaling an incoming FaceTime from Isayah, came to her phone.  

When she answered the phone she could see he was outside somewhere. Seem like he was talking to someone beside before his focus turned to the phone. "What's up ma, you good?"

"I'm coo'" she was very short with him. Her attitude evident as he furrowed his brows together. She walked into the living room, propping the phone on the table before sitting on the couch. 

Isayah could sense her energy through the phone. "You sure? Yo' tone says otherwise" concern laced in his voice. 

"Who's Erica?" She didn't waste any time, crossing her arms waiting for an answer. 

Isayah scrunched up his eyebrow, a look of confusion on his face "What'chu talkin' about?"

She rolled her eyes before continuing to speak. "I won't ask again Isayah," she stated pointedly "who is Erica?"

He looked away briefly before looking down into the phone "I don't know what'chu talkin' bout Indy"

"So we're going down the route of acting like we're dumb" she nodded her head. She grabbed her phone off the table, going to the message thread. Once she pulled it up she sent all the messages and screen recordings to him. 

Isayah phone dinged from the other end. She watched his face as he read through the messages. He kissed his teeth, exiting out the thread. "Indya that's someone I used to deal with a long time ago. Haven't seen that girl in years"

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Indya frowned. "You must take me as a dumb bitch if you think I'ma just let you sit here and lie to me when there's fucking proof!" she raised her voice. Getting more and more upset. 

"You just gon' believe her over what I'm tellin' you. I'm yo' man right?" Isayah voice rising with every word. 

"Are you my man though?" Indya lifted an eyebrow. She stared right back at him as he shot dagger through the screen. 

"Indya, stop fuckin' playin' with me. I told you I ain't seen that girl in years, the fuck you trippin' for?" Indya was token back from his words, before nodding her head.

"You know what since you wanna play dumb, I'll act fucking stupid. Go be with that bitch and stay the fuck away from me. You're single, fuck you!" Indya hung up before he could get another word in. She threw her phone down, before placing her head in her hands. She felt the tears that have been threatening to fall for a while. The constant ringing of her phone, as Isayah kept calling and texting, sounded throughout the living room. 

After a while, she wiped her eyes before grabbing her phone and blocking his number. Heading upstairs to sleep the night off. 

[Few Days Later]

Indya was out on a girl's day with her best friends, Sabrina and Tara. They got her out the house to take her mind off the fight she had a few days ago with Isayah. Refusing to let their friend to wallow in her feelings. 

They spent the day shopping, getting their nails done, and were currently at their favorite restaurant to have lunch. 

After placing their order with their server, Sabrina looked over at Indya. "We've been avoiding this conversation all day, but I think it's time to address it" Tara nodded knowing what Sabrina was getting into. "How are you feeling Indy?"

Indya sighed, throwing her head back slightly "I think I am just more mad at myself for continuing to keep taking him back."

"You can't be upset with yourself about that," Tara grabbed Indya's hand "It is not your fault that he can't grow up and see what an amazing woman he has and to treat you accordingly"

Sabrina nodded in agreement before adding in her two cents "You have been nothing but great towards him and will literally drop everything just to make sure he's ok. We all make mistakes but it's just how we learn from it"

Indya nodded. Taking in her best friends words. "It's just so hard because I really do love him." she sniffled a bit, wiping the tear that fell. 

"We understand girl," Tara sympathize with her best friend "but sometimes love isn't worth the hurt he's causing you" 

"What do you plan on doing now?" Sabrina asked as she leaned back in her chair. 

Indya sat in silence for a moment, she knew what she had to do. The decision didn't come so lightly "I'm done and forreal this time. I can't keep doing this"

"We your girls, we love you and will support you" Sabrina smiled grabbing her other hand. Tara nodding in agreement.

Indya blinked back more tears smiling at both her best friends. Truly appreciative of them. "Thanks I love y'all"

Soon the server brought over their food and the conversation shifted to something lighter. For the first time in a last few days Indya felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. Forgetting about the drama and enjoying the rest of the time with her best friends.

They paid the bill once they were done. Hopping into Sabrina's car, she started heading towards Indya's house. When the pulled up Indya sighed when she noticed Isayah's car in the driveway. 

He was back after being gone for a week due to having shows and appearances. Sabrina looked over at Indya, a certain look in her eye. "Do you need us to come in with you?"

Indya shook her head as she grabbed her keys out her purse "It's fine"

"You sure?" Tara leaned up from the front seat "We can just go in and beat his ass real quick and get your stuff"

Indya softly laughed at her friends "I promise I'll be fine. I'll text y'all"

"Ok," Sabrina said unsure "you better text us"

Indya promised she would text them as she got out, Tara taking her place in the passenger seat. She waved bye to them before walking up to the front door. She blew out a breathe before unlocking the door going inside. 

When she walked in Isayah was standing in the middle of the living room. She turned to the door locking it. 

"Where you been?" Isayah questioned, watching her every movement. Indya ignored him, throwing her keys in the bowl by the door. Walking right by him. He furrowed his eye brow as he watched her walk towards the stairs.

With quick movements he grabbed upper arm, making her turn towards him. "You hear me talkin' to you" 

"Unless you're here to admit to what the fuck you did, we don't have shit to talk about" she tried ripping her arm away from him. This caused him to grip tighter. 

"I keep telling' yo' ass that ain't shit happen between me and that girl" His frown deepened looking her dead in the eyes. 

"She literally sent me screenshots of y'all messages!" Indya felt her temper slowly increase the longer he held her arm. She was beginning to become frustrated.

"Her ass could've faked those messages and yo' goofy ass sitting here believin' them!" He raised his voice slightly. 

Indya widen her eyes in shock. In disbelief of what he said. She pushed on his chest, finally releasing herself from his grip. "Explain the pictures and videos of y'all on FaceTime then Isayah! Do you think I'm dumb?!"

"Indya tread lightly on how you speakin' to me. This is your warnin'" He squinted his eyes her direction. This only fueled the petty side of her. No longer caring how she was making him feel. 

"I don't give a fuck, you ain't scaring shit over here. You can go be with that bitch and y'all both can be hoes together!" She turned to go up the stairs, but before she could, she was pulled back. 

Isayah wrapped a hand around the based of her throat, pulled her close which made her look up his towering frame. She slightly shuddered at the the look in his eyes. His eyes going completely dark, a mix of anger and lust lingering inside them.

"I done let'chu get fly at the mouth one too many times. Now it's time for you to listen to me" Indya was getting upset with herself for just how quick she submits to him. Knowing that this was the issue in the ever ending cycle of their relationship. 

First their good, then she catches him cheating, he uses his manipulative ways, he dicks her down and then the cycle starts over. 

He could see the wheels turning in her head. Knowing she was going to try to resist he quickly scooped her up, making his way up the stairs to their shared room. 

He plopped her on the bed, hovering over her. Placing both hands on the sides of her head. He leaned down placing kisses along her neck and behind her ear. 

Indya didn't want to fall into the same old pattern again. She took her hands, pushing against his chest. "Isayah we can-" her breathe hitched as he sucked on the spot right below her ear. 

Surely leaving a mark, he took one of his hands trialing down her sides til he reached the hem of the shorts she was wearing. His hands found their way in, brushing against her wet folds. 

Indya softly moaned, arching more into his touch. He entered one finger in her, groaning at how wet and tight she was. He leaned up to look her in the eyes, entering another finger. Indya moaning out as he quickened his movements. 

"What were you sayin' baby?" Indya couldn't make up any coherent sentences, as her core tightened. "You want me to stop?" When he didn't get a response he slowed down "Do you want me to stop?" his voice deepened. Indya eyes popped open looking at him.

She whined as she moved her hips, desperate for any type of friction. Isayah took his other hand, placing them on her hips to still her movements. "No I don't want you to stop" completely submitting to him.

Satisfied with her answer he pulled her shorts and underwear off, leaving her lower half completely bare. He removed his shirt, throwing it across the room.

He left wet kisses trailing down her chest and stomach til he was leveled with her intimate area. 

He skipped all the teasing, quickly latching on to her sensitive bundle on nerves, switching from flicking his tongue across it and slightly sucking on it. His fingers entered her once more. 

Indya loudly moaned at the double stimulation. She grabbed at the sheets on the bed, trying to ground herself. "F-fuck Isayah .. I'm cumming" 

Isayah sped up the strokes of his fingers. Hitting her spot continuously, Indya reaching her climax soon afterwards. 

Isayah sat up, cupping her chin with his hands "open up for me baby" Indya stuck out her tongue, knowing exactly what he wanted. He stuck his fingers in her mouth, letting her lick off all her juices off his fingers. Once she was done he brought her into a searing kiss, tasting her sweet essence. 

He pulled away looking her deep in her eyes. "Face down. Ass up. You better arch how I like it"  he stated in a commanding tone.

Indya wasted time doing exactly what he said. Arching her back just how he liked. Isayah let out a groan of approval, sending a smack to her backside. 

As Indya waiting in anticipation, she heard the soft sound of a zipper, as Isayah shredded the last bit of clothing, coming up right behind her. She felt Isayah glide the tip between her wet folds. 

He slowly pushed in, Indya moaning out as he stretched her out. He stilled for few moments to allow her time to adjust. "Fuck, you're so tight for me ma" 

Craving more, Indya moved her hips back. Isayah taking it as a sign, picking up his rhythm quickly. Indya screamed out as he practically fucked her into the bed. 

She brought her back against his abdomen, trying to slow him down. He quickly grabbed her wrist, pinning it against her back. "Ain't no running. You been talkin' yo' shit, talk it now" 

Indya couldn't think, her brain clouded by the immense pleasure he was giving her. 

"I-Isayah I can't!" she moaned out loud. Feeling that familiar burn in the pit of her stomach. 

"Shut the fuck up and take it. This what'chu wanted right" Indya moaned loudly, Isayah groaned as he felt her clench around his length. He knew she was getting close and stopped all movements causing Indya to whimper. "You don't get to cum til I tell you to"

Isayah grabbed her other arm, holding both in one hand. He rammed back into her, causing Indya to gasp loudly. Isayah's strokes were relentless. 

The only sounds throughout the room were their skin slapping together, "Fuck, look at'chu takin' it for daddy so well" He sent a smack to her backside, Indya moaning at the stinging sensation. 

"Baby I can't hold it," she let out a breathy moan, her climax being so close "I need to cum please" she begged desperately. 

Once again Isayah stopped his strokes abruptly, pulling out of her. He laid down, pulling her on top of him. "You want yo' nut, you gotta earn it" 

Indya straddled his waist, reaching back grabbing a whole of his length. She slowly slid down, both groaning at the contact. He took a hold of her hips, bringing her down more, engulfing all of him.  "S-shit"

Indya placed one hand on his chest as she slowly went up and down. She moaned at the new angle she was in. Isayah hitting a new spot. Indya threw her head back as she picked up the pace. 

"Who pussy is it" Isayah wrapped his hand around her throat "hmm, tell daddy who pussy this is"

Indya gasped, feeling that burn in the stomach "Fuck daddy it's yours"

She rotated her hips, earning a deep guttural groan from Isayah. "Fuck, you ain't leaving' me." He moaned out again, feeling his release brewing "Damn, you feel so good baby keep it right there." 

She smiled inwardly. Feeling a little motivated sped up her movement, the grip he had on her hips tightened. "Isayah I'm cumming" she whined out. 

Isayah felt her movements slow down, he sent another smack to her backside causing her to whimper. "Keep goin' and you better not fuckin' stop, daddy cummin' wit'chu" 

With his hands wrapped around her waist he assisted by moving her faster up and down. Indya let out a drawn out moan as she released.

Her released triggering Isayah's own, pulling her into a searing kiss as they both came down from their euphoric high. 

Indya woke up, feeling extremely groggy and sore from the events earlier. She groaned as she turned over, seeing Isayah still sleep. She heart feeling heavy, remembering everything that happened. 

She reached for her phone seeing she had multiple missed calls and messages from Sabrina and Tara. 

Bri🔥: Indya are you good? Bri🔥: I swear if something happened I will sliced tf out of that big ass Samoan idc Tara❤️: Girl you need to call us back. Tara❤️: Bri is going crazy over here. You better call soon or we're pulling up.

Indya quickly texted them both back, telling them that she was ok and that she would explain in a little bit. She noticed it was a quarter after midnight. She quickly but quietly got up, throwing her clothes from earlier back on. 

When she looked back at Isayah, she felt rage start to build inside of her. Many thoughts were going through her mind. Then an idea clicked. She acted quickly, going into the closet and started grabbing his clothes. 

She moved quietly, not wanting to wake him up. She walked outside going over to Isayah's Mercedes, stuffing the clothes in there. She repeated this process about 3 more times. She grabbed the keys, backing the car away from the house. 

She went back inside grabbing the bags she had already packed, putting them in her car. Turning towards Isaiah's car once more, she took a lighter out of her pocket, flicking it on. 

She hovered the flame over a piece of clothing til it caught the flame. Quickly spreading to other article of clothing. 

Indya stood there for a moment, staring at the flame. Feeling it burn away all the hurt Isayah has cause her, feeling a sense of calm. She was quickly token out of her trance when she heard noise come from the house. Knowing it was Isayah coming, she quickly got in her car, starting it. 

When she started backing up she saw him run out the house with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. 

He saw his car in-flamed, his eyes widening in shock and rage "Indya what the fuck?!"

"Have fun with that bitch!" She quickly pulled off as he tried running towards the car. 

Indya couldn't help but laugh but also cry as she felt the overwhelming feeling of freedom and her shoulders feeling lighter. 

She didn't know how she did it but she found herself pulling in to Sabrina's house. Grabbing her things, she walked up the short walk way, knocking on the door. 

The wait wasn't long, as Sabrina quickly opened up the door, staring at her friend. Eyes drifting to the bags beside her. Without saying a word she grabbed a bag, leading Indya in the house and to the guest bedroom. 

She turned towards Indya, stood in the middle of the room. Silently crying. She brought her into hug as Indya began sobbing on her shoulder. 

"I am here for you. I am so proud of you, finally choosing yourself" She let her cry on her shoulder for a while til she stopped. She pulled out the hug, wiping her friend's tears. "Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning" leaving the room. 

Indya sighed, going into one of the bags, changing into a pajama set. She crawled in the bed, engulfing herself with the pillows and blankets, sleep finding her quickly. 

[silliersage]

Gradually ruining you

Cw: free use, slob, manipulation

I’ve been thinking lately about easing a maybe not so enthusiastic piggy into gaining. Starting out simple by appealing to they hedonism by gently pushing they limits as she learns to enjoy it. Eventually they ask about maybe increasing how much they eat each time as I see that spark of pure gluttony flicker in their eye.

Eventually we pivot and I push your boundaries a bit on my terms. You push back a bit in the moment but my gentle insistence and the lure of decadence always make you open up like a good pig. At some point I start actually calling you a piggy and you don’t notice at first. But by the time you realize it it’s too deeply attached to pleasure for you. Every time the word pig dances across my lips as I kiss your neck you feel yourself getting wet and weakening in my grasp.

It all comes together when one day you’re wincing in pain from how full you are. A sensation you’ve become all too familiar with. You’re squirming and grunting so weak and helpless in my embrace. So I move my hands down and strip you completely nude as you wriggle and whine begging mommy to touch you. Of course I oblige cause my fattened hog deserves love. But I also straddle myself between your growing legs and you feel mommy’s cock throbbing next to you as you look up to see me smiling with a huge glob of chocolate in my hand. Before you can react you instinctively open your mouth like a good well trained swine as I press the food into your mouth.

It’s not the normal gentle push you’ve become used to. This time it’s me shoving it into your mouth holding my hand there so you are forced to eat. Every complaint you make is muffled behind more chocolate. You start to sweat and pant as you’re forced to keep eating. Your face is now covered in a mess. It starts to trail down your fatty maw and all over that preciously fattened body of yours. I swaddle you and bite your neck a bit. I lift my head to meet your ear. “You’re mine piggy your limits don’t matter anymore” I rub your pot belly and begin to rub in every place that makes you squirm. Until I hear a beautiful little pink escape your lips.

Not a moan

Not a grunt

An oink like the pig you are

I giggle a bit and kiss you on the lips as deeply as I can caressing you and telling you what a good piggy you are for mommy. I take you gently and flip you over as you complain with every little movement. The sharp feeling of mommy’s fangs piercing your soft lard the only thing that pokes through the haze and struggle of moving you. Suddenly you feel me slip inside of you and pick you up by your flabby fattened chest. I lean down and whisper “The best part about fattening a pig for slaughter is the part where they become too fat to resist Mommy using them”.

Every movement of the sex is strenuous. Your heart beats faster than ever. Your breathing is heavy. Your body is so burdened with lard and full of food that every moan is an oink. Round after round I use your over fed body as a sex toy until I’m done and your left as a twitching and grunting mess leaking mommy’s seed. I lay one last smack on your plump ass before snuggling in next to you and kissing you on your slobby plump face. “I hope you’re ready to do this every day my piglet”

[bennyboyfics]

i loved your pranking ben fic soo much!!! How about instead of pranking ben they do the same prank but ben is the one being mean to the reader in front of his parents? Again, I love your work and tysm<3

Pranking his parents || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

A/n: THANK U SO MUCH!

Wc: 866

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

-

You sit beside Ben in the car, your fingers intertwined as he drives toward his parents’ house. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees lining the quiet street, casting golden streaks across the dashboard. “You sure about this?” you ask, glancing at him with a teasing smile. “Your mom might actually disown you after this.”

Ben chuckles, dimples flashing as he glances at you. “She loves me too much for that,” he says confidently, then adds, “But she might slap me upside the head.” You laugh, shaking your head. The prank was simple—Ben was going to act like the worst boyfriend imaginable, treating you with uncharacteristic rudeness in front of his parents just to see their reaction.

His mother, Lisa, was fiercely protective of you, having welcomed you into the family with open arms from the moment Ben introduced you. His father, Bryan, was the more laid-back one, but he had a quiet way of making his disapproval known. Neither of them would take kindly to their son acting like an arrogant jerk toward you.

As you pull into the driveway, Ben exhales dramatically, “this should be fun.” You squeeze his hand one last time before stepping out of the car, the warm Florida air wrapping around you. Lisa greets you first, pulling you into a hug before stepping back to eye you up and down like a proud mother. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” she gushes.

“Thanks, Lisa,” you say warmly. Ben, still standing by the car, scoffs loudly. “Can we go inside already? We don’t need a whole red-carpet moment every time we come over.” You bite your lip to keep from laughing. Lisa’s brows immediately furrow, and Bryan glances up from the porch, his relaxed posture shifting ever so slightly.

Inside, the familiar scent of home-cooked food fills the air, and you follow Ben into the living room, settling onto the couch. His parents sit across from you, chatting about their day, until Ben leans back with a groan. “God, can you not sit so close?” he mutters, shifting away from you on the couch. Lisa’s head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

You feign embarrassment, casting your gaze downward. “Sorry,” you mumble, playing into the act. Bryan sets his drink down with a little more force than necessary. “Ben,” he warns, his voice even but firm. Ben shrugs. “I’m just saying, she’s always, like, all over me. It’s suffocating.” Lisa’s lips part in pure horror.

“Benjamin Todd Shelton, what did you just say?” Ben stifles a grin, quickly adopting a smug expression. “Y’all act like I can’t have space in my own relationship. She’s always doing something annoying—” “Are you out of your damn mind?” Lisa cuts him off, eyes blazing. “I didn’t raise you to talk to a woman like that, let alone your girlfriend!”

Bryan leans forward, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know who you think you are, son, but you better check yourself real quick.” “Bryan,” Lisa turns to her husband, gesturing wildly at Ben. “I— I have never been more ashamed. I don’t care how famous you get or how many matches you win, if I ever hear you speak to her like that again, so help me God—”

Ben finally cracks, bursting into laughter, and you can’t help but giggle as well. Lisa’s anger falters, her narrowed eyes darting between you two. “Oh, my God. Are you— is this a joke?” Ben wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “Yeah, just a prank.” Lisa stares for a moment before smacking Ben’s shoulder. “Are you kidding me? You little—”

Bryan sighs, shaking his head with a smirk. “Damn, boy. I was about to ground you, and you’re a grown man.” Lisa exhales sharply, pressing a hand to her chest. “Don’t you ever do that again. My heart can’t take it.” Ben grins, kissing your temple. “So you do like her more than me.”

Lisa doesn’t hesitate. “Of course I do!” You beam, snuggling into Ben’s side. “I told you they’d take my side.” Ben groans dramatically, but his parents just laugh, shaking their heads. It was safe to say—prank or not—Lisa and Bryan were never going to let their son treat you any way but right.

[sincerelybubbles]

oooo shybau and hoth first kiss!!!

and I do mean you

warnings: lots of kissing, references to christianity, loss of faith, all of the lovely things I selfishly pour into everything I write pairing: hotch x shy!bau!reader

I took far too long with this because it felt like their first actual kiss needed to be so them and I didn't know how to do that until I suddenly did.

||

The night is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep in the bones, the kind that makes everything feel a little softer, a little more sacred. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until the lock on your front door clicks shut behind you, muffling the world outside.

Aaron lingers in your entryway, hands resting lightly on his hips, exhaling like he’s letting go of something heavy. The case had been a brutal one. It wasn’t the worst you’d seen, but something about it had weighed on him. He hadn't said much on the plane home, but then again, he never really had to—not with you.

Now, in the hush of your apartment, that quiet between you stretches like a held note. The exhaustion clings to you both, but neither of you moves to part ways.

“You should get some rest,” he says finally, voice low and steady.

You nod, though you make no effort to leave, and he doesn’t step away. Instead, he watches you the way he always does—attentively, patiently, like he’s waiting for something you don’t yet have the words for.

Maybe it’s the hours of close proximity, the way his shoulder brushed against yours on the plane, the way he had glanced over at you every so often as if checking to make sure you were still there. Maybe it’s the way your body still hums with adrenaline, or maybe it’s simply because you want to.

But whatever it is, you move before you can talk yourself out of it.

It’s barely anything—a shift forward, your fingers brushing against his wrist. His breath catches. Just for a second. But you hear it.

And when you tilt your chin up, meeting his gaze, there’s something in his eyes—something searching, something unsure but steady all the same. He doesn’t move away. He doesn’t pull you in. He just watches, like he’s memorizing the moment before it happens, as if he wants to be sure.

As if he’s willing to wait as long as it takes.

You swallow, heart fluttering wildly in your chest. "Aaron..."

It’s nothing more than his name, barely a whisper, but it undoes something in him. His hands come up—gentle, grounding—one settling at your waist, the other skimming up, up, until his knuckles ghost over your jaw, tilting your face just so.

He leans in, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath, but he doesn’t close the distance just yet. He gives you that space, that choice, because that’s what he does.

And you—shy, quiet, observant you—you make the choice.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and you close the space between you.

It’s barely a kiss at first. Just the press of your lips against his, testing, tentative, reverent. He exhales sharply through his nose, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath either. Then his hand at your waist tightens ever so slightly, his other tilting your chin just enough to angle you to him.

And Aaron Hotchner—who is always so careful, always so controlled—melts into you like he’s been waiting for this.

Like he’s home.

His lips are warm against yours, steady but unhurried. The weight of his hand at your waist keeps you grounded, keeps you from floating away entirely, because that’s what this feels like—like weightlessness, like the moment before freefall.

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, and he responds in kind, the press of his mouth growing just the slightest bit firmer. He’s still careful, still giving you time to pull away if you want to, but you don’t. You couldn’t if you tried.

The world outside is silent, the only sound between you the quiet hitch of breath when he shifts, tilting his head to deepen the kiss—just a little, just enough. His thumb ghosts along your jaw, the touch featherlight, reverent.

Aaron Hotchner, composed and measured, is kissing you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

It sends something warm curling through your chest, something that chases away any last shred of hesitation. You lift onto your toes, pressing closer, and that’s all it takes for him to let go of whatever restraint he’d been holding onto.

He exhales sharply, his hand sliding from your waist to splay against your lower back, pulling you flush against him. It’s still soft, still achingly tender, but there’s more now—more intent, more certainty.

You feel it in the way he holds you, in the way his fingers press into your skin like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, in the way he lets out a breath when you tilt your head and let yourself melt into him completely.

It would be so easy to get lost in this moment, to let time slip away entirely. But then he stills, just slightly, just enough for you to feel it.

He lingers, his lips barely brushing yours, and when he finally pulls back, he does it slowly, like he doesn’t really want to.

His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and uneven. For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then, softly, his thumb traces along your cheekbone. “Are you okay?”

You blink up at him, dazed, the weight of his question sinking in. He’s not asking if the kiss was okay. He’s asking about all of it—about the fact that he’s your boss, about the way this changes things, about whether or not you regret it.

And maybe you should. Maybe you should be afraid of what this means, what it could mean for the two of you, for the job, for everything.

But you’re not.

Because right now, with his hands still holding you close, with his lips still tingling against yours, there’s no space for regret. There’s only this.

You swallow, searching his face, the faint crease in his brow, the way his dark eyes trace over yours, studying, waiting.

And then, finally, you answer.

“I’m good.”

The relief in his eyes is subtle, but you catch it. His lips twitch like he’s fighting the urge to smile.

And for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner lets himself believe that something good—something soft, something steady—might finally be his to keep.

Aaron doesn’t let go of you. His hands stay where they are—one pressed warm and steady against your lower back, the other cradling your face with a kind of reverence that makes your breath catch.

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone again, and there’s something searching in his gaze, like he’s looking for hesitation, for regret. But you don’t give him any.

Instead, you lean in first this time.

It’s tentative, your fingers tightening in the front of his shirt as you tilt your chin up. You feel his breath hitch just before he meets you halfway.

The second kiss is different from the first.

It’s slower but deeper, less of a question and more of an answer. Where the first had been cautious, this one lingers, his lips parting just slightly against yours, pulling you closer, tilting his head to fit against you more perfectly.

He tastes like coffee and something distinctly him, something warm and grounding, something you think you could get lost in if you let yourself.

And it’s clear now—he’s letting himself fall.

The hand at your back slides higher, fingers skimming along the line of your spine, anchoring you to him. Your heart is hammering, but it’s not fear, not nerves—it’s just him. The way he’s kissing you like he can’t help himself, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, the feel of you, the way you sigh softly into his mouth when he angles himself just right.

There’s nothing hurried about it, nothing rushed or frantic. It’s deliberate, patient, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s been waiting for this longer than he’d ever admit.

And then—he slows.

It’s barely noticeable at first, but you feel it in the way his lips linger just a second longer before pulling back, in the way his fingers tighten against your back like he’s reluctant to let go.

When he does finally pull away, he doesn’t go far.

His forehead rests against yours, breaths uneven, warm between you. Neither of you speak right away.

Your eyes flutter open, and he’s already looking at you.

His expression is unreadable at first—something caught between awe and disbelief. Like he can’t quite wrap his head around this, around you.

Then, finally, after a long moment, he exhales, voice rough at the edges.

“I’m not sure I know how to stop.”

Your breath catches.

Because he’s not just talking about the kiss.

He’s talking about the way he feels about you, the way you’ve slowly unraveled him without even trying.

And God, you don’t want him to stop.

So you tighten your grip on his shirt, tilting your head just slightly, lips brushing against his once more in quiet invitation.

“You don’t have to.”

And with that, Aaron Hotchner—always measured, always careful—lets himself fall just a little bit further.

His presence is steady, grounding, and yet, your heart is anything but steady. It’s quick, uneven, rattling against your ribs with a nervous kind of energy you don’t know how to contain.

You step further into the apartment, away from him, before you can stop yourself, motioning vaguely toward the couch. “You can sit—if you want, I mean—you don’t have to.”

The words tumble out too fast, unfiltered, rushed in a way that makes your face heat. You don’t usually speak without thinking. You’re careful. Measured. But right now, with him standing so close in the quiet of your home, you feel stripped bare.

Aaron doesn’t move to sit. Instead, he studies you with that quiet intensity of his, head tilting slightly, gaze flickering over your face like he’s cataloging every thought you’re trying to bury.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “I’m not nervous because of you.” The words come quicker than you mean them to, and you rush to clarify, stepping forward again. “I don’t want you to think that. I trust you, Aaron. Completely.”

His brow creases slightly, lips parting like he’s about to speak, but you don’t let him—not yet.

“It’s me,” you admit, voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I don’t trust myself.”

His expression shifts, something deeper settling in his gaze.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “Not in the way you think. I just—I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to—” You falter, pressing your lips together. “I don’t want to give you everything and then—lose you.”

The words feel small. Too vulnerable.

Aaron doesn’t hesitate.

His hands find yours, wrapping around them with steady warmth, grounding you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

“You won’t,” he says, voice firm but gentle. “I’m here.”

Your breath catches.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? He is here. With you. Always.

And yet, there’s still that voice in the back of your mind whispering that nothing this good ever lasts. That he’s lost before, and losing you might be easier than letting himself risk that pain again.

But then he’s tugging you closer, tilting your chin up with the lightest touch, and suddenly, none of that matters.

Because when he kisses you, slow and deliberate, he doesn’t leave any room for hesitation.

He’s telling you something without words.

That he sees you.

That he’s choosing you.

That he’s not going anywhere.

And for now, that’s enough.

||||

Aaron follows you into the kitchen without a word, his presence close but unintrusive. He lingers near the doorway, watching as you move—still a little careful, still a little hesitant, but steadier than before.

You open the fridge, the cold air a sharp contrast to the warmth settling in your chest. “Are you hungry?” you ask, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your voice is softer than you mean it to be, but the question is genuine. You need something to do, something to tether yourself back into the tangible, something to dilute the thick tension that still lingers between you.

Aaron exhales, the ghost of a chuckle beneath his breath. “I could eat.”

It’s such a simple answer, but it makes you smile. A quiet, grateful thing.

You busy yourself gathering ingredients, pulling out what you can with deliberate focus. Bread. Cheese. Something easy, something mindless. You’ve done this a hundred times—after late cases, when your body is too tired for anything elaborate but your mind is too wired to sleep.

Aaron watches, but not in a way that unsettles you. His gaze is steady, patient, like he’s waiting for you to dictate the rhythm of whatever this is.

“You don’t have to stand there,” you murmur, glancing at him as you set a pan on the stove.

He hums, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of him at your side. “What are we making?”

“We?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

His lips twitch, not quite a smile, but something close. “I assumed this was a team effort.”

You shake your head, focusing back on the pan as butter melts in the center. “It’s just a grilled cheese, Hotch.”

“Then I’m sure I can help.”

You don’t argue, though there’s something about the image of Aaron Hotchner making a grilled cheese sandwich that nearly makes you laugh. Instead, you hand him a slice of bread and let him take over, watching as he works in comfortable silence.

It’s easy, standing here with him like this.

And for the first time tonight, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—this could be simple, too.

The sizzle of butter against the pan fills the quiet space between you, but your thoughts are elsewhere—circling the weight of this moment, the quiet divinity of it.

Aaron stands close, sleeves rolled up, the golden glow of your kitchen light catching the slight furrow in his brow as he carefully presses the sandwich into the pan. He treats it with the same precision he gives everything—handling something as simple as this with the same care as he does a gun, or a case file, or a person he’s sworn to protect.

It shouldn’t feel sacred, but it does.

There is something terrifying in the ease of it—in the quiet devotion of sharing a kitchen, in watching his hands work, in the way he glances at you as if to ensure you are still here, still real. There is something terrifying about being witnessedlike this, wholly and without demand.

It reminds you of stories you read as a child, of devotion poured from one vessel into another. Of sacrifice and faith, of saints and sinners alike giving themselves over to something greater than themselves. All in. No half-measures.

The idea of giving yourself over to someone—to be known like this, in every small and unnoticed moment—burns at the edges of your mind.

Because you see him, too.

You see the way his brows pinch in focus as he lifts the sandwich to check the color, the way he frowns when it’s not quite right. The way he tilts his head slightly, listening for the sound of the crust crisping beneath the weight of his spatula. The way his shoulders settle, not tense but aware of you. Always aware.

It is so easy to fall into this—into him. The ease of this moment is a quiet betrayal of the fear still curling in your ribs.

Because you want this. Him.

And wanting something this much, something that feels so wholly right, is the most terrifying thing of all.

Aaron must sense something in you—some quiet turmoil you haven’t named—because he turns, meeting your gaze with something unbearably gentle. “You okay?”

Your throat tightens. You nod.

And when he hands you half of the sandwich, the warm press of his fingers against yours feels like an unspoken vow.

The sandwich is warm in your hands, but you barely taste it. Your mind is elsewhere, spinning itself into delicate knots you’re not sure you can untangle.

You watch Aaron, the quiet way he eats, the way his fingers curl around the napkin he doesn’t quite use. The way he always chews a little slower than necessary, like he’s learned to be mindful of the smallest things, like he knows the weight of savoring something—how rare it is to be given something simple and good.

He looks at you between bites, not with expectation, not waiting for you to speak, but just looking. Present. Steady.

You wonder what it would be like to let him see all of you.

Not just the quiet, competent agent he trusts in the field. Not just the awkward, hesitant thing you become under the weight of his attention.

But all of it.

The things you keep tucked away, the things you don’t like to look at too closely. The weak, the ugly, the unpolished. The parts of you you’ve hidden behind layers of self-preservation, behind careful smiles and quiet nods and an unwavering dedication to keeping yourself small.

You’ve spent so long convincing yourself that your careful restraint is a kindness—that keeping yourself contained, giving only the good and holding back the rest, is the best way to keep the people you love close.

But Aaron doesn’t take pieces of you. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t dig his fingers into the edges of you looking for something to unfold. He simply waits.

And somehow, that makes you want to give.

To crack yourself open like the fragile thing you are, to pour yourself into his hands and say, Here. Here I am, for better or worse. Do you still want me now?

Would he take the raw, unfiltered version of you? The parts that make no sense, the thoughts that spiral too fast, the fears you can’t name? Would he hold them the way he holds everything—with quiet reverence, with the same careful patience he’s giving this moment now?

Would he love you, if you let him?

And more terrifying still—

Could you let him?

Faith has always been a foreign thing to you—something you were taught to have, something you were told to nurture, but never something you truly felt.

You tried. God, you tried. You folded your hands in prayer as a child, whispered words into the dark, but they never felt like yours. You sat in the pews, still and small, let sermons wash over you like baptismal water, but you never came out clean.

The weight of it—the expectation of belief, the demand for devotion without proof—left you hollow. They told you faith was certainty in the unseen, but you could never find comfort in blind trust.

So, you let it go.

Not in one grand act of defiance, not in a moment of clarity, but in slow, crumbling pieces. You stopped asking for signs. Stopped waiting for answers. Stopped pretending to believe in something that never made itself real to you.

You are not a woman of faith.

And yet.

You believe in Aaron.

It’s a quiet, creeping thing—not the overwhelming, all-consuming devotion you were told faith should be. Not something demanded, not something you owe, but something freely given. Something that grows.

It’s in the way he looks at you now—calm, steady, expectant, but never forceful. The way he waits for you to be ready, to be certain. He asks nothing of you. He doesn’t need your belief, doesn’t press you for assurances you can’t yet give.

And maybe that’s why you want to give them.

The feeling unfurls slow and careful inside you. Not holy, not sacred, but real.

You don’t know what tomorrow looks like. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to lay your whole self bare, to place your fragile, beating heart in his hands and trust him not to break it.

But you believe he wouldn’t.

You believe in this, whatever it is, wherever it leads.

And for the first time, faith doesn’t feel like a burden.

It feels like hope.

"You're staring at the bread like it personally offended you."

Aaron’s voice breaks through the thick fog of your thoughts, dragging you back to the present. You blink, refocusing on the cutting board in front of you—half a loaf of sourdough, a butter knife hovering uselessly in your hand.

You must have been standing there for a while because Aaron is leaning against the counter now, arms crossed, watching you with the same mix of patience and quiet amusement he always seems to have reserved just for you.

Heat prickles up the back of your neck. "I—" You clear your throat, forcing yourself to move, to slice the bread like a normal person and not a woman on the verge of an existential crisis. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

About faith. About belief. About giving myself to you in ways I never could with God.

You spread butter onto the slice with too much focus, too much force. "Nothing important."

Aaron makes a quiet sound—something like a hum, something like a laugh. "It looked important."

You chance a glance up at him. He’s still watching you, still waiting, but there’s no pressure there, no push. Just quiet patience.

Your chest tightens.

You nudge a plate toward him instead, deflecting. "Eat your bread, Hotchner."

He takes it without argument, but the way he’s still looking at you makes you think he’s not letting this go.

Aaron takes a slow, deliberate bite of his sandwich, watching you over the rim of his plate. "You know," he muses, "for someone who insists on feeding me, you didn’t exactly make a balanced meal. Where are the vegetables?"

You scoff, setting your own sandwich down. "You're welcome to dig through my fridge and find a carrot stick, but good luck. I think there's a single wilted bag of spinach in there that I bought optimistically and then ignored."

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "That sounds about right."

"You’re welcome to bring me groceries next time if you’re so concerned," you add, flashing him a small, teasing smile before taking another bite.

Aaron lifts a brow, clearly pleased by your rare willingness to push back. "So you’re already inviting me over again?"

You roll your eyes. "I’m just saying, if you’re going to judge my meal prep—"

"I wasn’t judging," he interrupts smoothly, voice warm with amusement. "Just… observing."

You narrow your eyes at him, mock-suspicious. "Observing, huh?"

"Mm-hmm," he hums, finishing the last of his sandwich. He wipes his fingers on a napkin, then leans slightly toward you, elbows resting on the counter. His voice drops just enough to be dangerous when he adds, "Like how you’re getting better at teasing me back."

You freeze mid-chew, suddenly regretting every word you just said. You force yourself to swallow, trying to maintain your composure. "Well, someone has to keep you humble."

"Is that what you were doing earlier?" He tilts his head, faux-curious. "When you kissed me?"

Your entire body tenses.

The playfulness fizzles out of you so quickly it’s almost embarrassing. Your mouth opens, then shuts again, warmth flooding every inch of your skin as you suddenly become hyperaware of everything—of the way he’s watching you, of the ghost of his lips still lingering on yours, of the way your hands twitch in your lap like they don’t know what to do.

Aaron doesn’t push. He just waits, looking far too pleased with himself.

You let out a weak, breathless laugh and immediately break eye contact, staring hard at the counter. "I hate you," you mutter.

"You don’t," he replies, and damn him, he's right.

Aaron doesn’t let up. He leans in just a little closer, just enough to make you squirm. His voice dips lower, deliberate and slow.

"You know," he murmurs, "for someone who kisses like that, I wouldn’t have expected you to get this shy about it afterward."

Your spine straightens like he’s just yanked you upright with an invisible string. "I—"

But you don’t know what to say. You don’t even know how to breathe properly under the weight of his gaze, like he’s cataloging every tiny twitch of your expression, every little way you crumble under the heat of his attention.

Aaron, to his credit, looks like he’s enjoying every second of it. His mouth tugs at the corners, his amusement restrained but not hidden.

"That was a compliment, by the way," he adds, as if that makes it better. As if it won’t set you even more on fire.

You cover your face with one hand, willing yourself not to combust. "You’re being mean."

He lets out a quiet chuckle. "I’m being honest."

"You’re enjoying this," you accuse, peeking at him through your fingers.

His silence is answer enough.

You groan, tilting your head back as if pleading with the ceiling to strike you down. "I was having such a nice time eating my sandwich."

Aaron nods, completely unrepentant. "And now you’re having a nice time blushing in your own kitchen."

"I take it back. I do hate you."

"You don’t," he counters smoothly, just like before. Then, after a beat, he adds, "But I do love watching you get all flustered."

You drop your hand from your face just to glare at him properly, but it only makes his smirk deepen, his eyes crinkling with quiet delight.

It’s almost unfair how much of an upper hand he has—how easily he can undo you with just a few well-placed words. And worse, he knows it. He’s reveling in it.

"I’m never kissing you again," you grumble, mostly as a defense mechanism.

Aaron exhales a soft laugh, then tilts his head, considering you for a long, knowing moment. "I don’t believe that," he says simply.

You don’t either.

Aaron leans back in his chair, completely at ease, completely insufferable, and looking so pleased with himself that you kind of want to shove him. Gently. Maybe.

"I don’t believe that," he repeats, smug and steady, like he’s saying something as simple as the sky is blue or I know exactly how to make you melt.

You cross your arms over your chest, mustering up every ounce of composure you have left. "You don’t know that."

He just lifts an eyebrow. "Oh? You’re really never going to kiss me again?"

"Never," you declare, pretending your cheeks aren’t burning. "Not once. Not ever."

Aaron hums, nodding along, though there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. "That’s a shame," he muses, "because I was going to say that I think we should practice more."

You choke on air.

"Practice?"

"Mhm," he says, and then—because he’s the worst—he takes another casual bite of his sandwich, like this is just some regular, normal conversation.

Like he hasn’t just suggested practicing kissing. With him.

You press your hands to your face again. "I hate you so much."

Aaron laughs, soft and warm, and suddenly there’s a gentle touch at your wrist, coaxing your hands away. You let him, mostly because you think you might actually pass out if you try to hide behind them any longer.

"Let me see you," he murmurs, and just like that, his teasing fades into something softer, something that has your stomach flipping for an entirely different reason.

You lower your hands.

He smiles—small, but real. "There you are."

Your heart does something absolutely ridiculous in your chest.

"You are so unfair," you whisper, shaking your head.

Aaron just tilts his head slightly, his expression all warmth and quiet amusement. "I don’t know what you mean. I’m just sitting here, enjoying my sandwich."

"You weaponized a sandwich," you accuse, pointing at him, and he actually chuckles, shaking his head.

"I did not—"

"You did. You used the sandwich as a distraction while you flirted with me!"

He lets out a dramatic sigh. "Alright, you got me. I was flirting with you. And it was very successful, I might add."

You groan, dropping your head to the table. "I am so done with you."

Aaron smirks. "No, you’re not."

You peek up at him. "How do you know?"

"Because you’re going to stay, and we’re going to keep doing this—me making you blush, you pretending you hate it"—and one day, when you’re ready, you’re going to kiss me first."

You gape at him. "Absolutely not."

His smirk deepens. "We’ll see."

You lift your head and squint at him, trying to determine whether he’s a mind reader, a wizard, or just too good at reading you. Probably all three.

Aaron leans forward slightly, lowering his voice to something unbearably fond. "I like you," he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

Your stomach swoops.

"You—" You cut yourself off, floundering. "I—I like you, too."

"I know."

You huff, rolling your eyes, but you can’t fight the smile pulling at your lips.

Aaron grins. "See? We should practice."

You swat at him, and he catches your hand, laughing, laughing like you’re something light in his chest, like you are something warm and easy and good.

You think you might let him keep you.

You try to glare at him, but it’s useless—he’s already got that insufferable grin on his face, and the warmth in his eyes makes it impossible to hold onto any semblance of frustration.

Aaron still has your hand, his thumb brushing idly along your knuckles like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just that unfair.

"You’re too smug for your own good," you grumble, though your voice lacks any real bite.

He tilts his head, considering. "I don’t think that’s true," he says, the teasing still evident, but softer now. He tugs lightly on your hand, coaxing you closer. "You just make it easy."

You scoff, but you don’t resist when he pulls you in. "I make it easy?"

He nods, all confidence, all ease, like this is the most natural thing in the world. Like you are.

You should say something clever. You should push back. You should do something.

But then he’s leaning in, and his hand comes up to cradle your cheek, and every thought you’ve ever had vanishes into nothing.

You mean to pull away, to protest but he presses a featherlight kiss to the corner of your mouth, and the words dissolve on your tongue.

"That doesn’t count," you whisper, your breath mingling with his.

Aaron hums, his thumb skimming over your cheekbone. "No?"

You shake your head, though you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince.

"Hmm." He leans in again, and this time he does kiss you—properly, fully, but still playful, still teasing, still drawing you in like he knows exactly how to unravel you.

You do pull away then, just for a second, just long enough to narrow your eyes at him. "You're enjoying this way too much."

He smirks. "Undeniably."

You huff, rolling your eyes, and then you’re the one grabbing him—fisting the front of his shirt and pulling him down into another kiss before he can say something else smug.

This time, there’s nothing playful about it.

He makes a low sound in his throat—surprised, pleased, needy—and his hands are on you, warm and steady, one at the nape of your neck, the other settling firm at your waist. You shudder at the feel of his fingers splaying across your skin, like he’s grounding you, like he’s holding on just as much as you are.

You let him pull you closer, let yourself sink into him, into the heat of his mouth, the gentle insistence of his touch. He tastes like peanut butter and something deeper, something heady, something that makes your stomach swoop.

By the time you part, you’re breathless, your fingers still curled into his shirt like you’re afraid to let go.

Aaron studies you, his gaze flickering over your face, searching. And then—so quietly, so earnestly—

"I would never leave you."

The words hit something deep, something tender, something you’ve tried so hard to keep hidden.

Your throat tightens.

He must see it, because his hand moves, his thumb brushing gently along your jaw. "Never," he repeats, his voice steady.

You believe him.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s not so terrifying after all.

[elliespaggetti]

GET IT — CHOI SEUNGHYUN

a/n: i HATE making actual fics because i'm lazy so i started a oneshot collection so i can be lazy online too- i also made this on the bus so its EXTREMELY small.. tomorrow i will feed you more words, but its so late and i dont have my computer with me, but it will happen pookies

(english isnt my first language, and NO its not a masterpiece. tips are appreciated. thank you 🙏)

(will be updated every day, sometimes bi-weekly if i get tired)

warnings: femme reader, angst, no beta read, very short oneshot

word count: 670  

get it masterlist

“What? Are you leaving again? You just went on tour?” Your voice echoed through the room, filled with venom.

“Wait, let me explain-” Seunghyun started, but you quickly interrupted him.

“I have been waiting for you, quite literally for a year. And the minute you come home, the label wants you to leave again?” You spit, and squint your eyes at him. 

“I'm sorry, but they want us to go on tour again. I tried to tell them.” He croaks, becoming more desperate to have your validation. 

The bed creaks as you sit on it, and glare at Seunghyun. From the corner of your eye you see his frown deepened and his eyes seemed to darken for a moment, before he took a step towards the bed frame.

“Well, since they already made the choice to make you go two times in a row, how about you sleep on the couch tonight. You sneer at him, then you lie down on your side, and look at his response.

You see that his face becomes slightly more red, “ Why are you making this out to be my fault?”

“Because you did nothing to stop it!”

“I can't control what the label does! So-” He raises his voice at you, but stops once he realizes what he was doing.

“Well- I'm sorry if I miss you-” You say, but was quickly cut off by a stream of tears.

Seunghyun’s eyes shoot up as he comes to comfort you, crawling over the bed to reach you.

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry!” He winces at your crying form and you sit up so you could receive his hug.

“It's okay. I'm sorry.” You hiccup, unable to stay mad at him for long periods of time, hug him back, and recoil to kiss his forehead.

“I will have a talk with my manager and see if I can get off this tour. If I can't, I will call you every hour, okay Jagi?” He whispers in your ear, emitting a giggle out of you, as you hug him tighter. 

“Thank you” You sniff, and climb on his lap, before closing your eyes and leaning on him.

Seunghyun sighs, and carries you so you are both lying down, him spooning you.

“Would you like to watch a movie?” He offers.

“No, let's just sleep.”  You decline, stuffing your face in his chest.

“It's 3pm, Jagi” He remarks, and you can hear the smirk on his face.

“I will keep you here until the sun goes down, and then up, and down, and up.. Do you get it now?” You joke, and you are sure that he can feel your mouth moving on his chest with every word you speak.

To prove your point, you wrap one leg around his leg, and tighten your leg so his cant move.

You feel his laughter from his chest, and notice how deep his voice actually is.

“Well, I guess we will be stuck here till the end of time, right? Just how I like it..” He smirks, and pulls you closer and closes his eyes.

From this angle you can see the bottom of his chin, and as if he can feel your eyes on him, and opens them and smile at you. You take the time to notice how goofy his smile looks, and how innocent he looks from this angle. You can feel a smile forming on your face, but the moment is quickly ruined when he moves his face so he has a double chin.

You snort and pull your head back to laugh.

“You look like a blobfish!” You howl, and look back at him to see he has made another silly face, and as you had just calmed down, exploded into laughter again.

“You're so funny, baby” You whisper, with a small smile on your face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too” Seunghyun answers, and slips a blanket onto the both of you, as you slowly fall asleep, his scent taking over your senses.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Hii do u have any headcannons for reader being Baji's little sister and Mikey having a huge crush on her, but Baji is like suuuper protective of her and refuses anyone from the gang to date her because him being her brother is already dangerous as is, I hope this ask isn't too complicated 😅

Ok I set this in the good timeline and there's also two endings. We have the sfw ending which is with all the other hc's and we have the nsfw ending which is clearly labelled at the end. You guys can choose which ending you want to read (the bullet point with the star is where you should switch if you only want the nsfw ending).

Baji is very very vocal about the rules around his little sister, makes it very clear to all the guys that you're off limits and "too good for all of them anyway".

Unfortunately for Baji though, he's keeping an eye on the wrong ex gang members. He eyes the way Hakkai blushes to you, chases Kazutora and Hanma for saying they plan on dating you (they're actually just teasing Baji), raises his eyebrow at how friendly Chifuyu is with you and yells at the Haitani's for trying their pick up lines on you. The point is Baji is so distracted by the others that he never sees Mikey coming until it's too late. 

Mikey starts off simple, just getting you alone one day and asking you what you really thought about your brother's "rules". And as he watches you giggle and call Baji caring but too overprotective, he thinks he falls even more in love. 

And so operation "make y/n fall in love with Mikey" begins. Of course Mikey assembles a mini team for this. Including Draken (he think this is an awful idea and Baji will kill them all), Emma (she thinks the two of you will be cute together), Takemichi (he is very scared of the consequences of doing this), Sanzu (anything for Mikey) and Kisaki (has no idea why he's here and thinks this is a waste of time). Of course these meetings don't do much but Mikey does get some advice.

You start getting mini anonymous presents daily, always pretty or thoughtful things, the card is always just signed with a heart. (Baji is very concerned when he finds out).

Mikey also comes up with elaborate plans to get you alone so the two of you can hang out and get to know each other more. These mostly involve distracting Baji in some way, either by telling someone to hang out with him or by telling him a cat needs his help a few miles away. Baji falls for it everytime, rushing off and leaving you alone. 

He's very touchy with you whenever the two of you are together. He'll happily hold your hand, hug you and lean his head on your shoulder if he gets tired.

Also loves to take you for rides on his bike, Baji barely ever let's you ride with him because of the risk so Mikey figures it's up to him to show you how much fun it is (the feeling of you clinging to him is great too). 

Mikey really likes hanging out with you and get's a little sad whenever it ends but he can't risk Baji seeing this, not yet.

He takes you to the sea often too, sharing a taiyaki with you and talking about anything that comes to mind. It's here that he finally confesses to you and here where the two of you share your first kiss after you confess back to him too. 

You two become experts at secret dates and secret looks at each other. 

Even in front of Baji the two of you find ways to flirt and be affectionate with each other. Mikey whispering you a compliment as he walks past you. You telling Mikey he dropped something but when he picks up the paper it's just a note from you telling him how much you miss him during these big gatherings. Baji never even suspects anything at all.

It is a little difficult hiding your relationship at times but the two of you feel like you could do this forever but of course nothing can last forever.

☆It was a pretty big day for the two of you, Baji had gone on an out of town trip, leaving you alone in your shared apartment. So of course you took the opportunity to invite Mikey over.

The two of you had just settled down to watch a movie, happily sharing a blanket and cuddling when Baji walked in. Turns out the trip had been cancelled but that's nothing compared to the chaos that was about to go down.

Baji stands there for a moment, staring in disbelief at his oldest friend and his baby sister together. You and Mikey stare back in shock, no one daring to move until Baji opens his mouth to start yelling or talking. You're not sure what he was about to say because before he could get even a word out Mikey launched a pillow at his face, giving himself a head start to start running.

Baji very quickly shot out of the apartment after Mikey all while yelling "MY SISTER!!!!" You watch them for a moment before sighing and calling Draken. Before then calling Ryoko, if anyone could talk sense into your brother it was definitely your mother. 

After Draken (and Mitsuya, who he brought along as backup) separated them and Baji got yelled at down the phone by Ryoko a truce was made. You and Mikey could date and Baji wouldn't kill him if you kept all of that relationship stuff away from him and out of sight. It was a lot better then either you or Mikey had expected (largely thanks to Ryoko) so you both happily agreed. Holding hands and walking off together to Mikey's apartment this time (all while Baji yelled about how holding hands counts as "relationship stuff"). 

Nsfw ending

It was a pretty big day for the two of you, Baji had gone on an out of town trip, leaving you alone in your shared apartment. So of course you took the opportunity to invite Mikey over.

Eager to see and feel each other, things got steamy very quickly. Mikey was just in the middle of thrusting into you, in and out, getting lost in the warm, velvety feeling of your walls. While you were letting small moans and whimpers slip as Mikey went deeper, hitting your spot and making you see stars everytime. Both of you were so close and lost in each other that neither of you heard the key in the door or the door swing open. You moaned as it finally became all too much and you came, the feeling pushing Mikey over the edge with a groan as he releases his thick load into you. Neither you get to enjoy it for long though as Baji announces his presence with a dangerous growl.

Mikey frantically tries to cover you before putting his clothes on in record time and racing out of the door with Baji quickly pursuing him. All while he yells "MY SISTER!???? AND ON MY SOFA!?????" 

Putting some clothes on and cleaning up the mess as quick as you can, you frantically run after them. Who knows what Baji will do to Mikey after seeing that, whatever it is you need to stop it.

You think you're getting close as you hear raised voices but suddenly your wrist is being grabbed and some strang man is holding you still.

"Hey I recognise you! You're Baji Keisuke's sister, yeah. That fucker beat me up years ago, made me lose my gang and my reputation, I've always wanted to make him pay..."

You only see the knife for a second before it's being kicked out of the guys hands and you're being pulled away. Baji holds you in his arms, both of you needing that comfort while Mikey knocks the guy out. They worked together to save you and without knowing it, Mikey proved he's more then capable of keeping you safe. 

He's still a little reluctant but Baji gives you his blessing, after muttering about needing to bleach his eyes out.